Part 42 (1/2)

Part Two

13.

On account of the hazards of war-time, the convoys that were diverted without explanation, the pa.s.senger vessels that were commandeered for the movement of troops, the seats on aeroplanes usurped at the last moment by august officials, not to mention the spies that lurked everywhere and studied every mortal thing that moved on the face of the earth through field-gla.s.ses or or kept their treacherous ears open while quaffing pints in dockside pubs, Matthew Webb had been frustrated again and again in his efforts to reach Singapore. The result was that the month of November was already well advanced before he found himself on the last stages of his journey. By that time, though his impending arrival had not been forgotten by the Blacketts (Walter brooded on it constantly and so, presumably, did Joan), it had a.s.sumed less momentous proportions than in the first days after Mr Webb's death. Walter could see the matter now more in perspective, for the old man had been buried for almost a month, sad news which had been conveyed to Matthew in Colombo where he had been stranded interminably until Walter could pull a string or two with the RAF. Moreover, in the frenzied commercial atmosphere of Singapore at the time, exacerbated by the bewildering arrival of more and yet more troops from Australia and India, who could manage to spare time for such domestic, or dynastic, matters, or even, if it comes to that, think of the same thing for two moments running? But at last Matthew was about to arrive. kept their treacherous ears open while quaffing pints in dockside pubs, Matthew Webb had been frustrated again and again in his efforts to reach Singapore. The result was that the month of November was already well advanced before he found himself on the last stages of his journey. By that time, though his impending arrival had not been forgotten by the Blacketts (Walter brooded on it constantly and so, presumably, did Joan), it had a.s.sumed less momentous proportions than in the first days after Mr Webb's death. Walter could see the matter now more in perspective, for the old man had been buried for almost a month, sad news which had been conveyed to Matthew in Colombo where he had been stranded interminably until Walter could pull a string or two with the RAF. Moreover, in the frenzied commercial atmosphere of Singapore at the time, exacerbated by the bewildering arrival of more and yet more troops from Australia and India, who could manage to spare time for such domestic, or dynastic, matters, or even, if it comes to that, think of the same thing for two moments running? But at last Matthew was about to arrive.

The Avro Anson which for an hour or more had been following the wandering dark-green edge of the coast now swung out to sea before turning north-west in a wide curve that would bring it back over Singapore. For a few moments nothing could be seen but an expanse of water so dazzling that it hurt Matthew's eyes as he looked down on it from the cabin window. Then, as the Anson floated in over the harbour in which lay three grey wars.h.i.+ps and a mult.i.tude of other vessels, over the railway station with its track curving away across the island to the Causeway, and over a number of miniature buildings scarcely big enough to house a colony of fleas, it began to wobble in a dreadful, sickening fas.h.i.+on, and to lose height. Presently, the Singapore River (which was really nothing but a tidal creek) crept from under the wing, ominously bulging near its mouth like a snake which had just swallowed a rabbit and then trailing back inland to the thinnest of tails on the far side of the city.

Next there came an open green s.p.a.ce on which a fleas' cricket match was taking place and then the toy spire of a cathedral, aptly set at the intersection of diagonal paths forming the cross of St Andrew, with one or two flea-wors.h.i.+ppers scurrying over its green sward to offer up their evening prayers, for the sun, though still brightly fingering the cabin of the aircraft, was already casting deep shadows over the cathedral lawns ... But again the plane dropped sickeningly and the wing on one side tilted up in the most alarming way, so that even though Matthew continued to look down down he could still see nothing but sky. This dismaying sensation continued until the plane had completed a full circle and was coming in from the sea again with level wings. But even so, every few moments the floor would seem to drop away and when Matthew tried to interest himself, as a diversion, in MacFadyean's he could still see nothing but sky. This dismaying sensation continued until the plane had completed a full circle and was coming in from the sea again with level wings. But even so, every few moments the floor would seem to drop away and when Matthew tried to interest himself, as a diversion, in MacFadyean's History of the Rubber Industry History of the Rubber Industry which lay open on his lap, he was promptly obliged to jettison even this light work from his thoughts, simply to keep the plane airborne. which lay open on his lap, he was promptly obliged to jettison even this light work from his thoughts, simply to keep the plane airborne.

By now they were distressingly near the surface. He saw waves, then a junk floating past the cabin window with a thick-veined sail, then a flotsam of human heads and waving hands. Somehow or other the wheels cleared the roof of the swimming club at Tanjong Rhu (Matthew would have thought they were too low to have cleared anything at all). A few more perilous wobbles and the wheels consented to touch down with a b.u.mp and a brief howl, followed by another b.u.mp as the tail touched. The journey had been a strain: he had never been up in an aeroplane before. But now he felt relieved and pleased with himself; soon he would be describing the experience to his earthbound friends.

'Don't forget to watch out for the Singapore Grip!' shouted one of the crew after him in a clamour of cheerful goodbyes and laughter as he jumped stiffly to the ground.

Now he found himself standing on the tarmac, a little unsteadily on account of the equatorial gale from the still turning propellors. Uncertain which way to walk he peered around in the haze of evening sunlight. The heat was suddenly stifling: he was clad in it from head to toe, as if wrapped in steaming towels.

A figure in a white flannel suit was hurrying towards him into the slip-stream, trouser legs flapping, jacket ballooning and one large hand clapped on to a khaki sun-helmet to keep it on his head. The other hand was held out even from some yards' distance towards Matthew who, a moment later, found himself shaking it.

'You're Matthew Webb, aren't you? I'm Monty Blackett. I expect you've heard of me ... Hm, now let me see, I don't think we have met before, have we? Never mind, anyway. It doesn't make any difference. We'll get to know each other in a jiffy, I expect. Can't very well help it in a hole like this.' Monty was a burly young man about the same age as Matthew but his face had a heavy-set appearance which made him look older: an impression reinforced when he removed his sunhelmet for a moment to scratch his head by the fact that his hair was receding. Matthew wondered whether the black tie he was wearing, which had been blown back over his shoulder, was a mark of respect for his father or merely conventional Singapore attire.

After the two young men had exchanged greetings, which they had to shout because of the noise from the engines, there was an awkward pause between them.

'Look, it's been raining,' Matthew shouted, nodding at the s.h.i.+vering pools of rainwater that lay here and there on the tarmac; at the same time he smiled at himself, thinking that that was not what he had meant to say at all.

'What?' bellowed Monty, stepping forward and giving Matthew an odd look. 'Yes, I'll say it has, it rains almost every b.l.o.o.d.y day at the moment, I'll have you know. Come on now,' he added, 'enough of the weather.' He took Matthew's arm to steer him away from that whining aeroplane which only then agreed to arrest its motors with a few last chugs and swishes. 'Well, well, same old Matthew,' he chuckled cautiously, though, strictly speaking, he could not have known very much about the 'old Matthew' at all, since they had never met before. Once more he darted an odd, sideways look at Matthew as if trying to weigh him up, while, still chuckling vaguely, he conducted him to the terminal building, a surprisingly up-to-date construction with control tower and observation decks, somewhat resembling a cinema. Matthew remarked on its modern appearance. Singapore must be quite ...

'Oh yeah,' agreed Monty indifferently. Brightening a little, he added: 'They have a restaurant there. You don't feel like some oysters, do you? They fly them in from Hawkesbury River in Australia. Look, that's not such a bad idea ...'

'Well, not just at the moment, thanks,' said Matthew, surprised. Monty's enthusiasm subsided with a grimace. Matthew, still groping for a topic of conversation, said: 'I must say, I don't know how you stand this heat.'

'Heat? This is the coolest part of the day. Wait and see how hot it can can get here. I say, is something the matter?' For Matthew had suddenly stiffened. get here. I say, is something the matter?' For Matthew had suddenly stiffened.

'I think that man is making off with my bags.' Like many people whose natural inclination is to think the best of people Matthew found it necessary, when travelling, to remain dramatically on the alert to defend himself against malefactors.

'He b.l.o.o.d.y well better had be,' grinned Monty. 'Otherwise he'll get h.e.l.l from me!'

'You mean ...?'

'Of course. He's our syce syce ... you know, chauffeur. Now don't worry, old boy. Just trust old Monty. Everything's organized. Come on, Sis is waiting for us in the car ...' And with that he led the way out of the building uttering a strange, smothered groan as he went. Matthew hurried after him, filled with pleasure at the prospect of seeing little Kate, to whom he had taken a considerable liking in the course of their one short meeting. ... you know, chauffeur. Now don't worry, old boy. Just trust old Monty. Everything's organized. Come on, Sis is waiting for us in the car ...' And with that he led the way out of the building uttering a strange, smothered groan as he went. Matthew hurried after him, filled with pleasure at the prospect of seeing little Kate, to whom he had taken a considerable liking in the course of their one short meeting.

'Monty, I must thank you for getting me on that plane. Otherwise I might have been stuck in Ceylon for ever, what with the war and so forth.'

'Think nothing of it. We just pulled a few of the right strings and it was a stroke of luck that there happened to be an empty plane coming our way. You see, the point is this ...'

Now they had reached the motor-car and Monty broke off to give the driver some instructions. The latter murmured: 'Yes, Tuan Tuan,' and stowed Matthew's suitcases in the back of the vehicle; this was a huge open Pontiac with white tyres, a wide running-board and deep leather seats. A young woman whom Matthew failed to recognize was half reclining on the back seat, holding a cigarette holder in a studied pose. She was wearing a simple white cotton frock and a green turban with two knots which stood up, Hollywood style, like a rabbit's ears. The haft of a tennis racket was gripped between her bare calves and its glimmering strings between her pretty, pink knees. She ignored Matthew's greeting and said to Monty: 'Let's scram before I die of heat.' Matthew, disappointed to find this person instead of Kate, tried not to stare at her: this must be Joan Blackett, Kate's elder sister. Kate had spoken of her as of a superior being, sophisticated beyond measure, terrorizing the young men of the Colony with her irresistible appeal, breaking hearts with as little compunction as if they had been chipped dinner-plates.

'But the point is this ...' Monty was repeating, a trifle more sonorously than before, now that they were comfortably installed in the Pontiac one on each side of Joan. There was another pause, however, while the young men each lit a Craven A.

'The point is this,' he said yet again, puffing out an authoritative cloud of blue smoke. As he did so, Matthew found himself wondering whether Monty Blackett might not on occasion be ever so slightly ponderous and self-important, and though, of course, it had been kind of Monty to come and meet him, nevertheless, an ungrateful voice whispered in Matthew's ear: 'What is is the point?' and he glanced quickly at Joan to see whether she was sharing his impatience. But she was looking moodily in another direction... towards the wind-sock waltzing impatiently in the breeze at the end of the aerodrome, or towards a large American limousine with Stars and Stripes fluttering from its bonnet which had come into the airport drive at great speed with a squeal of tyres as it negotiated the bend but was now nosing uncertainly in the direction of the terminal building while the driver made up his mind which way to go. Presently, she turned her turbaned profile and her grey eyes fixed themselves intently on his face. He stirred uneasily. the point?' and he glanced quickly at Joan to see whether she was sharing his impatience. But she was looking moodily in another direction... towards the wind-sock waltzing impatiently in the breeze at the end of the aerodrome, or towards a large American limousine with Stars and Stripes fluttering from its bonnet which had come into the airport drive at great speed with a squeal of tyres as it negotiated the bend but was now nosing uncertainly in the direction of the terminal building while the driver made up his mind which way to go. Presently, she turned her turbaned profile and her grey eyes fixed themselves intently on his face. He stirred uneasily.

'The point is, Matthew, that at the moment the blighters are so anxious for our rubber that they go out of their way to help whenever they can. They're not usually so helpful, I can a.s.sure you. And it doesn't stop the b.l.o.o.d.y bureaucrats, those clever merchants in Whitehall, making a nuisance of themselves whenever they get the chance. We're constantly battling with penpushers in some ministry or other a few thousands miles away.' He added sententiously: 'You'll soon find that out when you have a look at the files in your father's office. Now what's all this? What does this cove want?'

While Monty had been speaking the American limousine which had been prowling about uncertainly for a while had at last made up its mind to approach the Pontiac. It came to a stop beside them and an American soldier slid out from behind the wheel and held the door open.

'Oh lumme, it's him,' said Monty, glancing at Joan.

'Great Scott!' exclaimed Matthew. 'I know that bloke. We were at Oxford together. His name's Jim Ehrendorf ... He's a really wonderful fellow, you must meet him. I was meaning to try and look him up when I got here and now ... but wait a sec ... Of course, you already know him, don't you?' And Matthew clapped a hand to his brow.

'Yes, we do,' said Monty. 'The thing is ...' But without waiting to hear what the thing was, Matthew had leaped out of the Pontiac and was warmly shaking hands with the smiling Ehrendorf. They exchanged a few words, both talking at once. Joan and Monty watched them blankly from the motor-car.

'I thought I wouldn't get here in time,' Ehrendorf was saying as they turned back towards the Pontiac, 'and I'm tied up for the rest of the day. In fact, I wouldn't have heard you were arriving at all if it hadn't been for the chance of meeting up with Walter downtown. Hiya Monty, Hiya Joan!'

'Hiya,' said Monty. Joan showed no more sign of acknowledging Ehrendorf's presence than she had Matthew's. She looked irritable and said again: 'For G.o.d's sake, let's scram ... It's so hot.'

'How pretty you look, Joan, in your vetement de sport vetement de sport,' said Ehrendorf in a way that managed to be both casual and rather tense. ' ”Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?” '

'I'd far rather you didn't, if you don't mind,' replied Joan sullenly. 'Let's go, for G.o.d's sake.'

'I know his type,' said Matthew. 'Next thing, he'll be trying to tell you you're ”more lovely and more temperate”.' Both he and Ehrendorf laughed but the two Blacketts did not share their amus.e.m.e.nt; indeed they both looked rather put out.

Ehrendorf continued to stand uncertainly beside the motorcar, gazing at Joan, who looked away petulantly. Matthew took out a handkerchief, removed his gla.s.ses and mopped his streaming face. The heat was dreadful, despite the breeze and the approach of night.

'I've got it,' said Ehrendorf. 'Why don't I ride in with you guys. I'll tell my driver to follow and then I can go on from there.' Without waiting for approval Ehrendorf spoke to his driver and then installed himself in the front seat of the Pontiac. Matthew climbed in beside Joan again.

Now the Pontiac was in motion at last; an air of interrogation, of words unspoken, formed over it as it swung out of the aerodrome gates. From near at hand there suddenly came a clamour of music, laughter and singing. A thousand coloured lights twinkled in the gathering dusk through a grove of trees that lay just to their right in the fork of the two roads. Keeling over like a yacht tacking against the wind the Pontiac turned away from the lights on to the Kallang Road.

'That's one of the sights,' Monty said, pointing back with his cigarette shedding sparks. 'A sort of funfair called The Happy World. They're going to catch h.e.l.l, though, unless they do something about blacking out those lights.'

'There's a better place called The Great World on Kim Seng Road on the other side of town,' said Ehrendorf, turning to grin at Matthew. 'You'll be able to dance with lovely taxi-girls there. Twenty-five cents a throw.'

Matthew decided not to ask for the moment what a 'taxi-girl' was. Instead he said: 'You didn't have that natty moustache in Geneva, did you, Jim? And what have you done to your hand?' For Ehrendorf, though he no longer wore a bandage, still had plaster around his fingers. But to Matthew's surprise these questions only seemed to embarra.s.s Ehrendorf (was he sensitive about his moustache?) who murmured vaguely that it was nothing, he'd stupidly burned himself a few weeks earlier, and then, without further comment, turned his evidently sensitive moustache to face forward again while he examined the road ahead through the windscreen.

Meanwhile the Pontiac had howled over a bridge and was careering through the twilight at an alarming speed. Every now and then as an obstruction loomed up the driver would brake and swerve violently. The horn blared without pause. The blurred forms of rickshaws, motor-cars and bullock-carts receded rapidly on either side. Once, to avoid a traffic jam which suddenly presented itself, they mounted a verge and without slackening speed thrashed through some sort of vegetation, evidently someone's garden.

'Good G.o.d!' thought Matthew. 'Do they always drive like this?'

'People in Britain seem to find it amazing,' Monty was saying, his thoughts still on their earlier conversation, 'that we should know more about running the rubber business than they do in Whitehall. What they don't seem to realize is that if we suffer here in Singapore, everything suffers, and that includes their wizard War Effort. It's so hard to get anything done with these b.l.o.o.d.y civil servants. Sometimes I wonder if they haven't all got infantile paralysis!' And Monty bent his wrist, hunched his shoulders and twisted his face into a highly amusing imitation of a cripple. But Matthew found it hard to smile: he had somehow never found imitations of cripples very entertaining. Monty did not notice this lack of response, however, and shed a great bark of laughter into the humid, sweltering twilight.

Becoming serious again Monty said, pointing at a group of dim buildings on the left: 'That's the Firestone factory where last summer's strikes were started by the Commies. Thanks to the bungling of our little men in the Government they very nearly turned it into a general strike.' Matthew, who had been beginning to fear that he and Monty might have no common interest, became attentive and ventured to remark that he was interested, not only in political strikes and the relations of native workers to European employers, but also in ... well, the 'colonial experience' as a whole. But Monty's response was disappointing.

'Oh, you're interested in the ”colonial experience”, are you?' he mumbled indifferently. 'Well, you've come to the right place. You'll get a basinful of it here, all right.'

Ehrendorf glanced round quickly but without catching Matthew's eye. His glance, indeed, got no further than Joan's tennis racket still tightly gripped between her knees as she lolled back against the leather seat: he stared at the racket with great intensity, but only for a moment. Then his moustache was dividing the breeze again.