Journey to Paradise, page 27
‘I’m sorry I’m late.’ Brendan loomed next to him. ‘Emergency caesarean – you know how these things are.’
Nick gave a gentle nod.
‘Another beer?’ Brendan raised his hand. ‘Two Tigers and a packet of Pall Mall.’
He sat down. ‘So, what did you want to talk to me about that couldn’t wait until we got home?’
Nick rested his hands on the counter and watched the waiter pour their beers. He was uncertain where to start. ‘I don’t want Charlie to know yet. But I’ve just been given the sack.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Brendan’s attention was fully on him now. ‘What the hell happened?’
‘For a while now, St Augustin’s has had to make cuts.’ He didn’t want to mention the real reason; that Alice had finally got her way over his relationship with Miranda and that she’d managed to persuade the board to get rid of him just an hour ago on grounds of ‘conduct unbecoming to a doctor’. ‘But it’s all right, I’ve been looking around for other posts. I’ve been offered a post in Nairobi. It’s a promotion, really. A step up.’
‘Nairobi? Bloody hell, Nick.’ Brendan rolled his eyes.
‘I know. But a job’s a job. Unless,’ he turned his glass, examining the foam, ‘you might be able to have a word with someone for me about a post at KK?’
‘What a bugger.’ Brendan shook his head. ‘I happen to know that all the vacant posts they had are full.’
Nick took a swig of beer straight from the bottle. ‘Jesus. I’m sunk. And then there’s Miranda. If I go to Nairobi, the pay might be better, but I can’t take her. Accommodation is provided – you know what Catholic missions are like.’
Brendan scratched his head, thinking. ‘Are Miranda and her husband getting divorced?’
Nick shook his head. ‘And I can’t imagine her husband will allow it.’
‘Blimey. What are you going to do?’
Nick shrugged. ‘Seems like I only have one choice. I’ll have to go – without Miranda. At least, for now. It’s so brutal.’
It felt as though a tonne of lead were crushing him. ‘You’ll look after Khalish for me, won’t you? Make sure he keeps up his English, and that he tries to get into a good school?’
‘Of course. But when will you tell Miranda?’
‘Tomorrow. I can’t face it right now.’
The next evening, the monsoon rolled in from the east. Rain fell in steady rods, pounding the pavements outside The Excelsior Hotel. Through the windscreen, Nick watched lightning illuminate the horizon; then the sky turn a darker shade of pewter. He glanced at his watch. Six-thirty.
A sea of umbrellas came and went, and then he saw Miranda leave the hotel and look around. She smiled as she caught sight of the roadster, then she crossed the road, stepping around the puddles and skirting the perimeter of the car. She opened the door and slipped inside.
‘So you got my message, then?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ He started up the engine, feeling like a traitor.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘I thought we could go to the Fullerton for a drink.’
She placed her hand on his knee, but he couldn’t look at her and concentred on the traffic instead as they headed towards Maxwell Road. White light exploded across the sky and lightning forked above them, followed by a crack of thunder. The rain began to hammer against the windscreen and the car began to steam up, insulating them from the outside world.
He drove north, on to Boat Quay, past the government offices and the Fullerton Building, until they reached the river and parked along the quayside. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the rain stopped and the low sun broke through, staining the clouds pink.
‘Look – they never stop, do they?’ Miranda nodded towards the river. Sampans and junks jostled on the water, along with fishermen and deliveries at landing stations. Sunlight glinted from office windows, reflecting the trail of fire in the thundery sky.
‘Come on.’ He opened his door to let Miranda out. Her face turned towards him as she stepped out and she placed her hand lightly on his arm. He could smell her perfume: lilies, and fought the urge to pull her close.
As they walked, she pointed out pillars and arches on the buildings. He nodded, half-listening. He couldn’t bear it – he’d been awake half the night trying to think of a solution and, right now, he knew he was going to break her heart.
They passed through the courtyard of the Fullerton and she stopped to watch the mailbags being brought in from the quay. The pleasure on her face was almost too much for him to watch.
The lift took them to the clubrooms at the top, where they found a table on the sun deck outside.
‘I didn’t know you could come here,’ she said, her hand over her eyes as she looked down at the boats on the river below.
He swallowed, unable to reply.
‘What is it?’ she turned to him. ‘Something’s wrong.’
He reached across for her hand and stroked her fingers. She smiled, waiting for him to go on.
‘I’ve lost my job at St Augustin’s,’ he began.
‘God, that’s awful. Why? What’s happened?’
‘There was a board meeting. They’ve had to make some cuts and my head was on the block.’
‘You must be devastated.’ She put her hand on his. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’ve been applying for other jobs – out of Singapore.’ He looked away, down at the table. ‘And I’ve accepted one.’
‘Where?’ There was fear in her voice.
‘Nairobi.’
‘Nairobi,’ he heard her whisper. ‘So far away.’
‘They want me to begin at the end of the month.’
Her hand tensed in his, then her lips began to quiver, and she pulled her hand away, placing it over her mouth.
‘I’m sorry.’ His words sounded hollow and inadequate.
‘And what about us?’
‘Oh, Miranda.’ He’d known that question would be coming, but as she asked, the full knife-thrust of it hurt.
‘Take me with you.’
‘I can’t. Not now.’
She raised an eyebrow, tears brimming in her eyes. ‘Why not?’
He waited for a moment, carefully forming his thoughts, but it was as though he were suffocating. ‘You’re still married, and—’
‘And Gerry won’t divorce me,’ she finished his words, and he saw her body bristle. ‘Think of the scandal,’ she mimicked his voice. ‘Your reputation.’
‘Come on, you know that’s true. I love you, but it’s a Catholic Mission – I simply can’t take you. Not while you’re still married. Perhaps if Gerry divorces you?’ He placed his hand on hers again, but this time her withdrawal was fierce. ‘Think about it – what kind of life can I offer you now? But I’ll be running the mission in Nairobi. Think about the long term and how much better I’ll be able to look after you in a year or two.’
‘A year or two? I just left my husband for you.’ She took a packet of cigarettes from her bag and lit one, her hand trembling. ‘Surely we could find a way to make it work?’
He shook his head, then placed it in his hands. ‘I can’t see how.’ The words were choking him now. ‘But when the obstacles have been removed, when you’re divorced.’
‘But if you loved me, you wouldn’t go. You’d find a way for us to be together.’
‘I’ve tried. But I can’t seem to find a way to make it work.’
‘Honestly,’ she said, crumpling, ‘I don’t believe it. I thought …’ She shook her head, unable to complete her words.
Telling her was worse than he had feared. He saw himself as an executioner taking away someone’s life.
‘Well,’ she said. Her face was pale, the shock still stinging. ‘It appears you’ve made up your mind.’
He lowered his head in shame, but when he lifted it, she was walking back towards the lift.
‘Miranda!’ he called. ‘Please. Come back.’ He leapt out of his chair and followed her, putting his hand against the lift door to stop it closing. ‘For goodness sake! Miranda!’
She shook her head, unable to speak, and pushed his hand off the door.
‘At least let me give you a lift home,’ he insisted, getting into the lift before it closed.
They drove through the darkness, Miranda crying and pushing his words of comfort away. Finally, they reached The Excelsior.
‘Well, goodbye, then,’ Miranda’s voice croaked, as they pulled up outside the front door.
He heard the car door click open.
‘No. Let me walk you up.’ He placed his hand on the door, ready to join her. ‘We can’t part like this. Please.’
‘No, Nick. I don’t want to see you again,’ she sniffed. ‘If it’s over, then it’s over; no need to prolong the pain.’
She got out and slammed the door. He watched her heading towards the entrance, listening to her footsteps. He willed her to look back, but, blinded by tears, he could only just make out that she simply carried on up the steps and pushed open the door. There was no way he was going to leave it there. He ran out after her, following her through the foyer and up the stairs towards their room.
‘Miranda!’ he shouted. ‘Wait!’
But she was quicker than him. She slipped into the room and slammed the door in his face.
‘Miranda.’ He leant against the door. ‘Please. Let me in.’
He waited. He thought he could hear her breathing on the other side.
‘I know that you’re upset and you don’t want to speak to me now.’ He pressed his forehead against the door, imagining her face an inch away. ‘But as far as I’m concerned, this isn’t over. Wherever I am, whatever I do, I’ll always love you. However long it takes, I’ll be waiting.’
He heard a sob, but she didn’t speak. He waited, but after a few minutes, he knew he had to leave. Each step he took away from the door felt heavier than the last until he left the building and, eventually, he reached his car.
He sank into his seat with his hands clasping the steering wheel, knowing that he would hold this moment with him for the rest of his life. Slowly, he depressed the accelerator and, blindly, he swung the car away from the street into the all-enveloping night.
She couldn’t bear it. From the window, she watched the car turn the corner, then she flung herself on the bed. Big shuddering sobs shook through her. All around her, she could feel Nick’s presence lingering: the touch of his hand, the scent of his cigarettes, the sound of his voice. How could he do this? Just at the point when she thought everything seemed to be working out, her world had fallen apart. She scrunched up the pillow, then thumped it. He’d taken her heart and crushed it. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t have done for him and she’d believed the same of him. Georgina had made her believe that following her heart would make her happier, but, in pursuing her happiness, she hadn’t calculated the cost. Everything had fallen apart and she didn’t know what the hell she was going to do. She had nowhere to live, no job and not much money of her own. And she didn’t even have Georgina to turn to any more.
Exhausted, and still fully dressed, she fell asleep hugging the damp pillow. Loneliness seared through her. She tossed and turned, imagining him lying next to her, the touch of his body like silk against her skin; she could almost hear his voice in her ear, whispering that he loved her, the taste of his kiss. She must have fallen asleep, for, in the hour before dawn, she woke with her arm lying across his side of the bed and her leg hooked to where his should have been.
Her head hurt from crying, her mouth was dry, and she poured herself a glass of water from the carafe on the bedside table. After she’d drunk it, she sat up properly and curled her arms around her knees. Her body felt numb.
She thought for a moment about going home, but then the memory of Gerry hitting her snapped her out of it. What was it that Georgina said had? That she was living in the shadows? A gwelio – a ghost. Well, she was damned if she was going to be.
She decided to count the money in her purse. She was getting through it too quickly. At this rate, she could afford to stay at the hotel for another week, then that was it. Nick had mentioned the possibility of sharing a room or a flat with some secretaries from the Colonial Office. It seemed as though she had no option but to look, and she’d have to find some kind of job, but she hadn’t a clue what she could do. Nick had written the name and telephone number of the flat-share in her diary: Janice Edwards. She’d telephone her after breakfast.
‘Come after five o’clock,’ Janice said, and her voice was firm, almost brusque. ‘Nassim Road. We’re on the ground floor, first flat on the left.’
It was twenty-five past when Miranda got off the bus on the corner of Nassim Road and headed towards the Botanical Gardens, where there was a collection of two-storey buildings. From the open windows, she heard pacey, loud music that sounded like Frankie Laine.
She had to knock twice. When the door opened, it revealed a slender woman in her early twenties wearing beige slacks. The way she had tied her hair up with a scarf reminded Miranda of a land-girl.
‘I’m Miranda Lewis.’ She held out her hand.
‘Oh, yes, of course. Come in. I’m Janice.’ She stepped aside and Miranda followed her to a small living room where a caged parrot began to squawk.
‘There are four of us, and two rooms,’ Janice began. ‘Daisy, Annabelle, Dora and me. Dora is moving out at the end of the week. You’d be sharing with me.’
‘I see.’
‘Lav’s down here. Bathroom’s just here. Kitchen’s just there.’ Miranda followed Janice as she pointed out the flat. ‘Small, but it does the job. Amah comes in two hours a day. This one’s Daisy and Annabelle’s room. This is Dora’s and mine.’
The room was smaller than she’d been expecting. Two single beds were at either side, with a chest of drawers separating them. A washbasin was in the corner of the room, cluttered with makeup and hairbrushes, and there was a small wardrobe with the door swinging open, crammed with clothes. The room smelt strongly of a sweet violet perfume.
‘It’s twenty dollars a month, including the amah. She does shopping and light cooking. And a twenty-dollar deposit up front.’ Janice led her back to the living room. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘Please.’ Miranda looked around the room while Janice disappeared into the kitchen. There was a collection of Marie France magazines; lipstick-covered cigarette ends in an ashtray; a Philip’s portable gramophone and a collection of records: Sinatra, Doris Day, Crosby. The parrot watched her, pushing its beak through the bars of the cage.
‘Sugar? Wasn’t sure if you did or not.’ Janice returned, carrying a tray with two green teacups and saucers, the standard colour Miranda associated with school. ‘And I’ve run out of biscuits.’
‘No sugar, thanks.’
‘Tell me a little about yourself. What do you do?’ Janice handed her the cup.
The tea was milky, and a globule of condensed milk floated on the top; Miranda took the cup with her left hand, inwardly grimacing. Her wedding ring glinted in the light.
‘Oh. You’re married.’ Janice frowned. The parrot began to bob up and down, shrieking ‘Pretty boy, Toby. Biscuit. Biscuit. Biscuit.’
‘Separated.’
‘Divorced?’
Miranda shook her head.
Janice pursed her lips.
‘Look, I don’t want any trouble, and it’s none of my business, but how do I know he won’t come looking for you? Or that you’ll stay, for that matter? If you did move in, I’d want six months’ rent up front. And no trouble,’ she said again.
‘I’m sure there won’t be.’ Miranda looked at the tea and placed her cup down on the coffee table.
‘Can you let me know tonight? Flat-shares are hard to get around here, and there’s another girl that might be interested. I put her off until tomorrow.’
‘Of course. I suppose I ought to be getting along. I’ll call you later. And thanks for the tea.’ Miranda placed her cup on the table, knowing, deep down, that she wouldn’t telephone.
For the next week, she continued to look at flats, each as depressing as the other. She applied for jobs: housekeeper, receptionist, secretary, but each time she was turned down, and eventually someone told her that word had got around about her and that she’d never get a job in Singapore if Gerry had anything to do with it.
On her way back from looking at yet another disappointing flat, she waited in the rain for the bus for almost half an hour. When she boarded, the bus was crowded, and she had to stand. Good God, she’d had enough. She really couldn’t do any of this any more. Gerry had won. She would go back to England and live with her parents; she’d write to them as soon she reached the hotel.
It was well after seven when she got back.
‘Can I have a double gin and tonic?’ she asked at the bar. ‘In my room, please.’
‘Of course, madam.’
She drank it by the open window, before having a bath. It was too hot to get properly dressed, so she sat on the bed in her bra and knickers, a writing pad and pen in her hand. It would take two weeks for the letter to get home, she guessed, and six weeks for her to sail back to England. Two weeks would be more than enough time for her to plan a voyage home and to sort out the rest of her affairs.
She tapped the pen against her mouth and began:
Dear Mother and Father,
By the time you receive this, you should have already received my telegram telling you I am coming home, and so I thought you were owed an explanation. I have left Gerry – I don’t know if it was because of Henry, or Singapore, or that we simply just weren’t right for each other any more, but our relationship is over. I can’t live with him, nor he with me. I am not sure what to do when I return, but I am longing so much for your love and support,
Miranda
xx
She read the letter, placed it in an envelope, then picked up her pen again:
Gerry,
So, you have got what you wanted. I have decided to go back to England. I am going to book a voyage for a couple of weeks’ time. Meanwhile, I shall be staying at The Excelsior in town. I’d be grateful if I could come back to Alexandra Gardens to collect some of my belongings; there are a few things that I didn’t have time to pack – my passport among other things. I was thinking about Friday of this week? Obviously, you don’t need to be there. In fact, it is probably better if you’re not.
