The Forgotten Promise, page 31
Noor, too, found it a mixed bag getting used to her new job. Although she got the hang of the paperwork and filing, the other secretaries kept her on the side-lines. She took to going out alone during her lunch breaks and sometimes after work. She would walk along the avenues in the Old Town, admiring the beautiful houses and the vast lawns and gardens that caught her eye. From time to time, she returned to the tea shop and always seated herself by the window where she could watch the world go by behind the glass.
Despite the recent Occupation, many of the British had returned bringing wives and their European fashions with them. Noor admired them and made mental notes of the cut of their dresses. While she read a complimentary copy of the Malay Tribune that the tea shop provided, she would eavesdrop on other women’s conversations and in this way her knowledge of local matters and etiquette grew. She copied the way the women held their cups with the saucers at chest height; how when they left the table for a moment, they would leave their napkins on their chairs, not on the table; how they crossed their legs at the ankle or greeted each other by kissing the air next to each other’s cheeks. The more she learnt, the easier it was to emulate their manners, and the more she copied their behaviour, the more restless she grew.
Spring turned to summer, and Noor noticed a change within Grace. She was blossoming; her skin and hair were shining and her body filling out. Noor felt a swelling of pride that it was because of her and all her efforts that her charge was thriving.
And, much against her own expectations, Noor was doing well at the office, too.
‘I didn’t think you were cut out for it, if I’m honest,’ Max said. ‘But now you’re here, I find you’re indispensable. I’m giving you a rise. It isn’t much, but it should make a bit of a difference.’
With the extra income, they were able to move away from their old ground-floor apartment and into another – a small two-bedroomed flat closer to the Old Town, for school and the office. When Noor got the key, she wandered around the interior with a lump in her throat. A room each, imagine it, and a large living-dining area with a small kitchen and a bathroom at the end of the corridor. It was perfect, especially for Grace; she was spending more time after school practising the piano or going to Lia’s house to work on their homework together, and now she had somewhere she could return the favour. Noor made sure she wrote to Ella again at the villa, letting her know of their change of address.
Meanwhile, the BMA office was increasingly busy. There were enquiries from people in England or returning to Malaya trying to find missing relatives; claims for land to be returned or compensation for businesses lost owing to being confiscated by the Japanese. There were so many letters that needed typing and filing, along with disputes that needed settling. Noor read the letters and absorbed a knowledge of bureaucracy that she had never known before. She kept her head and earnt a reputation for being calm and reliable. Eventually, the other secretaries began to ask her for help with work when they got behind and to invite her to join them at their lunch or coffee breaks.
At one lunch break, they started to discuss a case in Singapore that was now in all the papers about a girl called Martha Hollande, the daughter of a Dutch national who had been adopted by a Malay family during the Occupation. The girl had been made a Ward of Court and been extradited from Malaya and taken to Singapore. The women had mixed views on what should happen to her now and Noor listened to the details of how she had been separated from the family in Malaya who had lovingly tended her for these past few years. A parallel between the girl and Grace’s situation was apparent and this troubled Noor.
Her anxiety grew. What if what had happened to Martha happened to Grace? Although Noor had tried writing to Ella there had been no reply. When no one else was in the office, she had attempted to telephone the villa but the line was dead.
Martha’s fate unsettled her, and she knew she had to do something to keep Grace safe. Until her parents returned, she decided it was in Grace’s best interest if Noor formally adopted her. When she was eighteen, Noor would tell the girl about her parents and how she and Noor were related also. She worried about the mine too – what if the government repossessed it? Until she could prove that Mr and Mrs McCain were still alive, she had no documents whatsoever to prove that the property belonged to Grace or Toby, and if any dispute went to court, the little money they had would soon be used up in legal fees. But if Noor, as her aunt, became the child’s legal guardian, the property would surely remain safe with them.
She had thought of asking Max for his advice. After much hesitation, she decided she couldn’t risk it, so went instead to a Chinese lawyer. In order to protect Grace’s financial future, he created paperwork to show Noor had legally adopted Grace at the suggestion of the girl’s father, and that in the event of her parents’ deaths the Wosterholme tin mine belonged to the girl.
For a while, everything was smooth as the water on a windless lake, but Noor knew that settled weather always changes. All her life, she’d watched for signs of the monsoon, but even with a trained eye, sometimes it was impossible to know just when the storm would blow in.
‘Guess what?’ Grace had come home with her face beaming and her cheeks rosy. ‘I’ve been asked to perform at the school prize-giving. Just me! A piano solo. It will be in front of all the distinguished guests,’ she continued. ‘I must admit, I’m feeling awfully nervous.’
Noor smiled as she listened to the child chatter.
‘There are going to be prizes, too – oh, and a special guest.’
‘Do you know who it is?’
‘No. But I know that he’s just arrived in Ipoh from England. What are you going to wear? I think everyone gets dressed up, and there’s a tea or something after.’
Noor thought of all the mothers dressed in fine clothing, wearing hats and gloves and proud smiles. She had been wondering for a while now about buying a camera. She’d long admired the one that Ella had owned, and it occurred to her that she could take snaps of the occasion, and of other important events in Grace’s life, to show Ella and Mr McCain when they returned.
When the day came, Noor arrived early at the school hall with her box brownie. She was wearing a new pale blue dress and hat. The hall had the atmosphere she associated with churches and there were rows of chairs set up for all the parents and guests. Despite the fans turning overhead and the doors that stood open wide, it was already warm and stuffy. Noor would have preferred to sit next to an open window but chose a seat close to the front and roughly in the middle, where she would have a good view of the piano and could take a snap of Grace. On the stage there was a wooden podium, a table full of books, which must be prizes, and a dozen chairs arranged in a half-moon shape, waiting like a smile for the important visitors to arrive.
Noor fanned herself with a programme and waited as the room filled with noisy conversation. A woman sat next to her and nodded in greeting but didn’t speak. The room grew warmer and warmer, but at last the principal walked in and asked them all to rise. A hush fell over them as a few teachers, an elderly man in a linen suit and a younger man in military uniform walked in.
The principal introduced the guests and announced that prizes were going to be given out to their star pupils. ‘To those girls who have excelled in music, art or mathematics,’ she said with a smile, ‘prizes will be given by Charles Atwell, the new British High Commissioner, who has recently returned from England.’
Noor sat up a little taller and focused on the man’s features. He was imposing – handsome in a conventional way, with grey eyes that scanned the room. He didn’t smile but pressed his lips together as he gazed out at the audience.
The principal then gave a speech, explaining how remarkable it was that only a few short few months after the Japanese had left, the school had managed to re-establish itself and was able to welcome so many talented girls back into education.
‘I must thank you all for your hard work,’ she said, casting a glance over the audience, ‘and I promise you that we will go from strength to strength.’
Speech followed short speech, then a procession of students received their prizes and at last Grace came out and sat down at the piano. Noor’s body tensed as she watched the girl focus and compose herself.
Then Grace raised her hands and a hush fell over the audience. Noor hardly dared breathe as she waited, then it was as though magic was being made as she listened to Grace’s fingers dance across the keys. The music was light yet powerful, layered with emotion and sensitivity. When Grace finished, clapping erupted around the room. Noor stood and clapped the loudest as her heart swelled. Grace bowed to them. Everyone was clapping or standing now, and Noor noticed Charles Atwell looking attentively at the soloist as he applauded.
After the prize-giving had finished, Noor joined the other parents and pupils outside where cups of tea, sandwiches and sweet cakes were being handed out from a large table. The important guests had started to mingle with the parents of the head girl and prefects, but Noor caught sight of the High Commissioner looking at Grace once more.
He placed the teacup he was holding on a table and walked towards them. Noor nudged Grace, whose face paled as such an important visitor approached her. Noor’s stomach tensed as she noticed one of the mothers turn her head as the High Commissioner held out his hand to Noor.
‘Good afternoon. And this clever young lady must be your daughter?’
‘Oh, no. Not my daughter. I am Grace’s guardian. She is my niece.’
‘Well, you’re a very talented girl, Grace. There aren’t many people your age who can play the piano as well as you can. I’ve done a few prize-givings in my time and, I have to say, you stand out.’
Noor’s heart fluttered as he spoke, aware of how heads turned to watch her conversing with such an important visitor. ‘We have recently come to Ipoh, though,’ she explained nervously. ‘We lived out in the country before, near Menglembu. Our home and tin mine were occupied by the Japanese. We moved here when they had left.’
‘That’s very interesting.’ The High Commissioner gave an absent-looking nod, his gaze still fixed on her. ‘Well, it’s been an absolute pleasure meeting you, young lady. I do so hope nothing gets in the way of your piano-playing.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Ella tensed her hands into fists when the plane came in to land. The sun was at its highest. Out of the window, she could see miles and miles of jungle – the fronds of palm trees like an undulating green sea – and then small islands came into view. This was her home, yet although her memories were all anchored here, she felt like a stranger, as though she didn’t belong in Malaya, just as she didn’t belong in England.
For a moment, she took in the panorama of the peninsula and outlying islands, scattered like emeralds in the glinting sea. She tried to shake off her unease before the plane descended further and previously tiny buildings grew larger and the barracks and red tiled roofs of Seletar aerodrome drew closer.
Anxiety knotted and settled in her stomach at what lay ahead. Even though Andrew had finally responded to her letters and written, ‘I’m out East and, as luck would have it, on my way to Singapore,’ she was nervous of discovering what had happened to Grace and Johnnie.
And now, after a journey of almost sixty hours with two stops, the fact that Andrew was actually going to be there in Singapore when she landed, that together they would visit the mine and the villa, possibly find out the truth, was almost too much for Ella to bear.
Humidity punched her like a physical blow as the door opened at Seletar. She’d forgotten what the climate here was like. Already she could feel sweat dripping down her spine as she clutched to her the bag of documents she was carrying. She collected her suitcase from the hold, then looked out for the BMA driver to whom she had been told to hand the bag. Walking across the landing strip to the hut where an official was waiting to check her passport, she looked about her.
A parrot screeched from a nearby palm tree and instinctively she jumped. Toby would love it, she thought, he’d find it incredible. And it was a miracle, she realised, for her to be here again, for the war to be over, and for Andrew to be waiting for her in a car outside.
Once she’d had her passport checked, she continued to look for someone to give the documents to and was relieved to see a smart-looking official black car waiting. The door opened as she approached it.
‘Ella McCain?’
‘Yes.’
There was a brief exchange with the driver as she showed him her passport, then some form-filling before she handed over the documents. And that was it. She was here, in Singapore, with free time stretching ahead of her, allowing her to begin her search. She took a deep breath and looked around.
Andrew was waiting for her beneath a palm tree. He was very tanned, wearing light trousers, a navy polo shirt and sunglasses. As she made her way towards him, he took off the glasses and grinned at her.
‘So,’ he asked, ‘how do you like flying?’
‘Well, I have to admit it’s much faster than sailing, but that’s probably all that’s good about it. I shan’t tell you how queasy I feel. But I can’t believe you are actually here in Singapore and can’t tell you how grateful I am to have your support.’
He took her suitcase and walked beside her. ‘Lucky I was here reporting. Besides, I couldn’t let you do this alone.’
‘Oh, Andrew – that’s so kind of you, really. Now, tell me. What on earth have you been doing out here?’
‘Jesus, I’ve been all over the place! Japan to start with. This is us.’ He indicated a battered open-topped scout-vehicle parked beneath a tree. ‘I managed to buy it off a savvy local. Used to belong to the Japanese and, my guess, the Brits before that.’
‘Were you in Hiroshima? Was it awful?’
‘I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind. But, yeah, Hiroshima then Singapore. I’ve been into Malaya a couple of times. And Burma.’
He put her case in the back where she noticed several jerry cans of petrol, canteens of water and his camera equipment, then indicated she should slide into the passenger space next to him. The leather was burning and stung her legs, and a haze of heat lifted from the bonnet as Andrew started the engine. She wished she had a pair of sunglasses and a hat. It was stupid of her not to have remembered how blinding the sun could be, but it hadn’t occurred to her that they would be travelling in an open-topped vehicle.
‘I thought we should head straight to Johore, if that’s all right with you?’ Andrew asked, handing her a canteen of water. ‘I don’t think there’s much to be gained from hanging around in Singapore.’
Ella had been hoping for a rest before they headed off, a wash and a change of clothes. Instead, she took the canteen and nodded. She drank as he drove.
‘It’s hard to believe,’ she said, ‘that only a short while ago the Japanese were here driving along these roads. Do you know what’s happened to them all?’
‘Goodness.’ Andrew ruffled his hair with his hand. ‘I think many of them have been taken to the islands – Rempang, Galang – ready to be repatriated.’
‘There must be thousands of them.’
‘As well as all the Japanese civilians who were here. I understand that many of them had been living in Malaya for years before the war, acting as informants. Is that true?’
‘I suppose so. There was a Japanese couple who lived near our village. They were rather sweet. I’d hate to think that they were informers, but they probably were.’
They drove past a river with a small rickety bridge crossing over it. There were so many bridges like this in Malaya, she recalled. Unstable and flimsy, a couple of men could destroy one in no time. With such poor defences, no wonder Singapore and Malaya fell so swiftly to the Japanese.
‘Tell me,’ she said, watching a mother with a baby slung in a sarong around her back, fetching water from the river, ‘what was it like when you arrived in Singapore? The people here, they don’t seem at all interested in us as we drive by.’
‘Well, then people were lining the streets, waving flags and clapping on the quaysides. I don’t think the locals have ever been so glad to see the British.’ His hands slackened on the steering wheel. ‘But like everywhere else I’ve been lately, there’s so much destruction – it’s hard to take it all in.’
Of course, she was expecting it. She’d seen all the photographs of the London Blitz – Oxford Street with the store fronts blown out and debris covering the street; the liberation of Bergen-Belsen and the piles of corpses and dying people; finally, the atomic destruction in Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Really, was there anything else left that could shock her?
‘But I have to warn you,’ Andrew was saying, ‘things aren’t that great in Malaya.’
As they drove, she listened to everything he told her, trying to picture it all, but her stomach was tense and a wave of sickness took hold as she worried about discovering the truth of what had happened to Johnnie and Grace.
‘When Singapore was reoccupied, there were truckloads of soldiers driving through the streets,’ Andrew said. ‘As for Changi, well, there the Japanese had just upped sticks and left the poor blighters in gaol with instructions not to move. The Union Jack and Australian flag were hoisted high, and Mosquito planes flew like insects against the jungle, dropping canisters of food and medical supplies. I watched it myself from high ground. The air was thick with planes.’
She refocused. Changi.
‘You know Melody’s husband was there? Do you think there’s any chance Johnnie could have been too?’
Andrew shook his head. ‘They’re all out now and the Red Cross know the names of everyone who was incarcerated.’
Her mood sank.
They crossed the causeway into Johore. Ella had got so used to the buildings and streets in England that seeing her homeland with fresh eyes made her want to cry. The small streets of terraced houses in her adoptive country were now replaced by narrow thoroughfares where shop-houses kept their windows shuttered against the sun and chik blinds were used to make temporary awnings, to shade the produce sold out on the pavement from the sun. Bamboo poles holding washing had been set out of every upper window, and all about her she could hear birds singing. Unease fell upon her as people stared at them, and Ella wished then that they had a covered car that would shield her from these curious gazes as well as the heat.
