I’ve been so busy since I arrived. We went to a drinks party at Georgina’s when we first got here, and the following day Gerry and I went on a trip to Dhobi Ghat. I’m enclosing a snap of the river – can you believe the locals do all their laundry there? Mountains of it! Yesterday I went to a lunch at Charlotte, my neighbour’s house and met a couple of other expat women. So, you see, I’m settling in!

  I’m glad to hear that Socrates is well, but I do miss hearing his little miaows and having him curling up on my lap while I sew by the fire. I’ve no pets here, I’m afraid, but there are two parrots that we’ve christened Gin and Tonic, and a monkey who creeps up to the house. I’ve called him Tommy. He’s such a tinker – yesterday he stole all the eggs from the kitchen!

  Miranda tapped the end of her pen rhythmically on the desk, thinking hard. She was desperate to write about her true feelings, but also fearful of revealing too much to her parents. Getting the balance right was always trickier than she thought.

  I want to let you know that, although I miss you both very much, and that my thoughts often turn to Henry, I believe coming here will help me to put all the terrible events behind me. I know I have never explained everything fully, but I do believe the time has come to leave these memories in the past. Henry’s death, although difficult, I will try not to blame myself for – and you are right, I see that I do need to be kinder to myself.

  As for the time I was so ill, you were both so supportive and I have never really thanked you enough, especially for not telling Gerry about that awful incident with the police.

  I did toy with the idea of volunteering at a local hospital here, but Gerry has made me realise that this isn’t the right thing for me. I need to move forward, not backward, and as you can see, we are moving in good circles and I hope that this will enable Gerry, in time, to make contacts and get the promotion that he deserves.

  She paused, re-reading the words that she had struggled for so long to write, then signed off, satisfied at last. After, she folded the letter and sealed it, then wrote a thank-you letter to Charlotte for the lunch the previous day. It didn’t seem right to ask Mei Ling to take the letter over, so she made her way to Charlotte’s bungalow with the intention of slipping it under the door.

  Charlotte was sitting on the verandah, drinking tea, as she approached. She looked lovely in a pink silk tea dress embroidered with white sprigs of flowers. A pair of large, rose-tinted crystal pear-shaped drops hung from her ears and a pearly-white clutch lay on the chair next to her. She caught sight of Miranda and waved her up.

  ‘I did so enjoy the lunch,’ Miranda said, sitting on the chair opposite. ‘And meeting Mary and Jane.’

  Charlotte’s lips pinched together, and Miranda wondered if she’d caught her at a bad time.

  ‘I’d better let you get on,’ she said, taking in Charlotte’s attire once more. ‘I’m sorry, you look like you’re going out.’

  ‘There’s no hurry. I’m taking Jack to see a specialist at Mount Elizabeth in a bit. He’s still waking at night, although typically he’s fast asleep right now. I thought it was his teeth to start with, but they’ve broken through. I really don’t know what it could be.’

  ‘Have you tried clove oil? Or letting him chew on a cold carrot?’

  ‘I’ve tried everything. To be honest, I’m at my wit’s end.’

  ‘Does he have a good routine? It helps if they don’t sleep too much during the day.’

  ‘Yes. I think so.’ She picked a piece of invisible fluff from her dress. ‘You seem to know a lot about babies.’

  Miranda paused. Had Charlotte guessed, she wondered? She braced herself to explain but the telephone rang and, a moment later, Charlotte’s amah came out.

  ‘Mrs Yeardley,’ she said, ‘it’s the receptionist from Mount Elizabeth. They say you can’t go today.’

  ‘What? Oh, honestly.’ Charlotte stood up, frustration on her face. ‘You’ll excuse me, won’t you, Miranda? I’ll be back in a moment.’

  Miranda waited. She could hear Charlotte’s voice rising and falling, a hint of anger in her tone. A mosquito landed on her leg. She swiped at it but missed and knocked over Charlotte’s teacup instead.

  ‘Oh my goodness!’ She managed to stop it rolling to the ground, but the tea had spilled everywhere. What an idiot she was! She’d have to go and get a cloth before Charlotte returned.

  But, inside the house, curiosity about Jack took hold once more. Charlotte was still talking on the telephone, the amah was in the kitchen. There was no one about.

  Time seemed to lengthen as she made her way towards the nursery. The door was only half-open, but she could make out shapes in the darkened room: a nursing chair, a chest of drawers that had been painted white, and, in the corner, away from the draught of the fan, a cot with mosquito netting.

  The child was lying on his stomach, his face turned away from her. The two whorls of a double crown were visible in his white-blond hair. She crept towards him, giddy with the agony of it, dizzy with the scent of talcum powder. He was thinner and longer than Henry. A dribble of saliva rested in the corner of his mouth. She wanted to reach out a hand to wipe it away, to pick him up and inhale the milky, powdery softness of him. She lingered, standing by the cot, then she lifted the netting and ran her fingers through his hair.

  ‘Miranda?’ Charlotte stood in the doorway; her features were clouded with concern. There was agitation in her voice as she stepped into the room. ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It doesn’t look like that to me. Jane said she caught you snooping around yesterday. I wasn’t prepared to believe her, but now, well …’

  ‘I … I’m sorry. I knocked your tea over, and I was looking for a cloth to wipe it up with.’

  ‘Oh, come on. You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?’

  Jack stirred.

  Charlotte sighed. ‘I really don’t know what to make of this.’

  ‘I can explain.’ Tears blistered. ‘I just wanted to have a look at Jack.’

  ‘He would have woken soon enough.’

  ‘I know,’ her voice sounded hollow. ‘I think I’d better go.’

  Charlotte nodded and moved away, letting her step through the door and out of the bungalow.

  The shame was painful. Miranda’s heart beat so loudly she was certain that Charlotte would be able to hear it too. How stupid she could be. Charlotte would always be doubting her, not quite trusting, watching her actions. Miranda could imagine her discussing the matter with Jane and Mary, them all being quick to judge. Integrating with these women had been within her grasp, and with one action, she’d blown it all away.

  ‘Morning, tuan. You wake early.’ Khalish held a small basket as he walked away from the hens. Nick could just about see in the dawn light that there were five or six eggs clustered like dirty stones at the bottom. ‘Would you like me to make you coffee?’

  ‘Morning, Khalish. I thought I’d get some exercise first – a quick run up to Bukit Kalang. I might even get a good view of the sunrise.’

  He hadn’t been able to sleep, and he’d given up trying at six-thirty, so he’d got up, pulled on his shorts, an old top and a pair of plimsolls.

  ‘Why for you want to go run?’ Khalish looked puzzled.

  ‘I used to do it when I was in the army, to keep fit.’ He demonstrated a star jump and laughed at Khalish’s bemused expression.

  ‘You not in army now.’

  ‘No.’ But today he felt as though he were ready for combat of a different kind; although he wasn’t certain yet what it was.

  ‘I’ll be back in an hour or so, Khalish. I’ll eat breakfast at eight.’

  ‘Yes, tuan.’

  He began slowly, running along the garden path, then past the government bungalows and up towards the ridge leading to Bukit Kalang. The combination of humidity and being unfit was making running harder than he remembered. He placed one foot in front of the other, but despite the shade of the bamboos, it was as though he were running through something thick and sticky. The path narrowed, and he had to push back branches as he ran. Overhead he could hear the chatter of jays and the click-click from monkeys as they shrieked warning.

  He ran on, determined and panting, his body dripping with sweat, until he reached the summit, where he flopped on to the ground. Below him, there was the ridge, and beyond that, miles and miles of jungle covered in trailing wisps of mist. From the horizon, orange and pink bled into the clouds and a stork flew across the emerging sun. He sat up and watched the progress of the sun rising. It was majestic and glorious, a full-bodied red that infused the sky with fingers of vermilion.

  The sun’s warmth caused the mist to disappear. Parakeets screeched overhead, and he heard the high-pitched call of a mynah bird. A crested grebe flitted from the trees, and he watched it dart between the bamboos and banyan trees. Strands of wood smoke were visible from kampongs hidden in the canopy below. To the west lay the city and the Singapore River. If he squinted, he could see how it snaked out towards Clarke Quay and the sea. To the east was Tanjong Pagar, where the hospital lay, and beyond it was Bukit Brown, where the municipal graveyard was. He felt a prickle of guilt thinking of Chen and his pauper’s burial, and he wondered when it would be.

  As he sat, he leant forward and hugged his knees. Close by he could hear the sound of running water. A waterfall, perhaps, feeding into the MacRitchie Reservoir? The view was so beautiful and full of emerging activity. He wasn’t sure he could leave Singapore, but, equally, he wasn’t sure if he could stay. Why had he become a doctor? What was he going to do with the rest of his life? He had asked himself those questions a thousand times, and here, with this panorama beneath him, the scent of wild jasmine and the chattering monkeys, he asked them once again.

  In one of the plots of vegetation among the scattered huts below, he caught sight of an elderly woman with a young child. They looked like they were hoeing or digging, the child running backwards and forwards towards her. He must have been a similar age, five maybe six, the first time his grandmother had shown him the green daffodil shoots pushing through the grass beneath the sycamore trees at Coombe, her home.

  ‘Remember them, Nicky, the bulbs we planted in the autumn?’ Her voice was so clear in his head and he could almost feel the pressure of her hand on his.

  ‘In a few days, the flowers will open. Won’t that be exciting?’

  It was thanks to her that his love of nature had begun, and the spring flowers always made him think of her. He’d almost forgotten those holidays at Coombe, kneeling at his grandmother’s side, planting seedlings, weeding out dandelions, constructing cloches and collecting plump berries from the raspberry canes. Now he longed for it, that connection with the earth, the promise of all new things.

  But he ought to get going. He’d have to be quick if he were to get back to Belvedere for eight, let alone get to St Augustin’s by nine. If he got to St Augustin’s early, he’d call in to see Alice Matthews. She would know more about Chen’s funeral, and if he had time, he might pay a visit to Bukit Brown.

  Running down was difficult, and his knees began to ache as he went. After a hundred yards, he took a path to his left, scrambling between the bamboos and straight towards the sound of water running. He headed towards the sound, his thirst gripping like a fever. As he pushed aside the dripping palm leaves and parted the tall sticks of bamboo, he found a pipe jutting out of the hillside. The water seemed clean, so he splashed his face to cool down. As he did so, the leaves parted and the black-and-yellow head of a mangrove snake flashed towards him, forcing him to spring back in shock, his heart pounding.

  Jesus! He ought to be more careful. Next time he’d wear better shoes, and bring a compass and water with him. A stout stick would be a good idea too. He scrambled on back down the hill, leaping to avoid puddles of swamp water, but as he landed, he turned on his right foot, and a sharp searing pain ripped through his ankle.

  ‘Damn!’ he yelped. He tried to put his weight on his foot, but the agony was too great. ‘Bugger!’

  He limped towards a tree stump, sat down, took off his plimsoll and sock and began to examine his foot. There was already swelling around the lateral ligaments. It could be that the anterior fibres were torn but he hoped he hadn’t damaged any of the small bones. What he needed was an ice pack, or at least to keep his foot raised to stop the injury bearing the full twelve stone of his weight. He glanced about for a stick to support his weight and hopped towards a piece of broken bamboo. He tested it; it would do. He then took off his top and soaked up the water from the swamp with it to bring down the swelling of his throbbing foot.

  How bloody stupid he was. He, of all people, should have known better. Other than Khalish, no one knew where he was. Something rustled in the undergrowth nearby.

  ‘Hello!’ he shouted. ‘Is there anyone there?’

  The bamboos rustled again, then nothing. It was probably another snake. He pulled the damp top over his body and leaning on the cane, he hobbled down the slope. For an hour he limped, sweating and cursing, until, finally, he emerged from the jungle. Through the palms he saw the government bungalows of Alexandra Gardens, but further still lay the red Malacca-tiled roof of Belvedere.

  ‘Jesus! It’s bloody miles away.’

  The temperature had to be around ninety, the sun was burning his back and his lips were cracking. He had no idea what the time was, ten, ten-thirty? He felt dizzy and he feared he’d get heat stroke if he didn’t get back soon – the trees in front of him seemed blurry. He hobbled towards the nearest building, the pain in his ankle shooting up his calf.

  In the drive, he was relieved to see a woman sitting on the verandah with her head in her hands. It was the woman he’d met the other evening at the Metcalfes’ party, Miranda Lewis.

  Nine

  ‘Excuse me!’

  Miranda lifted her head, squinting as her vision readjusted in the sun. A man was limping towards her, and as he hobbled closer, she could see that it was the doctor with whom she had danced at Georgina’s party.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Miranda asked, as he finally reached her. ‘Come on, sit down.’ She stood to help him. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’ve messed up my foot. Twisted it running down the hill.’

  She frowned. ‘Well, you’d better let me have a look.’ She undid his plimsoll and gently pulled it off to see the blue hue of a bruise forming. ‘That needs ice. Stay there, I’ll get some.’

  She went into the kitchen and emptied ice cubes from the tray into a tea towel. Nick was probably thirsty, she realised, as she filled a glass with water. A few moments later, she returned and squatted down by the chair, placing the glass on the floor and the tea towel of ice on his foot. Her hair grazed his foot as she leant forward. Carefully, she placed the wayward lock behind her ear.

  ‘Ouch, that’s bloody cold!’ Nick winced.

  ‘That’s the point, isn’t it? It will bruise even more if I don’t.’

  He groaned.

  ‘Doctors make the worst patients,’ she grinned. ‘Come on. Lift it up. Put it on this other chair and rest it.’

  He placed his foot on the chair she pushed towards him.

  ‘I’m glad you were out here,’ he said. ‘What were you doing?’

  She sat down on the floor near him, crossing her legs.

  ‘Nothing. Just thinking.’ She shrugged. The last thing she wanted him to know was that she’d been upset and dwelling on her disastrous lunch.

  ‘You ought to be careful.’ He rearranged the icy towel. ‘There’s all sorts out here. Last week, my houseboy found a cobra on the balcony.’

  ‘You’re a fine one to talk.’

  ‘I suppose I am. Can I?’ He indicated the glass of water.

  She passed it to him; condensation slithered down the glass on to his fingers. Long and sensitive-looking with the nails chewed down.

  ‘How’s it feeling?’ she asked. ‘Has the ice helped?’

  ‘A little bit. It isn’t throbbing so much.’

  ‘You won’t be able to run on that for a few days.’

  ‘I know. Let’s see if it’s any better.’ He tried to stand up. ‘Sh-ugar!’ She could see how much the pain seared his tendons and clouded his features.

  She weighed up the situation: she’d really wanted to be left alone, but he clearly couldn’t walk back unaided. It was annoying, but at least it was a distraction from her own melancholy. She’d have to help him.

  ‘I’ll ask Jinhai to drive you home; you shouldn’t walk on it yet.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance.’

  ‘Don’t be so daft. Where is it that you live?’

  ‘Belvedere – it’s at the top of the hill.’

  She stood up and went to find Jinhai at the back of the house, where he was sitting down on the verandah steps with Mei Ling. There was a newspaper on his lap, and a pot of jasmine tea and a plate of what looked like rice cakes were between them. They seemed to be having a heated debate about something.

  ‘Jinhai, I need you to bring the car around straight away. My neighbour has hurt his foot and we need to take him home.’

  ‘Of course, madam.’

  Miranda returned to Nick, who held the tea towel and ice in one had while he examined his injured foot.

  ‘Jinhai’s bringing the car. Can you lean on me to get there?’ She stood next to him, her hand held out.

  ‘I think it’s better now.’ He hobbled towards her, placing his hand on her arm. He was heavier than he looked, and her arm muscles strained with his weight.

  ‘There’s no need to come with me,’ he added, as he leant into her for support.

  ‘I think I will. Just to make sure.’

  Jinhai had brought the car and, although it was only a few feet away, he continued to use her as a support as they made their way to the car. She opened the door, and he sat on the back seat with his leg outstretched.

  ‘Do you know Belvedere, Jinhai?’ Miranda sat in the seat next to her driver.

  ‘Yes. House at top of hill.’

 

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