The Pearl of Penang

1 When the letter from Douglas Barrington arrived, Evie Fraser was at breakfast. Instead of eating, she was thumbing through the situations vacant pages of The Lady magazine. It was a weekly ritual that Mrs Shipley-Thomas, her elderly employer, had long since given up complaining about. After nine years working as a paid companion, Evie would have loved to break free and try something different. But every time she identified a position that might be promising, she weighed it against her current one and found it wanting or insufficiently different to justify the upheaval and the inevitable distress of her employer. Mrs Shipley-Thomas was all too aware of Evie’s frustrations, but had grown complacent, believing her companion would never do anything about them. A letter addressed to Evie was a rare occurrence. Mrs Shipley-Thomas looked up from shuffling through her own correspondence and frowned. ‘This one’s for you, my dear. It looks rather interesting. All the way from Malaya. Judging by the number of times it’s been forwarded, it’s a wonder it got here at all.’ She tapped the envelope with a fingernail. ‘I don’t know anyone in Malaya.’ Evie put down her teacup. ‘It seems you do, my dear. Perhaps it’s a long-lost admirer trying to track you down. Not that it’s any of my business.’ The old lady snorted, evidently amused at the improbability of her paid companion having such a thing as a gentleman friend. Evie reached to take the missive, feeling a little frisson of excitement, then braced herself for disappointment. Nothing in her life ever justified a sense of anticipation. She turned the envelope over in her hands. It had been forwarded from her former home to her family’s solicitors and thence to here. Unfolding the thin paper, she flattened out the crease. It was written using a typewriter and its sender must have positioned the paper in the carriage at an angle so the words were sloping slightly from left to right, probably unintentionally. The keys had been hit so hard that in places the letters had pierced the paper. It indicated haste and a lack of care, probably executed by someone unaccustomed to typing. The date was about seven weeks earlier. She glanced at the bottom of the page first and saw it was from her mother’s cousin, Douglas Barrington. Penang February 15th 1939 Dear Evelyn, News of the death of your father has finally reached me here. Please accept my belated condolences. I also understand your mother is now living in America and that you are unattached. I will come straight to the point. Following the death of my wife, Felicity, I am in need of support and companionship and it occurred to me that our interests may coincide. If you are willing, I am prepared to make you an offer of marriage. I regret that the distance involved and my business commitments here in Malaya prevent my journeying to England to ask you in person. If this offer is acceptable to you, I will make arrangements for your passage to Penang. My friend, Arthur Leighton, the District Officer here, will be in England on home leave with his wife Veronica, returning in late June and they have offered to accompany you on the voyage. I look forward to hearing your response. If I have misunderstood your circumstances, please accept my apologies. Yours sincerely Douglas Barrington ‘Oh, my goodness!’ Evie dropped the letter, then picked it up and read it again. ‘How extraordinary!’ ‘Don’t keep me in suspense, dear girl. Spill the beans.’ ‘It’s a proposal of marriage.’ ‘By letter? Gracious! These modern men. Who on earth is it from?’ ‘You’d better read it.’ Evie held out the piece of paper. ‘I don’t have my glasses. Just give me the gist.’ ‘It’s from my mother’s cousin. He’s asked me to travel to Malaya and marry him.’ ‘Heavens above. Your mother’s cousin? He must be far too old for you.’ She picked up the sugar tongs and dropped a lump into her tea. ‘Actually, he’s younger than Mummy. About twelve years older than me.’ And have you met this ill-mannered man?’ ‘Just once. At his wedding. I was only fifteen. He danced with me.’ She closed her eyes, summoning up the memory. What she didn’t say was that it had been the most thrilling thing that had ever happened to her. He had been the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Thinking about it now made her feel giddy with the romance of that moment. ‘At his wedding?’ Mrs Shipley-Thomas looked horrified. ‘His wife has since died.’ ‘When?’ ‘He doesn’t say.’ ‘And based on one dance with you many moons ago he’s decided you’ll make him a suitable spouse?’ She gave a little snort. ‘You must have made a big impression.’ ‘I’m surprised he remembers me at all. He appears to have made the offer on the assumption that I’m on the shelf and desperate.’ ‘Well you are, aren’t you?’ Mrs Shipley-Thomas gave another little snort. ‘How old are you now, Evelyn? Thirty?’ ‘Twenty-seven.’ ‘I think that qualifies you as an old maid.’ Evie pushed back her chair, sending her tea sloshing into the saucer. ‘Do be careful, dear. You really are the clumsiest girl. Where are you going now?’ ‘To write my reply.’ ‘Good show. Waste no time in sending him packing.’ ‘I mean to say yes.’ ‘What?’ Mrs Shipley-Thomas’s face contorted with shock. ‘I intend to accept his proposal. You’re quite right. I am desperate to avoid becoming an old maid. And I can think of nothing more exciting than going to live in a faraway place and marry a handsome man.’ ‘You’re not serious. You can’t possibly do that. I was only teasing you about being an old maid. I didn’t mean it. Don’t be hasty. At least give it some thought. Malaya is a long way away.’ She gripped the edge of the table, the blood draining from her face. ‘Besides – what will become of me?’ ‘You’ve plenty of time to find another paid companion. I won’t be leaving until the end of June. Mr Barrington has to make the travel arrangements.’ Evie picked up her copy of The Lady and handed it across the table. ‘There are plenty of promising candidates advertising their services in here.’ Heart hammering, she left the room, her dignity only slightly impacted by tripping and stumbling on the rug. Safely in her bedroom, Evie leaned against the closed door, waiting for her pulse to stop racing and her chest heaving. What had she done? It wasn’t too late to go back downstairs and tell Mrs Shipley-Thomas she’d had second thoughts. Her employer would be relieved and Evie could remain in her safe cosy world where nothing out of the ordinary ever happened. A short business-like letter to Douglas Barrington and the episode would be forgotten and her life could go on as before. She moved over to her desk and took up a piece of writing paper and her fountain pen. Dear Douglas Thank you for your kind thoughts regarding the loss of my father. His death was a great shock but I have had nearly nine years to adjust to life without him and my mother. Thank you also for your offer of marriage. I regret I am unable to accept Evie struggled to come up with an acceptable basis to refuse her cousin’s proposal. She could hardly write because I am scared stiff, yet in truth that was the only reason for her reticence. The death of her father, his decision to take his own life rather than face the consequences when he was caught up in a financial scandal, had knocked Evie for six. Even now, years later, she missed him and despite what he had done, grieved for him and felt abandoned. When her mother had wasted no time after his death before joining her long-term lover in the United States, Evie’s world contracted further. While she and her mother had always had a strained and distant relationship, finding herself completely alone had not been easy. Her dreams of marrying, or of pursuing her education, were shattered. Becoming a lady’s companion had been based on necessity not inclination. Hands propped under her chin, she tried to think it through. It was foolish to let annoyance at Mrs Shipley-Thomas’s insensitivity push her into a decision with lifelong consequences. Something so momentous required a more measured and rational approach. She must set aside her emotions and let her head rule her. Taking another piece of paper, she drew a line down the centre and headed one column Reasons to Accept and the other, Reasons to Refuse, and began to fill in the spaces beneath. The arguments for refusing consisted of: I barely know him I have no idea what living in Malaya would be like He’s much older than me His letter was blunt with no hint of romance Once I go I may not be able to come back It’s a huge risk After a few minutes she crossed out the third item. Twelve years wasn’t that much of an age gap and hardly a reason in itself not to marry Douglas Barrington. She drew a circle around the last item, as that was the crux of the matter – the other points were all different aspects of risk. Turning to the empty first column she wrote: Dancing with Douglas Barrington was one of the most exciting and memorable moments of my life I’ve always wanted something interesting to happen to me I hate living here I’m bored with working for Mrs ST Mrs ST doesn’t appreciate me If I don’t do this I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what might have happened This is probably my last and only chance for love, marriage and a family Douglas is the most handsome man I’ve ever met. She read the list again and thought it sounded very childish and superficial. She crossed out the last point. On reflection the most salient point was the one about spending the rest of her life wondering ‘what if?’. She drew a circle round that. In the end it all boiled down to whether she wanted to grasp hold of life or cower timorously and carry on with her humdrum existence. She dipped her pen in the inkwell and filled it. Taking a new sheet of paper, she crafted her reply to Douglas Barrington. A telegram arrived from Douglas Barrington two weeks later, advising Evie that his friend, Arthur Leighton would be in touch about travel arrangements. Mrs Shipley-Thomas pleaded with Evie to stay, offering her first a bigger bedroom with a view over the garden, then when that failed, a substantial pay rise. Evie was determined to resist such blandishments, telling herself that if her employer valued her so highly she should have offered them before there was the threat of her leaving. When the pleading became anger and resentful silences, Evie knew she had made the right choice. Mrs Shipley-Thomas was governed entirely by self-interest and clearly didn’t give a fig about Evie’s welfare and future. After all, why should she? As the weeks passed, Evie’s fears diminished and her excitement grew. She couldn’t wait to get on the ship and wave goodbye to dreary England and her dreary life. As soon as a suitable replacement was found within the pages of The Lady, Mrs Shipley-Thomas told Evie she would pay her wages until the agreed leaving date, but she would like her to go now, as Miss Prendergast, the new companion, was willing to start immediately. Relieved to be free of what had become an oppressive atmosphere, Evie took a room in a boarding house in a cheap and unfashionable area of London while she waited for the date she was due to sail. Mr Leighton had been in touch by letter to suggest Evie meet his wife for lunch, in order that Veronica might impart some advice about life in Malaya and what Evie needed to pack for the journey. The women arranged to meet in the restaurant in Marshall and Snelgrove. Anxious to make a good impression, Evie wore her best suit, even though it was too warm that day for wool and it was a little dated. In her haste, she got on the Tube in the wrong direction and had travelled four stops before she realised her mistake. Late for the appointment, she had to miss her planned visit to the powder room to repair her lipstick and check that her slip wasn’t showing. As a result she was hot and dishevelled when she rushed into the restaurant, before remembering that she had no idea what Veronica Leighton looked like. Standing on the threshold, Evie looked about, trying to decide which of the unaccompanied women might be the wife of a senior civil servant. She approached a matronly woman in her late forties, but it wasn’t her. About to enquire of a harassed mother with a baby – Mrs Leighton may well have a child – she felt a tap on her shoulder and almost jumped out of her skin. ‘Miss Fraser?’ Spinning round, she nearly crashed into the speaker, who took a step backwards. ‘Steady on!’ the woman said curtly. ‘So sorry. You’re Mrs Leighton?’ Slender and willowy, Mrs Leighton had the grace and figure of a ballet dancer. Her dark glossy hair was swept back into a tight chignon. Big almond-shaped eyes were highlighted with kohl and mascara, and her pale skin had a translucent glow that belied the fact she lived in a hot climate. Her mouth was a tight Cupid’s bow, glossy with the brightest, reddest lipstick Evie had ever seen. She was dressed in a deep green silk costume that looked as if it came from Paris, set off by a pearl necklace that left no doubt as to its authenticity. Automatically, Evie put up a hand to cover her own cultured pearls, then dropped it. There was no point. She knew she must appear cheap and shabby next to this exotic and expensively-dressed goddess. Mrs Leighton looked Evie up and down critically – Evie detected a slight curl of the lip. Perspiration beaded on Evie’s forehead. Damn the silly choice of a woollen suit when it was early summer. ‘I’m frightfully sorry I’m late. I got on the wrong underground line.’ Mrs Leighton’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Always better to take a cab, darling,’ she drawled. ‘The underground’s so grubby.’ Evie felt shabby and awkward. In contrast, Mrs Leighton was like a rare butterfly. With the slightest inclination of her carefully coiffed head, Mrs Leighton summoned the head waiter to show them to their table. It was a corner one with a good view of the room, yet a distance away from the mêlée. ‘Thank you, Robert,’ she said, breathily, conveying in her intimate tone that she was a familiar and much-valued guest. Once they were seated, Evie said, ‘You’re a regular here, Mrs Leighton?’ ‘What makes you think that?’ ‘You seem to know the waiter.’ Mrs Leighton gave a little laugh. ‘I make it my business to behave as though every waiter is my dear friend. That way one gets the best table and the best service.’ ‘But you knew his name.’ ‘Only because I asked him. Really, darling, don’t you do the same?’ ‘To be honest I never eat in restaurants.’ Mrs Leighton made no verbal response, but Evie sensed disdain mixed with amusement. She squirmed inside, her palms clammy. This was going to be an ordeal. They made their choices from the menu – for Evie, lamb cutlets, for her companion, a salad. No wonder she was so svelte. Veronica Leighton leaned forward, her gaze fierce. ‘How long have you known Dougie?’ Evie stammered. ‘He’s my mother’s only cousin. So I suppose all my life.’ ‘That’s not what I meant. How well do you know him?’ Blood rushed to Evie’s cheeks. ‘Not well at all.’ She hesitated then, unable to dissimulate under the gaze of Mrs Leighton, added, ‘We’ve actually only met once. At his wedding. Years ago.’ About to add that they had danced together, she stopped herself in time. ‘Poor dear Felicity. Dougie was devoted to her. He was utterly devastated when she died. We all were.’ Evie fidgeted with her napkin. ‘I remember she was very beautiful.’ ‘As an angel. Graceful,’ she said pointedly. ‘And a wonderful person too. So full of life. Always smiling and laughing. Such fun. Everyone adored Felicity.’ ‘How did she die?’ ‘You don’t know?’ Mrs Leighton frowned as Evie shook her head. ‘Malaria. Three years ago. Tragic. So terribly, terribly sad.’ The waiter brought their food, but Mrs Leighton barely paused. Her salad lay untouched as she continued to speak. Evie tucked guiltily into her cutlets but pushed the potatoes aside. ‘Of course, none of us expected Dougie to marry again. We’re all utterly mystified.’ Her piercing eyes fixed on Evie and she gave a little shake of her head, which conveyed that the mystery was even greater now that she’d actually met the intended bride. Evie wanted to get up and run out of the room but she made herself sit it out. Mrs Leighton answered her own question. ’I imagine it’s because he needs a son. The one thing dear Felicity didn’t give him. Just little Jasmine. And he can’t possibly hand his inheritance on to her.’ ‘Jasmine? He has a daughter?’ Evie put down her knife and fork, appetite gone. ‘Gracious! You don’t know Dougie at all, do you? Jasmine is seven years old and is living in a convent on the mainland.’ ‘The mainland?’ The tutting was barely disguised. ‘Penang is an island. Haven’t you even looked at a map, Miss Fraser?’ Evie, mortified, couldn’t manage another mouthful. Mrs Leighton made her feel like a naughty schoolgirl – one lacking in any sophistication and by implication clearly an unsuitable spouse for Douglas Barrington. Her face must be red and blotchy and she wished she’d had time to stop at the powder room. Drawing air deep into her lungs she let it out slowly. ‘Mrs Leighton,’ she said at last. ‘As you will have gathered, I know next to nothing of Douglas Barrington and his current circumstances. After my father died, my mother went to live in America and I’m afraid I lost track of family matters.’ Mrs Leighton pushed her untouched salad away and motioned for the waiter to remove it. ‘So, what on earth possessed you to accept a marriage proposal from a man you hardly know?’ ‘If you don’t mind me saying, Mrs Leighton, I’d prefer not to answer that. Your husband suggested that you might be willing to offer me some advice about living in Malaya. What kind of clothing I need to bring. That sort of thing. If you’re not prepared to do that, I will pay the bill and bid you goodbye. I have a lot to do before we sail.’ Leaning back in her chair, Mrs Leighton nodded. ‘So you can stand up for yourself. That’s good. You’ll need to with Dougie. I was worried you were going to be a doormat. Believe me, he’ll try to make you one.’ She glanced around the room and caught the eye of their waiter. ‘Why don’t I order us each a “Gin and It”? We can have a good chat and then look at clothes together. Cotton and linen. Just day dresses – you can buy silk over there and get your evening gowns made up. There’s a fabulous little Indian chappie who can run up a gown in an afternoon. I’ll introduce you. He can copy a design straight out of Vogue. For daywear keeping cool is the thing. It’s hot as blazes in Penang. All year round. You can probably get rid of most of your wardrobe as it’s far too steamy for things like that.’ She gestured dismissively at Evie’s wool suit. Clapping her hands together she said, ‘How does that sound? Oh, and shall we dispense with the formalities? Call me Veronica.’ Her mouth formed a smile that her eyes didn’t echo. At least the full-on attack had stopped, but Evie had already decided that Mrs Veronica Leighton was a first-class b***h. Half an hour later, having written a list dictated by Mrs Leighton of essential items to bring with her to Penang, Evie had had enough advice and was determined it wasn’t going to extend to choosing her new wardrobe. Quite apart from being bossed around, the kind of clothes Mrs Leighton had in mind would be beyond her limited budget. Pleading a headache, she made her escape and took the much-maligned underground to High Street Kensington and bought herself a couple of cheap cotton frocks and some new underwear in Barkers. She could get more clothes made when she got to Malaya. Her existing wardrobe was unsuitable for a hot climate. At the suggestion of the landlady of her boarding house, she took her winter clothing to a nearby church, for distribution to the poor. Her limited funds were now almost exhausted. She’d need to stretch the pennies until the sailing date in a week’s time. That night, as she lay in bed, struggling to sleep, she wondered whether she’d made a terrible mistake in agreeing to marry Douglas Barrington. One thing she had not included on her decision-making list was the question of why Douglas had made such an offer in the first place. It now seemed reckless of him – and even more reckless of her in accepting. Why on earth had he asked her to marry him? And why hadn’t he mentioned he had a daughter? Would the little girl be living with them after they were married? Was he really only marrying her to father a son? Why choose her? He barely knew her. Veronica’s words kept repeating in her head. How could Evie ever expect to replace the beautiful Felicity? She’d been crazy to think she might. And hadn’t Veronica said that all Douglas’s friends were amazed at his decision – and all of them had adored Felicity? Tossing and turning on the lumpy mattress, she thought back to the wedding of twelve years ago. The bride had been breathtakingly beautiful and a perfect match for her dashing groom. While Douglas Barrington had indeed danced with the teenage Evie, he’d also danced with almost every woman present that day. She was deluded to imagine that he had retained the memory of her over the years. But she couldn’t help hoping that he had, that he might even one day come to care for her. Then reality struck again. How could she, a woman more at home on a hockey pitch than a dance floor, ever hope to win the love and affection of such a man? A week later, Evie stood on the quayside looking around, trying to spot the Leightons among the crowd thronging the waterfront. She couldn’t board the ship yet as Mr Leighton was to meet her and hand over her ticket. Most of the people on the dock appeared to be friends and relatives there to wave off passengers. She began to panic. ‘Yoo hoo! Evelyn!’ The call came from above. Looking up, Evie saw Veronica Leighton leaning over the guard rail on one of the upper decks of the ship, waving a silk scarf as though she were a French revolutionary leading the mob into battle. A man appeared beside Evie, his hand extended in greeting. ‘You must be Evelyn. I’m Arthur Leighton. Pleased to meet you.’ Evie had to hide her surprise at Veronica’s husband. Her assumption had been that scary Veronica would be married to a handsome lounge lizard. But instead of a suave and elegant roué, Arthur Leighton looked more like a schoolmaster: dishevelled, with a thick mop of sandy hair that flopped over his brow until he brushed it away with his fingers. He appeared to be younger than his wife, but Evie had never been good at guessing people’s ages. With one finger he pushed up his spectacles from where they had slipped down his nose, and grinned at her with a wide and genuine smile. Arthur Leighton reminded her of a Labrador puppy and Evie knew at once she was going to like him.