Free The Red Pavilion by Jean Chapman

back to his desk and with an expressive shrug explained the way the world could be. ‘What I really should say is, no news is good news. You see, his vehicle has not been found. It is harder to hide a vehicle than a man. As times goes on, of course …. ’
    ‘Yes.’ Blanche acknowledged the worrying reality that three days and nights was a long time for anyone to be out of touch. ‘I wondered if you could advise me, should I call on the civil authority downstairs and see if they can do anything more, or should I ask for military assistance?’
    ‘You already have that, Mrs Hammond.’ He smiled and nodded indulgently. ‘Major Sturgess instigated investigations the moment he reached his command; they in turn called our headquarters.’ He paused to lift placating hands as Blanche glanced sharply at him. ‘I had to hear your story. I assure you everything that can be done to find your husband is being done. Major Sturgess fought in this particular area during the war; if you had asked for the best man in the world fitted to help you, you could not have chosen a better.’
    They left the police station a little stunned by the glowing testimonial Sturgess had received. ‘No wonder he laughed when we left Anna’s home,’ Blanche commented. ‘I don’t suppose we fooled him for one moment.’
    ‘ You don’t think Daddy’s gone off ... ’ She had to hear it said.
    ‘No, I don’t,’ Blanche said and, after hesitating, added, ‘I could perhaps wish he had, he might be safer.’
    Liz grasped her mother’s hand and squeezed it hard. ‘You don’t seriously think he’s ... ’ She could not bring herself to say the word; the inspector had avoided it too. They rarely take prisoners, he had said.
    ‘I’m trying not to think anything, and I’m certainly not letting anyone rest until we do know what has happened to him — someone somewhere must know.’
    As they turned away from the police station, a small, incongruous convoy of camouflaged British army lorries swept out from the old Colonial style Ipoh railway station. A jeep armed with a Bren gun preceded four lorries, protected at the rear by another jeep with another Bren gun at the ready. The two women were regaled by whistles, greetings and propositions from some young British soldiers.
    Waving, they stood still to watch them pass. Several lifted their rifles in salute. ‘You English?’ one called and when they nodded and waved again they were given a cheer, which in her heart Liz returned with good measure. It felt as if they were seeing them off into battle — ‘Wish Me Luck As You Wave Me Goodbye’.
    Liz noticed one young man sitting right at the back of the last lorry who neither waved nor smiled. He sat quite motionless, the fingers of his right hand curled just sufficiently to keep his rifle steady as it slanted between his legs and across his body. His cheekbones were high, the planes of his cheeks flat, nose well defined — and she itched to put him on paper. She found the pose so poignant, or was it the slight twist of his lips? He made her think of knights of old, of young squires put into the panoply of war, clean, handsome men sent to possible destruction. The intelligent saw the recruitment from the beginning for what it was — and they were the bravest of all. She knew that as soon as she had the chance she would sketch him.
    ‘Not the only one here who doesn’t want to be,’ Blanche said quietly.
    The two stood quite still until the lorries were out of sight. The convoy was a confirmation that this was a war — against terrorists who infested the country like fleas on a hedgehog.
    ‘I keep remembering that other boy’s face while that Chinese terrorist had hold of him,’ Liz said, wondering where the troops were heading. She hoped nothing the authorities or Sturgess said or did would endanger Anna, her grandson, her village — or the still young man on the back of the lorry.
    ‘Can you think of anything else we can do?’ Blanche