Free The Red Pavilion by Jean Chapman Page A

asked.
    Liz went over all they had done since arriving at Bukit Kinta. Seen the police, telephoned Raffles, telephoned Josef. The army were already on the move — somewhere. ‘Get back to Rinsey as quickly as possible, I think. If we could find some of the workforce … ’
    ‘Your father had already made several reasonable rubber returns,’ Blanche confirmed. ‘I found a note of them in a book in the bedside table — he always wrote the day’s yield down when he was in bed.’
    Liz was moved by this detail remembered from their former life, and, as if making a concession about Josef, she added, ‘So why aren’t they still working? What, or who, scared them off? We should be able to find out much more about that.’
    ‘You’re right,’ Blanche agreed, ‘and seeing those young soldiers has given me another idea. One even Mr Sturgess could not object to.’
    ‘My God! Really?’
    ‘Liz,’ her mother reprimanded, ‘I wish you wouldn’t blaspheme so much.’
    Sometimes she thought her mother’s reprimands were quite endearing, they were so wonderfully normal — and ludicrous, considering the example she set.
    ‘I thought I might ask Harfield if the army ever billeted any of their men with planters. During the war we had plenty of the armed forces billeted on us at Pearling.’
    Liz had uncomfortable recollection of officers’ wives being put into spare bedrooms, and of officers coming on leave to stay with them; she had resented having so many strangers in her home.
    Blanche paused outside a store with a good display of tinned foods, beer and spirits. ‘Shall we take some supplies back?’
    ‘I wonder if there’d be a car for sale in Ipoh?’ Liz said. ‘We can’t keep borrowing vehicles and we shall need more than Daddy’s jeep.’
    ‘I wouldn’t feel very confident about buying anything like that without a man.’
    ‘If Mr Harfield has time I’d ask him to give it the once-over — if I found something I liked.’
    ‘Yes, I’d trust his judgement,’ said Blanche.
    *
    ‘Time is obviously something George Harfield has not much idea of,’ Blanche commented later as they waited to eat with him.
    Li Kim, his smiling Chinese cook, came to ask if they would eat on their own, adding with a grin, ‘I can keep hot for tuan. He will not mind.’
    ‘Is he often late?’ Blanche asked.
    ‘No, no.’ The smile became a laugh. ‘He likes his food too much.’
    ‘Oh, we’ll wait, Li Kim,’ Blanche decided.
    ‘I bring you drink and titbits. Keep you going.’
    ‘We really shouldn’t talk in clichés to our houseboys,’ Blanche murmured as he left.
    Over an hour later they heard George’s jeep. He got out, slammed the door savagely and came in glaring around as if wondering what to bang or destroy next. One thing was certain, he had quite forgotten he had two house guests. He stared at the two women for several seconds before seeming to realise who they were.
    ‘What is it?’ Liz’s words were automatic, hardly a question, for this was a man in shock.
    Blanche went to the drinks cabinet and poured a large brandy. He drained it and looked worse, more vulnerable, more agonised.
    ‘Is it my father? Have you found — ’
    ‘No!’ The denial was immediate, emphatic. ‘No, no,’ he repeated apologetically. ‘It’s my headman ... it was my headman.’
    ‘Dead?’ Blanche queried, taking the glass from his hands and pouring another brandy but adding soda this time.
    George stood for a moment, his eyes closed. ‘You never get used to it — not that kind of death.’
    ‘I think you should sit down and tell us,’ Blanche said.
    ‘It might relieve my mind, but it’s hardly for ladies’ ears.’
    ‘Oh, bugger that!’ Blanche admonished. ‘Don’t you think we’re going to hear? You know what this country’s like.’
    ‘I’d rather hear the truth than rumour.’ Liz remembered a tendency for stories to grow as quickly and as tall as jungle vegetation.
    George sat on the edge of a long