Free The Hills of Singapore by Dawn Farnham Page B

not disguise her beauty though—the lustre of her black hair, the depth of her violet eyes, her grace. John had had experiences in the jungles of Malaya when he was a mere lad in his teens, surveying plantations in Penang and on the mainland. He had been offered young girls, the custom shocking but commonplace. He was not tempted. When the time was right he would marry, and the native women held no charms for him at all.
    He gazed at Charlotte with feelings of profound respect for her widowhood, but stirrings also of something else. She had taken a mirror from her purse and was wiping the corners of her eyes. She had been crying, he saw, and his heart went to her. The stirrings turned into a tiny trickle.
    â€œMrs Manouk,” he began and she smiled.
    â€œJohn, call me Charlotte, or Kitt, everyone does who knows me. We are almost the same age and cannot be so formal, surely.”
    He bowed, disarmed. “Thank you. Charlotte, er … Kitt, would it interest you to accompany me on some of my outings? I sketch a great deal and move about the island continually. I have a sailboat. If one day …”
    Charlotte turned to face him.
    â€œYes, John, I would like that. Thank you.”
    She smiled at him and he felt enveloped in radiance. The mere trickle of a moment before turned into a stream, and he felt a rush of warm happiness enfold him.
    The band suddenly struck up, announcing the arrival of the guest of honour and John offered Charlotte his arm to return to the ballroom.

8
    Zhen rose in frustration. Noan was asleep and the night was hot. He went to the window to catch a breath of air from the air well. This irksome presence every night made him short-tempered. He longed for his freedom. The arrival of Noan’s period yet again had given him some relief though it was a deep disappointment. He had stayed away for eight days. Eight precious days, spent with Qian. Now, again, he had made love to his wife. He strove to please her, making a link between joy and fruitfulness. The rashes she had sometimes had disappeared, and she seemed fresh and happy; her balance had returned. But his seemed increasingly out of alignment.
    He leaned his arms against the sides of the window and stared down into the well. The moon was full, he had just realised, and was reflected like a silver orb in the water which lay on the stone floor. He looked up, and it was overhead, and the moonshine was so bright it illuminated everything around him. A faint smell of sandalwood floated on the air. Its odour kept off mosquitos and the servants burnt it in the courtyard.
    His thoughts turned as always to her, to Xia Lou. He wanted to see her, to talk to her, though it was impossible. He had bitten back these desires for months and now the heat and this frustration and his annoyance with Noan put him in a black temper. He decided to leave, to go to his home on Circular Road.
    He dressed quickly and went out into the corridor. As he went down the stairs he heard a noise, a door opening somewhere. He stopped briefly then went on. A candle was burning in the courtyard and the moon was so bright it was like a dusky evening. Then he saw Lilin entering the courtyard from the kitchen and stopped. She looked up and started, giving a small cry, seeing his shape standing there in the moonlight. She had not been sure if he would be here tonight, for Noan’s period had just finished. Her heart gave a painful leap. The sight of him—just this—made her pulse race. She could not help it. She had wanted him since the first moment she had seen him at her sister’s wedding. In the moonlight, in silhouette, his physical presence made her weak.
    All but stunned that she was here, at this hour, Zhen went up to her and without a word took her by the arm and half dragged her through the courtyard. The noise, small though it was, roused a servant from the kitchen and Zhen waved him away. Damn it, there would be servant gossip tomorrow. Taking