The Hills of Singapore (32 page)

From Zhen's love of cleanliness and from life in Batavia, Charlotte had seen the benefits of soap and water. The Mohammedans were particularly clean in Java, washing frequently, especially before attending mosque. In Scotland bathing was discouraged as harmful and even degenerate. Tigran, and his sister Takouhi, however, bathed frequently, enjoying the relaxing and perfumed waters. In the tropics, bathing was a physical necessity, and Charlotte simply ignored the Church's restrictions on such matters, as, indeed, she did on all such other regulations.

Charlotte was finishing a letter to Charles. She smiled. She felt in a girlish whirl of happiness. She had given serious consideration to the marriage settlement. She would settle a large sum on Charles immediately but would retain control of most of her fortune and the guardianship of her children. She had not fully discussed this with Charles, but that could wait until he returned and they officially announced their engagement here in Singapore. This was when she intended to tell Alex and Adam about Charles and their forthcoming marriage.

A sudden scream disturbed these thoughts, and Charlotte rose and went onto the landing. Jun was standing in the doorway to Alex and Adam's bedroom, her hand covering her mouth. She looked at Charlotte as she came along the landing. The sheets had fallen from her arms and lay in profusion about her feet.

Charlotte was somewhat worried. Sometimes a snake found its way into the house, usually downstairs. There had been a cobra in the kitchen once that had caused a fearful fuss. But occasionally other small creatures found their way upstairs. “What on earth is the matter?” she asked. Jun pointed mutely, and Charlotte approached the room with some apprehension. She peered around the door but could see nothing. She frowned.

Jun had gathered up the sheets and passed them to her sister. Both women were still standing staring into the room. Then, in the silence she heard a pretty sound, a chirpy cheery song.

The two Malay women stared at each other and then smiled. Charlotte looked at them.

“Sorry
puan
. My sister was frightened. I forgot to tell her about Master Iskandar's cricket. Sorry,
puan
, sorry.”

They gathered up the sheets and went down the stairs. Charlotte followed the sound. Bending, she looked under his bed and there, in a small bamboo cage, she found the small culprit.

She pulled out the cage and looked at the cricket, which was still singing gaily. She examined the cage. It was beautifully made, and inside were small bowls of food and water. She shook her head and smiled. So Alex had found a cricket somewhere. Perhaps Tarun had purchased it for him. She put the cage on the bedside table and went back to her letter.

At dinner that night the boys were full of the simian Rajah Brooke and his antics. At night he was left outside in the garden. Charlotte had spoken seriously to the boys and told them she would not abide a cage. If Rajah Brooke stayed, then so be it. If he ran off into the jungle, then that was how it was meant to be. Charlotte knew, for now, the monkey was tame and happy, but as he grew he might seek the companionship of his own kind. Still, he must be free. The boys had reluctantly agreed.

“Alex, I see you have found another little pet. Your cricket half terrified the maid today.”

Alex, in the middle of a mouthful of curry and rice, suddenly swallowed noisily and began to cough. Charlotte looked up at him. She knew her son. Something was amiss; she felt it instantly. Alexander had his face down into his plate, his serviette in front of his mouth. He took a drink of water and said nothing.

“He is called Jinling, Mama.” Adam spoke up smiling cheerfully. Alex shot him a glance, but Adam did not see. “Ah Soon has one too; he is called Zhuling. I should like one too, Mama, when I am older. Alex says I am too young, but may I, Mama, when I am older?”

Charlotte looked at Adam and smiled. “Well, we shall see. What pretty names.”

Adam took another spoonful of curry and nodded seriously.

“And where did you find Jinling and Zhuling?”

Adam waited for his brother to answer, but when the silence continued a little he spoke up. “From Ah Soon's father and his friend. They meet to have fighting matches. Alex told me.”

Alex said nothing but shot a glance of annoyance at his brother. This time Adam saw it and fell quiet. He put down his spoon and stopped eating, and his face crumpled a little. He had said something wrong, he knew, but he wasn't sure what. He loved Alex and always wanted his approval.

Charlotte watched her sons. Seeing that Adam was suddenly upset, she changed the subject. “Well, well, never mind. There is fruit trifle for sweet. And after, shall we play pick-up-sticks or build a house of cards?

Adam looked up and smiled and picked up his spoon. Alex seemed to relax, and Charlotte decided to say nothing more. She knew now who had given Alex the cricket. It was Qian and Zhen. Zhen and Qian had been spending time with the boys whilst she was away. She would question Tarun tomorrow. She began to tell the boys about the Dyak warrior men and how they went on pirate raids to gather heads, and immediately the boys perked up and the matter was forgotten.

Afterwards, Charlotte thought about this matter for several days. Tarun had confirmed that the boys had gone once or twice into the Chinese town after they visited Ah Soon's house. Charlotte could not blame Tarun. She had agreed that Alex could play with Ah Soon, and she realised that this cricket business had taken place at Qian's home.

She sent a pleasant note to Qian: she understood the boys had fighting crickets. From now on she would like Ah Soon and Alex to meet at her house to enjoy this activity. If he was agreeable, they could meet every Friday after school, and she promised that they would only speak English. She had several English books for Ah Soon and his little brother.

A day or so later, when Qian received the note, he understood instantly. Xia Lou knew about Zhen's involvement with Ah Rex. She was trying to stop it without upsetting the children. He would have to speak to Zhen.

When Alex learned that he would not longer go to Ah Soon's house for the cricket fights, his angry reaction was instant and totally unexpected. Alexander was a boy who was usually in command of himself. Charlotte had never really seen his temper since he had outgrown babyhood.

“It is not the same here. You don't understand,” he announced.

Alex was containing his annoyance with effort, Charlotte could see. She waited to hear him out.

“It is not the same, Mother. It is a Chinese thing, not an English thing. Ah Soon's cricket fights on his side with his father and my cricket fights for me and Uncle Zhen.”

Charlotte's heart gave a jump, and she sat down and motioned him to sit also, opposite her. “Well, I see. I did not understand that. Perhaps you can explain it to me, Zan. Uncle Zhen?”

Charlotte's eyes grew quite narrow, but Alexander did not see. He calmed down in the face of his mother's words.

“Uncle Zhen, yes. He is a friend of Ah Soon's father. He teaches me things, Chinese things. I like him so much. He tells me about China. We speak Hokkien together and he … well he shows me … Oh, I don't know. I wish my father was here.”

Charlotte felt her heart go out to him. He sought a father. He missed Tigran, as she missed Tigran.

Instinctively, had they found each other, these two, who were father and son? She put out her hand to Alex, and he took it, drawing close to his mother.

“I'm sorry, Mama. Uncle Zhen says that a man must control his mind. He would not like this. I got angry. It is not acceptable. I am sorry.”

“I see. Well, all right Alex. If it is important to you, you can continue to have the cricket fights at Ah Soon's house.”

Alex came into his mother's arms. She held him tight against her. She loved him so much, it was overwhelming. Soon she would have to speak of Charles and her marriage, but not yet.

Now, though, she must speak to Zhen. He had entered into her son's mind, somehow. It was time to confront him. Her marriage, her son, these were her own life. This had nothing more to do with him. She wrote to Qian and asked him to arrange a meeting with Zhen. As she sent this note out from her home, she was suddenly filled with a feeling of dread. But why? What had she to fear? She was in control of her life, of her fortune, of her children. Wasn't she?

39

The meeting had been arranged at Qian's home. Charlotte fixed her hat in the mirror. Her hand was shaking, and she chided herself. She had changed her dress twice. It was ridiculous. She had settled finally for a wheat-coloured silk. The boys were both at Shilah's house, visiting with their Uncle Robert. Charlotte did not even begin to question anything about Robert's family arrangements. Teresa was still at her parents' home at River Valley Road with Andrew. The new baby was fractious and difficult, and Teresa wanted her family around her.

She removed her hat. It looked English and silly. She did not especially like hats. She left her head bare, her hair arranged in a chignon. Unconsciously, she knew, she was preparing herself for him. She went downstairs quickly, not wishing to think of anything, and took up her parasol and left the house. She wanted to walk, it was not far. A pleasant walk in the late afternoon breeze.

Despite herself, she always ran her fingers along the low fence of her friend Takouhi's house, feeling her friend's presence in the wood. She crossed Coleman Street and, as always, she remembered George Coleman with love and smiled. She arrived on the corner of High Street and North Bridge Road, the corner where Qian's Chinese home dominated the street.

It was as if the years had fled. She felt those first impressions as her feet trod the streets. With each step towards him the years fell away. She felt eighteen again, her age at their first meeting. She had not set foot again in the nutmeg garden on Bukit Larangan since she had left. She did not even know if it was still there. It did not matter.

When she arrived at Qian's door, she was dangerously aware of Zhen's power and her own vulnerability. But her son's life was what was of concern here. His life and future—this alone—was the business before her now.

Upon her knock, the door swung open and a servant bowed. Qian came to greet her.

“Is he here, Qian?” she asked, and he nodded. He could feel the waves of anxiety from her. Nothing had changed. The atmosphere was heavy with their emotions.

“He is here. Do not worry. I am close by.”

Charlotte put her hand on Qian's arm. He was a good friend. He bowed to her and led her to the courtyard with the green porcelain table and chairs and the gnarled old tree. He opened the double wooden doors, and Charlotte went inside. The light was muted, spilling into the courtyard. Zhen was seated at the table. He did not rise as she entered but merely looked up at her.

His eyes were hooded, expressionless. She knew him well enough to know how well he hid his feelings. He raised his hand and indicated the chair opposite him. Charlotte felt her temper rise. She was not his chattel to order about. She did not move, but her heart was pounding. She shook her head a little, annoyed at herself. Why did she let him have this effect on her, as if he owned her?

Zhen picked up the small teapot and poured golden tea into the Chinese cups decorated with peonies and butterflies of turquoise and rose.

“Once you liked drinking tea with me,” he said, and her heart missed a beat.

She knew what he was doing. Peonies and butterflies symbolised married bliss. He had married her that evening long ago with a ceremony of tea. He was reminding her of the many times when he had made her tea, before making love, after making love. Tea was connected inextricably to love of him.

She had to sit. She almost feared more that he would rise and come and stand next to her. So she sat, the table between them. The teacups remained untouched.

Zhen put his hands together on the table. He had elegant hands, the nails perfectly groomed, strong hands but with a delicate lightness.

Charlotte stopped looking at his hands. That was enough. “You are spending a great deal of time with my son and making him presents. Why?” she demanded.

“Because he is my son too.”

Charlotte gasped and opened her eyes wide, looking directly into his for the first time. He gazed at her, willing her to deny it. Her eyes had such depth, like the still waters of a lake, filled with changing colours. He felt his body's reaction to her, the need to fall into the depth of her eyes. Every impulse told him to rise and take her into his arms, kiss her until she lost her will, but he stopped this feverish thought and waited.

Charlotte tore her eyes away from his. She took up the tea and drank. Her throat felt parched. Slowly she put down her cup and said, “Why do you say such an extraordinary thing?”

“Because it is true. Because I know the dates. Because he looks like me.”

Charlotte had no answer.

Zhen softened his tone. “He is our son, Xia Lou. Made by our passion, and I love him.”

Charlotte looked up. “Oh, Zhen,” she said. She wanted desperately to go to him and fall into his arms and tell him, “Yes, yes.” She'd cried a million tears when Alex had been born, desperate for him to know this child was his child. Now she was terrified, not knowing what he meant to do.

She took a deep breath. “Very well. Yes, he is your son. But he can never know.”

Charlotte looked into Zhen's eyes. “He can never know, you understand,” she said fiercely. “It would destroy him.”

Zhen rose, and Charlotte gasped. He stood looking down at her. “Destroy him? To know his own father?”

Charlotte stood too, defensive. “Tigran is his father. A great Dutch merchant is his father. Not a Chinese merchant, a Dutch one. It is everything to Alex. He remembers Tigran. He has two aunts, half sisters and half brothers in Batavia. Adam shares his blood. He is the heir to a great fortune and a great name. That is what he knows.”