The House of Seven Fountains (8 page)

With a beam of satisfaction Seng fetched his baggage and opened it out at her feet. Inside the bundle were piles of cutwork table linen, vivid silk pajamas, nylon blouses and hand embroidered handkerchiefs. The suitcase contained a selection of lacquer boxes, ivory figurines, Siamese silver trinkets and delicately colored china ornaments.

Seng was an expert salesman, and he knew that English mems were easily tempted into buying more than they could afford. Since this missy with the yellow hair was related to the late
Tuan
Cunningham, she must be very rich and would not quibble if he raised his prices by a few dollars. With a wary eye on the doctor, he extolled the fine quality of his wares.

“You like these? American nylon. Very smart. Very pretty, eh? He held up a pair of diaphanous lace-trimmed panties.

Vivien shook her head and tried not to blush.

“How much is this?” she asked, hastily indicating a tray cloth with an intricate border of drawn threads.

“Only five dollars. Made in Hong Kong. Very fine work.”

“Don’t give him more than two dollars,” Stransom said, and Vivien hid a smile at the angry expression on Seng’s face.

“Four dollars,” he
protested
in an aggrieved tone. “This cloth very fine. I make special price for little missy.”

“Do you want it?” the doctor asked her.

Vivien nodded.

“Two dollars and fifty cents,” he said to Seng.

“Three dollars,
tuan
.”

“Two dollars seventy-five cents or you’ve lost your sale,” Dr. Stransom said in a final tone.

“Okay, can do,” Seng agreed, looking very disgruntled.

Putting the cloth aside, he drew a tissue-wrapped parcel from the bottom of the bundle and unwrapped it with an exaggerated display of care.

At the sight of the stiff silk jacket that he held up for her inspection, Vivien gave a gasp of delight. The silk was a subtle shade of green, exquisitely embroidered with birds and flowers. It had a narrow mandarin collar and was fastened down the front with silk frogging.

“May I try it on?” she asked.

“Sure, sure,” Seng nodded vigorously.

Vivien slipped her arms into the wide sleeves and touched the beautiful embroidery with reverent fingers. It was a coat fit for a Manchu princess, and the birds and blossoms were like fairytale things in their fanciful design and delicate coloring.

“How much is it?” she asked.

Seng went into a eulogy on the merits of the coat before finally informing her that it would cost fifty dollars.

“How much is that in English money?
”
she asked the doctor.

“About five pounds ten.”

“Then I’ll have it,” she said happily.

Although Seng tried to persuade her to inspect the rest of his wares, she eventually convinced him that she had concluded her purchases and went into the house to fetch some money.

As soon as the wily old salesman had gone, Dr. Stransom said he must be off to the surgery.

“You will go on using the pool, won’t you?” Vivien asked.

“If that is your wish.”

Some impulse that she could not quite define made Vivien hold out her hand. For an instant his lean brown fingers clasped hers in a painfully strong grip. Then he was gone.

After lunch
Vivien told Chen that she wanted to go into town to do some shopping.

He bowed. “I will fetch the car. Perhaps it would be wise for Ah Kim to accompany the
mem
in order that the dealers do not ask prices that are too high.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea. She probably knows the best shops, too,” Vivien agreed.

Half an hour later Chen parked the car in the center of the town and opened the door for her.

“I will wait here until the
mem
returns,” he said.

“I may be a long time,” she said doubtfully. “I know, you take the car home, Chen, and Ah Kim and I will come back in a
trisha
.”

Chen shook his head. “It is not customary for English
mems
to ride in
trishas
,”
he said.

“Why on earth not? Everyone else does.”

“The
trishas
are not always clean. I will wait.”

“But I want to ride in a
trisha
,”
she answered firmly. “They look clean enough and Ah Kim can give the driver instructions.”

If Chen was annoyed at her persistence he did not show it. Indeed she was beginning to wonder if he ever displayed any emotion.

“As the
mem
wishes,” he said in an expressionless voice.

“Don’t worry. We shall be back by teatime,” she assured him. “Come on, Ah Kim.”

For the next hour she explored the busy shopping center, Ah Kim trotting at her heels like a watchful bodyguard.

Between the covered pavements and the roadway there were deep monsoon drains without which, in the rainy season, the town would soon be flooded. Now, during a dry spell, the channels were littered with rotting garbage. The smell was appalling, for as Julian had warned her in Singapore, it was the peak of the durian season and the malodorous husks were scattered everywhere.

The shops had no windows but opened directly onto the pavement, their wares frequently encroaching on the path. Some of the premises were shared by two traders, and Vivien was startled to see a jewelry showcase on one side of a shop and a tinsmith hammering away at pots and pans on the other. Most of the silk shops seemed to belong to Indians who stood in the entrance extoling their goods for the benefit of passersby. As soon as they saw an English girl approaching they would seize a roll of cloth or a pair of nylons and thrust them at her with a flood of persuasive patter, shrugging philosophically when she shook her head and passed on.

Suddenly she felt a light touch on her arm and found Ah Kim pointing at a shop across the road.

“Good,
mem
.
This good.”

Remembering what Chen had said about the
amah
saving her from being fleeced, Vivien followed the Chinese girl into the selected store. With Ah Kim’s guidance she bought several dress lengths which they then took to a tailor to be made up. Before very long Ah Kim was laden with packages and Vivien was carrying a parcel containing a bathing suit and a box of cosmetics. With a slight pang of guilt, she realized that she had spent quite a large sum of money, but everything was so cheap and she had brought so little with her from England that she felt justified in having one glorious splurge. To indulge her own tastes without counting every penny was a new and invigorating experience.

They had just emerged from the shoemaker’s when there was a loud hooting in the road, and Vivien saw Julian grinning at her from his car.

“Hello there. I was just coming up to see you. Can I give you a lift home?” He got out of the car and came toward them. “What have you been doing? Buying up the town?”

“Almost, but I think we’ve been extravagant enough for one day. A lift would be most welcome. These pavements are like hot coals and my feet are beginning to sizzle.”

“Right. In you go. I’ll put your loot in the back with Ah Kim,” he said cheerfully.
“
What about your own car? Is Chen waiting for you somewhere?”

“No, I sent him home. We were going back by
trisha
if you hadn’t come along.”

“Good lord, you can’t use those filthy things,” Julian said in such a shocked tone that Vivien decided not to tell him that they had ridden a short distance in one during the afternoon.

As they were driving past the fish market she caught sight of a tall figure standing at the curbside. It was Dr. Stransom. As they passed him she smiled and waved, but he could not have seen her, for he made no response. Or was it possible that he had deliberately ignored her, she wondered uneasily.

CHAPTER THREE

By t
he end
of her first week at the House of Seven Fountains, Vivien was completely at home. For the first time in her adult life she felt a growing sense of security. Oddly, the knowledge that her sojourn in Malaya was not likely to last more than six or seven weeks at the most did not disturb her. Life in England and the prospect of returning there seemed infinitely remote. Absorbed in the present, she did not concern herself with the future.

Each day offered new interests. Escorted by Chen, she visited the village of small holdings that Julian had told her about. Chen confirmed that all the tenants were either former occupants, of the town jail or cripples who had been obliged to beg on the streets for a living.

Her visit to the little settlement caused a considerable stir among the inhabitants, who crowded out of their attap houses to see her, at first silent and watchful and then murmuring excitedly to each other.

“What will happen to them when the estate is sold?” she asked Chen. So far she took it for granted that she would have to sell the estate unless Mr. Adams had any alternative suggestions.

Chen shrugged. “One cannot say. If the new
tuan
is a hard man they will go back to the town, some to steal, some to beg.
”

“But couldn’t they stay here? They are in no one’s way.”

“All men are not as
Tuan
Cunningham. The land is rich. It could be planted with crops that would bring money,” he said succinctly.

That evening she sat on the veranda and thought about the village and what might become of it under new ownership. Perhaps the sale could be made on condition that the villagers were allowed to keep their plots. Although Mr. Adams had made it clear why her godfather had made her his heiress, she was still confused about how she could best fulfil her new responsibility.

Mr. Adams had told her that he was empowered to pay the household bills until the future of the property was settled. But what happens after that, she wondered anxiously. The income from her godfather’s legacy will never cover all the expenses of a house like this, and I haven’t any way of earning more. As far as I can see, I have no choice but to sell the house. There’s still something oddly mysterious about the whole affair.

She was gazing thoughtfully at the distant hills when she noticed a dark blur in the sky. It was moving steadily in the direction of the house, and as she watched, the amorphous cloud gradually resolved itself into a series of wavering, threadlike formations. At the same time the strange green twilight bathed the landscape, warning of approaching nightfall.

“The flying foxes come,” Chen said suddenly from behind her.

Vivien jumped. Chen always wore rubber-soled shoes and moved so noiselessly that he often startled her.

“Flying foxes?” she asked curiously.

“
They have the wings of a great bat and the head of a fox. The season has begun and each night they will fly overhead to plunder the fruit orchards farther south,” he told her. “I will fetch the
tuan’s
field glasses.”

He went indoors and Vivien watched the long V-shaped skeins coming closer. Within a few minutes the first wave was directly overhead, hundreds of dark-winged shapes beating through the dusky sky. Looking up through the powerful binoculars that Chen had fetched, she could see that the creatures were very like foxes with huge leathery wings.

“What a marvelous sight,” she said, when the last stragglers had faded into black specks.

“The
tuan
also liked to watch them,” Chen said, and for the first time his expression was quite friendly.

“Chen, is M
al
ay a difficult language?” she asked. She had discovered that it was the lingua franca of the country. Even the
trisha
riders, most of whom were unable to read or write, could speak enough Malay to cover their dealings with the other races of this polyglot nation.

“It is a language that is easy to speak badly and difficult to speak well,” Chen said. “The
tuan
spoke it as a man bo
rn
to this land. He was also fluent in Tamil and Cantonese. He was a great scholar and it was his belief that if all men spoke with one tongue there would be no wars.”

“Could you teach me a little Malay?”

“It is not necessary for the
mem
to learn. The English language is known to many and I can speak for the
mem
.”

“Yes, I know, but I should like to say some things for myself. What is the Malay word for thank you?”

“You must say
trima kaseh
,”
he explained and suddenly an
a
stonishingly
warm smile creased his sallow face. “The little
mem
is indeed the daughter of the
tuan
.
I shall be honored to teach her what she wishes to know.”