The Rose of Singapore (55 page)

A weak voice from the patient suddenly surprised all present by asking, “Did they bring in the other airman, sir? His name was Rickie. Gerald Rickie.”

Puzzled, the doctor thought for moments before replying. “I cannot recall seeing a Rickie on any medical report of mine, but he may be in another ward under the care of a different doctor. I'll see if I can locate him.”

“He's dead, sir. He was a friend of mine.” The voice faltered and tears came to his eyes. “I just wanted to know if his body had been recovered.”

“Oh!” Lost for words, the doctor eventually said, “I will make enquiries.” And seeing the horrified expression that appeared on Lai Ming's face, he asked. “Did your lady friend know him?”

“She knew of him.”

“I'm sorry, for both of you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I will make enquiries. Now, no more talk. You must rest.”

“I must ask about someone else, sir.”

“You're going to rest, my boy,” said Matron Finch adamantly. “That's the doctor's orders.”

“Just the one question. I found a little girl up there. I'm wondering if she's all right?”

“The Chinese girl? Oh, yes! That girl who was brought in with you,” said the doctor. “We treated her for shock and minor injuries. She told a remarkable story. Yes, we looked after that little girl until her father sent for her. She's safe and well, back in her home in Singapore.”

“I'm glad. Am I in Kinrara hospital?”

“That's right. You're in good hands. And now it's time for you to sleep.” The doctor turned to Nurse Mason. “A mild sedative,” he said quietly to her.

“Yes, Doctor.”

Stooping over Peter, Lai Ming kissed the lips of the white face. “Sleep good sleep, Peter. I come back soon,” and she lifted a dainty hand and brushed it lightly over his cheek, whilst trying to smile and not to cry. Then, bowing to the three gathered around the bed, she said to them, “I am now so happy, I don't know what to say. But I do know that I have much gratitude to everybody here.”

“We are grateful to you, young lady,” said doctor Henshaw. Then, turning to Nurse Mason, he said, “Don't take Rose through the ward. I don't want the boys to see her right now. Take her out the back way.”

“And take good care of her, Nurse,” whispered the matron. “Take her to my bedroom. She can sleep there.”

“Your bedroom, Matron?”

“Yes. She'll be more comfortable there, and it's a quiet room.”

“Certainly, Matron. Thank you.” Nurse Mason put an arm around Lai Ming, “Come, love, I'm going to look after you.” Exiting the room, the two were followed by the eyes in the deathly white face.

“You're going to be all right, son,” said the medical officer gently, “Both of you. If you need anything, ask a nurse or the matron here. But remember, whilst you are here, Matron Finch is your boss. You'll have to await your discharge before your lady friend takes over again,” he said, smiling. “I'll come to see you this evening,” and he waved a long finger at the patient. “Rest and sleep is what you need. The more rest and sleep you get, the sooner you'll be leaving Kinrara to return to Singapore.”

34

Ah, my memory serves me well, thought Tan Kah Hin, the chauffeur, smiling to himself as he scanned the red and white road sign a hundred yards from the hospital's main entrance.

He had passed this way before, but that was well over ten years ago; even before the Japanese invaders set foot on Malayan soil. He still had recollections of the area, however, even though many reminders had long disappeared, obliterated, he presumed, by the Japanese. The Malay
atap
village was no longer there, nor were the coconut palms that had shaded the village; also gone were the many acres of rubber plantations which had dominated the area. Now, rolling manicured lawns, shade trees, flowering shrubs and masses of colourful flowers graced much of the land on both sides of the twisting road. He remembered the road solely by its many twists and turns, but now it was much wider. And where there had been barking dogs and Malay children playing in the dirt outside thatch-roofed huts, there were many new buildings; villas mainly, which surrounded the grey, foreboding military prison and the military hospital complex.

Breathing in the sweetly perfumed air of his surroundings, Kah Hin approached a black and white sign, which stated ‘Security Guardroom'. Below these two words a long red arrow pointed towards a turning in the road. Kah Hin swung the new, black, R-type Bentley Continental into the turning. Approximately a hundred yards further ahead he could see a small brick building in front of which was a green painted sentry-box and a lowered black and white pole that stretched the full width of the road.

Coming to a stop in front of the sentry-box, Kah Hin's eyes dwelled for moments upon the glinting, highly polished black bonnet in front of his windshield. Proudly and with great satisfaction he knew that the whole exterior of the car would have the same highly polished appearance; his reward for two hours of labour carefully spent, although it had meant rising from his bed that much earlier than usual.

From the sentry-box a uniformed Malay guard emerged and greeted Kah Hin, “
Tabik.
”

“
Tabik,
” Tan Kah Hin replied.

“What is your business at Kinrara, please?” asked the sentry in English.

From the driver's seat, Kah Hin looked without expression up into the face of the obviously curious Malay sentry.

“I bring my master, the venerable Ng Kwok Wing, who has reserved audience with a patient at this hospital,” said Kah Hin.

Now the sentry had heard stories of Ng Kwok Wing, of his great wealth and power in Malaya, and of his many philanthropic deeds, so he said in a surprised voice, “The Ng Kwok Wing?”

“The Ng Kwok Wing,” replied the chauffeur, his face remaining, as always when with his master, inscrutable.

“Ng Kwok Wing,” repeated the sentry in awe. It was his duty, however, to check all occupants of incoming vehicles before he could give information or lift the barrier. He took a step forward and peered into a rear side window. A black lace curtain obscured his view, but he could make out the dark figure of a man sitting in the back seat, not looking at him but seemingly towards the hospital at the end of the road. “Ah! Please excuse me, sir,” he said in a respectful voice. Bowing his head, he stepped back a pace. He had done his duty. Addressing the chauffeur, he said, “Please, move forward to the security guardroom ahead. There you will need to see the officer in charge who will take particulars and direct you.” The guard then saluted the chauffeur and raised the barrier.

“
Terima kasih, tuan,
” replied Kah Hin, thanking the guard in Malay. Engaging a low gear, Kah Hin drove the car slowly the short distance to the front of the security guardroom. Here, he stepped out of the car, immediately to be confronted by a white man in a British army uniform who had stepped out of the guardroom. “Are you a visitor?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

“OK. See that white hut at the corner of the road. Please report to the officer in charge there.”

“Thank you,” said Kah Hin. The uniformed figure was already disappearing back into the guardroom.

Tan Kah Hin returned to his driving seat, restarted the engine, and again proceeded slowly towards the hospital. Driving on a freshly tarmacked, straight but narrow road carved between more manicured lawns and flowerbeds, he approached the hut. At one-hundred-foot intervals gravel paths led from the road towards white painted wooden bungalows surrounded by wide wood-decked verandahs. These were but a few of the many wards of the hospital. Further along Kah Hin could see more buildings, but made of stone, with wide concrete corridors between them, and no verandahs.

Comfortably seated in the back seat of the Bentley, preoccupied with his own thoughts, Kwok Wing had neither seen the Malay guard's face at the window nor the soldier at the guardroom. He still grieved the loss of Lim Seng Yew, his number one chauffeur, manservant and lifelong friend; also old Ping Jie, the much loved, respected and trusted
amah.
His thoughts, though, dwelt this moment on the young British airman who had saved the life of his daughter Li Li, and on the young man's Chinese lady friend whom he hoped soon to meet. He certainly knew of both their pasts; not so much about the airman's, but much about the young lady's.

It had been a wise move, he thought, having the investigative branch of his personnel office conduct a discreet investigation of the young airman, the sole purpose being for him to evaluate how best he could reward the young man. His investigative branch had been very thorough, not only learning details such as the airman's name, age, rank and trade in the RAF, but also, surprisingly, that he spoke some Cantonese, and that his constant companion was a Chinese woman, a noted prostitute almost ten years his senior. Astonished at first, then curious, Kwok Wing then had the investigative branch delve into the woman's past. Thanks to records, the Social Welfare Department and other agencies in Singapore, and also officials in Sumatra, his agents had collected an ever-thickening, incredibly interesting dossier on the woman named Chan Lai Ming. Finding and checking details of her years spent in Singapore had been relatively easy compared with the difficulties encountered tracing her life back through the years to when she was born in Palembang, Sumatra, to very respected parents bred from families of honourable ancestry. Though he must never mention his investigations, Kwok Wing was pleased that they had been conducted so thoroughly.

Already he felt as if he knew the two and was impatient to finally meet them. He had hoped that they would be informed of his intended visit but the medical authorities decided such notification would be unwise, that it might cause unnecessary emotional stress to the recovering patient, who had already spent three weeks in the hospital. He had been advised, however, that a Doctor Henshaw would greet and escort him to where he would finally meet the man who had saved his daughter from certain death. Deep in thought and staring with unseeing eyes at the world without, Kwok Wing sighed and sank back into soft, velvet cushions.

A gentle breeze was blowing that afternoon, taking away much of the humidity in the air and seemingly lowering the almost ninety-degree temperature by several degrees. For Malaya, it truly was a balmy day, with as yet not a cloud in the sky, a rare occurrence at two o'clock. The thunderstorms and rains to follow would surely come before the afternoon was out.

In a wheelchair, rolled out onto the wide wooden verandah of Ward Five, SAC Peter Saunders, clad in military pajamas and a towelling robe, watched with keen interest the approach of the two men who were walking together towards the wooden steps leading up to the verandah of ward five. One he recognized as short, pixie-like Dr Henshaw, who was actually clad in a natty, lightweight grey suit, and even more unbelievably, he was wearing a conservative silk tie. Rarely did Dr Henshaw wear a suit and tie at Kinrara. When not in medical uniform, he preferred to wear white shorts, a white sleeveless shirt and a pair of rather worn white plimsoles. His companion was a tallish Chinese gentleman dressed in an expensive-looking, tailor-made, dark blue suit and a tie of similar colour. The two were an odd-looking couple, thought Peter Saunders. Nudging Lai Ming, who was seated in a wicker chair at his side, he looked at her questioningly and whispered, “I wonder who the Chinese gent is. I've never seen him before.”

Lai Ming, dressed in a light blue
cheongsam,
and looking relaxed and happy, shrugged her shoulders and shook her head, replying, “No, he must be a visitor. He looks very distinguished.”

“Yes, he does,” Peter replied.

Indeed, the Chinese gentleman, Ng Kwok Wing, was not only of considerable means and importance but also was liked and loved by many, and most certainly well respected. He owned several of the largest and most modern oil tankers in the world, was a building contractor of roads, bridges, office buildings and hotels throughout Malaya and Singapore, and now, in Singapore, he was the builder of whole suburbs of reasonably priced homes for an exploding population. Also, he owned considerable amounts of shares in several thriving businesses throughout Malaya and Singapore. Undoubtably, Ng Kwok Wing was one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in the Far East who, not content with his great wealth, constantly sought ways to increase his millions by making use of his extraordinary business sense and power. However, regardless of his ruthlessness in business, Kwok Wing was a good man, kind and charitable, a benefactor to cancer research, the TB clinics, to hospitals and schools, and to the leper colony situated on a small island off Singapore. Unknown to them, many hundreds of poor and destitute people in Singapore were fed, and the sick treated, all through the aid of this man's generosity. Rightly so, Kwok Wing was proud of his many achievements in the interest of public welfare. Seeing and understanding the immediate needs of Singapore and Malaya, not only was he philanthropic towards them but also he was a visionary predicting the needs of the future. On paper and in his head he had many ambitious plans. Ng Kwok Wing was justly proud and a true gentleman of the Far East.

At that moment the swing-door behind Peter Saunders and Lai Ming swung open and a male nursing orderly came through the doorway carrying a round wicker table.

“May I help you?” asked Lai Ming, getting to her feet.

“No, but thanks all the same. You've volunteered enough these past three weeks,” laughed the orderly, placing the table in front of them. Another orderly and Nurse Mason brought two wicker chairs. These they put down facing the table. The two orderlies smiled at the pair as they made their exit. Nurse Mason remained.

“Nurse, are we having company?” Peter enquired.

“Yes,” replied a smiling Nurse Mason. “You have a visitor.”