The Grazier's Wife Page 8

  Vera was to wear a softly clinging gown in pale blue georgette. For Peg there was a lovely dark green, floor-length dress decorated with sequined leaves, and Jean was to wear a very becoming pink and grey gown. For Stella, Freddy had insisted on a dramatically simple affair with a sleeveless black velvet bodice and a white satin full skirt.

  On the night of the party, the girls felt like princesses as they climbed into one of Singapore’s many yellow Ford taxis.

  From the moment Stella arrived at Raffles Hotel on that hot December night, everything felt different. It was almost as if the rambling, ornate grande dame of hotels had cast a spell.

  Excitement gave her goosebumps as their taxi pulled up on the circular driveway, where bright lights spilled from the palatial interior.

  Stepping out of the taxi, she felt the sleek, silk-lined bodice of Freddy’s elegant gown lying cool against her skin and the full skirt swishing and rustling about her ankles. The other girls were as keyed up as she was, and too awed to speak as they proceeded through the doorway into the white marble entrance hall.

  Here, elegance and grandeur abounded. The central atrium, bordered by Corinthian columns and enormous flower arrangements, soared three storeys high.

  Vera’s eyes were almost out on sticks as she looked about her. ‘Pinch me. I’m sure I must be dreaming.’

  ‘I know, it’s so grand and beautiful,’ said Stella. ‘It’s hard to believe we’re supposed to be at war.’

  ‘Oh, don’t even think about the war tonight,’ Jean scolded. ‘We don’t want to spoil this by feeling guilty.’

  Stella knew this was sensible advice. She took a huge breath and let it out slowly, reminding herself to calm down. This was simply a bit of fun, but she couldn’t shake off the skin-tingling sense that it would be no ordinary night.

  A Chinese waiter, dressed in a starched white uniform, offered them drinks from the enormous tray he carried. The girls helped themselves to pink Singapore slings and the boy pointed the way to the Palm Court Wing where the Cornicks’ party was already under way.

  Even before the girls reached the huge salon, they could hear a band playing one of the latest American hit tunes. Saxophones, trumpets and clarinets . . .

  You made me love you . . .

  Then Freddy, looking splendid in a slinky black and silver gown, came hurrying towards them with her arms outstretched. ‘Oh, there you are, lovelies. Don’t y’all look beautiful. Come on and join the crowd.’

  In full mother-hen mode Freddy ushered them into the throng, and it was all rather dazzling. The musicians were playing on a dais decorated with potted palms, women in gowns of every pretty hue were dancing with military men in full regalia. The dancers spilled onto wide balconies that opened off the main room, and beyond this were floodlit lawns and gardens dotted with bright bougainvillea and majestic, fan-like traveller’s palms.

  ‘Dinner will be served out there,’ Freddy told the girls, waving an elegantly manicured hand towards the long tables set on the lawn and covered with white linen. ‘Now, I see you already have drinks, so come and meet people.’

  Freddy didn’t elaborate on exactly which people she planned to introduce the girls to, but it was soon clear that she had certain young officers in mind.

  Strangely, whenever Stella looked back on that night later, she could never really remember meeting other men besides Tom. There’d been a lot of smiling and chatter as introductions were made and she knew she must have spoken to and danced with other men.

  She could remember the stifling heat of that night, despite the fans circling overhead. It had been so hot and humid that the band played only slow tunes. Dancing any faster made people too sweaty.

  Somewhere in the general buzz and fun, Stella heard the name Tom Kearney, but that had meant very little until she looked up into the face of a tall, smiling English soldier.

  Many times afterwards, she’d pondered the mystery and magic of attraction. What had drawn her so forcibly to Tom? There were so many good-looking officers at the party that night and they’d all looked their dashing best in their beautifully cut, dark blue dress uniforms. Some of them had been impossibly handsome, like matinee idols. And yet she’d fallen fast and hard for a lanky fellow with mid-brown hair and a longish, suntanned face.

  Within moments of meeting Tom, she was entranced by the sparkle in his silvery grey eyes, by the way his skin creased deeply at their corners when he smiled, making them narrow to twinkling, intriguing slits.

  Stella had met many British soldiers since she’d arrived here and often, when they heard she was Australian, they wanted to call her ‘cobber’, or to crack jokes about Aussies having to walk upside down on the bottom of the globe. To her delight, there was none of this from Tom.

  He didn’t seem compelled to talk about Test cricket or kangaroos or boomerangs either. He seemed genuinely interested in her, made her feel as if his smile was only for her, as if she was the only woman in that crowded Palm Court.

  It was quite spectacular really. From the moment they stepped onto the dance floor and Tom took Stella’s hand in his, with his other hand at the small of her back, she was exquisitely aware of his touch. Just like that – zap – the slightest brush of his body against hers was electrifying. She’d never felt so switched on and alive!

  Even for the keenest of couples, however, it was too hot to stay on the dance floor for very long. Cool drinks were soon needed. Stella and Tom took their long glasses, clinking with ice cubes, to the edge of the balcony and set them on the stone balustrade.

  From here they looked out across the gardens to the smooth, moonlit sea. Leaning against the cool stone, they talked, and Stella discovered that conversation with Tom was every bit as enjoyable as dancing.

  She found herself telling him about growing up on the cattle station at Hughenden and how she’d been interested in nursing from a very young age. She even told him about the manual of bush nursing she’d found at the homestead and how she’d used it to teach herself to treat sick animals on the property.

  In turn, she learned that Tom was an engineer who’d grown up in Richmond on the Thames and that he’d been working in Malaya for several years before the war, which no doubt explained his suntan. He’d joined the army as soon as war was declared and had gone back to England for training.

  ‘Do you still have family in London?’ Stella asked, thinking somewhat fearfully of the Blitz.

  ‘Not at the moment. My sister’s married and lives in Wessex, but her husband’s away in the navy, so my parents are living with her.’

  ‘You must be pleased about that. The damage in London has been terrible.’

  Tom nodded. ‘I spent years at university learning how to build bridges, and now the world’s gone mad trying to blow up as many bridges or buildings as possible.’

  ‘Or blow up people,’ Stella added quietly.

  ‘Yes, that too.’

  They were silent for a bit then, looking out across the gardens while the scent of frangipani and jasmine hung in the still night air and dancing couples drifted and swayed behind them. The band was playing ‘Moon Love’, a haunting tune that seemed to roll over them in waves.

  Stella wondered if Tom was thinking about the war. She almost asked him this, before she remembered her promise to Vera that she would try to forget about the war for one night.

  She fanned her face with her hand. ‘It’s very humid, isn’t it? I thought there might be a breeze out here.’

  ‘You need a punkha wala.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘One of those fellows with a fan. Your own personal servant whose sole job is to keep you cool.’ Tom grinned as he said this.

  Stella smiled, too, and the sad, dreamy music swelled dramatically. ‘That music’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘But it’s sad, too.’ For some reason she couldn’t explain, the music made her think of lovers being parted.

  ‘It’s adapted from Tchaikovsky,’ Tom said. ‘I believe he was very depressed when he wrote it
.’

  ‘Really? Are you a musician as well as an engineer?’

  ‘No, but my mother’s a pianist and she lived in hope that either my sister or I would inherit her talent. She was always dragging us off to concerts.’

  ‘Did you enjoy them?’

  ‘I did, actually.’ Another smile, and a sparkling flash in his eyes. ‘But they didn’t turn me into a musician.’

  Stella thought how different Tom’s life had been from hers. Surely, there couldn’t be two places more different than an outback Australian cattle station and a home near the Thames in London. And yet here she and Tom were now, both many miles from their homes and brought together by war.

  ‘How do you feel about being posted here?’ she asked.

  Tom lifted an eyebrow. ‘About being here in Singapore? At a party like this, instead of blowing up bridges or being shot at?’

  ‘Yes.’ Although, when he put it like that, her question did sound rather silly.

  He took a moment to answer. ‘It’s like being a toy soldier.’ There was a hint of bitterness in his voice and he was no longer smiling.

  ‘It’s unreal,’ Stella suggested.

  ‘Yes. We’re in a weird kind of limbo – not working at the things we were trained to do, but not fighting either.’

  ‘That’s exactly how I feel.’ It was a relief to have found a kindred spirit. ‘I mean, we do have patients at the hospital, of course, but the work’s pretty easy compared with what nurses are facing in other posts.’

  She finished her drink and set the glass down. ‘I know the authorities here have prepared for the worst – just in case. They’re storing food and blood for transfusions and such, but they’re still telling us that the war can’t reach us here. And even some of the soldiers are joking about it, saying the Japs are too short-sighted to shoot straight.’

  Tom’s eyes were serious now. For a long moment he seemed quite sombre as he looked at Stella, but then he took her hand in his. ‘For your sake, I hope they’re right.’ And his face creased into one of his heart-lifting smiles.

  8

  It was the wrong place and the wrong time, but falling in love is rarely convenient and meeting Tom changed me forever.

  When dinner was served, Stella and Tom sat together. It made perfect sense to them. Stella’s friends were busily flirting and laughing with a group of young officers at the other end of the table. Only Freddy appeared to notice them and she seemed beside herself with delight, beaming at Stella whenever she caught her eye.

  It was all rather magical, dining out on the lawn under the stars.

  ‘The only time I’ve eaten outdoors like this was when we had campfires down on the creek bank,’ she told Tom.

  ‘That sounds like fun. What did you eat?’

  ‘Oh, sometimes stew in a camp oven, or fried sausages, or perhaps fish if Dad was lucky enough to catch some.’

  ‘And you would have looked up at the stars and seen the Southern Cross?’

  ‘Yes.’ She smiled at the memory of the glittering night skies in outback Queensland. ‘What about you? Have you enjoyed many outdoor meals?’

  ‘Only in Malaya, really. And even then, not all that often.’

  A beautiful orchid had been set at each place and the meal was three courses with fish, followed by steak and then mango pudding and ice-cream, and, of course, it was utterly delicious. Between the courses a speech was delivered by the regimental commanding officer, a white-haired man with an impressive moustache and a uniform covered in braid and an astonishing display of medals.

  After dinner, Tom danced with Stella again. By now the other men had got the message that they should keep their distance. For this night, at least, Stella was his.

  But despite the lovely attention Tom paid to her, he didn’t try to kiss her on that first night. There was no stealing away to a dark corner of the garden. He was a perfect gentleman. She was both pleased and disappointed, which didn’t really make sense.

  He did, however, ask her if she was free the next day.

  Stella didn’t hesitate. ‘I’ll be on night duty, so I don’t have to be in the ward till eight tomorrow evening.’

  ‘That’s wonderful. What say we meet up in the morning, then? I can show you parts of Singapore you haven’t seen yet.’

  Her insides were leaping with excitement, and when she thanked him she was surprised that she managed to sound so composed.

  Stella’s friends, however, weren’t so sure about this invitation. Going in groups to a party was one thing. Dancing all night with the same fellow, then seeing him again the very next morning was another matter entirely. In the taxi on the way home they put their case quite bluntly.

  ‘We’re in the middle of a war, Stella. There’s no point in getting serious about an English soldier.’

  ‘I’m not serious about him. I’ve only just met him.’

  Peg rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, sweetheart, pull the other one. We saw you making sheep’s eyes at him.’

  Sheep’s eyes? How embarrassing. Had she really been so obvious?

  ‘Not that I blame you, really,’ Peg added kindly. ‘Tom’s quite a heartthrob. But that’s the problem.’

  ‘Where does he plan to take you?’ Jean sounded like an overly concerned aunt.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Stella admitted.

  ‘Probably to Robinson’s,’ suggested Peg. Robinson’s was an extremely popular restaurant in Raffles Place. ‘Or maybe to the Sea View Hotel.’ This venue was a couple of miles out of town on the East Coast Road, a popular meeting place for Sunday-morning drinks.

  ‘Tom said he’d like to show me places I probably haven’t seen,’ Stella told them.

  Vera was studying her with shrewdly narrowed eyes. ‘Avoiding the crowds.’

  ‘No, he’s lived in Malaya and he knows all sorts of things about the Far East.’

  ‘Hmm. I’d say you’ve got it bad, love.’

  ‘I haven’t. I told you he’s just – just a nice fellow.’ Even to Stella’s ears this wasn’t very convincing.

  Vera shook her head. ‘Just be careful, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course I’ll be careful.’

  But she was so keyed up she barely slept that night.

  As she’d expected, when she met Tom next morning, he didn’t take her to Robinson’s or to the Sea View.

  ‘I thought you might like to see Chinatown,’ he said. ‘We can walk from here if it’s not too hot for you.’

  Stella, basking in the warmth of his smile, was open to any suggestion. ‘I’m happy to walk. I come from Queensland, so I’m used to the heat.’ She didn’t add that Singapore, almost sitting on the equator, produced a drenching humidity beyond anything she’d experienced at home.

  Tom took her arm. ‘Perhaps I should buy you a parasol.’

  But she was wearing a fairly wide-brimmed hat and there were shady trees for at least some of the way, and sometimes a shop’s awning offered respite from the tropical sun. Catching sight of their reflections in a shop window, Stella thought they looked rather perfect together – the tall, straight-backed Englishman in his khaki battle dress and the fair-haired girl in her best cornflower blue linen and white sandals.

  Of course, having Tom’s company made the excursion special, but Stella was fascinated as they left the space and orderliness of the government and business sections, with traffic policemen on every corner, and discovered that Chinatown, mere blocks away, was a completely different world.

  Here, instead of grand colonial buildings, golf clubs, green parks and gardens, the streets were narrow and crowded, the buildings tall and flimsy, with brightly coloured washing strung on poles from the windows.

  The shops were tiny, little more than holes in the wall, but they displayed an impressive array of foodstuffs both inside and out. Tom pointed out lacquered ducks, and shark fins that were apparently used for making delicious soup. In narrow doorways cane baskets were piled with ginger-root and dried mushrooms, and bottles of pickled cabbage.

>   There were hawkers, too, carrying bamboo poles on their bony shoulders with heavy containers of food dangling from each end. A family sat on the side of the road, eating from tiny bowls with chopsticks.

  ‘The food here is amazing,’ Tom said. ‘Have you ever tried a Chinese steamed dumpling?’

  ‘No. Are they safe to eat?’

  He laughed. ‘Perfectly safe.’

  Around the next corner, he stopped at a stall where a little man squatted beside a wood-fired burner. To Stella’s surprise, Tom spoke to the man in rapid Chinese and she was promptly handed a pair of wooden chopsticks and a small blue and white bowl with two fat, savoury-smelling dumplings.

  ‘Let me pour a little soy sauce for you.’ Tom tipped dark salty liquid from a tiny white jug.

  ‘It smells really good,’ Stella admitted. ‘But I’ve no idea how to use chopsticks.’

  ‘You hold them like so.’ Tom demonstrated. ‘Hold the upper stick like a pencil.’

  She tried to copy him.

  ‘That’s right. Now, you move the top chopstick up and down and keep the lower stick steady between your middle finger and the base of your thumb.’

  He waggled his upper chopstick and Stella tried her best to do the same, but the sticks slipped out of place.

  ‘You show me how to eat one,’ she said, and was instantly mesmerised as Tom deftly lifted a dumpling from his bowl to his mouth.

  She watched his lips close over the soft pastry and was hit by a ridiculous burst of heat that had nothing to do with the tropical climate.

  ‘Your turn,’ he said with a smile.

  But when she tried to follow his example, her dumpling kept slipping from the chopsticks back into the bowl.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Setting his bowl aside, Tom took Stella’s chopsticks and expertly lifted a dumpling to her lips. He smiled his endearing, crinkly smile. ‘Open wide.’

  Stella knew she was blushing. Her heart had picked up pace too. It was unbelievably intimate to have Tom feed her, his gaze focused on her mouth, and she was ever so flustered. Luckily, she managed to eat the dumpling without coughing or choking.