The Plantation (10 page)

Margaret had never been particularly interested in birds but found she quite enjoyed the meandering walks along the tiny trails in the forest. Sometimes they passed Indian girls carrying produce or clean laundry up to the other hotels and occasionally they came upon a neat bungalow that was both fenced and guarded.

‘A lot of banks, companies and wealthy business people have bungalows up here. It gets very busy and very social as people come up from the coast to escape the heat,’ said Roland. ‘Cameron Highlands is becoming popular too. It’s bigger and has tea plantations in the area.’

On their walks they sometimes came across a group of English schoolgirls who attended St Margaret’s Anglican Boarding School at Fraser’s Hill and they would exchange pleasantries with their teacher. Margaret thought it must be a lovely place to go to school and the girls would have the benefit of being close to their families. Better, she thought, than being sent to school in England.

After their post-luncheon nap, they took tea with scones and strawberry jam on the terrace each afternoon. Their cosy room was furnished with rattan chairs and chintz curtains. There was a small fireplace in their sitting room, which they found blazing each night when they came up after dinner.

They met several other couples and played cards and joined in a games night, but Roland preferred to have his pre-dinner stengah by the fire and talk local politics and business with the other men. Margaret read the women’s magazines that had been sent out from London and thought perhaps she’d better purchase some books to take to the plantation. When she mentioned that to Roland he nodded.

‘Yes, we already have an arrangement with the KL Book Club. When we next get to KL, you should pop in and introduce yourself to Mrs Nicky. She’s the new secretary.’

‘A library? But how often will I be able to visit it?’ said Margaret.

‘The Kuala Lumpur Book Club was set up thirty or more years ago for planters in remote outstations and books are mailed to them. Mrs Nixon, that’s her proper name, will send you books so you should chat to her about what you like.’

‘I’ll do that,’ said Margaret, knowing that she would have lots of time on her hands. Roland had told her that there was house staff at the plantation. The routine had already been established by Eugene and Charlotte, Roland’s mother, so Margaret would need to do little to maintain her new home.

One morning in the breakfast room, as Roland heaped marmalade on to his toast, he said, ‘I’ve made plans to play golf today with a few chaps, so I’m afraid you’ll be on your own for a bit. Do you mind?’

Margaret tried not to show her disappointment. ‘Oh. Of course not, Roland. Who are you playing with? Maybe I could get together with their wives.’ She didn’t really want him to go off and leave her, but she knew they were probably influential people.

‘Ah, mmm, perhaps. I think two of them have their wives with them, and the other fellow is unmarried. I only met them briefly, though we have mutual acquaintances, as one does out here.’

‘Quite,’ said Margaret, who’d already been impressed with the important people that Roland knew and, indeed, had invited to their wedding. How easily he befriended people who seemed to be in high positions. ‘Are they staying here at the Smokehouse?’

‘No. One is at Maxwell’s, the others are in a company bungalow. You saw the chaps in here having dinner last night. They’re high up in the Civil Service.’

‘Oh. The ones you had a drink with after I went upstairs to bed,’ said Margaret pointedly.

‘You didn’t mind, old girl, did you? It’s rather how it is, we fellows learn an awful lot about things on these social occasions.’

‘As women do, too, when they get together,’ said Margaret. While she might be impressed by the important people Roland associated with, she didn’t want to be dismissed as a frivolous young bride who didn’t know how to mingle.

‘Ah yes, but we men talk about important matters. It pays to keep a handle on people’s movements, plantings, prices, what the locals are up to in various districts.’ He cut the last of his toast into neat squares, popped them into his mouth and looked at his wife. ‘If you’d rather I didn’t go, tell me now and we’ll plan our day.’ He looked as though he had suddenly realised that it might not be the done thing to abandon his new wife on their honeymoon.

Margaret didn’t want to upset him but neither did she want him slipping back into his old bachelor habits of doing as he pleased with friends and acquaintances. ‘No, really, Roland. I want you to play golf. I’m sure you don’t have the opportunity very often. This is your time to relax as well,’ said Margaret in a tone of voice designed to show Roland that she was miffed by his plans, which would cause him to cancel the game and spend the day with her.

Roland, however, took her words at face value.

‘Excellent, then. I’ll chat to the fellows and see what their wives are up to during the day.’

‘Please, don’t force my company on them if they have other plans,’ said Margaret quickly. ‘I’m quite sure I can entertain myself. Or I’ll read a book and relax.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ He leaned over and took her hand. ‘Margaret, you do understand, when we get to Utopia I will be returning to my work and all that that entails. I want you to be part of it but I can’t be at your side all the time as we are now. The women, the mems, they have to fend for themselves a lot of the time. Of course you’ll have house staff, but you will be left on your own a lot. It will be a different life for you.’

‘Roland! I understand that,’ said Margaret lightly. ‘Which is why I want to make the most of our honeymoon. While I have you all to myself,’ she added coquettishly.

He gave a big smile. ‘Is that an invitation?’ He kissed her hand. ‘Tonight. A romantic dinner and time to ourselves in our room, in front of the fire, a bottle of MacAllister’s best champagne. How does that sound?’

‘Lovely.’

‘Right. I’d better get going and find the set of clubs MacAllister promised me. Are you coming or do you want something else?’

‘I might have another pot of tea,’ said Margaret. Roland signalled to the waiter, who hurried to the table. ‘Another tea for memsahib.’

Then he was gone and Margaret was left alone feeling faintly irritated.

‘Earl Grey?’ enquired the waiter.

‘No, English Breakfast,’ said Margaret, sounding quite waspish.

Shortly afterwards, Margaret received a message from the two wives of Roland’s golfing partners to say that they would like her to join them for luncheon at the Broadstairs’ bungalow. A driver would be sent to fetch her from the Smokehouse at noon.

Before getting ready for lunch and with time to kill, Margaret decided to go for a walk by herself in the woods surrounding the nearby golf course. Armed with Roland’s binoculars and a walking stick she borrowed from the hotel, she set out. It was a longish walk but she found a small trail and saw it heading up toward a peak that she thought would give her an expansive view of the area.

As she wandered along the path, the trees became denser, blocking the sunlight. An occasional side trail led away from the track she was on. She assumed they led to private bungalows or were short cuts used by the hotel staff. Everything was quiet, save for the swishing flight of an occasional bird.

She stopped to gaze up into the trees when she heard a rustling in the treetops and to her surprise saw through the binoculars, a round-faced monkey staring at her as curiously as she was looking at it. As she put the binoculars down, the monkey swung away with a high-pitched shriek that startled dozens of other monkeys, and all of them raced and called through the trees.

Margaret was quite elated by the sight, and continued on along the path, which was now less well marked as it dipped down before curving upwards again, towards the peak.

It was like being in a dark-green cavern, and she was glad when she found herself in a small clearing where a break in the trees gave a full vista of the hills on the other side. This seemed to be far more rugged country and, while she assumed there must be some small villages hidden away somewhere, she could see nothing but jungle. These were not the benign slopes accommodating the bungalows, hotels, shops and landscaped gardens planted with familiar trees, where she and Roland had walked. Through the binoculars she could see, stretched out before her, an endless tangle of tall trees, choked with vines and ferns. Suddenly the talk she had heard about tigers and wild animals became very real. Here was a different part of the country. It was untamed and appeared suddenly threatening. She felt a long way from the suburbs of Brisbane.

She turned and walked back the way she’d come, hurrying slightly. But as she came to where a small track branched away from the main one, she stopped in shock. Straddling her path was a giant lizard, scaly, prehistoric, stone-cold eyes observing her, tongue flicking. Margaret’s hand flew to her mouth. She’d seen small lizards in her mother’s garden, but this was a monster and it did not appear to want to move. It continued to block her way.

Margaret was not going to go near the creature. Its claws splayed from it’s gnarled feet making it look dangerous. Swiftly she glanced around and took another side path, thinking that it would either join the main trail or end up at someone’s bungalow, or at one of the scattered clusters of houses where the locals lived. But after following this narrow track for some time and not finding her way back to the golf course, Margaret realised she was lost. Where this path went, she had no idea.

She was hot, perspiring with fear as much as from the claustrophobic heat. She imagined that she could hear rustling and noises in the undergrowth and the more she hurried the more she stumbled over roots and stones, her breath coming in short gasps. She glanced at her watch and realised that it was already noon and the car would be at the hotel to take her to the pre-arranged luncheon.

She stopped to catch her breath, her hand on her heaving chest, trying to think calmly. No one would know where she was, but her disappearance would certainly raise the alarm. Roland could be gone till late afternoon, playing golf, and not give her a thought. These scenarios played out in her mind, although she was more overwhelmed by the embarrassment of her misadventure than anything else.

She set off again and couldn’t stop the tears that flowed down her face. She had a terrible feeling she was walking in circles, for everything looked the same. To her eyes there were no identifiable landmarks. Then she heard a movement behind her. She stopped, closing her eyes, not daring to look, waiting for whatever creature that was there to pounce on her.

‘Mem?’

She spun around to see a barefoot Malay wearing a checked sarong topped with a khaki jumper and carrying a long knife.

‘Oh. Oh dear,’ said Margaret recalling how Malays could sometimes run amok.

The man looked puzzled. ‘Mem, kamu sesat?’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Margaret fearfully. ‘I was near the golf club, but I changed trails and …’ Seeing his uncomprehending expression, she used her walking stick as a golf club and swung it awkwardly.

On her second swing there was a flicker in the man’s eyes. He pointed in the direction opposite to the way she was headed. ‘Nanti saya tunjuk jalan.’ He turned and trotted away from her, signalling her to follow.

For a moment she hesitated, wondering if she should trust the short, brown-skinned man with the large bush knife. Then, drawing herself up, Margaret strode after him, even though he was going in the opposite direction to where she thought they should go. Suddenly she recognised where she was. She saw in the distance a green fairway and a fluttering flag on a green.

The man stopped and pointed with his parang.

‘Oh, I see it. Oh, thank you, thank you so much.’ She started to run towards the golf course, then turned to thank the man again, but he had disappeared. As she approached the clubhouse she could see a group of men gathered in front of it, including Roland and a man in a khaki uniform who was obviously a policeman.

She hurried forward, trying to maintain her dignity.

‘There she is! Oh my Lord. Margaret! Where have you been? We were about to send out a search party!’ Roland came towards her.

‘I’m so terribly sorry. I went for a bit of an explore and I got lost, I’m afraid.’ She smiled, putting on a brave face. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced everyone …’

Roland put his arm around her. ‘Are you all right, my dear? This has been such a worry. You can’t just walk off into the jungle on your own.’

‘I hadn’t planned to, Roland. I got lost, but here I am.’

He smiled at the police inspector and shook his hand. ‘All’s well that ends well, eh? Frightfully sorry for the call out. My wife has found her own way back.’

‘I’m pleased you’re all right, Mrs Elliott. I know you are a newcomer, but this is not England. You can’t walk unattended in these forests. I’m surprised you didn’t run into any of the Orang Asli, the local tribesmen.’ The inspector gave a brief salute. ‘Happy to be of service, Mr and Mrs Elliott.’

‘Oh, how embarrassing,’ said Margaret. ‘And those ladies, I’m dreadfully sorry to miss their luncheon.’

One of Roland’s golfing partners stepped forward and held out his hand. ‘I’m Reginald Broadstairs, Mrs Elliott. My wife was expecting you for luncheon and it was she who raised the alarm when no one could find you.’

‘Please thank her. Very silly of me, I know. I was trying to get to the peak for the view, and this giant lizard appeared and gave me such a fright, I turned around and took the wrong path and …’