The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [471]
They found the elder Blacketts and their guests drinking coffee and brandy in the drawing-room. Relations between Walter and the unfortunate Charlie had evidently been somewhat restored while they had been in the garden for, as they entered, they heard the tail-end of an argument that had been taking place.
‘You expect young men being paid next to nothing to die defending your property and your commercial interests!’ Charlie was asserting vociferously. He was still a little drunk but had tied his shoe-laces in the interim and his appearance was less dishevelled.
‘I don’t know about dying,’ replied Walter good-humouredly. ‘All you’ve done so far is drink.’ And that proved to be the end of the discussion and of the evening, for the Air-Marshal and the General announced that it was time that they were on their way. They politely insisted on shaking hands with everybody on their way out, even with little Kate who, overcome by the momentous occasion, got mixed up and said: ‘Thank you for having me.’ This caused smiles all round and poor Kate wished she were dead. How could she be so childish! She blushed furiously and tried to smile, too, though she really felt like bursting into tears.
‘You must come to our place one of these days,’ muttered Dr Brownley to a semi-circle of glassy-eyed Blacketts who seemed to have gathered for no other purpose than to stare after him in mute accusation as he escaped into the darkness.
Dupigny suggested to Matthew that they walk back to the Mayfair by way of the road rather than the garden, to see if the Major had retired to his little bungalow on the opposite side of the road. Matthew said goodnight to the elder Blacketts. On the way out he found Monty and Joan on the steps by the front door. Monty held out his hand, saying that he was off to bed and would wish Matthew good night.
‘Monty, I’d like to thank you for your help in getting me out here.’
‘Think nothing of it, old boy. After all, we couldn’t leave you to be raped by all those strapping Land Girls, could we?’ And with a wave Monty disappeared inside.
After a moment Joan came forward. He thought she was going to say good night, too, but no. ‘Hello you!’ she said, lighting up like a firefly in the darkness. He peered at her uncertainly. ‘You always look so serious,’ she added, putting her shoulder against his and shoving him a little off balance.
‘Do I?’ he asked cautiously.
‘Come on, I’ll walk down the road a bit with you and François.’
They set off together down the drive but almost immediately Joan was called back by her mother who was standing at the front door. She wanted to know where Joan was going.
‘Oh Mother!’ Joan said irritably.
‘Why can’t you leave the girl alone?’ Walter wanted to know, equally exasperated. A hurried conference took place.
While they were waiting for her Dupigny asked: ‘D’you like women?’
‘Well, yes, of course.’ To Matthew this seemed a rather peculiar question. After a moment he added: ‘I’m rather keen on D. H. Lawrence, as a matter of fact.’
There was a pause while Dupigny turned this over in his mind. Presently he said: ‘Out here, you know, there are many young men but few young women … I mean, European. There are, bien entendu, the Asiatical women, ah yes, but in Singapore, you see, although the young men make terribly love in a physical way to the oriental ladies and sometimes even to the mature European ladies (those who have, as we say, la cuisse hospitalière), still, alas, they are not satisfied. They sigh for companions of their own age and race. They are encouraged, moreover, by their elders who wish to preserve the purity of the race, a desire of which Hitler himself would not disapprove. With us in Indo-China it is different. We do not worry like the British when one of us decides to marry the daughter of a prosperous native. Such marriages have very often a great utility, both commercial and political.’
‘Well, I must say …’ began Matthew, but his tired brain declined to furnish him with any suitable observation.
‘You like Joan, perhaps?