The Empire Trilogy - J. G. Farrell [539]
‘François has gone up to Penang for a few days. He may have some news of how things are going in the north when he gets back.’
‘Just listen to the rain!’
Now another grim possibility had occurred to the Major: if the Japanese Navy did get control of the Straits there would be nothing to prevent them landing troops behind the British lines at any point they wished. No doubt there were fixed defences already established at the most vulnerable places, but with such a long coastline to defend it was bound to be difficult. Still, they had the RAF to reckon with.
Now from another part of the house there came the plaintive cry of the door’s rusty hinges and, a moment later, voices on the verandah.
‘I wonder who that can be? I’d better go and see.’ The Major stood up.
‘Enter two drowned rats,’ laughed Joan, putting her head round the door before the Major could reach it. ‘We were halfway through the compound when it started to come down in torrents. It’s no good trying to shelter, either. You get just as wet standing under a tree.’
Matthew and the Major stared at her in wonder. Her hair had turned a shade or two darker and stuck to her forehead and cheeks in wet ringlets: water was still gleaming on her neck while her sodden dress clung to her so intimately that one could make out on her heaving chest the two little studs of her nipples and the flutter of her diaphragm where the ribs parted: evidently she had been running.
‘Come and sit down,’ said the Major genially. ‘But I can only see one drowned rat. Where’s the other?’
Matthew smiled wanly at Joan as she came to sit beside him, clearly not in the least abashed to be seen in wet and semi-transparent clothing. Indeed, she was positively sparkling with health and high spirits after sprinting through the downpour. ‘How attractive she is!’
‘The other is Papa. He’s just gone to get a towel from the “boy”. But here he comes now.’
Walter, too, seemed to be in exceptionally good spirits, as if the sudden downpour had revived him. Of late he had a careworn air, as if his manifold responsibilities were at last beginning to get the better of him: he had begun to hesitate in a way he had never done before, to speculate too exhaustively about the possible consequences of his decisions. The absence of old Mr Webb’s strong character in the background, the uncertainty which clouded the political future of the Colony, the blunder he had made over those huge stocks of rubber he had waiting on the quays, all these matters had combined to sap his strength of purpose. But Walter was not the sort of man who could be kept down for very long. What were all these difficulties but the biggest challenge he had had to face since the Depression? Having decided to define his problems as a challenge he found that a weight had been lifted from his mind. Now he stood there laughing, his stocky figure radiating energy, quite oblivious of the puddle of water which had formed around his shoes. Snatching up a rattan chair he set it down by Matthew’s bedside saying:
‘Soaked to