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By Root 5419 0

jammed with cars full of anxious people. Holding the paper that Vera had been given at Cluny Matthew plunged into the crowd of people trying to get tickets and embarkation instructions. He was gone for a long time; meanwhile the traffic jam around them had worsened considerably. When he at last returned he had Vera’s ticket but he was looking worried: he explained that they still had to drive to the P & O wharf some three miles away and the traffic by now was scarcely moving. To make matters worse, passengers were only allowed to board the ship in groups which had been staggered alphabetically in order to prevent everybody arriving at the dock at the same time. Because Vera’s surname began with C this regulation should have worked to her advantage, but by some error the official who had taken her name, perhaps assuming that she had given her surname first in the Chinese fashion, had reversed her names and allotted her to the last group. In any case passengers were not arriving at intervals as had been expected and some of those who had arrived too early were being made to wait, blocking the quayside. Nevertheless, although the boarding arrangements were no longer achieving what had been expected of them and were, indeed, only adding to the confusion, they were still being rigidly adhered to by the authorities in charge of the embarkation.

‘We should still make it all right. The boat doesn’t sail till one o’clock. We can always walk if the worst comes to the worst.’

It took several minutes before there was even an opening that allowed them to pull into the line of traffic crawling along Collyer’s Quay; then, for long stretches, they were obliged to stop altogether. Sometimes they discovered the reason for these delays, a car that had overheated or run out of petrol perhaps; then they would overtake a demented man peering at his engine in a cloud of steam, or a weeping woman sitting by herself with a pile of luggage, while those behind cursed and hooted at her to get her car out of the way.

‘This is dreadful.’ The Major’s face grew increasingly grim as the minutes ticked by. Presently a whole hour had fled. They still had not reached the shell of the Sailor’s Institute at the end of Anson Road.

‘Perhaps they’ll delay the time of sailing.’ But this, Matthew knew, was unlikely for if the Félix Roussel was to escape the Japanese bombers she would have to be well on her way from Singapore before dawn.

For some time now they had been following a large open Bentley which contained a party of elegantly dressed young ladies sitting on pigskin suitcases plastered with gaily coloured steamer and hotel labels. Since it was already quite dark and all street-lights had been extinguished in accordance with the blackout regulations there only remained the Buick’s papered-over headlights to cast a faint glow on the party travelling in front. But from time to time a match would flare as a cigarette was lit … (it appeared that the young ladies in the Bentley had no inhibitions about smoking in public) … then a cheerful little scene would be briefly illuminated, for to celebrate their departure from Singapore the ladies had brought two or three bottles of champagne and some glasses. And so, while another hour went by, the grim party from the Mayfair, with their doomed little dog sitting on the front seat, sat and watched the beautifully marcelled tresses in front of them and listened to the clink of glasses and the giggles, shrieks and popping of corks. Presently it occurred to the Major that there was something familiar about the Bentley.

‘Isn’t that one of Walter’s cars?’

‘I’ve been wondering the same thing. But what are those young women doing in it? There’s something familiar about them, too. But it surely can’t be Walter driving, nor his syce either, come to that.’ The driver, whoever it was, remained invisible slumped far down in the seat in a manner which by contrast with the exuberance of his companions, was almost furtive.

‘I have an idea it’s that singing team,’ said the Major, ‘the Da Sousa Sisters … the girls Walter wanted