The Plantation - Di Morrissey [50]
Margaret smiled to her husband as they took the boat back to the small kampong where they had left the Oldsmobile. ‘Nice manoeuvre, dear. Leaving them alone in a romantic spot. I wonder how Bette feels about that.’
‘Gilbert is a gentleman, she’ll be safe as houses.’
‘Hmm. We’ll see. Well it’s up to Bette.’
‘Gil’s a good chap, but do you really think that your parents would like Bette to end up in Malaya, too?’
As Margaret got into the car, she remembered her mother had joked that she hoped Bette wouldn’t fall for some planter fellow too, so she let the subject drop and concentrated on trying to stay comfortable on the bone jarring road. Philip bounced, enjoying the ride.
Roland drove past the deep dark rows of the oil palms arching towards each other, making long dark tunnels. Mounds of large red prickly nuts were heaped at regular intervals along the ground. Roland stopped, got out and picked up several of the nuts to check them and got back into the car. Then he turned off the dirt track and drove slowly up and down through some of the avenues of trees.
‘Hmm. It’s well cleared and maintained. Smedley-Smith is doing a good job. We’ll drive by the bungalow. He’s probably there having lunch and might welcome some company. Gets lonely up here by oneself.’
‘It’s rather basic housing,’ commented Margaret as she saw the small bungalow. A not very successful attempt had been made to establish a garden.
As they walked towards the house, a lanky young man wearing a khaki shirt over a sarong came out to meet them.
‘Ha, Mr Elliott, you’ve arrived. What a pleasant surprise. Excuse my dress, I was having a rest before the afternoon inspection. Please, come in and make yourself comfortable while I change. Tea? Or a soft drink?’
‘Ask your boy to get us some ginger beer, and we’ll sit on the verandah,’ said Roland.
Margaret knew how fortunate they were to be living at Utopia, and not in a tiny house like this, equipped only with simple rattan furniture, and no trimmings, in absolutely the middle of nowhere. She heard glasses rattling, and while Roland was showing Philip a small gecko that was clinging to one of the chick blinds, Margaret went inside.
A pretty, young Malay girl came towards her with a tray of glasses and a large bottle of ginger beer and pieces of fresh lime. To Margaret’s surprise the girl handed her the tray and scurried out of the room as Smedley-Smith reappeared in a planter’s cotton suit, buttoned to the neck, and leather shoes.
Margaret returned to the verandah, but despite the lowered blinds and fan, she was hot as she listened to the two men talking about the plantation, while Philip was clearly bored.
‘I’m very hot here. I’ll take a little stroll outside under the trees. Come on, Philip,’ she said.
It wasn’t long until Roland emerged from the bungalow, followed by Smedley-Smith, who had donned a solar topee. The assistant manager shook Margaret’s hand and said goodbye to both the Elliotts, before jumping on an ancient bicycle and pedalling away along the rutted plantation paths.
‘That was all very satisfactory,’ said Roland as they drove away.
‘Roland! You have to get rid of that young man. It’s disgusting.’
‘What do you mean? The fact we caught him having an afternoon nap? No harm in that. In fact, I think it’s a good idea.’
‘No. That young Malay girl. She’s living with him,’ said Margaret.
‘Nonsense. That’s not on. Not allowed. She’s just a housegirl from the local kampong.’
‘She might be. But she’s also living there,’ said Margaret firmly. ‘When I was walking outside I passed his bedroom and I saw her clothes in there. When I asked her why they were there, she got very embarrassed and ran away.’
Roland paused. ‘Well, it’s not an uncommon situation, Margaret. It gets pretty lonely way out here. Hard for a young man to be on his own all the time.’
‘Then why do all the big companies