But all that was quickly put out of his mind by the playful, mischievous Timah. In some ways still a cub at heart, she had obviously decided that she wanted to romp and she began to leap around Haji, pawing at him in a display of mock-fighting and then, when he reciprocated, gambolling off into the bushes for a game of hide-and-seek. Dour old Haji felt this to be a little beneath his dignity and after going along with it for a short while, be brought matters to a head by gripping Timah firmly by the nape of the neck and biting her just a little bit harder than qualified as mere play. She quietened down considerably after that and contented herself with trotting obediently along behind him, especially when he intimated to her that a splendid meal was waiting at the end of the journey.
They set off, with keen appetites and high expectations, into the dappled green depths of the jungle.
It was late afternoon and Harry was seated at the little table on the verandah, drinking Darjeeling tea and enjoying the last few peaceful hours before dusk. Behind him, Pawn worked tirelessly, flitting about the various rooms of the house like a restless fly. It was once again Mess night, and she was anxious to have everything spick and span for the Tuan before he left.
The stillness of the day was abruptly shattered by the bronchial wheezing of a battered old Ford saloon as it came clattering into view around the corner. The car had an overall background colour of dark grey, but was liberally splattered with patches of other colours where rusty abrasions had been plastered over with metal filler. All in all, it was surprising that Doctor Kalim’s car had not fallen apart long ago. It showered flakes of rust onto the drive as it eased in through the open gateway and came to a shuddering, sorrowful halt. Harry raised his eyes heavenwards, for he had half expected this visit. Nonetheless, he called through into the house.
‘Pawn! Bring out an extra cup and saucer, please!’
Doctor Kalim emerged from his car and, as always, Harry was struck by the incongruity of it all. Kalim was a neat and dapper little Muslim, who always insisted on wearing an immaculate white shirt, his English university tie and a sombre black suit, which must have been hellishly uncomfortable in such heat. The whole effect was topped by a wide-brimmed black fedora, which added another six inches to his unimposing stature. He leaned into the back of the car, retrieved his leather briefcase, and came striding purposefully up the driveway, peering at Harry through a pair of pebble-lensed spectacles.
He stepped onto the verandah just as Pawn emerged from the house carrying the spare crockery.
‘Doctor Kalim!’ announced Harry graciously. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure. Won’t you sit down and take a cup of tea?’
Kalim gave a stiff little bow of assent.
‘Thank you, Mr Sullivan, I’d love some.’ He sat himself in the spare chair, removed his hat, and placed it carefully on the table. Pawn set the cup down in front of him and withdrew into the house, trying hard not to smile.
‘Allow me to fill your cup,’ said Harry. ‘It’s only just been made.’ He leaned over and filled Kalim’s cup to the brim. ‘There now. It’s such a pleasure to sit out here in the afternoon and drink a good tea, don’t you think?’
Kalim said nothing.
‘I er … take it this is just a social call?’ ventured Harry, knowing in his heart that such was surely not the case. Kalim had been his doctor for six years now, and though in that time Harry had never called on the fellow once, Kalim had often taken the initiative himself. The plain fact was that Harry didn’t like doctors or surgeries or hospitals and would have had to be taken forcibly, even after a major accident.
‘Indeed, this is not a social call, Mr Sullivan, as I am thinking you must be most aware.’ Kalim talked slowly and emphatically, for despite his years at university he still had problems with his English. ‘Your very good chum, Mr Tremayne, is asking me to be calling on you. He is telling me that you are having a very bad do at the tennis courts, yesterday.’
Harry smiled, spread his arms.
‘Well, here I am, Doctor,’ he exclaimed. ‘How do I look?’
Kalim clenched his teeth and lifted the corners of his mouth, a device that was supposed to pass for smiling.
‘Come, come, Mr Sullivan. As I am sure you are aware, how you look has very little to do with it. Tell me, when did you have last a major physical checkup?’
‘Oh, let me see now … that would have been in ’62, when we had the trouble in Brunei. Told me then I had a dodgy ticker, but that if I looked after it, there’d be no problem …’
A look of supreme annoyance came over Kalim’s usually placid face.
‘Oh really, Mr Sullivan! Would you be saying that playing tennis is a particularly good way of looking after this … dodgy ticker, as you call it? Sometimes, I despair of the British mentality, I really do. Mr Tremayne was telling me that you had a very nasty turn. It’s a wonder you didn’t kill yourself.’
Harry gave a gesture of dismissal.
‘Dennis Tremayne is a natural-born exaggerater. Always has been. The fact is, it was hot. I had a bit of a dizzy spell, that’s all.’
‘A dizzy spell. Do you not think that I am being better qualified to judge the severity of what was happening to you?’
‘My dear Doctor Kalim! You weren’t even there, old man, so how can you be expected to know what was wrong with me? I say, do drink up your tea before it goes cold.’
Kalim muttered something beneath his breath, but obediently, he picked up his cup and sipped at it a few times. He watched, horrified, as Harry took a cigar case from his shirt pocket. He extracted one, put it into his mouth, and then offered the case to Kalim.
‘No, thank you very much, I don’t. And neither should you, if you are not minding me saying so.’
‘Say what you like,’ muttered Harry gruffly. He struck a match and lit the cigar. ‘It’s your loss. These are very fine Havanas.’
Kalim shook his head in mute exasperation. He thought for a moment, then leaned down, opened his briefcase and took out a stethoscope.
‘Well you can put that away for a start,’ warned Harry.
‘Mr Sullivan … now, it would not be taking me more than two minutes to be having a quick listen to your dodgy old ticker. We could be doing it right here, you will not even have to get out of your chair …’
‘Certainly not. I’m not having you listen to my insides, some things are sacred you know!’
‘But really, this is being most childish …’
‘You can say what you like, I know my rights. If I don’t want to be looked at, then there’s nothing you can do to make me. Now please, Doctor Kalim, stop being a confounded nuisance, sit still, and drink your bloody tea!’
‘Well, really!’ Kalim was outraged. He thrust the stethoscope back into his briefcase and sat where he was for a moment, staring out across the garden, a look of dark, impotent fury on his face. ‘When I think of the poor people around here who would give anything to secure a doctor’s help,’ he muttered. ‘And then I am encountering people like you, Mr Sullivan … people who are refusing to help themselves. It is making me most annoyed.’ He sipped again at his tea. ‘Let me tell you the symptoms I think you were experiencing yesterday. You have already spoken of dizziness. I think also there would have been a sharp pain in the chest, a pounding of the heart, an inability to control one’s breathing … shall I go