He went out of the room.
‘Poor Daddy,’ observed Melissa thoughtfully. ‘He’s had rather a lot on his plate lately. I expect he’ll be glad to get back to England for a rest.’
Harry motioned to Trimani, who came hurrying over from the bar.
‘One Tiger beer. One … gin fizz, please.’
‘Right away, Tuan!’ And he was gone.
Melissa shook her head.
‘Look at the way they run around for you, Uncle Harry. But if anybody else tried to get that kind of service, they’d just be ignored. Why is that?’
‘Because I’m a relic, I suppose.’ He shrugged. ‘In my day, that’s how it was always done, nobody thought anything of it. Trimani there, he’s served at this Mess a long time. I expect he remembers the old ways too, but lately he’s been told by a lot of people that he doesn’t have to bow and scrape to the white sahibs anymore, that he’s equal to them, and should they require a drink well, let them jolly well come and ask for one. I don’t suppose any of them bothered to ask him what he’d like to do, but that’s neither here nor there. Still, for all his new freedom, he chooses to keep one memory of the old days alive and that memory is me. Oh, you’re absolutely right, Melissa. Nobody else here gets the same treatment I do; but then, nobody else here goes as far back as me and Trimani. We’re the only two dinosaurs left in this particular patch of swamp.’
‘You’re not a dinosaur,’ cried Melissa emphatically. ‘And neither is Trimani.’
‘Pardon, Missy?’ inquired the barman, who had just arrived with the drinks.
She stared at him, flustered.
‘Oh … ah … I was just saying, Trimani … you’re not a … dinosaur.’
Trimani shook his head gravely.
‘No, Missy, that is right. I am a Buddhist.’ He set down the drinks, smiled proudly, and walked away. Harry and Melissa managed to hold back their laughter until he was out of earshot.
‘You see, I told you,’ giggled Melissa. ‘He’s not a dinosaur.’
She sipped at her gin fizz. It was deliciously cold and she found herself musing that she was rarely happier than when she was in Uncle Harry’s company. She had really meant what she said about missing him. There was nothing strange about it either; it was simply that Harry Sullivan had always represented a kind of reassuring steadfastness that she had come to rely on. Even when she was a little girl, she had relished the visits to Uncle Harry’s house. She would sit on his lap, inhaling the familiar cigar-smoke smell of him, while she listened enthralled to his wonderful stories of adventure in far away places.
Even then he’d been alone, of course. The Tremaynes had not come to live in Malaya until 1956, when Melissa was eight years old. Harry had already been a widower for six years and he was then, what he was now, an extremely nice, but very lonely old man. As far as Melissa knew, he had not had a relationship with another woman since his wife died; at least, not one that was anything more than platonic, though lord knows, he must have had some opportunities along the way.
‘Do you remember much of England?’ he asked her now.
‘Not really. Little things.’ She smiled. ‘I remember building a snowman one Christmas and I remember a field, I think, that must have been outside our back garden … There’s nothing definite, you know, just very abstract images. Oh, I remember a dog too, a big black thing. Must have been ours I suppose, goodness knows what must have happened to him.’ She shook her head. ‘Not much to go on, is it? Everyone keeps telling me how very cold it is over there and …’
Her voice trailed away as her attention was distracted by the entrance of a stranger, a tall, blond-haired man, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. He was walking slowly, rather dejectedly, she thought, his hands in his pockets and a rather glum expression on his handsome, tanned face. He moved over to the bar and began chatting to Trimani.
‘Is something wrong?’ enquired Harry, who had not noticed the focus of her attention.
‘I was just wondering who the dish was.’
‘The what?’
She smiled apologetically.
‘It’s just an expression I picked up from a magazine. It means good-looking, that’s all … and I wondered who he was. I haven’t seen him before.’
‘Who?’ cried Harry in exasperation.
Melissa leaned closer in order to whisper. ‘I’m talking about the chap by the bar. There … wearing blue jeans …’
Harry looked in the direction she was indicating.
‘Him?’ he cried.
‘Shush! Yes, him. Why, what’s wrong?’
‘That’s Beresford!’
‘Oh. Well, he’s very handsome.’
‘But … he’s Australian!’
Melissa giggled. ‘Well alright then. He’s a handsome Australian. I say … why is Trimani pointing at us like that?’
‘I can’t imagine!’ muttered Harry. He was somewhat taken aback. He had always thought that Melissa had some degree of discernment.
‘He is though, Uncle Harry. Look.’
Harry looked. Sure enough, Beresford was chatting to Trimani, and Trimani did seem to be pointing at the table where Harry and Melissa were sitting.
‘Do you know him very well?’ asked Melissa.
‘Hardly at all. Never even passed the time of day with him.’
‘Well, he seems to think he knows you. He’s coming over.’
‘What?’ Harry glanced up in alarm. The Australian was sailing towards him with a disarming grin on his face. A few steps brought him right to the side of the table.
‘Hello there. Hope you don’t mind me introducing myself. I’m Bob Beresford. You must be Harry Sullivan.’ He thrust out a hand that was doubtless intended as a shaking device, but Harry just sat there staring at him; so he swivelled slightly to the left and offered the hand to Melissa, who took it more readily. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know your name, miss.’
‘Melissa. Melissa Tremayne. Pleased to meet you Mr Beresford.’
‘Tremayne. That wouldn’t be anything to do with Captain Tremayne, by any chance?’
‘His daughter.’
‘Well now … fancy that!’ There was a brief, rather uncomfortable silence. Bob turned back to Harry. ‘Well, I hope you don’t mind me coming forward like this, but I had to come over and offer to buy you a drink, the moment I learned it was you what bagged the big stripey over there.’
‘Bagged the …?’ Harry was beginning to suspect that the rest of the local population had decided to switch to new language overnight, without informing him. He glanced at Melissa for some support.
‘I think he means the tiger,’ she said cautiously.
‘Yeah, sure, the big old bugger stuck on the wall there …’
Harry raised his eyebrows.
‘May I remind you that there is a lady present?’ he asked icily.
‘Oh, that’s alright, Uncle Harry. I’ve heard worse at school! Won’t you sit down with us, Mr Beresford?’
‘Ah, thanks very much, Miss Tremayne.’
‘Melissa.’
‘Right, Melissa.’ Bob pulled up a chair and sat himself down at the table. ‘And you must both call me Bob. Now, I took the liberty of asking Trim to