The Hills of Singapore by Dawn Farnham

Author:Dawn Farnham
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9789810854331
Publisher: Monsoon Books Pte Ltd
Published: 2012-02-14T20:00:15+00:00

24

Robert sent for Charlotte when the labour pains began. Teresa’s last days had been difficult. The heat was intense, and she had been forced to bathe frequently and lie under the punkah. But at least she had carried this baby to term. The first child had died in utero, and Teresa had taken a long time to recover.

Robert and Charlotte were sitting on his verandah. The evening was cool, with a good sea breeze, and she was glad for Teresa. Dr Little was here, and Teresa’s mother and sisters. That things were proceeding well was the last they had heard, and now they could only wait. Robert’s arm had healed, and Dr Oxley had removed the gutta-percha cast. Robert was rubbing it now and flexing his hand.

“How is the arm, Robbie?”

Robert looked at his sister. “Aye, grand. A little stiff, but that will go. It’s nice to be on horseback again.” He rose and went to the sideboard and poured them both a tot of whisky. She no longer drank it often, and it seared her throat.

“Oooh, Rob,” she spluttered. “Got out of the habit.”

He tossed his down and smiled. “Grandmother would have been ashamed of you.”

She laughed and remembered.

“I got a letter from Aunt Jeanne on the last packet. I forgot to tell you. She has sent you some nice warm socks she has knitted.”

Robert smiled. With every letter came a package. Sometimes biscuits, grown mouldy over the voyage, usually knitted goods. It was clear that no matter how often they reminded her, she thought Singapore as cold as Scotland.

“She is talking of coming here, Robbie. Now that the voyage is less arduous, you know. Waghorn’s route has made the voyage very short. Jeanne’s letter was dated a mere forty-one days ago. It is miraculous. The voyage on the Mediterranean is comfortable, and the voyage overland in Egypt has become quite interesting. The Peninsula and Oriental Company accommodations seem adequate, although one does hear complaints. Could she do it, do you think?”

“How old is she, Kitt?” As soon as he spoke, they both realised this question had never before entered their heads.

“Fifty, perhaps, something like that. She seems never to be ill. I think she would be all right.”

Robert nodded. They both sat silently for a moment, remembering their childhood time together. Jeanne had been their support, the one who loved them in the face of their disapproving grandmother. She had lost her fiancé in the last months of the war with Napoleon and had never married. They had been the children she never had.

“It would be wonderful to see her,” Robert said quietly, and Charlotte nodded. They had never known their grandfather. When their grandmother had died, the house and grounds had passed to Robert as the first boy of the eldest son, their father. Jeanne lived there, and Charlotte supported her with a generous pension. This last was something Tigran had insisted on when she married him, and she had always loved him for it.

“I miss Tigran,” she said suddenly, voicing her train of thought.

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