CHAPTER 9 #2
Clasping their shopping bags, mother and daughter made their way back towards the central staircase and went up to the next floor.
With its wood panelling, ornate chairs and white tablecloths, the tearoom reminded Dorothy of going out for tea in London.
Dorothy felt tired and ready for a nap, but the tea and fruit cake lifted her spirits and she felt excited at the thought of wearing her new dress on her first night out in Singapore.
The Dan Hopkins Orchestra was in full swing when Dorothy and her parents arrived at the Raffles Hotel the following evening.
Dressed in her new turquoise evening gown with her hair clipped up in an elegant chignon, Dorothy was pleased with how she looked on the outside.
But on the inside, her stomach was full of butterflies, fluttering a mixture of nerves and excitement about the night ahead.
She was looking forward to seeing Clara again and to meeting her cousin, and she couldn’t wait to experience the hotel.
She had seen photographs but nothing had prepared her for the reality of the place which had been dubbed the ‘Jewel of the East’.
Its magnificent white facade glowing in the early dusk, reminded her of a three-tiered wedding cake.
A large extension came off the front of the building, from which the sound of laughter, chatter and rousing Dixieland jazz was coming.
The Templetons made their way to the hotel lobby and were shown through to the ballroom.
The music was louder as they entered and the dance floor was packed.
Around the edge of the room were wicker tables where guests were dining.
Dorothy gazed around, taking it all in, then spotted Clara in the distance, standing up and waving them over.
‘You made it!’ Clara called over the noise of the band, hugging her new friend in welcome. ‘And you look divine!’ She stepped back, admiring Dorothy’s outfit. ‘Where did you get that dress? I love it!’
Introductions between the two families were made and they all settled around a large corner table, the parents at one end and ‘youngsters’ at the other.
Dorothy looked at her surroundings; the sights and sounds were overwhelming, but in a good way.
The music never stopped, with the band members – looking smart in their white dinner jackets and bow ties – giving the crowd exactly what they wanted: jazz, jazz and a bit more jazz.
Waiters weaved expertly in and out of the crowd as they made their way around the outside of the room, delivering trays of exotic-looking drinks and plates of delicious food to the guests.
The conversation flowed as easily as the wine, with Walter Davies, Clara’s father, proving to be a congenial host. He was a good-humoured chap with a round, animated face and seemed most interested in whether or not Anthony Templeton played cricket.
His eyes lit up when Anthony confirmed that he did.
‘I say, I don’t suppose you’re free on Saturday next and could help us out of a hole? One of our chaps has broken his ankle so we’re a man down. Just a club match, down on the Padang, nothing too serious, but it’s always a bit of fun!’
Olivia was thrilled by the invitation for her husband to join the cricket team and, for a moment, reminded Dorothy of an over-eager puppy.
She discreetly laid a hand on her mother’s arm in a subtle bid to calm her.
Her mother had had such great hopes for their exciting new life in Singapore and seemed delighted to be made to feel so welcome so quickly.
But Dorothy didn’t want her eagerness to come across as off-putting to their new friends.
Clara’s cousin, Matthew, was easy-going with a ready smile.
He was twenty-one years old and was spending six months in Singapore with his aunt and uncle after completing his undergraduate degree in England.
Although he wasn’t her usual type to look at, with his tall, wiry physique and strawberry blonde hair, Dorothy found herself enjoying his company enormously.
‘I’m a banker, or at least I’m training to be one,’ he told her with a coy smile.
‘I know . . . ’ he sighed, ‘it doesn’t sound like the most exciting job in the world, but I’m afraid I’m a bit of a numbers man.
And the chance to come out here and do some work experience with Uncle Walter’s bank was just too good an offer to turn down! ’
Dorothy was glad when dinner arrived; the wine was starting to go to her head. With such efficient waiters, her glass had never been empty for long and she needed something to soak up the alcohol. She was pleased to see some old favourites on the menu and devoured the roast beef and vegetables.
After dinner – all six courses of it – Dorothy asked Clara where the ladies’ room was. ‘Come on, I’ll show you,’ she replied, ‘and let’s stretch our legs while we’re at it; time for a tour!’
The girls excused themselves and made their way through the cool expanse of the hotel lobby.
They stopped at the ladies’ powder room, then Clara led the way out into the garden.
Night had fallen and the tall outlines of the palm trees were silhouetted against the dark, cloudy sky.
The sound of the now-familiar clicking of cicadas filled the garden.
The air was cooler now and fragrant with the sweet scent of jasmine.
Dorothy paused and breathed in deeply. But they were not stopping; Clara led the way through the garden and out onto the road at the front of the hotel.
‘Where are we going?’ Dorothy asked.
‘Time to cool off! You can’t have an evening at Raffles without a quick paddle!’
On the other side of the road – eponymously named Beach Road – was the seashore.
Dorothy followed Clara’s lead when they reached the sand and slipped off her shoes.
They wandered down to the water and she revelled in the sensation of the coolness lapping against her skin.
It had been so hot in the ballroom that it was blissful to come outside and cool off.
They weren’t alone; several other hotel guests had had the same idea, including a few couples who were enjoying the romantic setting.
Clara found an area of dry sand and sat down, then rummaged in her clutch bag.
Dorothy followed suit and sat beside her, but declined the cigarette she was offered.
Clara lit hers and soft puffs of smoke floated in the air.
In the distance, a crescent moon shone down, lighting up the horizon and the ships out at sea.
Away from their parents and the noise of the ballroom, the girls chatted more easily, sharing details of their former lives back in England, movies and music they both liked, and tales of past romances.
‘I was seeing a nice chap back in Fulham. Bertie, he was called.’ Dorothy smiled wistfully.
‘He was very sweet to me and we had a lot of fun. And he was very good looking; tall, dark and handsome, just how I like them! But my mother made it clear that he was “not suitable marriage material”.’ She mimicked her mother’s clipped tones on this last part and rolled her eyes.
‘That’s mothers for you!’ Clara chuckled.
‘Mine’s exactly the same; fixated on me making the “right sort of match”.
But I’m resisting for as long as is humanly possible!
Honestly, the chaps she thinks of as being “suitable” are so unutterably dull that I would lose my mind through boredom within a matter of days!
And anyway, I plan to work and support myself.
I truly resent the idea that we have to chain ourselves to a man and hope that he’ll take care of us.
Times are changing and I feel perfectly sure that I can take care of myself! ’
On that decisive note, Clara stubbed out her cigarette and got to her feet, ‘Right, come on, time to go. Next stop on the tour: The Long Bar! Make sure you brush all the sand off that gorgeous dress.’
They crossed the road back to the hotel and made their way to the rear of the building.
Inside, the Long Bar was cool, dark and inviting.
The palm-shaped fans provided a welcome breeze and guests relaxed in wicker chairs.
The girls crunched their way across the empty peanut husks that littered the floor – as per tradition, Clara explained – and were shown to a table near the bar.
The waiter took their order, this time for a couple of sensible soft drinks.
Clara signed the chit to her father’s account then looked around, waving to a couple of friends and pointing out a few others to Dorothy.
‘That is the local femme fatale, Maria da Costa,’ she whispered as a stunning, dark-haired woman in a jet black dress breezed past them. Her expression was haughty and her eyes dark and fierce. ‘Italian and highly strung. Used to getting what she wants.’
Dorothy watched as Maria da Costa paused briefly at the door on her way out of the bar. She exchanged a few words with a man who was coming in. Dorothy couldn’t hear what was said, but she could tell from the woman’s face that the words were not pleasant.
Maria swept out of the room and the man turned and looked in their direction. Seeing him properly now, Dorothy gasped. He was tall and dashingly handsome. With dark hair, smiling eyes and a neat moustache, he reminded her of Clark Gable.
Feeling at ease with Clara and bolder than usual after all the drinks, Dorothy whispered, ‘Golly! Who is that?’ The man walked past their table and headed over to the bar.
Clara followed her gaze. ‘Ah, Douglas. Or, should I say, Dangerous Douglas! Yes, he’s devilishly good looking, but equally devilish with the ladies, if you know what I mean!’
Clara’s brow furrowed as she continued, ‘That’s interesting,’ she muttered, almost to herself. ‘They’re playing their roles very well, I must say!’
‘Playing their what?’