The Rose of Singapore (56 page)

“Really!”

“Yes. And believe it or not, I've volunteered to play waitress for the afternoon, just for you and your guests.” She laughed saying, “But I won't be serving ice-cold beer or Singapore gin slings, not this afternoon. I shall be serving lemonade only.”

Puzzled, Peter asked, “But why? And who's the Chinese gent?”

“Ah! You'll find out soon enough,” sang out Nurse Mason, as she too departed through the swing door.

Dr Henshaw was the first to speak as the two men reached that part of the verandah where Peter Saunders and Lai Ming waited. Waving a hand indicating Lai Ming should remain seated, for she had begun to rise, he smiled impishly at the pair.

“Good afternoon, Miss. Good afternoon, Saunders,” he cordially greeted them.

Peter Saunders replied, “Good afternoon, sir.”

Lai Ming smiled and said, “Hello, doctor.”

“How are you feeling, Saunders?”

“Much better, sir, thank you.”

“That's what I like to hear. Guess what! I've brought you a visitor!”

Peter stared at the two men with growing curiosity, but was lost for words.

“Please, allow me to introduce you to Mr Ng Kwok Wing,” began Doctor Henshaw. “He has come all the way from Singapore to visit you.” Turning to the Chinese gentleman, he said. “Sir, this is the young man whom you wish to meet. This is Senior Aircraftman Peter Saunders. And this young lady is his friend, Miss Lai Ming.”

Kwok Wing smiled benevolently. “I am deeply honoured to have the pleasure of finally meeting you both,” he said, bowing a greeting to Lai Ming and then extending a well-manicured hand to Peter. “I am most honoured,” he repeated.

Attempting to rise from the wheel chair, but ushered back by a vigorous shake of the head from Doctor Henshaw, Peter cordially shook the extended hand. “The pleasure is mine, sir. Won't you both please sit down,” he said, gesturing towards the recently brought chairs.

“I would very much like to join you, but you must please excuse me,” said Dr Henshaw. “I have a patient to see in ward six. Nurse Mason will take care of your needs.” Turning to Mr Ng, he said, “I shall return in one hour, sir, when your visit is concluded.” With those words, he departed through the swing doors.

Kwok Wing sat himself down in one of the wicker chairs and faced the pair, silently studying both for several moments before saying to Peter Saunders, “I expect you are wondering who I am and why I am here!”

“Yes, sir.” Peter answered.

Kwok Wing clasped his hands together and rested them upon the tabletop, displaying on long fingers several gold rings encrusted with jewels, and on his wrist he wore a gold, diamond-studded Rolex watch. The man's cufflinks, too, were of gold, a large diamond embedded and twinkling on each.

“I had hoped to visit you sooner,” he began. “But the hospital authorities would not permit it. Until yesterday I was continuously informed that you were too ill to receive visitors.” With compassion in his eyes, Kwok Wing studied the young man seated in the wheelchair. “I am saddened that you had such a terrible encounter at Fraser's Hill,” he said, sincerely. “However, I was thankful to hear from Doctor Henshaw that you are making such excellent progress towards a full recovery.”

“Thank you. Were you at Fraser's Hill on that day?” asked Peter.

“No. I was in Singapore. But do you remember a little Chinese girl you chanced to meet in the jungle during that terrible day?”

“Yes, of course I remember her.”

“And do you remember her name? Do you recall the name Ho Li Li?”

“I do remember her telling me her name. It was just before … He stopped in mid-sentence. “If it wasn't for Rick,” and he stopped again, his eyes brimming with tears. “I lost a good friend up there, my best friend.” Wiping his eyes on the cuff of his pajama sleeve, he said, “Please excuse me. I'm still very upset over his death.”

“Yes, I can well understand,” said Kwok Wing, who would like to have said, ‘I, too, lost two good friends on Fraser's Hill that day. I am also sad.' Instead, he said, “I am very sorry. I have heard that you suffer from a bereavement.”

Peter sighed deeply. “Yes. I'm very sad about losing Rick,” he said. “He saved my life, and for that matter, he saved the little girl's life, too.”

“My young friend, you have my deepest sympathy. You see, I have heard from a witness the tragic story of what happened to you on Fraser's Hill that day; a story told to me by my young but very bright and observant daughter.”

“Your daughter!”

“Yes. Li Li is my daughter.”

“Well, fancy that,” said an astonished Peter, staring at the man seated opposite him. “Is she OK?” he asked.

“Thankfully, yes. Thanks to you and to that other brave young man my daughter is in good health except for tormented memories. I know she has such memories because she awakens at night screaming, and I must go and comfort her.”

“She will eventually forget bad memories,” said Peter. “We must all try to forget bad memories and remember only those that are good.”

“You speak wise words, those of a true man, a man who was brave enough to save my daughter from certain death.”

“Well, honestly, I didn't do such a lot for her,” Peter answered modestly. “I helped her down from a tree. I bandaged her leg. Then that bastard … excuse me,” he muttered apologetically. “Then that fellow came along, appearing from nowhere.”

At that moment Nurse Mason pushed her way through the screen door, balancing on the palm of one hand a round tray with a jug of lemonade and three glasses on it. “Lemonade anyone?” she called out, her face all smiles.

The three at the table smiled back, nodded a reply, and in turn said, “Thank you,” as she poured a glass for each. Nudging Peter, she whispered jokingly, “Where's my tip?” as she made her exit.

Kwok Wing sipped awhile on his lemonade before continuing. “Though very young and truly not much more than a baby, my daughter has been able to tell me the full story, not once but a number of times. It is always the same story, of you climbing the tree and helping her down, of a terrible man hurting her, strangling her, almost killing her. And of you getting angry with that awful man, so much so that you attacked him, causing him to throw my daughter from him. And then he had a big fight with you. As I previously stated, she has tormented memories, but they will eventually pass. Thankfully, she is alive and in excellent health.”

“Thank God for that,” said Peter. “I have wondered at times whether or not she remembered that day. I was told that she had been flown home to Singapore. Perhaps I shall meet her again some day.”

“You shall indeed,” said Kwok Wing. Turning now to Lai Ming, he spoke to her in Cantonese, who answered him in the same Chinese dialect.

When about to speak to Lai Ming again, Peter interrupted him, saying, “Excuse me, sir, but I'm puzzled. I'm wondering why it is that you speak Cantonese, yet your daughter does not. She spoke to me in Malay, and also in a Chinese dialect that I could not understand. It certainly wasn't Cantonese.”

“Yes, the difference in our language has puzzled many people during the six-month period Li Li has lived with me. You see, the child is my adopted daughter. Her departed father was my first cousin. She was born in China, near Nanking, a city in the northeastern part of that great country. As she grew from babyhood to being a young child she learned to speak a little of what is considered the real Chinese language. She has yet to learn how to speak Cantonese.”

“She speaks no Cantonese, yet she speaks Malay! I find that puzzling, too.”

Ng Kwok Wing chuckled, saying, “Yes, I admit it is most unusual, but really, there is a simple explanation. My daughter plays often with Malay children who are our neighbours, and as the Malay language is not as complicated as Chinese, she has quickly learned many Malay words. And that's why she speaks very little Cantonese. Now, with your consent, let us return to the purpose of my visit.”

Peter glanced at Lai Ming. Their eyes met but they said not a word.

“My visit here is to thank and reward you for saving my daughter's life,” they heard Mr Ng saying. “As I have already stated, I know the full story. Therefore, what can I do? I can thank you, yet I cannot thank you enough with mere words. I can clasp your hand in gratitude. I can weep my happiness upon your shoulder, but neither would satisfy me. Should I seek to bestow money upon you, would you be offended? Or if I offer you a gift as a token of my thanks, would it be sufficient? I know not.”

Peter held up a hand. “Sir, have you travelled this far simply to thank me for helping your daughter when she needed help?” he asked. “I would have done the same for anyone in such a predicament as she that day. You have come to thank me, sir? Very well, your words of thanks are sufficient. I'm glad to meet you, and I'm happy to know that Li Li is well.” Peter paused for a moment, conscious of being stared at and studied by Kwok Wing's steely grey eyes. Peter sipped on his lemonade before saying in a lowered voice, “As I have said, sir, I would, though, love to see your daughter again some day.”

“Oh, you shall! You shall indeed!” exclaimed Kwok Wing, adamantly. “However, I do wish to show you my gratitude. I am a wealthy man, one of the wealthiest in this part of the world. There is much on this earth that is obtainable to me, yet out of your reach. I ask you to think, Peter, and I hope you will allow me to call you Peter. Please think of something that money can buy, and if it be in my power, it shall be yours.”

“Wow! Just like in a fairy tale,” laughed Peter. “Are you serious?”

“I have never been more serious.”

Suddenly confused, Peter passed a hand across his damp brow. He closed his eyes. Was he dreaming? Was this Chinese gentleman an illusion, a mirage? He opened his eyes. The man was definitely there, sitting opposite him at the table sipping lemonade, watching him and awaiting his answer. He thought of Rose, and in a flash he knew what he wanted.

“Anything?” His voice was tense from withholding the excitement he felt welling up within him. “Anything?” he asked again.

“Anything that is within my power.”

Peter sat back in the wheelchair. “Please, give me a few moments to think this over,” he said.

“Of course. Take your time. If you'll allow me, I should very much like to speak with your lady friend.”

“Please do,” said Peter, lapsing into thought and not listening to the pair who were now conversing in Cantonese. Not until several minutes had passed did Peter open his eyes and study the two Chinese people seated at the same table; he so prosperous and she so poor.

“Sir,” he began, “In just a few months from now I shall be returning to England. I truly require nothing for myself. However, if you wish to help me in any way, then I ask you to help the lady seated at your side. She needs help, not I.”

A whimsical smile appeared on Mr Ng's face. “And how, pray, may I help this lady?” he asked.

“Sir, I dread to think of the years ahead for her,” said Peter quietly. “You have said that I may ask of you anything in your power. Therefore, I ask you this, and should you grant what I ask, it would be the reward of which I would be truly grateful, for then, when I am ordered to leave Singapore to return to my homeland, my heart and my mind would be at rest.”

“Speak of what you desire,” commanded Kwok Wing.

“Well, sir, I hardly know what to ask, but I do know that I would like to see this lady financially independent with a home of her own. Perhaps, in your organization, you could find her suitable employment. Truly, she has many needs. I have none.”

“My honourable friend, I believe I already know the lady's needs. The honourable doctor who introduced us believes that your survival is largely due to this lady being brought here from Singapore. You had much need of her, and still have need of her.”

Peter nodded his head. “Yes, you are right. I'm glad she is with me. I always want her to be with me, but that remains difficult. I am out of the woods, but as for my girlfriend, there are many brambles in her path and the way is dark.”

“Fortunately, I am able to clear her path free of brambles as well as light her path. Tell me, do you speak some Chinese, Peter?” He asked the question in Cantonese, knowing already the answer.

“Yes, I speak some Chinese, thanks mainly to Rose here,” Peter answered in Cantonese.

On hearing this acknowledgment, Ng Kwok Wing resumed the conversation in Cantonese, speaking the language slowly and correctly, and not using words difficult to pronounce or seldom used.

The two conversed thus for several minutes, until the Chinese gentleman, beaming his pleasure, clasped his hands together and exclaimed in English, “I am truly amazed at your knowledge of Cantonese. You speak the language almost as if you were a native.”

Peter laughed. “As I said earlier, I have a good teacher,” he said, nodding towards Lai Ming.

“Yes, the lady has taught you well,” said Kwok Wing, a thoughtful expression suddenly appearing on his face. Moments later, in a surprisingly elated voice, he said, “I believe I have a solution to many problems.” Turning and gazing intently at Lai Ming, he said to her, “You speak English quite well. You speak Cantonese very well. My daughter does not speak Cantonese. My daughter is in need of a teacher. Would you, Lai Ming, take on the challenge of teaching my daughter Cantonese?”

“Oh, I couldn't,” said a surprised and flustered Lai Ming. “I'm not a teacher, I'm a … I have no qualifications,” she said adamantly, thinking, ‘he would never allow me to be in his daughter's company if he knew the truth about me.'

Reading her thoughts, Kwok Wing said in a sincere and gentle voice. “Ah Ming, the past is behind you. I think only of your future.”

“You know?” Lai Ming asked weakly.