The White Pearl Read Online Free

export that much and no more. Their dictats were a constant thorn in the flesh of plantation
     owners, who preferred to work in cartels that set their own agreed limits.
    ‘I received a cable today. They are refusing to raise the allocation,’ he grumbled, and sank into a battered old rattan chair
     that was his favourite.
    ‘But that’s absurd. Don’t they know there’s a war on?’ She meant it as a joke to lighten his mood, but he set his jaw and
     took it seriously.
    ‘It doesn’t look like it, damn fools. But a young officer from the American attaché’s office flew up from Singapore to see
     me today, and admitted that America and Britain are stockpiling the stuff like mad in case the supplies get cut off by Jap
     warships and …’ He stopped. ‘What’s the matter, old thing? You’re shaking. Not going down with fever, are you?’
    ‘No, of course not. It’s just that the word gives me the shivers.’
    ‘Warship? Can’t say I blame you.’
    No, not warship. Jap.
She experienced a flash of memory, of long, narrow eyes staring intently into hers, lean male shoulders and an exquisite
     neatness in the incline of a shapely Japanese head in greeting.
    Nigel lifted his glass to his lips and studied her over its rim. ‘What’s up? You look a bit peaky, old thing.’
    Old thing. Old thing. Old thing.
    She was more than
a thing
, and not
old.
Not yet.
    ‘I’m fine.’ She sipped her gin and let it slide down to her stomach before she added, ‘I had an accident in the car today.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Another car scraped my wing and I lost control of the steering.’
    ‘Oh, Christ! Much damage?’
    ‘I killed a woman.’
    Four small words. Like a bomb going off in the room, deafening them both. Nigel put down his glass and rose to his feet, his
     cheeks flushed, his lips tight. He ran a hand over his short hair and came to stand directly in front of her. He leaned over
     her. ‘Constance, my dear, are you all right?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Good. Don’t worry, I’ll ring Tommy immediately.’
    Tommy Macintyre was their lawyer, a big man prone to a stammer unless oiled by Scotch whisky. Nigel moved quickly to the telephone,
     lifted the earpiece and dialled a number. He was staring back over his shoulder at Connie, and the expression on his face
     startled her. It was one of such sorrow, of loss, as if he could already see her behind bars. She looked away and finished
     her drink in a long swallow, feeling its heat scorch her stomach. After a moment of brief conversation, Nigel hung up.
    ‘He’s over in KL tonight,’ he said.
    Kuala Lumpur was the capital of Malaya, originally a small and scruffy tin-mining town set up by Chinese miners in the middle
     of the nineteenth century, but now it had grown into a bustling city since the British set up business there and put in a
     Colonial Office Resident to work with the local sultans. Nigel started to pace the room in swift, uneasy steps that made her
     want to soothe his distress.
    ‘I’m sorry, Nigel,’ she said quietly.
    ‘This is a bad show, Constance. Tell me exactly what happened.’
    ‘I told you, a black car scraped my wing and the Chrysler was catapulted up onto the pavement where it hit a woman.’
I hit a woman.
That’s what she meant, not
it hit a woman.
‘She died.’
    ‘In the street?’
    ‘Yes. Her son and daughter were there.’
    ‘Dear God, that’s even worse.’
    ‘I know. A thousand times worse. Watching their mother – no older than I am – die in front of them like that. It was horrible.’
    ‘What did the police say?’
    ‘They let me come home.’
    ‘I’ll ring Duffy at once. He’ll know what’s going on and when they are going to charge you.’
    She wanted to say
it wasn’t my fault
, but she couldn’t bring herself to voice the lie. Duffy was Chief Inspector George Duffery, a cricketing companion of her
     husband’s. He dialled again and spoke in low tones with his back to her. She watched his shoulders change,