The White Pearl Read Online Free Page A

starting up around
     his ears and slowly descending as the conversation continued until they slumped and she heard a sigh escaping. He replaced
     the earpiece on the hook, and took a moment to turn to face her. When he did so it was obvious he was annoyed.
    ‘Constance, what a scare you gave me!’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    He picked up his glass, strolled over to the open cabinet and topped up his drink, throwing in a handful of ice from the cork
     ice bucket. ‘You didn’t tell me the damn woman was a native.’
    ‘Does it make any difference?’
    But she knew it did. She could see it in his face.
    ‘The police are bringing no charges,’ he told her. ‘So we can breathe again.’
    ‘The Malay woman can’t.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘She can’t breathe again.’ Connie stood up and put her glass down on the side-table for one of the houseboys to collect later.
     ‘I think I’ll take a cold shower.’
    ‘Constance.’
    She hesitated, but he said nothing more. His footsteps sounded on the polished floors as he crossed the room till he was standing
     close to her, inspecting her face with worried eyes. Brown teddy-bear eyes, she always thought. It was one of the things that
     had attracted her to him when they first met at a party in Kensington in London. Within a month they were engaged. He had
     proposed to her in the tropical hothouse in Kew Gardens. It was a long time since she had thought of that.
    ‘It’s all right, Nigel.’ She rested a hand lightly on his tanned bare arm and felt the muscles instantly grow tense under
     her palm. ‘You can forgetabout it now, and concentrate on your American attaché.’ She made an effort to smile at him one more time, and resisted the
     urge to throw herself against his crisp white chest, to beg for some kind of comfort. Instead she removed her hand and watched
     the tiny muscles around his mouth flicker with relief. He never showed it in his eyes, but he always forgot to control his
     mouth.
    ‘Do remember to pop in on Teddy,’ she said brightly. ‘He’s been building a new aeroplane.’
    Just the mention of his son’s name softened her husband’s long features, and he glanced fondly towards the door. ‘As soon
     as I’ve finished my drink, I’ll go and say goodnight to the little blighter.’ He lifted his glass to his lips, but before
     he took a sip he said in clipped tones, ‘By the way, old thing, next time make sure you take the
syce
into town with you. That’s what chauffeurs are for, you know. If you’d done as I asked and let our
syce
drive you into town, maybe this accident would never have happened and that woman wouldn’t be dead.’
    Connie left the room.
    After her shower, Connie headed along the landing towards the master bedroom. Hadley House was a large, rambling building
     dating back to 1875, built by Nigel’s grandfather, the one who created the family fortune out of rich red Malayan soil. But
     the original construction had been extended haphazardly by Nigel’s father, so that it branched off in unexpected directions.
     The result, surprisingly, was a comfortable home, not as grand and imposing as some of the more elaborate estate mansions,
     but Connie was fond of it. She especially appreciated the verandas and wrought-iron balconies that surrounded it on all sides,
     where she could sit with a book in the evening to catch the faintest breeze from whichever direction it was blowing.
    Her only criticism was that the house was overly masculine, with an excess of sombre teak panelling and dark polished floors.
     A heavily carved central staircase swept down into the wide entrance hall, and set the mood of masculine dominance that she
     had come to learn epitomised life in colonial Malaya. She had tried to lighten the tone with bright curtains and had replaced
     the gloomy overbearing furniture with paler modern pieces, but there was nothing she could do about the blasted staircase.
    As she passed her son’s bedroom she heard the steady