At first he sat on the mound, rearranging her clothes neatly.

Then he stood on their rock to watch as her body, weightless and pale in the clear aquamarine water, moved in graceful, long-reaching breaststrokes out across the pool, looking from above like a bird suspended in flight. He thought he had never seen anything so awe-inspiring, so beautiful.

‘My siren,’ he whispered, then, as she turned from the far side and swam to the middle and turned on her back, breasts and ribcage, thighs and feet lapping out of the water, he added, ‘my brazen hussy.’ He watched and willed her back to the shore, back to his arms. He would wait a few days more, he thought — then he would swim.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The inner fury Sturgess had felt for Blanche Hammond’s stupidity in allowing Liz and his witness to go off into the jungle was somewhat tempered by the frustration of his own scout’s unexplained disappearance. Entap had been difficult to control but Sturgess was convinced he would never have deserted.

In the end Sturgess led his party off with the definite feeling that he was moving to some kind of climax, not only in this particular campaign but in his own life. It felt curiously like a last trial, a last labour set by some gods — and if he fell down in this, he must be a complete failure.

He was thankful to have Sergeant Mackenzie with him. The rest of his group were unknown quantities, and the good and dapper doctor had made it clear he was not happy without a tracker. The doctor had unofficially ‘mentioned’ the matter to Chemor, but he still regarded himself as under instruction from his former employer. ‘My job stay with the mem and Rinsey,’ he insisted.

Sturgess had been incensed by the attempt at interference and had announced quite bluntly that the decision was his and they would go — time was of the essence — and Chemor would, as George Harfield had ordered, definitely stay put at Rinsey.

Briefing the doctor that his work harassing the Japs had equipped him with much jungle knowledge, he saw from his face that this statement had to be proved to be believed. The doctor made him feel very much like a patient being given good advice to which he was refusing to listen.

What he had not revealed, as they cut into the jungle towards the river named Sungei Woh, was that he had stayed with the Sakais on several occasions when trekking through their territory to blow up Japanese installations, to sever their lines of communications, or just hiding out.

But the best lead he had was personal knowledge of Heng Hou. Even in the war, John had not trusted this burly Chinese, who had, if not watched, taken more than his fair share of camp rations and had been disliked by many of his fellows. He had shot to leadership as the communists formed the jungle platoons after the war and, like many another communist leader, ruled by intimidation. His own men were frightened of him, and the civilian population, particularly the gentle and easily intimidated Sakais, were terrified of him.

John calculated that, deprived of his ‘luxurious’ jungle camp and his supplies, he would first take out his revenge and spleen locally. Anyone who stood in his path would be slaughtered as Aubrey and Joan Wildon had been. Even so, he guessed Hou would not yet have moved far. Josef had promised him his sister, and Hou could be as devious and persistent as any monkey hiding a banana in its armpit while holding out a hand for more.

He would be looking for a hiding place not too far from paths to local kampongs which could be plundered for food, especially the dried fish and coffee which Hou had a particular taste for. Hou’s appetites were his driving force.

John had hoped to take Hou quickly — and had wanted the Chinese girl, Lee, as bait. He had planned secretly to lay ambush around the Rinsey area, having leaked the information that the former jungle-camp girl was there.

Inwardly he brooded that he felt a bloody fool on three counts. He had seen the woman he had thought his devoted wife in Australia with another man’s son on her hip. He had found a young woman he would have liked as a successor running off into the jungle after one of his own guardsmen, and now one of the best trackers he had ever known had somehow been lured away and most likely murdered.

Sturgess vengefully attacked the tree ferns and creepers growing up from the jungle floor like giant performing snakes. He had not expected to have the added task of trying to track and protect Elizabeth Hammond. He felt she had acted like a little fool; if Cresswell had survived and was with the Sakais, he had no doubt sooner or later news of him would filter out. It had a feeling of demotion to realise that Liz had fallen for a conscripted guardsman, while Blanche Hammond was motoring to Ipoh to visit Gcorge Harfield at every opportunity.

Sturgess severed a particularly sturdy liana stem. George was a good enough chap — the very best. He got on with life, stood no bloody nonsense; one of nature’s gentlemen, you might say, but regarded few social niceties.

As the days passed, Sturgess’s self-questioning and the tormented energy it gave him did not abate. Perhaps, he decided as he supervised the laying of tripwires around their resting area, he would do better to forswear women for ever, just pay for services. His father had said that was all marriage was —another way of paying for services.

The next morning, he smelled smoke. It was some distance away but he drew his party’s attention to the sign. Soon he could discern the lingering smell of cooking. If this was a communist overnight camp, they were feeling fairly secure.

He followed his nose and soon they came to a small clearing, in the centre of which was a kicked-out campfire. This had been rather inadequately dealt with and wisps of smoke still came from the blackened circle.

The major knew he was not of the calibre of any native tracker, but it was impossible for men to use the jungle without leaving signs. He was sure he was on the track of the right group of communists. The very nature of their careless camp, and the haphazard way they had lain during the night, told of thugs on the make rather than campaigners for a cause.

The tracks he followed became confused as they traversed and sometimes followed better-defined tracks. Before dark overtook them again, they could all smell smoke and cooking odours, and soon they began to see traces of the smoke trapped beneath the dripping, dense canopy. John realised this was no meagre campfire; this much smoke must be from several fires — a largish Sakai settlement or even a Malay kampong near the river.

He called a halt and discussed with Sergeant Mackenzie and the doctor the way they would deal with it. ‘We’ll assume there are communists in the houses, perhaps even holding some of the villagers hostage. So cautious approach with men keeping ambush positions on the main paths.’

The sergeant nodded his approval. ‘Want me to take a couple of men and circle to the far side?’

‘We’ll move off as soon as we can see, then, when we approach, you two men, and you, doc?’ He questioned the other officer with a nod. The doctor nodded briskly back. ‘You lot hare around to cover the far side. Shoot for their legs if they don’t stop when challenged. Meantime we’ll have grub up early and then move in a little closer tonight.’

They ate quickly, the men ravenous but quickly satisfied with the hard tack biscuits and chunks of corned beef, washed down with sterilised water from their canteens. They were tired, eager to move those last few hundred yards so they could rest up for the night.

As Sturgess led the way to what must be a good-sized jungle kampong, a worm of apprehension stirred deep in his stomach. This smoke was neither cooking fire nor bonfire, though it might be both. He found Mackenzie at his elbow, and they exchanged glances. ‘Tell the men to stay here. We’ll go forwards and look.’