Tong had his best manners with him and ceremoniously held out his tea-cup at me before sipping. We spoke of the price of rubber (which was going down), and the latest film at the Pantheon Cinema.

Having thus formally introduced himself, Tong took his leave.

With dignity and a little haste, we proceeded towards
the wedding.

‘You cannot waste time,’ said Pang laughingly, ‘Ah Mei is already pregnant.’

That was humiliating. I had not realized Ah Mei’s condition. But Miss Lee confirmed the news when she came, ostensibly to present me with a couple of chickens and thank me (belatedly) for my hospitality. She was pregnant too, and there were rumours that her husband was now interested in someone else, a virgin from the village of Todak whose father was a detainee.

We talked of the weather and the price of rubber and Miss Lee informed me of the latest racket in a detention camp near Kuala Lumpur. It was called the uniform racket. It consisted in requisitioning from the Government Stores five yards of material for each uniform then only using three yards. ‘It’s terrible to be dishonest,’ said Miss Lee. ‘We, the poor, do not like to know these things of our superiors.’

Came the wedding day, and the second largest Chinese restaurant in the town hired its first-floor room to the wedding party. The room was open on three sides, and faced the Straits. Singapore was across the water, and three fans steadily kept the wedding party cool. There were about thirty people in the party: white police officers, Chinese detectives, two Indian inspectors’; the rest were all ex-terrorists. Ah Mei looked hideous with frizzy hair, daubs of rouge patted upon her cheeks, a tight-fitting white satin dress with long sleeves in which she must have stifled, and red shoes. On her finger was a gold ring with the words ‘Eternal Love’ stamped upon it in English.

We sat at long tables and ate rancid cream cakes, curry puffs and limp sandwiches. We drank Green Spot and the whites drank stengahs. The head of the detective unit, a Chinese with a fine head of silver hair, made a speech. One or two others cracked jokes. Then a few of the S.E.P.s got up and toasted the Police in orange juice, and the Chief replied and toasted the S.E.P.s and the ‘happy couple’ in a stengah. Round about the wedding party ambled three waiters, smiling.

And now it was time for Ah Mei and her husband to leave for their honeymoon, which they would spend in Singapore. We rose and followed them, escorting them down the stairs to the street.
In front of the restaurant stood a large and well-polished car. It was the Chief’s. Mr Stallart had generously lent his car to them for two days. Others among the British police officers had also lent their cars to the S.E.P.s in the party, but for the afternoon only.