The Scarlet Macaw. S.P. Hozy

my good friend, Edward Sutcliffe Moresby? Sutty?”

      Sutty smiled and took Annabelle’s hand. “Delighted,” he said, “to finally see you again. Welcome to Singapore.”

      Annabelle smiled warmly at Sutty and noted that he had a few white hairs in his well-trimmed beard that hadn’t been there before. Otherwise, he was the same. His blue eyes almost twinkled as he shook her hand. He seemed genuinely pleased to see her. Annabelle looked around for the first time and surveyed her surroundings. Sutty noted that her lovely pale complexion was already turning pink from the heat and a light sheen of perspiration covered her face.

      “My, it’s hot,” she said, laughing at her discomfort and fanning her face with her gloved hand. “Is it always like this?”

      “Yes, my dear,” laughed Francis, “I’m afraid so. It takes some getting used to.”

      They were married the following week in the chapel of St. Andrew’s church, with a small reception dinner in the bar at the Raffles Hotel. The ceremony was attended by Francis’s cricket-playing chums from Guthrie’s and a couple of Sutty’s friends who he played bridge with on Sundays. Sutty was best man and the vicar’s wife played matron of honour to the bride. Annabelle wore the same grey wool suit she’d worn on her arrival, along with white gloves because her hands always felt moist in the heat and this embarrassed her. She wore a smart little cloche hat in a shade slightly darker than her suit that was rimmed in white velvet, and she carried a small bunch of white orchids that Sutty had paid for. Her ivory silk stockings and cream-coloured kid leather shoes she had brought from England. She looked lovely but was clearly feeling the effects of the Singapore heat. She frequently dabbed at the beads of perspiration on her forehead with a white linen handkerchief, one of a dozen that her best friend Jean had given her as a wedding present and going-away gift.

      Francis was nervous throughout the ceremony and kept tugging at his collar. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down every time he swallowed, and he swallowed deeply each time he spoke. He’d lost weight since coming to Singapore, and there was enough room between his collar and his neck to allow all four of his fingers to rest comfortably.

      Fortunately, the vicar kept the service brief and they were soon able to adjourn to the hotel bar for the reception dinner. A sit-down dinner for twelve had been arranged and paid for by Sutty — “Call it a wedding gift,” he’d told them — with the Guthrie’s men occasionally returning from a trip to the bar with a full bottle of wine or whisky. They ate English-style roast beef with carrots and potatoes and gravy, thick hunks of Yorkshire pudding, and a wedding cake that tasted like coconut with lots of pink-coloured frosting. Francis and Annabelle laughed a lot and listened to speeches that the guests insisted on making as the evening progressed and the bottles emptied. It was a wedding in the spirit of all weddings — a celebration of love and hope. Even the vicar’s wife, a dour-looking woman in funereal brown crepe, made a misty-eyed declaration that love and marriage were gifts from God and that two people couldn’t be more fortunate than to embrace the Christian values of marriage and family. “Hear, hear” and “Amen” were heard around the table and Francis and Annabelle thanked everyone for sharing their wedding day. The vicar then chimed in with his blessing and all glasses were raised in a toast to the happy couple.

      Sutty joined in the festivities but a small part of his heart was heavy and he wasn’t sure why. Did he have misgivings about the success of the marriage? Did he wonder if Francis could write his book? Was he fearful for the delicate English bride, Annabelle, who already showed signs of discomfort in her new surroundings? Or was he just being pessimistic in a writerly way, looking too hard and seeing what wasn’t really there?

      Sutty knew that all things took time. Not everyone adapted to or thrived on change the way he did. He looked around at the young men from Guthrie’s who lent the party exuberant energy as only young men can. They shared a camaraderie that encompassed both their joys and their disappointments. These young men had all signed on for an adventure, the experience of a tour of the Far East, hoping it would give them a leg up on the future. They seemed continually to be on the brink of that future, building something that seemed intangible in the present, but that would someday be measurable — wealth, success, property, possessions: the things that came with time and hard work. Sutty knew that not all of them would achieve this, but that didn’t matter now. What mattered was the dream.