“I am sure I will see you again,” she said, and she went into the house, walking swiftly to her bedroom to avoid her mother’s interrogation. Strangely, she did not hear Patti’s footsteps or the opening or closing of doors. The house was full of a confident, approving silence.
SIX MONTHS LATER they were married, after a courtship which, as T.K. would say, was “full of propriety and politeness.” Johnny moved into the Soongs’ house while he searched for a new home for himself and his wife. During this time he revelled in the Soongs’ hospitality, becoming so accustomed to it that he almost believed it was he who was being generous and welcoming: the lavish parties were thrown by him; the elaborate dinners were prepared by his cooks; the people who came to the house were his guests. To these guests, it seemed obvious that the sumptuous events were paid for by this rich new tycoon, and Johnny did nothing to dispel this presumption. Instead, he adopted a demeanour of excessive modesty to fuel the belief that he was indeed the magnanimous, yet somewhat reticent, host.
Guests: Thank you, Mr. Lim, for such a splendid dinner.
Johnny (as self-effacingly as possible): Oh, please, no — thank Mr. and Mrs. Soong. This is, after all, their house. They have enjoyed having you here this evening, I know.
Guests (to themselves): What a noble, honourable man is Johnny Lim, too gracious even to accept thanks. How respectful to his elders, how civilised, etc. etc.
For the Autumn Festival in the year they were married, for example, the festivities at the Soong house were referred to as Johnny Lim’s party, even though he had nothing to do with it. That he played no part in its organisation was clear from the extravagant yet tasteful nature of the evening’s revelry and the type of people who were in attendance. It was the first significant function at the Soong household since the marriage of Snow to Johnny, and it was an event that was talked about years afterwards. Many of the guests were English — and not just the district education officer either, but luminaries such as Frederick Honey and all the other tuan besar of the British trading companies. It is said that even Western musicians from Singapore were engaged to perform for the evening. A striking operatic troubadour, six and a half feet tall, sang whimsical songs in French and Italian. His face was daubed with theatrical paint which obscured his fine features, but even so, everyone present commented on the delicacy of his looks and the flamboyance of his costume — a flowing cape of Ottoman silk lined with iridescent scarlet. He sang so angelically and played the piano with such lightness of touch that no one could believe that he had not come directly from the great concert halls of Europe. “What is someone like him doing here in the FMS?” people wondered aloud as he improvised familiar songs, teasing his audience. The noble Mr. Honey sportingly lent himself to all the women as a dancing partner; he skipped to a traditional Celtic tune, linking arms with his companions as their feet clicked lightly on the teak floorboards. Johnny stood awkwardly in a corner, surveying the scene, trying his best to seem proprietorial and calm. He smiled and tried to tap his foot to the music but couldn’t keep in time. A scuffle broke out among the servants in the yard outside, and it was up to the magisterial Mr. Honey to restore peace. All night there was a constant stream of music to match the flow of alcohol. “It’s at times like these,” the guests said, watching Mr. Honey regaling a group of men with stories of adventure, “one almost feels glad to be in Malaya.” At the end of the evening, when the air was cool and the tired guests began reluctantly to drift home, they realised that the music was no longer playing; the lid of the piano was firmly shut. As the guests departed from the darkening house rubbing their aching temples, they struggled to remember what had happened throughout the course of that evening: it had been too wonderful to be true. Had he really existed, that painted troubadour? He had simply vanished, phantomlike, into the tropical night. What a marvellous party Johnny Lim had given, they thought; what a marvellous man he was. They certainly made a lovely couple, Johnny and Snow.
