The water sparkled in the bright afternoon sunlight and several old-fashioned wooden boats chugged along, carrying tourists with cameras and mobile phones held aloft, ready to capture the picturesque views. Today, Boat Quay was an enchanting mix of old-world charm and modern vibrancy, but Annabel was curious to imagine how it might have looked back in her grandmother’s day. She sat on a bench and took out her phone, then did a quick online search for images of the area in the 1940s.
The sepia pictures that popped up revealed a bustling trading port, with hundreds of small wooden boats crammed side by side along the river. In some pictures, there wasn’t much water to be seen due to the sheer number of boats. The area teemed with merchants, traders and locals, all going about their business in this thriving hub. Along the quay, Annabel spotted the same shophouses that still stood today, alongside larger warehouses, or ‘go-downs’ as they’d been known. This is where McKinley’s Rubber Manufacturers must have been, she imagined, and pictured Dorothy’s father and Douglas Llewellyn going to and from their office here.
Annabel strolled along the quay, politely declining the numerous attempts from restaurant staff to lure her into their establishments. The aroma of various cuisines filled the air and made her mouth water. Passing a seafood restaurant, she was amazed to see large tanks outside, housing live versions of everything on the menu; from large fish to crabs and lobsters. You didn’t get much fresher than that, she thought, smiling to herself.
At the end of the walkway, she crossed over the shiny white Elgin Bridge and made her way back along the opposite side of the river. Along the way, various plaques recounted the area’s role as a trading port in Singapore’s early days. There was even a white marble statue of the founder of modern Singapore, Sir Stamford Raffles, standing with folded arms, looking pensively out to sea. With his back towards the towering skyscrapers of the central business district, it made for an interesting juxtaposition of the old and new, and a reminder of how far this small island state had come since Raffles landed there two hundred years ago.
She completed her loop of the river by crossing the Cavenagh Bridge and passing by the grande dame of the waterfront, the Fullerton Hotel. From her research on Singapore, she had learned that it was originally built in the late 1920s to house the General Post Office. It was strange to think that it had been here back in her grandmother’s day.
The ‘fat bird’ turned out not to be the name of a pub, as Annabel had predicted, but an enormous bronze sculpture of a squat, dumpy bird on the quayside. James was already there, leaning against it with a frown on his handsome face as he concentrated on typing something into his phone. His features softened into a smile when he looked up and saw her.
‘Ah, Botero!’ She smiled knowingly, nodding up at the sculpture.
James’s brow creased in confusion. ‘I’m sorry, what?’
‘Botero – you know, the Colombian artist? I bet you it’s one of his – it’s just his style.’ She gazed up at the sculpture. ‘Everything he paints, or sculpts, he makes look fat and dumpy! It’s a quirky style, but hugely popular.’
James raised an eyebrow. ‘I’d take your bet, but you actually sound like you know what you’re talking about.’
Annabel laughed. ‘OK, we’ll keep the stakes low – the loser buys the ice creams.’ She nodded over to where an old Singaporean man was selling ice cream from a cart.
‘Ice cream? Now you’re talking.’
James stood up from where he’d been leaning, uncovering the sculpture’s information plaque as he did so.
‘Aha! Here we go!’ Annabel bent down to look at the inscription, grinning as she read aloud, “Fernando Botero, 1932. Bird, Bronze, 1990.” See? I told you so!’ She grinned, playing with him.
‘Well,’ James said, feigning indifference. ‘No one likes a show off, Dr Penrose!’ He narrowed his eyes playfully as he muttered, ‘I bet you read the plaque on your way past!’
She elbowed him in the side and he laughed. ‘Mine’s a mint Cornetto!’ she teased back.
Minutes later, ice creams in hand, Annabel told James what she had found out as they strolled along the quayside.
‘I’m sorry this has turned out to be so upsetting,’ he said as she finished. ‘I guess that’s the problem with family history, you never know what skeletons you’re going to find in the cupboard. Sorry,’ he added with a wry smile. ‘Poor choice of metaphor!’
Annabel smiled sadly. Now she’d had time to think about it, the enormity of the situation was overwhelming: her grandmother had killed a man.
‘Well, thank goodness, no one ever questioned what happened,’ she said, ‘but what if they had? What if Dorothy had been found guilty of murder? She would have been hanged!’
‘But hang on, let me get this straight,’ James said. ‘There were no actual witnesses, right? No one else was there?’
‘No.’ Annabel’s brow creased in concentration. ‘Well, no, that’s not strictly true, some of the household staff were around. Ah Ling was still up. And Julia mentioned a young servant boy, Ravi. He was definitely there, I remember. Julia said that Dorothy nearly crashed into him as she ran upstairs. Poor boy, it sounded like Douglas was as cruel to his servants as he was to his wife and the boy knew to keep his head down.’
Annabel sighed. ‘I just can’t believe it – I can’t believe that dear old Dotty killed a man. It’s just so out of character; honestly, she would have never hurt a fly.’
She stopped to drop her ice-cream wrapper in a bin and James finished crunching the last part of his.
‘Well, if it’s true, it probablywasin self-defence,’ he suggested. ‘If Douglas Llewellyn was as cruel as Julia suggested he was, maybe it was the last resort?’
‘Oh, poor Dotty, I can’t bear to think about what she must have gone through with that horrible man.’ Tears sprang, unbidden. ‘And was his final act of cruelty pushing her to the point where she became a murderer? It’s just too awful to even think about.’
‘We need to find Ravi. He must know more about it. Servants talk. Someone must have seen or heard something. Send Julia a text, see if you can find out about him. He was young at thetime, so he might still be alive.’ James shrugged. ‘It’s worth a shot, anyway.’
Annabel stopped walking and looked up at him, her eyes damp. ‘You really think so?’
James stopped and turned back to her. He reached for her hand. ‘Yes, I do. I hate seeing you so sad. I think there could be more to this than meets the eye and, for the sake of your grandmother’s memory, we should try our best to get to the bottom of it.’ He smiled down at her encouragingly. ‘What do you reckon, Sherlock?’
His touch was warm and comforting. Annabel smiled through her tears and thanked him. Then, instinctively, she leaned into him and rested her head against his strong chest. He wrapped his arms around her, steady and warm. She breathed in his now-familiar citrus scent and, for a moment, a sense of calm washed over her.
