7

A swarf of confetti fell from the sky, showering Hong Kong’s colonnaded Victorian buildings and boulevarded streets. Lines and lines of soldiers were standing guard along Des Voeux Road and all around them the pennants and bunting and banners swayed: shimmering granite balustrades were draped with coloured lights, ionic columns and colonial turrets were garlanded with red and gold ribbons, and huge bamboo standards were slung with flowers and paper lanterns. It was a hot Wednesday in May, the day of the King’s coronation.

A brass band in the uniform of the Middlesex Regiment played ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’. There were flags and streamers and hundreds of people waving Union Jacks.

Amongst the clamour of firecrackers and car horns and the din of the crowd, Nadia and Iain stood on chairs at the back of the throng, waving at anyone and anything. Everywhere they looked, there was something to see. Dragon boats in the harbour let off Catherine wheels. Children banged on tin drums. People sang and laughed. Nadia heard the ding-dong bell of the trams as they passed, emblazoned with ‘God Save the King’ across their bonnets. By the clock Tower, acrobats travelled in troupes, tumbling and bouncing onto their hands. And by the pier, the silver dragon of the Fisherman’s Guild came to life when the governor’s wife, Lady Caldecott, dotted its eyes with black ink. Iain told Nadia that it was customary that a person of eminence should start the proceedings off by giving the beast its sight.

The dragon had an enormous head, the size of a wardrobe. And the lead dancers, dressed in silk leggings, had to keep it elevated with crosspieces, like tent poles. Its body must have been eighty feet long, thought Nadia, and decorated throughout with silver braids, exotic yellows and royal-blue brocade. It made Nadia think of the lion-dance she and Izabel had gone to see ten years before. She craned her neck as the troupe wound their way through all the little alleys – there were thousands of people following it, crashing cymbals and banging gongs.

When the dragon disappeared from view altogether, Nadia looked up at the galleries of the Court House building; she saw ladies carried parasols in one hand and fans in the other, while the men wore topees or had their heads bound in white handkerchiefs. Piebald, rheumy-eyed, they sipped gunpowder tea on their Victorian verandahs, passing round silver trays of dainty, hand-cut sandwiches.

Soon afterwards, the Governor, His Excellency Andrew Caldecott, stood on a platform near the mouth of the pier, surrounded by military and naval personnel in full dress uniform. He was costumed entirely in cream linen with an ostrich-plumed hat. He was greeting everyone and welcoming them to the historic occasion when someone shouted out, ‘What about the Japanese threat?’ Nadia felt the mood change a little after that. She knew very well that Hong Kong was the headquarters of Britain’s China Station Fleet. And even though the escalating tension between Japan and China was bringing prosperity to the colony, diverting shipping from Shanghai, and almost doubling the population in a matter of months as both poor and rich Chinese arrived from the mainland, everyone felt the tension.

Later, at a cocktail reception held at the military barracks, Nadia was introduced to several officers’ wives, all of whom regarded her with tepid disinterest. Some were so cold to her that she could have sworn that frost had beaded their mouths. Others stared her down with pitying looks. She was presented to a Lady Hoarde.

‘‘This your first posting, is it?’’ said Lady Hoarde, a large boned woman, of indefinable age, who looked like a pug in a floral dress. ‘‘Fresh off the banana boat, are you? Expect you must have sailed from Southampton.’’

‘‘Well, I …’’ she began.

‘‘Husband’s name?’’

‘‘Sutherland,’’ Nadia replied in her most pukka English accent. ‘‘He’s a senior administrator with the passport control office.’’

Lady Hoarde sniffed the air as if his position was of no particular consequence. ‘‘Never heard of him. Not to worry, we’ll have you settled in no time.’’ She snagged a waiter and demanded a gin and lime. Turning back to Nadia she barked, ‘‘We have a ladies’ tea party every Tuesday. Bridge night is Wednesday at the Golf Club. Of course you’ll have to be vetted first.’’

Nadia looked at her blankly.

‘‘Have you been allocated your household staff yet? We’re breaking in a new cook-boy at the moment. What a trial! Beans on toast is all he can manage it seems. And you wouldn’t believe his personal hygiene. Fingernails like a rotten old sailor’s. Lord only knows why I let him in the kitchen at all!’’ She looked Nadia up and down. ‘‘Who was it that recommended your cook-boy? Daphne Soames? Mary Willis? Oh, you really ought to try Mary’s sponge cake. Her little man Ah Wah’s awfully talented. Used to be a pastry chef for the Jardine family yonks ago.’’

‘‘We don’t have a cook-boy,’’ said Nadia, when Lady Hoarde finally stopped talking.

Lady pug widened her eyes with a sharp intake of breath. ‘‘Good Lord, why ever not? I suppose you’re going to tell me that you do all the kitchen work in the house.’’ She gave a nasty snigger.

‘‘That’s right, I do.’’

Lady Hoarde made a face. Her husband, a tall bearded man, came and stood beside her. He introduced himself as Sir Peter Hoarde, said he was in the sugar trade, before looking over her shoulder to see if there was anyone more interesting to talk to.

‘‘We’ve been given temporary housing in the Government quarters on Caine Road. My husband and I have recently arrived from Macao …’’ Nadia said, seeing Iain gravitate towards her. She reached out and took his arm.

‘‘Macao? What a God forsaken place! People there have no notion of proper behaviour. I’d be surprised if they’d even heard of bridge. How did you keep from going mad?’’

‘‘Actually, I ran a cigar shop – ’’

‘‘A seee-gar shop?’’ Sir Peter blurted.

‘‘You mean you worked for a living?’’ said the pug, taking a long swig of her gin and lime.

Nadia couldn’t recall ever meeting a more conceited old hag. ‘‘Lady Hoarde, some of us like to keep busy. There’s more to life than cocktail party gossip and bridge. Perhaps you ought to try it sometime.’’

‘‘Work in a shop … Why would any respectable English woman go and do something like that?’’

‘‘But your ladyship, I’m not English.’’ She waited a beat, deliberately giving the words time to sink in. ‘‘I’m Rrrrrussian.’’

‘‘Oh heavens,’’ said the pug, wrinkling her nose. ‘‘Oh, heavens, heavens, heavens …’’ She turned her back, took her husband’s arm and walked away.

Nadia glanced at Iain and shook her head. She rolled her eyes and made to leave.

‘‘Wait,’’ he said. Determined to have the last word, he took a step forward. ‘‘I say, Lady Hoarde,’’ he cried, loud enough to be heard across the room.

The pug turned to look at him sharply. She cocked her head with disdain. ‘‘What is it?’’

‘‘I just want you to know that you’ll be in good hands. That you’re not to worry. There’s no need to feel any embarrassment. People in the tropics catch intestinal worms all the time. My doctor will send over the proper medication for you first thing tomorrow. You’ll be cured of those writhing little parasites in no time. And if that fails he’ll give you a warm-water enema for the flatulence. All right? Cheerio for now!’’

The whole room seemed to pause in mid-sentence. All conversation stopped. Then a few people tittered as the lines of humiliation crept across Lady Hoarde’s face.

Iain took Nadia’s hand. ‘‘Okay, now that’s done,’’ he said to her. ‘‘How about we grab ourselves some supper?’’

‘‘Who are those dreadful people?’’ asked Nadia.

‘‘He’s a sugar trader who does a lot of business in Japan. He likes to think he has a special relationship with the Japanese because he sweetens their soy sauces and pickles.’’

They stepped into the steamy night. ‘‘Where are we going?’’ Nadia inquired.

‘‘It’s a surprise.’’ They climbed into the back of a Foreign Office car and were driven through the western part of town, towards Sheung Wan district. Gradually, the architecture changed – gone was the colonial dignity of Victoria, instead a hive of low-rise, balconied shophouses mottled the streets packed tight with store-signs and decorations. There was the vibrant clatter of mah jong tiles, the undulating sound of Chinese opera, the loud cries of fruit vendors together with the throb of temple gongs and the clang of cooking utensils. Nadia saw the car approach a cul-de-sac lit by bulbous paper lanterns hung on poles, stopping close to the night market near Shek Tong Tsui.

Iain jumped out of the car and went round to open her door. ‘‘Here we are,’’ he announced.

‘‘Where is ‘here’?’’ she said, seeing only a condiment shop and a tea house.

‘‘It’s where we’ll be having dinner. And afterwards we’ve been invited to watch a Chinese ceremony.’’

‘‘A ceremony?’’

‘‘It’s called a Chinese bun ceremony, but more about that later. First we have to meet some friends.’’

They crossed Shek Tong Road and entered a brightly-lit Chinese restaurant with white ceramic-tiled floors. A sign said that they specialized in braised beef. In the centre of the room, scattered around a large round table, was Costa, Izabel and Carlos, as well as the two boys, Cristiano and Victor. They all stood to kiss her.

‘‘Izabel!’’ Nadia yelled. The two friends embraced. ‘‘You never said you were coming!’’

‘‘You know how I love surprising you,’’ beamed Izabel, wearing a stylish beret. ‘‘I tried to convince Mamuchka to come, but she decided to stay behind with your father and Uncle Yugevny.’’

‘‘Is she still sulking because I left Macao?’’

‘‘Oh, just a little.’’

After greeting everyone affectionately, Nadia felt someone’s hand on her shoulder. She looked around brightly. It was Anna. She wore a black Chinese mask over her eyes. Her hair was drawn back in a pony-tail and there was a pink linen scarf fastened round her neck, but it was still Anna. ‘‘Recordar-me? Remember me?’’ she said wearing a smirk on her face.

‘‘How could I forget,’’ said Nadia, her voice flat. She felt her joy suddenly stall, as if she’d been running happily along the beach, enjoying the sensation of soft sand under her feet, only to stub her toe on a rock. ‘‘What are you doing here?’’

‘‘I’m here to claim my prize, my Scottish dance lessons.’’

‘‘Of course, you are. How good of you to come,’’ she eventually said.

 

The highlight of the celebrations was a fifty-foot bun-tower; a bamboo pyramid draped in hundreds of sweet steamed buns. At the stroke of midnight teams of village men scrambled up the sides of the tower to snatch as many buns as possible, and the higher each man climbed, the better luck he brought to his family.

The crowd roared as a boy of fifteen reached the summit, simultaneously enormous paper effigies of Di Zhang, the King of Ghosts, were set alight, with buns and incense sticks handed out to everyone in attendance.

Nadia had been waiting for an opportunity to take Izabel aside, judiciously, to talk to her about Anna.

‘‘She’s rude,’’ said Nadia.

Izabel looked at her friend with an expression of incredulity. ‘‘I can believe Anna being unsubtle and mischievous and silly with her money, but rude? No, that’s not like her.’’

‘‘Well she is,’’ said Nadia her slim frame throwing shadows in the downlight. ‘‘You should see the way she acts in front of me. She’s just plain insolent.’’

Nonplussed, Izabel asked, ‘‘What exactly did she say?’’

‘‘She said my bathing costume was more suited for a younger woman.’’

Izabel looked confused. ‘‘She said this to you tonight?’’

‘‘No, of course not, it was at the picnic last month.’’

Izabel gave a little smile. ‘‘Sim, that does sound like something Anna would say. She can be brutally honest sometimes. She likes to speak her mind.’’

‘‘I also think she’s trying to steal my husband.’’

Izabel blinked, her thick eyebrows twisted. A few seconds passed as the words began to sink in. Then her smile broadened.

Nadia said, ‘‘I’ve seen the way she looks at him. I see it in her body language. Why are you grinning? I’m being serious!’’

‘‘I know you are being serious,’’ she replied, covering her mouth to hide her grin.

It started to rain. A steaming rain. The water began to splash against their shoulders, plopping in thick errant drops. Nadia removed her low-heeled satin sandals and held a shoe in each hand.

‘‘She’s after my husband’’

‘‘Isso e impossivel,’’ said Izabel.

‘‘Why?’’

‘‘Because she wears her dress back to front.’’

‘‘What on earth is that meant to mean?’’

‘‘It’s a Portuguese expression. I’m trying to tell you that Anna is not what you think …’’

‘‘She’s a shameless home wrecker.’’

‘‘No, she’s not.’’

‘‘Stop defending her!’’

‘‘I am not defending her.’’

‘‘Yes you are!’’

‘‘Anna cannot be a home wrecker and she cannot be after Iain because …’’

‘‘Because what?’’

‘‘Porque e uma lesbica. Because she is lesbica. All right, there, now I have told you.’’

‘‘Lesbica?’’

Izabel spoke slowly, as if addressing a child, ‘‘Lezzzz-beee-kaaa. She likes only women.’’

Nadia mouth grew big and round ‘‘No.’’

‘‘Sim.’’

‘‘But …’’

‘‘There was a small scandal back home. She was involved with another nurse. The hospital she worked for in Barreira found out. There was much talk and, well, you know, it is a Catholic society. Too many people knew. She was asked to leave her job quietly, which is why she came to Macao, to get away from all the gossip. Fortunately for her the hospital gave her a good reference.’’

‘‘But why is she so friendly with Iain?’’

‘‘Just because she likes girls doesn’t mean she can’t be friends with the opposite sex.’’

‘‘You should have told me.’’

‘‘It’s not something one goes about telling, especially as she is family.’’

‘‘Oh no.’’

‘‘What?’’

‘‘Now I see why she responded the way she did when I asked her about marriage. She said she wasn’t interested in getting married nor was she interested in doctors. She must have thought I was teasing her.’’

‘‘Oh, I think she enjoys it. She told me once that she liked sparring with you.’’

They were standing under the ornamented railings of the tea house, across the road from the Chinese restaurant. The rain spilled in billowing waves, dousing everyone and everything. ‘‘Maybe we should get back,’’ said Nadia, feeling as if a twenty-pound load had been lifted from her shoulders.

‘‘Yes, maybe we should.’’

‘‘But first I have to do something.’’ Nadia ran towards the night market, towards the bright red bulbs hanging in the flower stalls, her bare feet slipping on the wet ground. She returned a moment later with a blissful look on her face and a bouquet of peonies and blue delphinium in her arms.

They walked through the frenetic, clamouring throng. They saw a pageant of children dressed as godheads, some of them gliding above the crowd as though balanced on the tips of paper fans. After a few minutes Nadia found Iain and the others watching a Cantonese Punch and Judy show. Anna was standing with her young cousins under a canopy embossed with large red Chinese characters. Nadia approached her and draped an arm over her shoulder. She handed over the bouquet and Anna smiled, surprise and pleasure crinkling her eyes.

‘‘What’s this for?’’ she said, puzzled.

‘‘I should have done this sooner,’’ Nadia said. ‘‘It’s an apology.’’

‘‘An apology for what?’’

‘‘For everything. I should have been kinder to you when you first arrived.’’

Anna smiled and immediately something lightened between them.

‘‘Voce esta molhado. You’re wet,’’ said Anna, unfastening the linen scarf from her throat. ‘‘Dry your hair with this before you catch cold.’’

Nadia shook the water out from her hair and gathered her rain-drenched dress around her legs. A sensation of buoyancy entered her heart. The smell of the flowers grew sweet.

 

The days grew longer and hotter with the arrival of summer. The ceiling fan whirred overhead. Iain’s shoulder buckled as he rolled off Nadia. Their skin was slippery and florid. Perspiration gathered in little pools across their belly-buttons and in the hollows of their throats, tickling as it trickled down onto the bedsheets.

Iain raised his body up so that Nadia could rest her head on his chest. His arm remained curled round her waist, his muscles slack and spent.

‘‘Iain …’’

‘‘Hmmm?’’

‘‘I have to apologize to you about something.’’

‘‘What?’’ he said, sleepily.

‘‘I have to apologize about Anna. The whole thing was just a misunderstanding. It was silly of me. Very silly and I’m sorry.’’ He kissed the top of her head as she spoke. ‘‘And I think I’ve finally come to accept something,’’ she continued.

‘‘Accept what?’’

‘‘That I’ll never be able to have children.’’

Iain kissed her again. He had just cupped her face in his hand when the telephone rang. His eyes lifted over the pillows. Reaching through the narrow gap in the mosquito net, he stretched for the mouthpiece.

‘‘Sutherland,’’ he said in a voice still thick with coital froth. His face was hot from lovemaking, yet in spite of the July heat a chill ran up his back as soon as he heard the Oxford lilt on the other end.

‘‘The Marco Polo Bridge? Yes, I understand,’’ Iain said, sitting up, detaching his arm from Nadia’s hip. ‘‘When did the Japanese issue the ultimatum? I see. So they started to bombard the town with artillery soon after midnight.’’ Moments later he replaced the mouthpiece on its cradle and climbed out of bed. He took two steps towards the bedroom window and watched the deep blue shadow of cloud move against the moon.

‘‘What is it?’’ Nadia asked, almost asleep. She flopped her legs across the counterpane.

His skin looked as pale as candle wax in the moonlight. ‘‘There’s trouble southwest of Peking. Heavy fighting has broken out between the Chinese and Japanese Armies.’’

‘‘Who was that on the phone?’’

‘‘Somebody from the office.’’ He turned and looked at her. ‘‘He said this could be the start of something big. Nadia, if anything happens I want you to return to Macao, do you understand?’’

‘‘What do you mean if anything happens?’’

‘‘I mean if there’s a war. If Britain gets embroiled in this war.’’

‘‘Surely, I’ll be safer in Hong Kong. The British China Fleet is based here.’’

‘‘Look, don’t argue with me on this.’’ He came and sat on the edge of the bed, pushing the net aside as he approached. ‘‘Will you promise me you’ll go back to Macao if I ask you to?’’

She saw the determination in his eyes. Her throat trembled. The words welled up inside of her. ‘‘Yes, I promise.’’ she said, clutching a pillow in her small fists.

‘‘Good,’’ he mouthed, wrapping his arms round her and holding her tight, feeling a fear catch in his stomach. He closed his ears to his own rushing heartbeat, which bumped in his chest as though he’d raced up a flight of stairs; instead he caught his image in the nightstand mirror. In the reflection the pallor of his face had turned bone-white, there was a cold glean to his eyes; it was, he thought, as if he could suddenly see into the harsh, bloody future.