9

‘‘But I thought you couldn’t have children?’’ he spluttered. ‘‘I don’t understand.’’ His eyes were wide. ‘‘How … at your age …?’’

‘‘I was forty when she was conceived.’’

‘‘How …?’’

I don’t know how, Iain. It just happened.’’ She looked at her husband. It was hard to believe how much of his face she had forgotten – the shape of his mouth and lips, the freckles by his nose. ‘‘Do you remember that night in December? Three days before I left Hong Kong for Macao? Well, she was born on September 22nd.’’

He stared at her, stunned.

‘‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say in your letters?’’

‘‘I was scared.’’

‘‘Of what?’’

‘‘Scared you’d risk escape in order to be with us. Scared that you’d get caught trying …’’ She had to stop herself from sounding apologetic.

He remained silent for a long time.

‘‘She looks like me, don’t you think?’’ he eventually said, peering at the photograph.

‘‘The spitting image. I used to cry all the time when I was breastfeeding her because she reminded me so much of you. It must have been my hormones or something.’’ She had been – as Mamuchka had often pointed out – an unfailingly anxious first-time mother.

‘‘You’ve got to go back!’’ he demanded.

‘‘I’m not going anywhere without you,’’ she hissed. ‘‘I’m going to get you out of her. You can’t stay in camp with Takashi in charge. Do you want your daughter to grow up fatherless?’’

‘‘I don’t want her to become an orphan!’’

‘‘Keep your voice down.’’

‘‘Who on earth is taking care of her? How can you leave her by herself?’’

‘‘She’s not by herself. She’s with Mamuchka and Izabel, Anna, Mrs. Lo – she’s surrounded by people I love and trust.’’

An image formed in Nadia’s mind, burning into her: the rickshaw pulling away from the Tabacaria, seeing Valentina at the window, her head small and pig-tailed, the rickshaw continuing down the street as she watched, mouth crumpling. Seconds later she was gone.

‘‘And if you think I wanted to leave her behind then you’re mad. It kills me not to be with her.’’

‘‘But – ’’

‘‘No, buts Iain, you’re going to do as I say. I have this under control. I’m going to get you out of here tomorrow night and afterwards we’ll take refuge at Father Luke’s. If you trust me and if you trust Costa then you must do as I say.’’ She stared hard at his face; the taste of desperation in her mouth. She could see from his eyes that he was fighting with himself. ‘‘Takashi’s going to hurt you if you stay. Are you listening to me? He will hurt you.’’ Iain remained silent for a long time. He closed his eyes, as if he was making a wish. Nadia knew that in a few seconds he would either nod his head in assent or get up to leave. Holding her breath, she awaited his decision.

‘‘How did you ever get so tough?’’ he finally said.

‘‘By being a single mother for three years.’’

‘‘Valentina,’’ he repeated the name two, three, four times. ‘‘Tell me about her.’’

Nadia told him about Valentina’s infectious laughter, her first words, how she’d learned to walk by holding onto Mamuchka’s thumbs, the way she chewed on her comfort blanket before falling asleep, the way she ran around the house with Uncle Yugevny’s drawers on her head and made doll houses out of cigar boxes.

Then turning serious, she said, ‘‘Tomorrow night at three o’clock, I want someone to distract the guards. It will take me about an hour to cut through this wire. I want you ready at four sharp. Don’t bring anyone with you. We can’t have anything slow us down. Father Luke will be waiting a half-mile up the road, at the Tai Tam junction. I’ll get you to the bottom of the hill and into his car. And stop looking at me like that. Your eyes might pop out.’’

Iain nodded, gave a quiet chuckle. He slid the photograph carefully back into the manila envelope and gave it a little pat. He levered himself up, rose to his knees, then up to a half-crouch. He looked at her. She watched him edge backwards towards the enfolding darkness and retreat into the shadows.

 

Nadia waited ten minutes. Waited for the luminous hands of her watch to reach the four thirty mark. Then she started walking, silently, in the direction from which she came, past the creepers and vines. Dead leaves and fern pins yielded beneath her tread. She moved cautiously. In the near distance she spied the guards’ canteen – the smell of boiled rice was less strong now. Her mind should have been more focused and alert, but it wasn’t; she was thinking about Iain.

And then she saw something. A dark shadow, half-concealed, was leaning against the long, pale walls of the watchtower. A figure of a man, dirty and broken, was watching her from behind the fence like a pie-dog. He was regarding her without emotion. She noted that he had a beard, that he had Caucasian features. She froze. They eyed each other for several seconds before the man stepped backwards and out of the dim light.

When she blinked again, he was gone.

 

When Iain returned to his small dormitory, he immediately noticed that Hoarde’s bunk was empty. Stepney was on his back snoring, with Mr. Yorkie curled on his shoulder, and Friendly lay asleep on his side. But where was Hoarde? Had he been in bed when he left to meet Nadia, he wondered? He couldn’t recall. Iain sat on his cot; in his chest a mixture of curiosity and trepidation brewed. He stepped out into the night once more and looked about. When he saw no sign of Hoarde he went back to bed.

After much tossing and turning, Iain concluded that he wasn’t going to get any sleep. He waved the flies away from his mouth and lay in bed thinking about everything Nadia had told him. For long moments, in the darkness, he stared at the photograph of his daughter, making out the shape of her mouth, her eyes. Nadia had said they were going to escape by boat to Macao. That wasn’t going to be easy, he decided, especially with the Imperial Navy policing the harbour and military patrols guarding the southern shores of the island. That was how the Japanese had caught him in the first place.

He was struck by a sudden image of being at sea. It was the day after Christmas 1941; he was in a police launch commandeered from the naval dockyard. Days before, the British had offered him an escape route out of Hong Kong, together with members of the Indian Intelligence Bureau. He declined. Instead, Iain piloted the launch himself and dropped the men off in Mirs Bay where they could flee on foot into Free China. He calculated that he had enough petrol to take him as far as Macao, but on the way back from Mirs Bay, three Japanese Military Torpedo Boats intercepted him, opening fire with their guns. He had no choice but to surrender.

Three days later the Japanese held their victory parade. Two thousand Imperial Army soldiers, led by Lt. Gen. Sakai on a white horse, marched through the streets from Victoria to Happy Valley. On January 3rd, Iain together with 2800 other British, American and Dutch nationals were ordered to gather themselves at the Murray Road parade ground. From here, they marched the eight long miles to Stanley peninsula.

Iain’s thoughts were interrupted by the sudden sound of loud voices. Six guards burst into the room. Stepney tried to scramble out of bed but lost his balance and fell. One of the Formosans held Stepney to the floor as another brought the butt of his rifle down on Mr. Yorkie, crushing its little head.

Iain sat up and held his arms out in self-defence, but the guards grabbed him by the hair and pulled him through the door. He felt a boot thud into his ribs. He tried to work out what was happening, why he was being dragged away, and then he realized that they were taking him towards the Indian quarters. Suddenly, he remembered Hoarde’s words see you by the India hut and with a wave of anger he knew how he’d been betrayed.

Seconds later, he stood before a mound of freshly excavated earth. The radio that they’d buried was in pieces and sitting on the top soil. In the shadows he saw a man with a beard hovering, a look of triumph flashing in his eyes. ‘‘Hoarde, what the hell have you done?’’ he yelled. ‘‘Hoarde!’’