In his study, Emanuel watched as a servant poured tea for Semah and Pearl. Behind him the carriage clock on the mantel ticked. His fingers tapped rhythmically on his waistcoat pocket. With tea poured, Emanuel waved the server away. To his right, Semah fidgeted with her ring. On his left, Pearl fanned her neck.
In the past week, both his wives had made proposals regarding the need to prevent their children from contacting each other. He could think of nothing else and had even consulted his partners.
“Good fences make good wives,” Aleandro chuckled.
Li, taking his daughter’s side, had averred that building a new house for the gwei-paw—white woman—would be appropriate. Emanuel ignored the slur.
Aleandro tapped his nose. He lived with a quartet of wives in a walled compound in Macau where they each had their own bungalow. “Fences are cheaper,” he offered.
“No, gentlemen, thank you for your counsel, but there will be no fence and no, we will not live separately.”
Li growled and swatted the air with his palm.
There was no gain in either suggestion, Emanuel thought. The former would bifurcate the magnificent property that rose like a gigantic but handsome nose from the face of the colony’s highest mountain. The latter—to build another house—would have created unbearable competition between the women. They would spy on each other by dispatching their amahs to gather intelligence about what the other wife had acquired. If one had a bathroom on each floor the other would want two, custom-made furniture would be trumped with silk upholstery, crystal goblets by plate and silver stamped with the family crest, and so on, each one collecting possessions like warlords collecting fortresses—as conspicuous demonstrations of their superiority. It was not the money—he had plenty of cash. No, everyone had missed the point.
The servant closed the doors with a soft click, freeing Emanuel to speak to his wives:
“These are my children,” he began. “They are my blood and they should know each other as brother and sister. I never had that as a child. I had a sibling but we weren’t close—” Emanuel stopped himself. No need to go on. “I want them to play together as often as they like. And, I have today written to Calcutta for the rabbi to recommend a Melammed tinokot—a religious teacher for children—whom I shall bring here. The children’s day lessons will continue—but they will be taught together. David will attend those taught by you in reading and arithmetic,” he said, gesturing toward Pearl. “And Leah Felicie will attend those taught by you—drawing, music, geography,” he said, gesturing at Semah. “In time they will need more formal schooling…” He let his voice trail off.
If ever there was a moment when the two women might simultaneously roll their eyes, it was this one. But neither actually rolled anything. Rather, they took huge intakes of breath, rose, and walked out of his study, Semah to the right and Pearl to the left.
Emanuel had hated being a side player in someone else’s story. With his sovereign pronouncement, he had just wrested the narrative back. He lit a cheroot, poured a brandy, and walked out onto the veranda, smiling like the cat in a children’s book.
Below him, awash in sunset gold, the city prepared for night. Lamplights flickered from Kennedy Town to Causeway Bay. In the harbour, silver streaks on the water pointed like spears toward Kowloon Peninsula, where vast tracts of empty land lay ripe for the taking. He lifted his glass in a toast. “I’ll have it all,” he whispered.