Kowloon Island
Just thirty relaxing minutes later, after crossing Victoria Harbour, I’m on Kowloon Island, where I’ve got an even better view of the harbour and the cityscape. I wander along from the busy docking area to the popular traffic-free paved walkway towards the promenade so I can watch the boats on the busy waterway and take more photos.
After a while walking and enjoying the pleasant afternoon sunshine, I reach the park where a group of people are already stretching and practicing Tai Chi on an expanse of grass.
It seems that I’ve found my next Post-it note mission: Tai Chi in Kowloon Park.
I watch the zany band of participants moving under the guidance of a tall, dark-haired man wearing what looks to me like a pair of my hotel’s complimentary luxurious white silk pyjamas. He moves gracefully, unlike his followers – an assortment of men and women of many different nationalities and of all ages, shapes and sizes.
It looks as though they’re all doing a version of the chakra dance but in slow motion.
I’ve never done any Tai Chi before, but Jon, of course, had been a Tai Chi master.
There is a noticeboard on the lawn encouraging anyone passing to join in with the class and I see there’s a collection box. The fee is whatever one would like to pay as all proceeds go to local charities.
Suggested donation: HK$10
I’m especially keen to try all of Jon’s Post-it notes and as I’d really enjoyed learning real yoga in India, I’ve already decided that I’m going to fully embrace this new task and give Tai Chi a go. Who knows, at my age perhaps Tai Chi is more my thing anyway?
With a deep breath, I walk forward, put some money into the collection box, and take my place on the grass to limber up and do a bit of stretching. Then, with my feet apart and knees slightly bent, I follow the master’s lead.
I stretch out both my arms and launch myself into the synchronised flow of slow and deliberate body movements, swooping slowly and dramatically as if I were throwing away an invisible bucket of water. It feels quirky but it also feels good to be outside in the warm air attempting something creative – if not terribly energetic – and enjoying the therapeutically humid breeze flowing over my body.
The master throws me a warm smile when he spots my attempts and I feel myself blushing.
Thankfully, this is nothing like the hedonistic wild abandon of the chakra dance.
‘Lift your left leg and reach up with both your hands into the sky,’ he encourages us.
We all stand on one leg for a while and I manage this quite well, all thanks to the hours I’d spent last week practicing my tree pose. But, to be honest, it didn’t seem to matter if anyone wobbled about. It wasn’t meant to be in any way competitive.
It just feels really good. Joyful.
I try to follow the sequence of movements that follows as best I can. I let my gaze drift from left to right as instructed. I move my arms ever so slowly up and down again. I concentrate hard and copy the master, rocking back and forth, shifting weight from one leg to the other and then gracefully and slowly sweeping our arms in alternate directions.
‘This movement is called “The White Crane Spreads His Wings”,’ the master explains to the class. I don’t think I look anything like a crane doing this movement.
I think I look more like ‘Fat Pigeon Crash Lands’.
The master takes the time to explain the symbolism. ‘The White Crane is known as the movement of divinity. This is because it connects us to the nine divine and intricate movements of Tai Chi.’
I catch my breath. Hold on. Wait a minute …
Did he just say ‘nine’ and ‘divine’ in the same breath?
The master tells us that our goal in Tai Chi is to ‘move in a connected and divine manner’, that ‘nine is a most auspicious number in Chinese culture. It stands for completeness and eternity’.
I’m a bit blown away by the numerology and symbolism. Divine Number Nine! Did Jon’s mystery note have something to do with Tai Chi? He’d specifically led me here to Kowloon Park when there are so many places to do Thai Chi.
A coincidence? Was perhaps this task more about who rather than where?
Was this man known to Jon? He’s more my age. Even if he didn’t know Jon, he still might be able to help me with the Post-it note I’d found in the old Star Ferry brochure.
It’s worth asking the question. I mean, what do I have to lose?
* * *
At the end of the class, I linger and hover for a while until everyone else has finished chatting to the master and have packed up and left. Only then do I go over to introduce myself.
‘Hello. I just wanted to thank you for introducing me to Tai Chi today.’
He smiles at me, presses his palms together at his chest and bows.
I quickly do the same.
‘Welcome. I’m Master Chen. I’m glad you enjoyed your practice.’
Oh my goodness! His last name is Chen!
I’m so excited that my breathing has quickened and my heart has started pounding.
Was he Harry Chen? What are the odds?
Without the swaying curtain of bodies obstructing my view, I’m actually taken by surprise at how incredibly attractive Master Chen is close up. His smile is generous and warm. I see he has a nice-looking cluster of fine smile-lines on the outer edges of his strikingly bright jade-green eyes. His teeth are very white against his smooth, tanned skin. His cheek bones are high and sharp, making for a rather gorgeous Eurasian fusion and I decide he must have been blessed with both Chinese or Hong Kong and western parentage. His dark hair is peppered with a few silver streaks that are catching the afternoon sunshine.
Master Chen is a very handsome man indeed. Movie-star handsome, in fact. I realise I’m gazing at him so curiously that he might consider me rude.
But, in dragging my eyes down, I find I’m now staring at his smooth, muscled chest and admiring his honed and sporty physique, all thanks to his belted silk wrap-top which is hanging casually open. Another surprise to me is his accent. He sounds quite distinctly British.
I feel a vibrant heat spreading across my face as I realise I’m blushing like a pink flamingo.
Oh dear. The Pink Flamingo Spreads Its Embarrassment.
‘Erm … I wanted to ask you something, if you don’t mind?’ I ventured.
‘Sure. Ask away.’
‘I was wondering if you are Harry Chen?’
He raises his eyebrows in astonishment and then laughs in what sounds like disbelief.
‘Actually, I’m Henri. But, a long time ago, the people I worked with used to call me Harry.
‘Do you by chance remember an Englishman called Jon Howard?’
As soon as I mention Jon’s name his face lights up with delight.
‘Jon Howard! Yes, of course. We are old friends. Is he back in Hong Kong?’
I shake my head and frown. ‘No. I’m sorry. He died recently.’
Harry/Henri’s smile drops. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. My deepest condolences.’
I nod and bite my lip to stop it trembling. I’m overly hypersensitive to those words now.
‘Thank you. I’m Maya, Jon’s fiancée. He died the day we were to be married.’
He reaches out to me. ‘Oh Maya. That is awful. I’m so deeply sorry to hear that. I knew Jon well and for a long time. Tell me, what can I do for you?’
I nod and fight my new compulsion to cry as he touches my arm supportively.
I can feel the tingling warmth of his hand seeping through my sleeve.
‘I know this might sound a bit strange, but Jon left me a travel itinerary and a note about doing Tai Chi here in the park, and there was also a note with your name on it.’
He smiles and slowly shakes his head. ‘Not so strange, actually. Jon had a real passion for the martial arts. We first learned Tai Chi together here under the guidance of our Grand Master.’
‘Is he – the Grand Master – still alive?’ I ask him tentatively, thinking it would be nice to meet him too. It feels like such a special privilege to be meeting Jon’s friend from his past.
‘No. Sadly, he has also passed away. But at the grand old age of ninety-six, I hasten to add.’
I nod. Ninety-six was indeed a grand age compared to poor Jon who had only been sixty.
‘So how long have you been teaching Tai Chi here at the park?’ I ask him.
‘Ever since the Grand Master passed away. He asked me to take his place here on the promenade to keep the tradition of Tai Chi in the park going. I promised I would. Except, with all my other commitments, these days I only manage one or two afternoon sessions a week.’
‘Well, I’m sure everyone who comes here appreciates you keeping this going,’ I tell him.
‘I appreciate you coming to find me, Maya, although, of course I’m very sad to hear the news about Jon. He was a good man and a great friend. We’d known each other since we were both at boarding school in the UK. It’s such a shame we eventually lost touch. I suppose it was all different back then, without social media, I mean. The world was a much bigger place than it seems now.’
‘Well, he obviously hadn’t forgotten you,’ I assure him.
Henri checks his watch. After all the realistic fakes I’d seen being sold cheaply in the shops and street stalls today, I can’t help but wonder if it’s real. But then, nothing about Henri Chen looks fake or disingenuous.
I suddenly wonder if I’m keeping him from all the other commitments he’d mentioned.
‘Maya, it’s three o’clock. Do you perhaps have time for a cup of afternoon coffee?’
I hear myself sigh with relief that he has the time to continue our conversation. He seems easy to talk to about Jon and for me to share with him the reasons I am here.
‘Oh, yes, absolutely. There’s always time for coffee and new friends!’
We gather up our things and walk together across the grass towards a nearby café.
Henri orders our coffee while I take a table outside in the warm sunshine. When he sits down opposite me, he gives me a charming smile and asks more about Jon and how we met.
I give him the speedy version of our love story because I really want to talk about Jon’s life here in Hong Kong. Henri tells me how, after graduating in 1995, he and Jon had come over to Hong Kong together to go into banking. Pointing to a high-rise directly across the bay now dwarfed by those more recently built on the harbour front he told me, ‘That building was our office back then and we worked on the fortieth floor.’ He laughs at his memories. ‘I remember the day we all got these brand-new computers – they were still great hulking desktop machines in those days – all with the new-fangled Windows system installed. But, of course, Jon soon had his screen plastered with all his usual Post-it note reminders!’
We laugh together over Jon’s compulsion for the yellow stickers.
‘Jon was like an elder brother to me. But, after the big stock market crash when millions of dollars were lost overnight, Jon moved on to Kuala Lumpur and the last I heard he was in Singapore.’
He seemed so sad at losing Jon – something I empathised with and appreciated.
Then there was a moment of silence as Henri looked at me over the rim of his coffee cup.
Taking this as a cue that it was my turn to speak, I explain a bit more about Jon’s travel wallet and the ‘magical mystery tour’ and how this whole trip had been arranged by Jon as our backpacking honeymoon. I tell him how I’d just been in India, staying at an ashram, failing at learning how to chant and meditate properly while under the mistaken belief I was walking in Jon’s and The Beatles’ footsteps. I complain about all the rules and there being no coffee or wine. I laugh and make it all sound quite amusing in order to lighten up the conversation.
But then I also tell him how I’ve been practicing authentic yoga every day. How chakra healing and cosmic ordering had helped me to focus on positive energies and how taking part in the Ceremony of Light on the holy river Ganges had been profoundly healing for me.
‘I didn’t think it was possible. But … well, in the end, it was a truly amazing experience.’
He listens with sympathy in his green eyes and a knot of concern fixed on his brow, studying me carefully over his coffee cup again before clarifying his thoughts.
‘So, let me get this right, Maya. You are actually on your honeymoon. But alone?’
‘Yes, that’s right. After Jon died, I decided I needed to do this and that it’s what he would have wanted.’ I suddenly realise this conversation is getting way too dark and intense, teetering on tackling the subject of my grief, so I quickly change the subject. ‘Henri, earlier, you mentioned that you have other commitments. I understand you live here in Hong Kong but what is it you do now? Are you still in banking?’
‘Oh, no. I took early retirement a couple of years ago. Now I have my boat. When I’m not practicing Tai Chi in the park, I’m sailing on the sea or I’m racing across the oceans looking for adventure!’ His green eyes shine with excitement when he mentions his boat and sailing.
‘It sounds like it could be rather dangerous adventuring to me!’ I exclaim.
‘Ah … but wine hath drowned more men than the sea.’ He quoted to me, still laughing.
I laugh too. ‘Jules Verne?’
He shakes his head. ‘Thomas Fuller.’
My heart swells like a great wave. I do admire a man who knows how to quote great literature.
I realise why Jon and Henri/Harry had been such good friends in the past. They were obviously very alike. Not physically, of course, as Jon had been smaller and neater in stature than his tall and wide-chested friend. But they were obviously both well-travelled and well-educated men and clearly they’d both had a penchant for adventure in their lives.
‘I imagine, based in Hong Kong, you’re ideally situated to sail anywhere?’
‘That’s absolutely right,’ he agrees. ‘In fact, I’ve got a sailing team arriving in a couple of days to help me skipper my rig in next weekend’s Blue Sea Classic Race. Experienced sailing crews will happily come in from all over the world to bag a big race like this one. Some of my team I’ve sailed with before and others come highly recommended. I’m racing to win this year.’
I’m even more impressed. ‘And where is it you are racing to exactly?’ I ask him.
‘Across the China Sea from Hong Kong to Singapore.’
My eyes shoot open at the mention of Singapore, as I’m in Singapore next weekend, too.
‘How long do you expect it will take you to sail there?’
‘Two days. We leave on Saturday and should arrive early on Monday morning.’
‘So it’s not just a hobby. You’re a competitive sailor?’
‘Yes, absolutely. Do you like boats, Maya?’
I laugh. ‘Well, I took the Star Ferry across the harbour to get here today. Does that count?’
He laughs again. He really does have a delightful laugh. When his smile reaches the crinkled corners of his eyes, they twinkle the same way Jon’s had, and it makes my stomach flip.
‘Sure. That counts. Only, I was wondering, Maya, if perhaps you’d like to meet up again later this evening? Because, if you haven’t seen it yet, I’d like to show you our famous Symphony of Lights show. The very best place to see it is from a boat in the middle of the bay.’
I’m taken aback by his kind offer. ‘Oh, wow. Thank you, that would be wonderful!’
Henri looks pleased. With our coffee now finished, we stand to leave.
He touches me lightly on the arm once again and I feel my heart quicken. Perhaps a rush of enthusiasm about seeing him again so soon?
Why not? A charming friend of Jon’s would be an exciting companion to take me sightseeing.
‘Shall I pick you up from your hotel?’
Suddenly, I was embarrassed about where I was staying. It was, I was sure, the most expensive hotel in the city, and for some reason I didn’t want Henri to make any assumptions about me. ‘Oh, no. There’s no need. Just tell me where and when and I’ll see you there.’
‘Okay. The Yacht Club at Causeway Bay at 7pm.’
‘Then I’ll see you there!’
* * *
I take the ferry back across to Hong Kong Island, gazing dreamily up at the skyscrapers on the harbour frontage and at the building that Henri had pointed out to me as the place where he and Jon had worked together. I see it’s now the HSBC building. I’m pleased about the prospect of seeing Henri again. But only, of course, I reason, because he is my connection to Jon here. Certainly not because he is incredibly attractive and he has his own boat.
It was simply wonderful to talk with someone who knew Jon years before I did.
I wonder what I should wear tonight? What on earth do people wear on boats? It was warm and humid at night and so perhaps I’d only need something light. But then it might be cooler and breezy out on the water? I decide on my white trousers and my cashmere V-neck sweater. Classic but casual.
I wonder what Henri’s boat might look like.
What did I know about boats? Nothing at all. In fact, other than this ferry boat, I can’t recall ever being on one before now.
Looking down from Victoria Peak this morning, I’d seen some extravagant looking vessels in the water between the islands and in the marina. If Henri is into boat racing, then he might have a sleek speed boat with fast engines or perhaps even one with great voluminous sails. Whatever type or size Henri’s boat turned out to be, one thing was for sure, tonight was going to be a wonderful experience and I was looking forward to it very much.
* * *
Back at the hotel, I take a long decadent bubble bath to soothe my tired and aching legs, sore from walking so many miles today. I wash my hair and, having worn it pulled back today in a ponytail, leave it loose and carefree for tonight. The high humidity was making my naturally curly hair lie in tousled coils and I’ve decided not to fight it. I simply apply a slick of pink lip gloss and a flick of mascara, before slipping into my flat-soled plimsoles.
After glancing at my reflection in the ever-so-flattering bathroom mirror, I’m ready to go. But, suddenly and unexpectedly, I started feeling somewhat uncomfortable and nervous.
About what, I ask myself? Henri? His boat? Because Jon has been dead only three weeks and this felt like I was going out on a date?
I give my reflection a stern glare, point a finger, and speak to it out loud.
‘This isn’t a date. I’m actually doing this for you, Jon!’
As I ride the elevator down to the lobby, I tell myself – and therefore Jon – that tonight I would simply be enjoying the company of a new old friend on his boat while seeing the much-anticipated light show in the harbour. And there was absolutely nothing wrong with that.
When I reach the lobby, I ask the concierge about calling a taxi for the ten-minute ride down to the marina. But this time, rather than a taxi, she absolutely insists on bringing around one of the hotel’s complimentary green Rolls Royces for me and just moments later it glides up to the door. I’m told it’s all part of the service and a perk of staying in the hotel and she wouldn’t hear otherwise.
I can’t help but feel embarrassed because, once again, I felt like a terrible imposter climbing into such a luxurious car.
What would Henri think when he saw my grand entrance? Would he consider me showy and pretentious arriving in a signature Rolls Royce? And it was such an ostentatious giveaway as to exactly where I was staying since the hotel’s logo is on display on the side of the car. Would he think I was insanely rich or in some way trying to impress him?
As the car draws through the gates of the marina in the half light of dusk, I catch sight of a tall, dashingly handsome man in a pair of pale chino shorts and a blue polo shirt, and see it’s Henri. I peer through the darkened car window and am immediately distracted by how very different he looks out of his white-silk-pyjama outfit.
He meets me at the kerbside and has opened the door before the driver even has a chance.
I feel myself blushing as he looks at me in the same appreciative way I’d looked at him.
‘Good evening, Maya!’ He kisses me on both sides of my flushed face in the French style, momentarily grazing my hot cheeks with his smoothly shaven jaw, while at the same time offering up an intoxicating whiff of his zesty cologne.
‘Good evening, Henri. So nice to see you again and on such a lovely night.’
He escorts me towards the marina, to the dock where he said his boat was moored.
We walk along a wooden walkway past lots of impressive looking boats. Some are enormous, modern, sleek yachts and some are catamarans with huge sails.
We walk past all these luxurious vessels right to the very end of the dock where I spot a small wooden boat. When we stop at its mooring, Henri gestures to the little boat with a nod and a smile. And, I must admit, it wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting.
To me, this didn’t look like a race boat. It had neither big engines nor large sails.
To me, this looked like an old tugboat, with its battered livery and oily mooring ropes.
I gaze at it for a moment, wondering what to say about it. For some reason, this boat reminds me of The African Queen – the old wooden boat from the movie of the same name that starred Katherine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart (it had been my mum’s favourite film and so was one of mine too) – except this boat was sitting so low in the water I feared it had actually sprung a leak and might be sinking. Good heavens!
‘Isn’t she a beauty?’ he prompts, rubbing his hands together in anticipation of my praise.
Should I perhaps admit that I’d been expecting something more erm … seaworthy?
‘She’s very … nice,’ I tell him, thinking my white trousers will soon be ruined.
Henri bursts into peals of laughter and I realise he was having me on. This was a joke.
‘This actually isn’t your boat at all, is it?’ I clarify, waving my finger.
‘No. It’s not. I’m sorry, Maya. It was a bit naughty of me. But when I saw this old cruiser, I couldn’t resist!’
‘Well, for a minute there, you had me worried for your seafaring safety at the weekend!’
As it turned out, Henri’s boat was one of the ones we’d already walked past, a sleek, modern yacht with an expansive teak deck, gleaming bodywork and two huge white sails flapping above us in the warm evening breeze.
Henri’s boat is called Super Typhoon.
‘Well, I do feel you have more chance of winning with this one. She’s impressive.’
‘She’s a performance cruising yacht. Built for beauty and speed,’ he tells me proudly.
And, like a true gentleman, he holds my hand and guides me carefully across the gangplank.
‘Let me give you the grand tour,’ he offers and together we stand in the mid-section, below the main mast with its vast sail, where there’s a comfortable open seating area.
Towards the back of the boat, I can see a huge steering wheel and a high-tech instrument board. The rest of the deck extends out towards the narrowest point at the front.
Everything, from the deck to the rails, looks immaculately clean and highly polished. I would never have imagined that a racing boat would be so beautifully accommodated. There’s even a small but perfectly equipped galley kitchen. As we investigate a gangway, I pop my head into lots of small cabins containing single crew beds as well as a few larger sized bedrooms with en-suite facilities, double beds, wardrobes, and even plush sofas.
It’s incredible. ‘So, do you actually live on here all the time?’ I enquire.
‘Yeah. This is home for me. I sold my apartment two years ago to buy her.’
‘Well, it’s fabulous Henri!’
‘Come on. Let’s go back up on deck. It’s time to cast off. The sun’s almost down.’
Henri suggests I stand with him at the helm when we set sail. Except, I didn’t quite anticipate how much the boat would roll and pitch and rock about in the water, and soon I’m feeling a bit strange. ‘Erm, I’m afraid I feel a bit dizzy,’ I reluctantly admit to him.
Oh, how embarrassing! I’ve only been on this boat a short while and I’m already feeling quite ill.
Henri looks at me with kindly concern as I stagger over to the seating area, to sit eyeing the water slapping against the side of the boat, worrying that I might actually throw up.
‘You do look a bit green about the gills. Do you always get seasick?’
‘I don’t know!’ I wail. ‘Like I said earlier, I’ve only ever been on the Star Ferry.’
‘Well, right now, there’s a swell because we’re at cross-currents entering the harbour,’ he explains. ‘Sit tight. I promise we’ll be in flat water soon and you’ll be back to feeling okay!’
He looks like a man who keeps his promises. So I try to relax, and not to feel so sick.
It’s horribly disconcerting to feel everything in the world around me moving.
Once we enter the harbour, where I can see the Star Ferry boats still going back and forth across the straits between the Tsim Sha Tsui Pier and Kowloon Island, and the larger tourist boats jostling for a good position to see the light show, the water was indeed much calmer and there’s so much going on around us that I’m distracted from feeling wobbly.
I see the big old tourist junk with its indigo red sails that I’d watched from my window last night, incredibly rowdy and crowded tonight. I realise and appreciate how fortunate I am to have such a special view of the show from Henri’s yacht.
When Henri is satisfied that we’re in a prime position, he drops anchor and quickly produces a small tray of aperitifs from the galley, opening a bottle of Champagne that he’d had chilling. I’m so excited as he pops the cork and offers me a foaming flute.
Never in my wildest dreams would I ever have expected to come to Hong Kong and experience this kind of fabulousness and luxury. I’d known from Jon’s itinerary that I was staying in the oldest five-star hotel in the city but never would I have expected to be standing on a luxury yacht in the harbour with a very handsome consort and a glass of Bollinger in my hand. Once again, I have to pinch myself to check this is real and not a dream.
To think that this time last year Jon had yet to walk into my office and my life.
I’d been working nine to five in that stuffy office, feeling trapped and dissatisfied with my life, imagining an alternative life abroad and spinning the globe on my desk while dreaming of travel and adventure. All the while knowing nothing of how things would eventually turn out for me.
Of course, I still don’t know how things will turn out for me, but I’m determined to take the advice of Swami Nanda and make this all about opening my heart and having faith in the future.
I’ve decided I’m going to take one day and one adventure at a time and seize every moment.
‘Henri, I want to thank you. This is really fantastic and so much fun!’ I tell him gratefully.
‘Well, Maya, if you don’t mind me saying, I think you might need a little fun in your life.’
I take in his raised eyebrows and his raised glass and I have to agree with him.
‘Then let’s drink to having fun!’ I say as we toast and sip from our champagne flutes.
In that moment, at exactly 8pm, the sky lights up and my breath is taken away as the spectacle around us starts with a booming and melodious musical creation that Henri tells me was composed especially for this show by the Hong Kong Philharmonic Orchestra. The whole of the harbour area is a giant musical stage. My eyes are dazzled with lights as I gaze up at the far-reaching streams of light being beamed vertically into the sky, where they brighten the darkness and the clouds above us, highlighting their silver linings. Moments later, more laser beams are projected into myriad dancing, changing colours to pulse and bounce across the water on to the buildings surrounding where the lights leap and burst to the choregraphed musical score. It’s incredibly uplifting and I watch in childlike wonder while gasping with delight.
If this happens here every night then I can only imagine what happens on New Year’s Eve!
Time seems to stand still while I pause next to Henri on the gently swaying deck.
When I turn in excitement to point something out to him, I see that he seems more interested and amused in watching me watching the show, than in watching the show himself.
I suppose that’s because he must have seen it all a million times before.
Whereas I hardly dared to blink in case I missed a second of it.
Just then a giant explosion of light and a booming crescendo of sound signalled that the spectacle was over for another night and the sound of the music was replaced by the sound of cheers from both of us and from those all around us.
‘I’m guessing you enjoyed it?’ Henri chuckles. ‘Your eyes were so wide that you reminded me of that song ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’!’
I blink to try and clear my speckled vision from all the reflected residual light.
‘Oh, so you’re a Beatles fan, too?’ I ask, recognising another similarity to Jon.
Henri tops up my Champagne glass. ‘Yes. Actually, it was Jon who got me into The Beatles. I remember he had all their songs on vinyl and eight-track tapes. He was a big fan.’
I raise my glass again. ‘What shall we drink to next?’
‘Let’s drink to friendship,’ Henri suggests, looking me in the eyes with great sincerity.
I nod and smile and happily chink my glass against his once more. ‘To friendship.’
Once we’ve finished our drinks, Henri begins steering the boat back around to the marina.
I’m sad that the show only lasted ten minutes. I’d wanted it to go on and on.
Now that the water is calmer, and I’m buoyed up on happiness and alcohol, I’m really enjoying myself, and can’t seem to get enough of staring at the lights and colours of the illuminated cityscape. Henri explains to me that the harbour gets dangerously crowded at this time of night with so many boats around. And I can see this is true. The bigger commercial vessels are now blasting their horns at the smaller private pleasure-boats. Some of them are hosting booze cruises and others are darting around on what look like collision courses with the Star Ferries. We make our exit from the waters of the harbour slowly and this time I stand beside Henri at the helm as we head back to the marina, chatting and reminiscing about Jon again. Or rather, I did, as a result of Henri’s mention of The Beatles.
Chatting distracts me from feeling queasy as the dark water all around us slaps a little more violently against the sides of the boat and the two glasses of Champagne fizz and churn in my stomach. Henri listens attentively as he steers the yacht, but it’s a matter of concern to me that he now wears the same frown on his face that I saw earlier today.
Perhaps he’s thinking about his big race at the weekend, or maybe he’s getting tired of me talking about Jon all the time? I decide to change the subject in case it’s the latter. ‘So, Henri, except for when you were at boarding school in the UK, have you always lived in Hong Kong?’
‘Yes. Most of my life. I was born in France. My mother is French. My father Chinese.’
To me, this perfectly explained his incredible good-looks. There is something rather gorgeous about his wide green eyes, his olive skin, and his amazing bone structure. I quickly give myself a mental reprimand for even thinking the words ‘incredible’ and ‘gorgeous’ to describe my new friend.
When we arrive safely back at the mooring, Henri asks me if I’m feeling hungry.
‘Only, there’s a very good restaurant on the marina. They do a great sweet and sour dish.’
I honestly don’t feel hungry so I feel a little reticent. Being invited onto Henri’s yacht to watch the light show in the harbour is one thing, and fine by me, but going for a meal afterwards in a restaurant feels like a step too far, as though I am signing off on this being a proper date.
I politely decline and he looks momentarily disappointed before offering to call me a taxi.
I suddenly remembered about the old Post-it note that I’d wanted to show him. ‘Oh, before I go, I wanted to show you something. I found it inside Jon’s travel folder.’
I quickly fish the note out from the bottom of my bag.
‘I found this attached to this old Star Ferry brochure. It mentions you – or, Harry Chen, at least – and I was hoping you might know what it means?’
Henri stares down at the note with disbelief on his face and then he looks bemused.
Harry Chen still owes me a chip.
‘Oh, my, I can’t believe it. He actually kept it all these years!’
‘So … you do know? You know what kind of chip it refers to?’
‘Yes. I do. And I still have it in my possession to this very day.’
He disappears for a moment below deck and returns with a coin purse. From the purse, he pulls out a large, shiny, golden coin. At first impression, it looks something like one of those big gold-wrapped chocolate coins you give children at Christmas.
We slide into the seats on deck with a table between us and conspire under a light emanating from the mast. Henri places the coin down in front of me. It’s stamped with an imprint of the number fifty in numerals, an image of a flower – a lotus flower – and the words ‘Casino Lotus Macau’.
‘This chip is one of two that Jon and I won in Macau on a night of serious gambling and drinking back in the late 90s.’ I can see from the smile playing on Henri’s lips and the light shining in his eyes that he’s remembering a night that must have really meant something to him. I desperately want to know more. I’ve heard of Macau because Jon had mentioned it to me once. He’d described it as a mecca of casinos, gambling, and glitz in an autonomous territory once ruled by Portugal which is now, like Hong Kong, a special administrative region ruled by China.
‘Macau? Yes, I’ve heard of it. So … it’s not too far from here?’ I query.
Henri shrugs. ‘Not far at all. Just an hour away by boat.’
‘And this isn’t a coin. It’s a fancy gambling chip?’ I pick it up and find it surprisingly heavy. ‘Can you tell me what you remember about that night?’ I urge him.
Henri rakes his fingers through his short dark hair and laughs. ‘Sure. I remember how back then we’d both had a pretty tough week on the trading floor. But it was payday, and as we were hot-headed, cashed-up professionals who were always looking for the next adventure, we decided to head over to Macau to try our luck on the roulette tables.’
‘What happened? Tell me about roulette.’
Having never gambled or been inside a casino myself, I’m fascinated by the concept of winning and losing, and how that might be something that could be swayed by cosmic ordering.
Henri laughs again. ‘Well, with poker or blackjack or craps, you have to possess a certain kind of seriousness and a degree of knowledge of the game. Whereas, for a pair of chancers like us, roulette is easy because there are no secrets to learn – it’s a game of pure chance and luck.’
Chance, luck … and fate, perhaps?
‘We somehow managed to crash a party at The Lotus Casino and it turned into a wild night.’ Henri continues. ‘The Champagne was flowing and the roulette wheel was spinning. For some reason we were winning more than losing for a change. And, when it was over, in the early hours of the next morning, I do recall that we caught the first ferry back and went straight into work. In those days, we really thought nothing of burning the candle at both ends.’
‘And so, this chip was your winnings from that night?’
‘Yeah, well, I thought so. But Jon maintained this chip belonged to him. Hence the note.’
He leans in to tell me more and, in that moment, with our faces just inches apart, I find myself looking deeply into his eyes and catching my breath at the intensity with which he returns my gaze. ‘You know, there’s a famous old story about a man who used to gamble at The Lotus. He wanted to win so badly that he sold his soul to the devil in exchange for the secrets of their roulette table. That’s why the game’s also known as “the devil’s wheel”.’ His lips curve into a boyish smile and his eyes shine with mischief. ‘And that’s why the numbers on the wheel add up to 666.’
‘Tell me more about the chip? Did you have to sell your soul to get it?’
‘No, nothing like that, because lady luck was on our side that night. We came away from that table with not one but two of these “lucky” golden chips.’
‘Lucky? Why are they said to be lucky?’
‘Because that night they had a bonus on their value. But I remember that what happened next wasn’t so lucky.’
‘How so? What happened?’ I’m completely enthralled by this story.
‘Well, when we got back to Hong Kong, I had both chips on me. So, I flipped one over to Jon. But as he was still quite drunk he missed catching it and it went straight into the harbour.’
I gasp. ‘Oh no! What did he do?’
‘He insisted that it was my chip I’d lost and not his. That I still owed him a chip. I guess he must have written it down on this Post-it note in case he forgot about it when he sobered up.’
‘That is a wild story. I wish I’d known Jon back then,’ I say wistfully.
Not that I could ever imagine myself being as wild and adventurous as him.
Back then, during the time Henri and Jon where having such fun, I was a bored and boring twenty-seven-year-old woman – working in a bank, dressing in scratchy tweed suits – whose idea of fun was watching stock prices and whose only focus in life was the dream of eventually buying my own house and moving out of my parents’ home.
Oh how I wished I’d just packed a backpack and used my savings to travel and to live!
Henri looks thoughtful. ‘You know, if it hadn’t been for the big crash, I’m sure Jon and I would have gone back to The Lotus the very next chance we had to spend this chip and give the wheel another spin. But the rest, as they say, is history.’
‘The big crash? Is this the day you spoke of when Hong Kong reverted back to China?’
‘Yeah. It was the prelude to all the protests and riots we still see today and the very start of a banking crisis. All the financial institutions closed their doors, the casinos shut down, and everyone prayed for a currency exchange-rate recovery.’
‘And was there one?’
He shakes his head. ‘No. Instead there was a commercial meltdown. The government at the time couldn’t stabilise the currency and all our investors’ dreams – together with our jobs – went up in smoke. Up until that point, Hong Kong had been booming, everyone making and spending lots of money, but it was the beginning of the end of an era. I stayed because Hong Kong is my home and I’d just met my now ex-wife. Jon took a chance and jumped ship. I can’t say I blamed him.’
We both sit in silence for a moment, reflecting.
I want to ask him more about his marriage but that seems far too personal a subject.
‘And … you and Jon never saw each other again?’ I venture instead.
‘No. I’m afraid not. Like I say, it wasn’t so easy back then with no Twitter or Facebook.’
Henri slides the golden chip in front of me. It shines under the mast light and lights up both our faces in a golden glow.
‘Maya, the coin is yours. I’ve finally repaid Jon his chip and now he can rest in peace.’
I stare down at the chip and wonder what I’m supposed to do with it.
‘If you don’t mind me suggesting it, I really think you should take yourself over to Macau tomorrow night and put it on the roulette table at The Lotus. Give it a spin in Jon’s memory. Have some fun, win or lose. That way, we’ll have both done right by him.’
‘But this chip is decades old!’ I remind him.
‘Ah, but you can be sure a casino will always honour its debts and its chips.’
My heart skips a beat. It did seem kind of fortuitous once again seeing the symbol of the lotus flower. I’d seen it in the ashram. I’d seen it when I’d been offered my divine wish by the swami at the airport in Delhi. Now here it was again in Hong Kong.
Was it linked to my fate somehow?
I’m tempted to do as Henri suggested because tomorrow is Friday and my last day here before I leave for Singapore. He also made it sound like the right thing to do in Jon’s memory.
Win or lose. It sounded like a great adventure and something that could be a lot of fun.
And, Henri was right. I really needed more fun in my life.
‘I assume the ‘fifty’ stamped on it means it was worth fifty Hong Kong dollars?’ I suggest.
‘Yeah, I think so. Plus whatever the bonus was on that night. You never know, with inflation, it could be worth a small fortune now,’ Henri suggests with a grin.
‘Fifty Hong Kong dollars is actually worth less than five pounds GBP. So, if you’re right, it could be worth a very small fortune indeed!’ I say, laughing at his infectious optimism.
He shrugs his shoulders and challenges me with his sparkling green eyes again.
I touch the chip with the tips of my fingers and I smile, remembering another of the cryptic messages Jon had left me on a Post-it note. The one that I still hadn’t figured out.
Divine number nine!
‘You know what? I think you’re right. Going over to the casino and spending this chip would be a wonderful way to honour Jon.’ I breathe, feeling a heated thrill rushing through my veins.
Henri wriggles his eyebrows at me playfully. ‘Atta girl! Go spin that devil’s wheel!’
‘But I can’t go alone. I’ve honestly never been inside a casino in my entire life. Henri, if I’m going to do this … then you’re going to have to come with me to Macau tomorrow.’