Alexandra let the driver take her bags and place them in the back of the black town car as she sent a quick text to Romy.

Arrived safely. Muggy. Will call tomorrow. A x

The heat made the minimalist lines of Pudong Airport shimmer as she flopped into the back seat of the car and sipped on a bottle of cool water. They sped away from the airport into the hazy pink dusk, past kilometres of identical high-rise apartments that fanned out from the freeway in every direction. Alexandra was used to the urban sprawl around Heathrow, but this was a whole other level.

She reached over and pulled her mother’s diary out of her handbag and flipped it open to the back cover. There was a tiny pocket where the decorative paper overlapped with the cardboard, and secreted inside were two old photographs. The first was a faded black-and-white picture of Romy at thirteen, wearing a checked school uniform with box pleats and a white peter pan collar. She was standing beside a Chinese girl in front of some type of fruit tree loaded with cream blossoms. The light behind the trees made the petals luminous, almost translucent. The girls looked relaxed; their heads were tilted back, and they were laughing at whoever was behind the camera. It must have been hilarious because Romy was letting her leather satchel drop on the ground and the other girl in uniform was reaching for Romy’s hand.

Alexandra flipped over the photo. On the back was scrawled the year: 1939.

Alexandra pulled out the other photograph, taking care to hold it by the corner between her thumb and forefinger as its back was still sticky from where she’d ripped it out of Romy’s photo album. This one was a school photo of her mother in a pinafore, crisp white shirt and tie. Her black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and fastened with a ribbon. She had a strong square jaw and dark eyes, but it was the dimple in each cheek that had made Alexandra sit up and snatch this image from the album when she was curled up on the old blue chair in the living room last night.

She’d seen those dimples before, and as she held the two photos side by side in the back of the taxi, she smiled. Forget chasing orphanages and paperwork, all Alexandra needed to do was find out who the other girl in the photo was. Alexandra dismissed her excitement as soon as it surfaced. She could have asked Romy, of course. But if Romy did know Sophia’s mother, there must be a reason she was keeping it a secret…Oma was happy to talk of trips with the amah to the markets to get fresh bamboo for braising, herbs and spices to make into decoctions for her mutti, fish to smoke or buds of dried chrysanthemum to boil into tea. To point out that, apart from dim sum, the sweet-and-sour pork with lurid pink sauce and other Chinese restaurant staples in suburban Melbourne bore no resemblance to the rich provincial cuisines found in China. Alexandra understood. No, if she wanted to get to the bottom of her mother’s history, then she would have to do it alone.

After forty minutes of an endless parade of high-rises, the driver pulled into an area of low-rise Art-Deco buildings, wide streets and magnificent avenues of plane trees. It was just as described in the welcome pack prepared for her by Barbara at the relocation company. The car pulled up outside a pair of wrought-iron gates. The driver jumped out and opened the door for her, then moved around to the boot to fetch her luggage as she was greeted by an elegant woman in her mid-thirties with glossy black hair blow-waved to perfection.

‘Welcome to Shanghai, Alexandra.’

She strode over, shook Alexandra’s hand and gave her a thick cream card with her name embossed in an elegant gold script.

Barbara Chen

Relocation Consultant

Barbara held the gate open and ushered Alexandra through. ‘We were lucky to find this apartment for you. Lots of expats like to come to the French Concession area—it’s the trees, I think.’ She gestured to the canopy of plane trees overhead.

It was charming, like a Left Bank arrondissement Alexandra thought; not what she was expecting at all.

‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ She looked at Alexandra sombrely. ‘Your office explained the delay with your move.’

Alexandra nodded. ‘Thank you.’

Staring at the trees she felt a gap in her chest where her grandfather used to be. Gnawing at her. It felt as if pieces of the jigsaw of her life were slowly being removed. She and Romy were the only ones left.

‘Shall we go inside?’ Barbara suggested as she hugged her clipboard to her chest and led the way into a smart Art-Deco building with a curved facade.

‘There’s just ten apartments here and you’re at the front overlooking the street on the ground floor. Yours is one of only three with a garden.’ Barbara smiled. ‘Lucky you.’

They stepped across mottled gold mosaic tiles that flowed through the foyer, front door and into a reception room that was a modern take on a Parisian Haussmann-style apartment. The soaring ceilings had exposed wooden beams, the floors were dark parquetry and the walls were painted dove grey. The oversized lounges were in darker shades of grey. The galley kitchen featured glossy white cabinetry with a black marble bench.

Alexandra hadn’t cooked in London for months, but the minute she’d arrived home to Romy, she found herself baking chewy Brötchen, rolls smothered with toasted sesame seeds, to dip into soup filled with garlic, broccoli and spring onion from Romy’s garden. One night Nina had joined them for a bowl and then insisted on plonking down between them on the couch and watching the final episode of The Bachelor through her fingers, screaming for the broad all-American Lustmolch with the square jaw and oversized teeth to choose the chatty blonde Labertasche over the scrawny Spargeltarzan. It was a masterclass in German insults. Nina always said she left her Heime with a suitcase full of harsh words. And Oma always looked sad when she said it, even though it was supposed to be a joke.

Alexandra smiled at the sight of the well-equipped kitchen then pointed to a black vase filled with a large bunch of sunny yellow chrysanthemums. ‘These are lovely, thanks, Barbara.’ She moved forwards to breathe in their peppery scent. The symbolism wasn’t lost on her as Romy used to fill the house with assortments of pink and yellow chrysanthemums to attract good luck into their home. When Opa died, Romy had replaced the colourful blooms with white, as if the flowers shared her grief.

Alexandra closed her eyes and took the good wishes deep into her lungs, then opened her eyes to gaze around her new home. It was a beautiful place to make a fresh start. If only she didn’t feel so hollow.

Beside the floral arrangement was a glass teapot filled with steaming water and a golden dried flower bud unfurling, so the petals filled the pot. ‘Juhua,’ said Alexandra.

Barbara looked surprised as she glanced at her clipboard. ‘I’m sorry. It says on this form you don’t speak any Chinese—’

‘I don’t,’ said Alexandra with a chuckle. ‘My grandmother speaks a few Chinese dialects. She lived here during the Second World War. She still practises traditional medicine on her friends. And me, when I let her.’ She reached for the teapot and poured a cup for each of them.

‘Well,’ said Barbara, ‘a cup of this tea is just what you need after a long-haul flight. Kill all those plane bugs. Freshen you up a bit.’

Alexandra sipped the hot tea and hoped it would ease the knots in her belly. Romy used to brew pots of the buds to reduce a fever or move a flu along. It was good for the liver, too, although Alexandra had been fairly tame in the booze department since her catch-ups with Kate.

‘Thank you. It was very thoughtful of you.’

‘My pleasure,’ said Barbara. Cup in hand, she spun on her heel. ‘But I haven’t even shown you the best part yet.’ She strode past exposed burnt-brick walls and threw open the oversized black industrial doors that opened onto a courtyard. She waved her hand for Alexandra to join her. ‘The garden.’

Alexandra smiled. It was hard not to be impressed. Still sipping their tea, the women stepped outside into one of the most striking courtyards Alexandra had ever seen. Paved with large granite tiles, it had a river of crushed white stone on either side that acted as a kind of groundcover for the wall of bamboo on one side and the row of maple trees on the other.

‘There’s a fishpond over here,’ Barbara said, leading her to it. In the other corner was a large dark stone that must have been craned over the wall, for it was way too big to carry. It stood on the gravel with a layer of moss at its base. A few tussocks of dark grass swayed beside it. Nearby was a pair of wicker chairs with lime green cushions so thick and plush they would have looked at home at the Peninsula Hotel. In front of the chairs was a low rusted-steel fireplace holding an elegant line of river stones, each the size of Alexandra’s fist. ‘Watch this,’ said Barbara as she leaned down and touched a button on the side, bringing a fire to life.

‘The developer who owns this building, Mr Chang, is based in Hong Kong. One of our best landlords, in fact. He takes pride in restoring all these Art-Deco buildings in the French Concession. The ones everyone else wants to tear down for a high-rise. Anyway, that’s beside the point. His nephew, a landscape architect, is staying in an upstairs apartment. He’s working on some big projects over in Pudong, as well as some private commissions.’

Barbara looked at Alexandra and the corners of her lips twitched in a smile. ‘He’s about your age—I could introduce you, if you like?’

Alexandra blushed and thought of all the business cards of doctors, accountants, lawyers and owners of tech start-ups that well-meaning friends of Romy’s had pressed into her hands in the past few weeks. But surely Barbara wasn’t trying to matchmake. No doubt she just thought it would be nice for Alexandra to have an acquaintance in the new city. Someone to fix a pipe if it broke. He was the landlord’s nephew, after all.

It was probably a good idea to know her neighbour. ‘Certainly,’ Alexandra replied. ‘Maybe in the next few days, once I’ve settled in.’

‘Shall we?’ said Barbara. Placing her tea on an antique wooden coffee table she sat in one of the green wicker chairs, gesturing for Alexandra to take the other. She opened her leather clipboard and started to go through a series of forms and lists with her client.

As Alexandra half listened to Barbara talk, she looked at the smooth tiles, the river stones, the exposed teak around the pond and the feathery wall of bamboo.

Barbara ran through her driver’s details, how to use the subway (surely she could work that out herself?) and the numbers to call for any emergencies. She paid more attention when Barbara started to go through a list of restaurants in the neighbourhood. ‘Lost Heaven. Mostly expats. Good cocktails downstairs, Yunnan folk food upstairs. Don’t miss the tofu and eggplant salad. Or the jin bo ghost chicken. Then there’s Shintori, Sichuan Citizen, Tapas…Do you like food? This is a great city for eating.’

Alexandra nodded. There was no point telling Barbara she’d probably be at the office fifteen hours a day while she sifted through her new projects and sorted her team.

Barbara continued with her list. ‘Cuivre, if you like French. Better than Paris. Or there’s Cafe Montmartre for something more casual. There’s a mall…’

Alexandra allowed herself to relax back into the cushions and enjoy the greenery around her. In this strange garden she felt calm. She took another sip of her chrysanthemum tea and smiled to herself. Perhaps it was a good sign. But Alexandra didn’t believe in luck. Or destiny. A decade studying numbers and patterns had seen to that.

Barbara must have noticed her client starting to doze off, as she closed the folder and touched Alexandra’s knee. ‘Sorry. I get a bit excited when I meet someone who’s never been here before. I’ll leave you with this to help you settle in.’ She held up the folder. ‘There’s information on how to use all the services inside. And you have my card, so anything you need just let me know. The driver will be here to take you to the office on Monday morning.’

She stood up and smoothed her skirt. ‘Don’t get up, I’ll show myself out. Enjoy exploring your new home this weekend.’ Barbara smiled and headed for the front door.

Alexandra repeated the word home to herself. She’d lived in so many homes this past decade, her heart had been strapped together across two continents. The only home that gave her real comfort was Puyuan. But it would never be the same again without Opa.

She twirled her jade pendant with her right hand. Maybe there was comfort to be found here, she thought, in her mother’s birthplace. She had searched Puyuan for her mother’s birth certificate before leaving Melbourne, even looking in the attic, but there had been no sign of it. But birth certificate or not, she was determined to find her mother’s family—her family—in Shanghai.