After four weeks, Romy was starting to feel like a local in Frenchtown. Papa had persuaded Eva Schwartz to bring Nina over the previous Sunday because Mutti and Papa wanted to discuss the possibility of Nina coming to live with them rather than staying by herself in her female Heime. Miss Schwartz had said there was no chance Nina’s uncle would allow it. Papa had even sent a letter of introduction and requested several meetings with David Damrosch, but each request had been turned down. Mr Damrosch was too proud to admit he couldn’t support his sister’s child, so the Bernfelds would have to make do with visits until Miss Schwartz could convince him it would be in Nina’s best interests to move.

While the adults sat in the drawing room sipping coffee and nibbling at shortbread, Romy and Amah had taken Nina to the grand Cathay Theatre to see Errol Flynn in The Adventures of Robin Hood. Afterwards they had wandered down Avenue Joffre for a hot chocolate. The girls pressed their noses against the windows of the Russian coffee shops and bakeries, swooned over the lengths of coloured silks and rotating French Vogue posters in the windows of the tailors and mimicked the cheep-cheep of the exotic birds in the ornate black cages hanging from a gnarled plane tree.

On the way home, Nina had blushed as she described the thin soups and stale bread in the Heime. When it was time for her to leave, Amah had gone into the kitchen and filled a blue-checked tea towel with fresh brown rolls, three salamis, some Swiss cheese and an entire block of cooking chocolate. Miss Schwartz thanked Amah and said she would be in touch with Papa next week about ‘more supplies’ and to arrange a time for them to visit the following Sunday. Romy swallowed and tried to ignore the tightness in her throat when they left. She missed Nina. Also, she worried when Papa went out alone in a rickshaw at night to buy medical supplies like asprin, charcoal pills and insulin from pharmacies and, occasionally, on the black market in dark alleys. Drugs were becoming more expensive by the month and Papa tried to help Miss Schwartz and the hospitals in Hongkew maintain a consistent supply for refugees who could not afford to pay for their own treatment. Romy worried about the police catching her Papa doing something illegal. Look what had happened to Benjamin and Daniel. It wasn’t like Papa to bend his own rules.

Today, Li had managed to persuade Amah to let them both walk to school with Jian, who studied nearby. Li was a gifted singer and could trill just like the exotic caged birds, even an octave higher. She would do her voice exercises while skipping along the footpath, always taking care not to jump on the cracks. Li managed to be both girlish and coquettish at once, and passers-by often turned to catch another glimpse of this beautiful dimpled girl with the magical voice who would give them a cheeky nod and a wave as she sang louder and louder.

‘One day you should sing outside the coffee shops and I’ll put down my school hat,’ said Romy. She’d heard about people doing that on one of the New York radio shows she listened to.

‘Don’t be silly, we’d never be allowed to perform,’ said Li, laughing as she skipped ahead and launched into a sassy version of Ella Fitzgerald’s ‘A-Tisket, A-Tasket’. ‘Besides—’ she linked her arms through Romy’s ‘—I like to sing just for you.’ She looked over her shoulder at her brother who was walking several paces behind, carrying her satchel as well has his own. ‘And for Jian, of course.’ Romy turned and gave Jian a shy smile.

‘Mutti says we shouldn’t do anything to attract the attention of the Japanese soldiers or the gangs. Miss Schwartz says they are setting up secret patrols in this area.’

‘We’ll be fine. You’re always so worried about our safety. C’mon. Let’s choose a snack.’

Li bolted to their favourite food cart, run by a man with laughing eyes and a shaved head under his round cap. The girls would use their trolley bus money to buy a newspaper cone of toasted melon, pumpkin and sunflower seeds, or peanuts. Occasionally there would be some jars of pickled mangoes, Romy’s favourite. This sticky orange delicacy—sweet, sour and salty with just a hint of cardamom—was more expensive, so they had to pool their money with Jian’s for a single serve to share.

That afternoon, as the school bells chimed for the end of lessons, Romy and Li dashed through the high black security gates of the former convent, laughing and swinging their bags, dishevelled plaits and white ribbons trailing down their backs. In the month since Romy had started school, the pair had become inseparable, convincing their teacher Mademoiselle Dupont they simply must sit next to each other in class. Romy was surprised and a little pleased that the mathematics they were studying was more advanced than in Vienna, and they were soon to start units in chemistry and physics. Shanghai was constantly surprising her.

Dr Ho, in a grey cashmere coat and felt hat, stood with Jian outside the gates. Li bolted to her older brother and skipped on the spot with delight. Usually in the afternoons they would greet their amahs and catch the trolley bus home for milk, cookies and pastries. Sometimes Mutti, dressed in her gloves and hat, would take them out for a proper afternoon tea of cream cakes topped with raspberry jam on Avenue Joffre.

Romy smiled at Jian and the apples of his cheeks flushed pink as he flicked his shoes to cover a stone with dirt. When he lifted his head and met her gaze, again, it was she who felt whispers of something strange and tingly inside.

Dr Ho stepped forwards and greeted them with open arms. ‘Well, hello there, girls. All my appointments were cancelled this afternoon and I thought why not spend the afternoon with two of my favourite little ladies?’

Romy’s heart sank. Dr Ho was being upbeat but she knew this outing meant her mother was having one of her spells. They had been occurring more often lately; a smell or a noise would bring on a migraine so thick and fast that Mutti became dizzy and had to lie in her darkened bedroom, sometimes for days. Papa had brought numerous specialists home from his hospital to meet Mutti—a neurologist, an anaesthetist and two cardiologists—but none seemed to be able to help.

Only Dr Ho could. He had called in for tea one day when Mutti was in the middle of a migraine. Papa, whose colleagues had mocked Dr Ho for not being a proper doctor, had thought it wouldn’t hurt to see what the famous Chinese doctor said.

He made his diagnosis: Mutti’s liver qi had been disturbed and the energy of her heart was blocked. Mutti’s grief and sadness was making her ill. Dr Ho had spoken in low tones and coaxed Mutti into the sitting room, before he gently squeezed between her thumb and forefinger, asking if it alleviated the pain. It had something to do with a pressure point, he’d said. He’d returned later with some needles that he’d stuck into her thumbs and ankles before rubbing peppermint oil into her temples. Then he gave Amah some jars of dried spices to be boiled up in a pot on the stove, filling the kitchen with a bitter scent.

Mutti was ill again because the window of opportunity in which to rescue Daniel from Dachau was closing. The camp required evidence that Daniel had a valid shipping ticket before they would release him, with a strict deadline for leaving Germany. Romy had accompanied Mutti to the shipping office last Saturday morning to collect Daniel’s promised ticket. After posting it they were going to stop at the Astor House tearooms to celebrate with lunch and a glass of champagne. But when they reached the shipping office, the pale-faced manager was most apologetic.

‘It would appear the paperwork was left for a certain time on the wrong desk. We are doing our very best to rectify this matter. But I’m afraid this means that no ticket has been issued for your son. We are looking for another berth…but we are fully booked so it may take some months—’

Mutti winced, ‘Months?’

‘There are far more…passengers than we have boats.’ His voice dropped. ‘I’m sorry.’

Romy closed her eyes to stem the flow of tears, trying to remember the pitch of Daniel’s laugh. When she opened them, her head was so full of Daniel she was almost shocked to see Li, Jian and Dr Ho standing on the footpath with her.

Li beamed and clapped her hands together. ‘Can we go to French Park with you, Papa?’ she begged.

‘Why not? I have instructions to deliver this one home before dark.’ He placed a hand on Romy’s shoulder. ‘Until then, the afternoon is ours, ladies, Jian.’ He smiled.

Jian took Li’s satchel and walked behind the girls with his father. The streets smelled of springtime; every newspaper stand had metal buckets of fuchsia and cream peonies for sale and the plane trees were unfurling their green canopies overhead.

‘People assume these trees came from Paris,’ Dr Ho remarked, ‘but actually, they were imported from Britain.’

Romy considered this for a moment. You couldn’t be certain of the origin of anything, or anyone, in Shanghai.

A streetsweeper clad in navy rags shuffled past them, sweeping the gutters and placing the leaf litter into hessian bags. A cyclist on a bike loaded with newspapers went past, wobbling between the cars and trolley buses.

‘Can we play mahjong with you, Papa?’ asked Li.

‘It’ll cost you a song,’ he joked, before stopping at a stall to order bowls of freshly pulled fried green noodles for each of them. They sat on small wooden stools and watched as a man pulled a ball of dough from a tray. He folded, twirled and pulled the dough until he had enough thin noodles to drop into a wok. Romy closed her eyes to breathe in the savoury smell of fried shallots and peanut oil.

As the wok sizzled and the noodles were tossed, Li chatted to Jian and her father about their dreadful calculus assignment and how she was lucky to be paired with Romy because at least then she’d have a chance of getting an A+.

‘I could help you both,’ offered Jian.

‘No need. Romy’s the smartest in the class. In the school most likely.’

‘Aren’t you lucky?’ Dr Ho said as he winked over Li’s head at Romy.

The cook came over with their bowls of noodles, and they all busied themselves pouring in droplets of vinegar and a salty black soy sauce that went with everything. All three Hos ladled spoonfuls of chilli paste with a few nuts on top and stirred it in with their chopsticks. Romy knew her limits with this new food. She’d tried the wet chilli last week with Amah and cried—first, from the stinging and burning on her lips, then from embarrassment as Amah had lifted her top lip and shoved a soft square of green melon into her mouth. Today, she decided to settle for a light sprinkle of the dried red chilli flakes the cook kept in a chipped white bowl. She stirred the chilli and soy sauce with her chopsticks like a local and lifted the noodles to her lips as if she’d always lived here. It felt good to have a belly full of food before they joined the games at French Park.

At French Park the delicate honey and almond scent of peach blossoms filled the air. Rows of peach trees stood proud and squat, offering branches covered with tight pink blossoms up to the spring sunshine; the park was a haze of pink. Romy and Li each pulled a twig down and picked a blossom, tucking it behind their ears as Dr Ho explained to Romy, ‘The honey nectar peach is the prize of Shanghai. In a few weeks, every corner in Shanghai will have a peach stall.’

Li twirled and said, ‘We’ll show you where to get the best ones, won’t we, Jian?’

Jian nodded and said to Romy, ‘The blossom suits you.’

‘Ah, quite the compliment, Miss Romy.’ Dr Ho plucked a blossom and sniffed it before he revealed the deep magenta centre. ‘The peach blossom brings you luck; it’s the fruit of the gods.’ Dr Ho smiled at her and said, ‘Enjoy these moments, Romy. This pollen will be gone in a few days and the leaves will unfurl. Everything has a cycle, a time to bloom and a time to rest.’ He paused and then continued, ‘Your mother, she needs to rest. You shouldn’t feel guilty. Give her time, enjoy the blossoms and then the rich sweet juice of the fruit.’

As she met Dr Ho’s gaze Romy felt tears well in her eyes.

‘Things will get better soon,’ the doctor assured her. ‘You will see. There is nothing more devastating than to lose a loved one.’ He patted her arm. ‘It’s natural, essential, to be sad and grieve for loss. It goes deep into our lungs. But we must breathe the new in, the Yin, and expel the old, the Yang.

‘In Chinese medicine, if we hold the grief deep inside us—if we cannot express it and make peace with it—it can disturb the work of our lungs and intestines. Grief poisons our body if we don’t find a way to process it.’

Romy looked up at Dr Ho for a sign he was going to fix her mother.

‘We are all helping your mother to find a way to be well. In the meantime, you just have to love her. Do the breathing for her until she can breathe with you.’

Romy nodded and took the blossom from his outstretched hand, touched by his kindness. She thought of the flickering yellow horseshoe on Wipplingerstrasse, and why Benjamin was killed and Daniel taken away, leaving her the only child. She didn’t feel lucky—not by any stretch. Her stomach cramped and her breath shortened as she sniffed the fragile blossom. She felt like crushing the soft petals in her palm, leaving a pink pulp. Her guilt was overwhelming.

‘Do you believe in luck, Dr Ho?’ asked Romy.

He paused, glancing at a far corner of the garden before looking Romy in the eye. ‘Yes. Good luck and bad luck. Terrible things can happen to good people, Romy. China is at war with Japan. Who knows—’

He was cut off as Li ran back towards them, having looped her way around the orchard. She swayed as if she were drunk on pollen. She had a garland of blossoms in her hair. ‘Look, Aba.’ She turned to Romy. ‘Did he tell you peach blossoms are the flower of love?’ Her eyes sparkled, and she pressed her fingers to her lips. The girl had been giddy with the prospect of romance ever since their amahs took them to see a re-run of Top Hat at the Cathay Theatre last week. Li had been swooning, dancing and singing just like Ginger Rogers.

Romy’s eyes flickered across to Jian and met his own as his cheeks started turning the colour of a blossom. He’d taken his camera from his satchel and was peering up into a tree, taking close-up photos of the flowers and branches and trying to ignore his sister.

‘Romy…’ Li linked her arm through Romy’s, as had become her custom, and dragged her towards the mahjong tables. ‘We must ask Papa to buy us each a bunch to give to our mothers.’

Romy agreed as she looked back over her shoulder at the orchard.

‘Here.’ Li stopped in front of a laden peach tree. The air smelled thick, like honey. ‘Jian, take our photo, please.’

He sighed and dropped his shoulders as he walked towards them. Romy loved the way he indulged his little sister—it reminded her of how Daniel and Benjamin had indulged her.

‘I want one in front of the beautiful tree with my beautiful friend Romy.’ She swept a curl from Romy’s face and watched it spring back straight away. ‘I’d do anything for your ringlets.’

Romy stared at her friend’s flawless skin, the colour of cream, her narrow nose and almond eyes, and compared it with her own square jaw, snub nose and face covered with freckles. She felt anything but beautiful. But she was grateful to have this rare bird as her friend.

Jian directed them to stand in front of a low-hanging bough as a bemused Dr Ho shook his head, chuckling.

Li pulled Romy close, hugged her tight and as she gave her a peck on the cheek she whispered, ‘You’re the smartest and the best friend I’ve ever had. Promise me we’ll always be friends?’

‘Of course, silly,’ said Romy as she gave Li a playful nudge with her shoulder and dropped her satchel. Both girls pulled a face and laughed.

The camera clicked.

‘Take it again, we want a proper photo,’ insisted Li.

They straightened their uniforms, linked hands, looked at the camera and smiled.

When they arrived at Dr Ho’s favourite corner of French Park, a paved area under the grandest plane tree, Li ran from table to table, greeting the elders glued to their mahjong. Some people wore fine cashmere coats and polished shoes like Dr Ho, others had basic canvas shoes, and one man, clad in the blue cloth of a coolie, wore no shoes at all. Each of the players had a thermos of tea at their feet. Dr Ho greeted his friends warmly and gestured for the younger ones to squeeze around a far table set under a pergola heaving with wisteria.

Dr Ho started to deal, and the game began with the Prevailing Wind of East. At first Romy had been flummoxed by mahjong, but in the past weeks she had quickly picked up on the three different sets of tiles and had set herself the task of learning the characters. Her favourite tiles were the flowers: plum, orchid, chrysanthemum and bamboo, one for each season. It was fast becoming her favourite game. A million times better than chess.

The Hos had kindly lent the Bernfelds a mahjong set, and Romy would sit with Mutti and Papa, listening to Bach and trying to ignore the gaping hole where Daniel should be.

As Dr Ho started to throw the dice, Li slid her hand under the white collar of her school dress and touched her jade pendant for luck, as she did every time.

‘Can I look?’ Romy asked.

Li reached under her collar and pulled out a pendant on a long gold chain. Etched into the jade was an exquisite lily, just like the one she’d seen in the foyer of the Cathay Hotel.

Romy ran her finger over the relief. ‘It’s beautiful,’ she told her friend.

Li’s eyes brimmed as her father said, ‘It comes from Li’s maternal grandmother, in Soochow.’ He looked at his daughter sadly and patted her hand. Jian stared at his tiles. ‘We have no contact with them now. Not since 1937.’

Romy looked back at Li, whose blossoms had slipped and were now tangled in her hair. Her friend always danced and pranced like she was on a stage, but Romy saw the frightened girl she really was. Li looked fragile sitting beside her brother.

As Li took off her necklace and passed it to Romy so she could have a closer look, she said, ‘Jade is magic—both Yin and Yang.’

Romy must have looked puzzled.

Dr Ho came to the rescue once again. ‘It’s the energy in everything. At its most basic, good and evil. We all have both these energies in us. We just get to choose which one we use more.’

Romy immediately thought of Franz, the soldier who killed Benjamin. Until it was forbidden, Franz sang as the lead baritone in Benjamin’s choir. They were colleagues and, she had supposed, friends. And yet Franz shot him, as if her brother were an animal.

She looked across at the Hos, who seemed equally shaken by the massive change in their lives. They might come from different countries, the Hos and the Bernfelds, but they shared this loss.

Jian shifted uncomfortably beside her, accidentally knocking his knee against hers.

‘It’s a lovely lily,’ said Romy, continuing to hold the pendant.

Dr Ho said, ‘The necklace is supposed to be a gift for Li’s wedding trousseau. But her grandmother wanted it to be used as a talisman. It carries her blessing and connects each generation to the next.’

‘It’s my lucky pendant,’ said Li as she tucked it back under her uniform and picked up a tile.