Romy sat on the leather chesterfield in her secret wood-panelled dressing room at the Cathay, sipping her hot chocolate and watching Li twirl around the room, doing the jitterbug as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Memories of Kristallnacht still churned in her gut. She’d wanted to come and sit awhile in this quiet place that took her back to her childhood but, as always, Li had other plans.

Her friend had changed into a blue chiffon gown that had been left on the rack, along with the peacock-blue feather boa Romy and Nina had found the first time they’d been here. There was a gramophone in the corner and the girls were listening to the high-pitched melodies of Li’s favourite singer, Golden Voice. With each swirl and shimmy, the ruffles of Li’s skirt took flight, and she kept turning and spinning in a frenzy as the song reached a crescendo.

As the final notes died away, Li collapsed breathless onto the sofa beside Romy.

‘I can’t believe you won’t dance with me.’ She turned to look at Romy. ‘I know you think I’m silly, but I just love to sing and dance.’

Romy looked into the big dark eyes of her best friend. With those two deep dimples, Li’s smile was irresistible. But the beauty and fizz on the surface masked a faithful friend with a deep sense of honour.

Last week at school, Gretel Adalard had started to mutter, ‘Heil Hitler,’ under her breath every morning as the girls hung their satchels and coats on their hooks at school.

The teachers pretended not hear.

Unbeknownst to Romy, Li had convinced Jian to help her purchase a hessian bag of full of squirming black bullfrogs that she’d tipped into Gretel’s bag on her way to French class. Gretel’s screams echoed through the corridor and she immediately blamed Romy.

‘It was the ugly Jew,’ she spat. But of course, it couldn’t have been, as Romy was already in class, going over her algebra homework with the teacher. Li had only let her in on the secret that afternoon after school.

Now Li rested her head on Romy’s shoulder and stroked her pendant. ‘I really want to sing at the Opera House,’ she confided. ‘Then I want to sing in Paris.’

‘I’ll come to the opening night, I promise.’

‘You could come to Paris with me. Jian will come and study photography and you can study medicine at the Sorbonne.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Romy. But even as she said it she knew she wouldn’t go anywhere without her parents. How could she leave them after all they had been through?

‘You are going to be a doctor?’ Li persisted.

‘I suppose so,’ said Romy. ‘It’s the right thing to do. The wards are full of patients with typhoid and pneumonia since winter set in. Papa and Mutti…’ Her voice trailed off.

‘They work hard,’ agreed Li, finishing the sentence for her. ‘Have you ever thought of studying Chinese medicine? You are always watching Aba work—and I know you did the notes on the scroll for Jian so he could take some photographs of cicada shells instead.’

Romy blushed.

Li lifted her chin and held Romy’s gaze. ‘Sometimes I think you have more in common with my brother than with me,’ she said softly.

‘That’s not true.’ Romy felt a curious flutter in her belly.

Li started to hum the mournful opening bars of ‘J’attendrai’ and then sang, so loudly that Romy feared she would be heard outside. Romy automatically started to translate:

I will wait night and day,

I will wait forever,

For you to come back…

Li was singing for Zhou, her lost brother. Romy lay on the couch, thinking of Benjamin and Daniel, her heart breaking for Mutti and Papa.

Li had tears in her eyes when she’d finished singing and Romy gave her a hug.

‘That was beautiful. What will your stage name be?’

‘Jade Lily,’ said Li instantly.

‘Perfect. C’mon, change back into your own dress—we need to get back to the meeting.’

As they stepped out of the secret door into the bright light of the foyer, a handsome man in a navy three-piece suit stood jiggling a gold pocket watch and speaking in low tones with three Japanese soldiers. The foyer was filling with Japanese troops and the energy had switched from calm to chaos. A soldier gave the man an affectionate pat on the shoulder, as if he was congratulating him.

Li did a double take. ‘That’s Chang Wu. He was friends with my brother Zhou. They flew together up in Harbin. He came and took tea with my parents, after—’ She paused. ‘But why is he smiling and shaking hands with Japanese soldiers?’

‘Li, we need to go.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Romy spotted some British, US and Dutch consular officials with whom her parents often dined at Le Cercle Sportif Français being marched to the elevators by Japanese troops. Behind them was Miss Schwartz, and walking beside her was a woman addressing the Japanese soldiers in a firm American accent. Romy assumed this strong woman was Miss Schwartz’s new boss from the JDC—Laura Margolis. From what Papa said, Miss Margolis had come with valuable American support from the Joint Distribution Committee to enlarge the operations of the soup kitchens and assist the growing population of refugees in Hongkew. Surely they weren’t being arrested by the Japanese? Miss Schwartz, as if sensing Romy’s gaze, turned. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head slightly—cautioning her to stay away.

What was going on? The Japanese were swarming in through the circular doors and taking over the hotel. She felt as if she were trapped in a golden kaleidoscope. All the pieces were shifting and spinning.

Only Li stood still, a picture of grace in her cream cheongsam, suspended in a shaft of golden light.

Mr Wu excused himself from the soldiers and approached the girls.

‘Was that you singing? I heard a voice upstairs.’ He spoke warmly, meeting Li’s eyes. He didn’t notice Romy. ‘You’re Li Ho, aren’t you? Zhou’s sister.’ He nodded without waiting for a reply. ‘You have the same eyes. He was a good man.’ He reached out to take Li’s hand.

‘I—’ Li had lifted her chin a little and the strip of flesh above her cheongsam collar turned pink. Romy had never seen Li lost for words.

‘I’m Chang Wu,’ he said as he held Li’s hand for a beat longer than necessary.

‘I remember,’ said Li as she demurely withdrew her hand. ‘Thank you. My brother was a good man,’ she agreed.

‘Li…’ Romy grabbed her friend’s wrist and tried to tug her into the whirlpool of people. ‘We need to go. Now!’

‘Forgive me, I’ve been rude.’ Chang Wu extended his hand to Romy and she reluctantly shook it. The grip was firm. Too firm.

‘Romy Bernfeld.’

Mr Wu turned to gaze at Li. ‘You must come and sing here. In my club.’ Mr Wu reached into his inside pocket for a silver box, opened it and handed her a card. Li took it with both hands, nodding. ‘We have the best singers and orchestras in Shanghai,’ he boasted.

‘I’m sure you do,’ giggled Li nervously. ‘I’d love to. But I’m not sure my parents would let me. They…I mean, I want to be a singer.’ She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin a little higher. ‘I’m going to sing in Paris and Rome one day.’

He chuckled. ‘I like your spirit.’ He leaned in close and Romy could smell the Brylcreem on his slicked-back hair, whisky on his breath. ‘It’s a family trait.’

Romy’s skin prickled.

Mr Wu’s voice dropped in a warning. ‘Be careful, Li. That spirit could get you killed, if you’re not careful.’ He raised his eyebrows and surveyed the sea of navy helmets, as if his words required no further explanation. ‘Please, I mean it. Contact me if you ever need anything. I promise there will always be a job for you at the Cathay, with that voice.’

Romy tugged harder on Li’s wrist and whispered, ‘We need to go. Now’s not the time—’

Mr Wu turned to Romy, appraising her, then said, ‘You should tell your friend to keep an open mind. Things are changing fast around here.’