The serene courtyard with its swaying bamboo beckoned as soon as Alexandra walked in the door to her apartment. Work had been all-consuming since her weekend away with Zhang. There were some problems with the contracts for the new buys she was proposing. She’d arranged a sweet joint venture deal out of the Hong Kong office—her company would be making a killing so everyone was happy. That was, until on a whim she’d asked her top analyst to check the environmental records for the mine proposals in Central Africa and South America. She wanted to know how they rehabilitated the sites. She also had some misgivings about the relocation plans for a couple of local villages. Despite consultation at the community level, Alexandra had questioned her company’s support for these developments in the team meeting this afternoon. Her boss Bert had gone ballistic, accusing her of stalling the deal.

‘Alexandra, you’ve been doing these deals for years. It’s what you specialise in, kiddo. Do I need to remind you of the fat bonus you took home last year? What’s got into you? Don’t get me wrong, it makes us look good if we can offer clean and green. But you know as well as I do that in the end it all comes down to the bottom line.’

She’d walked out of Bert’s office with balled fists. She wanted to call Zhang and…what? Cry? She wasn’t sure exactly, but she did know she wanted to reach out and tell him how frustrated she was. She’d never even thought to unload with Hugo because coping with pressure and being busy had become almost a competitive sport between them. But now she’d started looking beyond the numbers and risk projections and wondering about the people, about their homes. When she closed her eyes at night, the bronze faces from the Jewish Refugees Museum stepped out of their sculpture and swirled through her dreams.

Without even pausing to change out of her work clothes, Alexandra took her phone from her bag and walked outside to skype with Zhang. When his face appeared, she wanted to reach through the screen and touch him.

‘Garden looking good?’ he asked.

‘Great!’ She looked at the moss and flushed. She tilted the phone slightly upwards so he couldn’t see her face.

‘Hey, where’d you go?’ He laughed. ‘So listen, Alexandra, I’m so sorry, but—’

Alexandra held her breath, not wanting to hear it.

‘I’m not going to be able to come visit this weekend. I’ve got to speak at a landscape architecture conference. The keynote speaker from New York has had to cancel—his daughter’s got appendicitis—so I’m it!’

She studied the shadows of the rock and tried to swallow her disappointment. They’d had a fling, nothing more. She’d been silly to forecast a solid future with Zhang when the location was a moving variable.

‘That’s fine,’ she said brightly. ‘I get it.’ And she did. This was the end of the line. Their relationship had combusted far sooner than she expected. There was no point in telling him she was planning a trip to Hong Kong for work.

Her doorbell chimed. ‘Oh, I’ve got to go. Dinner’s here. Talk soon?’

‘Alexandra—’ Zhang frowned.

She ended the call.

Alexandra sat outside on a wicker chair, poured herself a full glass of Californian chardonnay and picked up her plate of mapo doufu. Mapo was her favourite detox dish—as comforting as hot chocolate. As a child, Alexandra would sit at the bench going over her homework with Opa, while Oma diced the ginger and garlic and tossed it into a sizzling wok before she added a handful of pork mince, two dollops of Sichuan chilli bean paste and a splash of rice wine. Only at the end—when the pork was brown and the kitchen filled with sharp spices—would she add silky squares of tofu and swish it around quickly so it didn’t go gluggy.

Alexandra devoured her dinner.

When she was done, she put her plate in the dishwasher and sat down to go through the parcel from her grandmother. This package was so special Alexandra had put it aside until she could focus on it without her phone constantly beeping about work. Alexandra ran her hand over the leather diary that had softened with age. She opened it and studied the girlish hand of her Oma. The paper fluttered in her trembling hand, as she read the spidery letters.

Dearest Alexandra,

This is the diary my papa bought me.

I’m so sorry I haven’t shared more about our time in Shanghai. I thought it was for the best. It’s weighed on me heavily over the years.

We were all so changed by the war. I know what it feels like to be an only child—and to lose people you love.

I wanted you to discover Shanghai and make your own future, free from our expectations and the traumas of the past.

I’m sure that’s not really a good enough reason to have kept things from you. You’ll have many questions and much to think about. I promise I’ll answer all your questions when we see each other next. I understand, now, our past and your future belong together like a master stock that changes over the years. Nina agrees that this diary belongs to you now. She and I both send our blessings and we look forward to seeing you for a visit after our hiking trip to the High Country.

With love,

Oma xxx

When she opened the back cover of the diary a red envelope, a coaster from the Peninsula Hotel, Hong Kong, and a letter from Nina to Romy slid out. She read Nina’s goodbye letter to Romy and left the other scraps on her lap—poor Nina! It must have been so sad when her uncle died. But Alexandra wondered why Nina had been so determined that Romy not try to contact her when she started her new job. There were also two faded certificates. A landing permit for Australia and a document headed Notice of Adoption. The latter was marked with a stamp: Hong Kong.

She felt a rising sense of excitement. Could it be that the reason Alexandra hadn’t been able to find any documents in China was because Romy had sailed to Australia from Hong Kong—maybe that’s where the evidence was? Perhaps she could engage a Hong Kong-based adoption consultant to help her while she was there…

Finally, she flicked through her grandmother’s diary. She read about Romy visiting Dr Ho’s treatment rooms, Chinese New Year gatherings and prayers for Daniel. There was an American friend called Laura and another—Eva Schwartz—who had been deported back to America. Oma had been friends with both Li Ho and her brother Jian, but there was no mention of either after 1943. The newspaper article she had found said Li Ho disappeared in 1945. They must have lost contact when Oma was forced to move to the ghetto.

Alexandra was turning the pages, looking for more mentions of the Hos, when towards the back Nina’s name caught her eye.

1 February 1944

Nina was waiting for me on the steps outside the hospital today when I finished work. I was elated to see her, but one look at her pale face, red-rimmed eyes and the bruise on her cheek made me fearful. She wanted to thank me for the parcel of apple cake and Kaiser rolls she’d received every day since the night I spotted her in the street, leading that Japanese sailor inside her front door.

Nina’s wrists were like twigs. She hung her head and I could see her hair was charcoal at the roots though she had dyed it the colour of corn. She begged me to forgive her, but I held her tight and told her there was nothing to forgive. I want Nina to give away her work and come and share our room. But Nina said she couldn’t face Mutti and Papa. I’m sure they wouldn’t have judged her though; we see desperate women at the hospital every day, begging the gynaecologists for vodka and quinine to hold off pregnancies.

This past winter has been bitter, with filthy snow choking the streets for weeks at a time. I worry Nina will fall ill, so I sent her away from the hospital with a small jar of honey that Delma had given me from Café Louis, two thumbs of fresh ginger and a whole garlic bulb so she can boil up some ginger tea morning and night. Together with a small bowl of congee, this should help keep her lungs and spleen strong and the coughs away. I told her I add half a fresh red chilli to mine along with the seeds, and she said ‘What the hell?’ then gave me a tight hug, spun on her stilettos and walked away.

I agonise over the differences in circumstances between Nina and me, and it is only a thin veneer of luck that separates us. I don’t deserve my life, my study, work and family any more than Nina deserves her misfortune. She’s grown so fierce, stubborn and independent. She’s one of the strongest people I know.

Alexandra’s stomach churned for Nina. What had she endured? The diary explained Nina’s tough exterior and Alexandra felt a strange mix of sadness and devotion. It didn’t seem possible that she could love her grandparents and Nina more, but after reading this diary she did.

She took a sip of her wine and turned the page.

10 February 1944

My thoughts are mostly full of Wilhelm this past week. I close my eyes and smell the traces of spices and warm bread on his shirt. I long to hold him. I can hardly concentrate for all the dreaming—Papa asked if I was poorly!

Yesterday Wilhelm pressed me tight with my skirt pulled up against the counter in his mixing room, forearms flexed—but then we heard the jangle of the bell…

I need to find a way for Wilhelm and me to be together. Sometimes he seems hesitant—as if he doesn’t want to hurt me. He tries to hide his gaunt face and haunted eyes with bright smiles but I can sense his loneliness.

I know I sound like a besotted schoolgirl, but I think of his hands slowly working the dough, his warm breath on my cheek, whenever I’m alone. My skin twitches and burns when I try to sleep because I imagine him lying beside me, head on the pillow next to mine, brushing the curls from my face. His kind, brown eyes staring into mine.

We’ve come close now so I’ll have to think about precautions. Wilhelm is more conservative…respectful. We will be together long after we leave this ghetto, so there is no point waiting. I’m so tired of being cold, hungry and poor. Of the weeks of unrelenting study and work. My head is so full of thoughts of disease and loss that the only time I forget is when I press my head to Wilhelm’s chest and listen to the steady beat of his heart. We give each other strength and comfort. It feels selfish to ask for more.

Of one thing I am certain: it is better to face the future together than alone.

Alexandra dropped the diary onto her lap, embarrassed. It felt like peeking into her grandparents’ bedroom. She traced her fingers over her grandmother’s words. We give each other strength and comfort. What was it Opa had said to Alexandra as he was dying?

‘Your grandmother…was the strongest of us all. The three of us…’

And it was true enough. It seemed Romy had shown Wilhelm not just how to survive the turmoil of the ghetto, but also how to live. She supported him right to the end. Perhaps Romy could never bear children of her own—was that why she’d apologised to her dying husband? Had she carried that guilt and grief all these years? It certainly went some way to explaining why they might adopt a child from China. Or Hong Kong.

Romy had provided the scaffolding not just for Wilhelm, but also for Alexandra too.

Alexandra flicked through the page impatiently until she reached the hastily scratched recipe Oma had marked with a post-it. It was stained grey from soy sauce and if Alexandra were to lick the page she was sure it would still taste salty.

Amah’s master stock

2 Leipzig jars of water

heavy pour soy sauce

heavy pour shao xing wine

handful yellow rock sugar, crushed

⅓ hand cup ginger, sliced

4 garlic cloves, crushed

green (spring) onions, washed and trimmed

spoon sesame oil

4 star anise

2 cassia bark

1 cinnamon stick

3 pieces dried mandarin rind or orange rind

handful of mixed mushrooms (dried better)

Sichuan pepper

This stock carried the scent of her childhood. At least once a week Oma would take her master stock out of the freezer and defrost it, before poaching chicken breasts and slicing them over rice, or even putting a whole chicken in the broth to simmer with fresh greens tossed in before serving.

She smiled and shook her head—trust Romy to end her letter with food. It was as if her grandmother wanted to fortify her from afar as Alexandra read the diary.

Suddenly Alexandra didn’t want to be alone.

She gulped down the rest of her chardonnay and called Zhang again.

‘Alexandra!’ His face beamed on the screen.

‘If it’s okay with you, I’m coming to Hong Kong on Friday night after work!’

‘I was going to suggest that when you hung up. I thought you were mad with me. Clearly you were just hungry! Anyway, the organisers had booked a suite at the Peninsula for this la-di-da speaker and they’re offering it to me instead. Peta and Petra are staying in my apartment with my aunt to look at universities, so I was thinking we might as well take up the offer. What do you say?’

Alexandra eyed the faded coaster in her lap. ‘The Peninsula would be perfect.’