‘Are all those islands Hong Kong? Good heavens, there are so many of them!’
As the Lear jet began its descent, Katy leaned over to look out of the window, excited as a child, and Elise suppressed an urge to do the same.
Although most of Hong Kong’s rain fell in the summer, today was clear – the sea as blue as the sky, lit to sparkling brightness by the sun, and from it rose the islands, more than two hundred of them – some rocky and weather-worn, others lushly green and fringed with golden beaches.
During her time here in the East, Elise had known many of them – Cheung Chau, once infamous for smuggling and piracy, where junks and sampans jostled in the bay; Lantau with its glorious beaches and the mysterious Trappist monastery hidden away in the hills; Lamma, Hong Kong’s ‘Stone Age’ island, inhabited for more than four thousand years and still idyllic with no cars or motor cycles to spoil the peace. But now many of the names escaped her and she felt a strange detachment.
I used to live here, she thought, but it was as if this had been another person in another life.
The Lear jet banked and the open countryside that was the New Territories spread out beneath them, patchworked with rice-fields and neat terraced farms, as old as China itself. Then they were over Kowloon – all modern skyscrapers and moving traffic around the busy mainland side of the harbour – and now dropping lower and lower until they skimmed Kai-Tak airport and wheels touched tarmac on the long runway built out like a jutting finger into the harbour itself. Elise glanced at Katy as the blue water rushed past them and saw from the wide eyes and parted lips that she was enjoying every moment, enjoying even the slightly scaring illusion that the plane would inevitably continue on and into the sea.
But of course this did not happen. Just as the pulse rate increased and breath became right in the throat the Lear jet slowed, slewing gently round and changing direction along three sides of a rectangle before taxiing gently back towards the mainland.
‘That’s it then, Katy! We have arrived,’ Elise said and the slight tremble in her voice made Katy reach over and touch her hand lightly.
‘You are all right, aren’t you, Granny? The journey hasn’t been too much for you?’
‘The journey’s been a peach!’ Elise said briskly – and so it had. The jet was built for comfort, the curved leather couch and matching armchairs made it as pleasant as any drawing room; moreover the weather conditions had been good, with little turbulence to toss them up and down or from side to side.
The moment the doors were opened the smell of the East began wafting into the cabin – the sickly, pungent smell which Elise remembered so well and which evoked nostalgia in her as no sight or sound could do. How it took her back, arousing forgotten shades of emotion, evoking poignant memories in the depth of the subconscious!
Katy, however, was wrinkling her nose in distaste. ‘What is that smell?’
Elise smiled. ‘You’ve never been out East before, have you, Katy? I promise you will soon get used to it.’
‘Never!’
‘You will. In a couple of days you won’t even notice it any more!’
Katy pulled a face. ‘Well, if you say so. But ugh! It is a bit off-putting.’
‘And how did you enjoy your trip, ladies?’ Stuart Brittain entered the cabin and as always the sight of him shocked Elise slightly. Eventually, she supposed, she would get used to seeing this modern-day Brit; at the moment it could still take her breath away if he caught her unawares.
Now, standing slightly stooped and with one lean brown hand resting on the back of the leather couch, he looked none the worse for the long flight. There was not a crease his lightweight suit and he had obviously just shaved so that there was no hint of stubble on his angular chin.
‘As Granny was just saying, it was a very good flight.’ Katy stood up, and Elise thought that she looked every bit as fresh as Stuart in her cool kingfisher silk blouse and black and kingfisher harem pants. Her hair – despite having missed its customary daily shampoo – still fell to her shoulders with that tantalising hint of curl, and since she wore practically no make-up a warm damp towel from the ready prepared box in the small galley had been sufficient to bring a glow to her cheeks. ‘ Were you flying us, Stuart?’
‘Most of the time,’ Stuart admitted. ‘When I am on board, the Cormorant pilot knows he’s likely to be more or less redundant.’
‘You’re very good.’
‘I enjoy it. That’s the most important thing, I imagine.’
‘No, I expect it’s a talent. Granny says the Brittain she knew flew a Spitfire in the Battle of Britain.’
‘You don’t know what a treat this is for me,’ Elise said as she stretched inconspicuously. ‘ Now, I dare say you have a few formalities to attend to and you must not let us interfere with that.’
‘Not at all.’ Stuart Brittain smiled easily. ‘That is something which company pilots can do very well! What’s more, I have asked him to let the Peninsula Hotel know we have arrived, so that they can send a car for you.’
Elise smoothed down the silk dress in shades of delicate mauve and blue that travelled so well.
‘Marvellous as the flight was, I must say I’m looking forward to a bath after the journey.’
‘And after you’ve freshened and rested, I hope you will come out to Shek-o,’ Stuart suggested.
She nodded. ‘Yes. There are quite a few things I want to do while I’m here, of course – places to revisit and things to see. But I assure you, coming to Shek-o is at the top of my list.’
‘Good.’ He smiled and Elise had the grace to feel slightly guilty. What would he say, she wondered, if he knew why she was so anxious to visit Shek-o? But no matter. If she could arrange a private interview with his grandfather, there would be no need for him ever to know.
‘If it would be any help to you, I can have a company car placed at your disposal,’ he said. On a sudden impulse she reached out and touched his hand as it rested on the back of the couch. It felt hard and sinuous beneath her fingers, reminiscent of another hand which she had held in what now seemed another life.
‘I don’t know why you have gone to so much trouble,’ she said warmly. ‘But I really am very glad, you know.’
Eyes, slightly darker than hazel but with the same wicked gleam, met hers in what was almost a wink.
‘I don’t think you realise – you are a boyhood dream come to life!’ he told her.
Kowloon was a hotch-potch of teeming streets – taxis and minibuses bearing the names of the luxury hotels; bicycles, motor cycles and omnibuses, modern office apartments and slums and a Chinese laundry where the washing was spread out along the roadside. As they passed the streets where the chickens hung, coated with cooking syrup, outside the shops, the odour of the East grew even stronger, wafting in to mix with the subdued leather smell of the interior of the Rolls Royce. Then as they drew level with the waterfront, the strong whiff of fish became predominant.
Nathan Road was wide, clean and bustling, the harbour sparkling blue; on the other side of the water, on Hong Kong Island, a flurry of skyscrapers rose, dwarfed by the majestic height of Victoria Peak yet giants in their own right.
Elise thought briefly of the last time she had seen it. There had been no skyscrapers then – only the solid blocks which were the legacy of an empire long since dispersed – and everything had been obscured by that terrible fog of thick, black smoke. She shuddered now at the memory. How had she lived through it all? She could not imagine, she only knew she would not like to face it again. Yet even now that she was here, it seemed so long ago.
A domed building on the opposite side of the road from the Peninsula drew her attention – a planetarium. Then the Rolls was sweeping round the flower beds and the fountain to the main entrance of the famous hotel.
Bellboys ran down the steps the moment the Rolls came to a halt; one held open the doors, another began unpacking cases and stacking them with an expertise born of long practice. In the lobby Elise paused for a moment, remembering the Peninsula not as it had been the last time she had seen it – disrupted by the chaotic tumble of refugees and stripped for action – but as she had known it in the days when she and Brit had met here. Naturally there were changes – the overhead fans and ornate chandeliers had gone, replaced long since by air conditioning and concealed lighting; and the furniture, though similar in shape to the old squarely welcoming design, was strictly modern. But the atmosphere was the same, the air of elegance and sophistication, so that the changes were not immediately noticeable.
She waited while Katy attended to the formalities of booking in, then they crossed to one of the row of mirrored and adorned caskets that could not, she thought, be demeaned by the name ‘lift’. It rose smoothly, so that one was not aware of movement, taking them to the fourth floor where she had been fortunate enough to be able to book the sumptuous Moon Pearl Suite. Then, when they were alone, she sank into one of the soft chairs, kicking off her shoes and sighing gratefully.
‘Katy, I have come all this way to look at the past, yet just at the moment I have no plans beyond a bath, a cup of tea and the most delicious rest.’
Katy laughed, taking in the pearly greys and moonlight blues that had been used in the Moon Pearl Suite to interpret the old Chinese legend which had inspired it – admiring, yet in no way in awe. It was a disadvantage in a way, Elise thought, to be born into a world that took such things for granted.
‘You’re quite right. Granny,’ Katy said now. ‘ I agree with you about the bath and the tea, and I’m sure a rest will do you the world of good. But while you are resting. I should like to go out and have a look round. Will that be all right?’
‘I’m sure it will,’ Elise had never felt anything but safe on the streets of Hong Kong. ‘And you need hardly leave the hotel in order to look at the most super shops – there are arcades of them right here. But if you want to go out, go ahead. I shall be here where you get back, I promise.’
Later, as the door closed after Katy, she leaned back and closed her eyes, content for the moment simply to be once again in Hong Kong.
‘Well, and how was the trip? Sorted Roydell out, have you?’
The tall, well-made man was pouring generous measures of Glenfiddich whisky into crystal tumblers as he spoke.
To Stuart Brittain, the broad, linen-jacketed back was as unchanging as ever. Throughout his life he could never remember seeing his grandfather in shirt-sleeves, no matter how steamy the weather. The thick, dark hair had turned to iron grey, though not thinned, the lines in the leathery face had deepened and the trim waist had thickened to a slight paunch. But Charles Brittain, tai-pan of Cormorant, wore what had become virtually his uniform throughout – linen suits and hand-made cream silk shirts by day, tuxedos by night. Never once had Stuart seen him dressed for relaxation – Charles Brittain did not relax! He worked a sixteen-hour day, seven days a week and he had always thrived on it. One day, the inevitable would happen and he would hand over as tai-pan, but to do so would probably kill him. Work was his life-blood, and to him this penthouse apartment which crowned the Cormorant building on the Hong Kong Island waterfront was home in a way that his mansion at Shek-o never could be.
Waiting for his drink, Stuart glanced quickly around. It was very much his grandfather’s domain, this apartment. The familiar aroma of his cigars had impregnated the heavy cream curtains and the deep carpet, the silver-framed photograph on the desk was of his wife who had died ten years before Stuart was born. But there was much here that was older, part of the tradition of Cormorant – the Chinese lacquer and the jade carvings, the antique ship’s clock and the oil paintings of the East India clippers in which the founders of the company had sailed. Even the decanter was of the flat-bottomed type and had come from one of the early Cormorant ships. History merged with everything that was vital and modern about Hong Kong here, and Stuart found it a little daunting – though no less stimulating – to realise that one day all this would be his responsibility. Groomed from his earliest youth as ‘ Crown Prince’ of Cormorant, he had not become blase about the prospect; but neither was he over-awed, as many were, by his grandfather. For an inner confidence told him that when the time came he would be as good a tai-pan as Charles. Less single-minded, perhaps, but that would be his strength. To the house of Cormorant he would bring his own fresh approach, his own enthusiasm and judgement which would work for another forty years or so at least.
Charles turned, handing him the whisky tumbler. ‘ Well, how were Roydell?’ he asked again.
Stuart tipped his glass slightly in acknowledgement to his grandfather and drank.
‘Eager.’
‘Good.’ Charles tipped his own glass. ‘You ironed out a contract which is beneficial to us, then?’
‘No, I didn’t actually.’
Iron-grey brows knitted together. ‘Why not?’
Stuart crossed to the window. From its vantage point more than twenty storeys up, it gave a panoramic view of Hong Kong: ant people and toy cars in the street below, toy boats glinting against the blue water of the harbour as the sun caught them, skyscrapers rising in a slight haze on the Kowloon side and blending into the hills of the Chinese mainland.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’
‘Instinct, I suppose, tai-pan.’ He had almost called his grandfather ‘Sir’. Strange how the childhood form of address returned to slip off his tongue when his grandfather questioned him in this overbearing way. But ever since adulthood he, like everyone else, had addressed Charles as ‘tai-pan. ‘Roydell want the order, that’s plain. The chap who met me – a Grantly Hedges – was falling over himself. And the terms are good. But I’m not confident they can deliver.’
Charles brought his whisky tumbler down hard on the desk.
‘Dammit, Stuart, we need those parts.’
‘We’ll get them; I shall see to it. But in my own way.’ ‘ I hope so. I don’t understand why there should be any doubt. Roydell have never let us down in the past and they are known throughout the world.’
‘I know that, and I have promised them that when I have had time to check the contract details, provided everything is in order I will sign. This is my department, tai-pan. Let me do things in my own way.’
The iron-grey brows furrowed again and the deep, leathery lines around the mouth deepened. I’m still tai-pan here and don’t you forget it, that look seemed to say, but Stuart ignored it, looking out instead at the panorama laid out beneath the penthouse windows.
‘How has Hong Kong been in my absence?’
‘How would I know?’ Charles asked crustily. ‘I never see Hong Kong.’
‘The business?’
‘Which part of it?’
‘Any part. Is anything new?’
‘Everything and nothing. We’ll talk over lunch. In the meantime you ought to see Helen; she has been deputising for you in your absence.’ He bent over the desk to reach for an intercom button and depressed it: ‘Helen, can you come in?’ He glanced up at Stuart, his eyes sharp hazel beneath the heavy brows. ‘She’s a great asset, is Helen. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?’
Stuart said nothing. The tai-pan clearly knew he had been dating Helen and just as clearly he approved. Helen Shaw was, as he said, an asset. And whatever faults Charles Brittain might be guilty of, snobbery was not one of them. With him, the fact that Helen might not be of their social standing would not go against her. If Stuart wished to marry her and she fitted Charles’s very strict criteria in other ways, then he would have his grandfather’s blessing.
There was a brief knock on the door and it opened without waiting for Charles’s summons – further proof, if any were needed, of Helen’s closeness to the tai-pan.
‘You wanted me, tai-pan …’ She broke off as she saw Stuart, her perfectly painted lips curving into a surprised smile. ‘Stuart, I didn’t know you were back!’
‘Your office door was firmly closed when I came by.’ Stuart swirled the remains of his whisky over the ice, looking at her and wishing she inspired more in him than admiration and a sense of near-guilt that his feelings were no stronger. She was so attractive – beautiful, almost, with her dark hair cut sharply geometric, her eyes wide and dark behind a fringe of lashes and her mouth, full and red, perfectly shaped and perfectly made-up. A vivid flame blouse set off net dark hair, her cream pleated skin was fresh and elegant; her shoes, though cool and open-weave, had heels which were sufficiently high and slender to enhance her long legs and give her that little extra height and poise.
Helen was perfect – perfect voice, perfect appearance, perfect manner, bright, charming, as good at making love as she was at everything else, and yet …
Dammit, if her door was closed when I came by I ought to have wanted to kick it in after spending half a week away, but I didn’t! Stuart thought bad-temperedly.
‘Drink, Helen?’ Charles’s hand hovered near the lacquered cabinet.
She shook her head. Her hair moved with it and then fell back into place, evidence of the most expensive cutting.
‘Good heavens, no!’
One corner of his mouth quirked. ‘All right, all right, there’s no need to sound so disapproving! This girl likes to think she can run me, you know,’ he added to Stuart.
‘No such thing. It’s simply that I shall fall asleep if I drink in the middle of the day.’ Helen rejoined.
‘I find that impossible to imagine,’ Charles said, and silently Stuart agreed with him. When Helen slept, it would be on an unruffled pillow, wearing no doubt a Janet Reger nightdress. A drunken stupor in her office, even in private, was certainly not her style.
‘I’ve asked you to come in so that you can put Stuart in the picture about what you have done for him in his absence.’ Charles extracted a cigar and unwrapped it lazily, somehow managing to leave little doubt that personal conversation had now been exchanged for business.
Helen’s eyes flicked up. ‘If Stuart would like to come along to my office there would be no need for us to disturb you any longer, tai-pan.’
‘No, please carry on here.’ It was a command and Stuart understood it. His grandfather’s great strength lay in the total grip he retained on the company. There was not an aspect he did not understand – and control. Every item of information, every detail he assimilated, stored and often used.
Now, as Helen talked, describing the correspondence she had received and the crises she had dealt with during his absence, the older man sat silently smoking his cigar, but not missing a thing.
‘I think that covers it,’ she said at last, uncrossing her legs and standing up. ‘The relevant files are in my office. Perhaps you would like to call in and look through them, Stuart – or if the tai-pan wants to see them, I can ask my secretary to bring them along.’
‘No, it’s all right,’ Charles informed her. ‘I’ve heard all I need to know. Knowing you, Helen, I am sure the files reflect very precisely what you have already told us. However, you go along with her if you wish, Stuart, and I will see you for lunch.’
Stuart stretched, setting down his now empty whisky tumbler.
‘I’ll be along in a moment, Helen. There’s something else I want to talk to the tai-pan about first.’
Her eyebrows arched in a slight display of surprise, but she did not question or argue.
‘I shall be there when you want me. And you won’t forget you have an appointment with the head of the Police Department this afternoon, will you, tai-pan?’
‘I won’t forget. Thank you, Helen.’ When the door had closed after her, he turned to Stuart. ‘What else did you want to see me about, then? Something unexpected has come up, has it? The Farquhar deal …’
‘It’s nothing to do with the business actually.’ Stuart swung his long frame away from the desk corner where he had been perching. ‘It’s a personal matter. I have brought back two visitors with me and I am hoping we can entertain them a little while they’re here.’
‘Visitors? What visitors?’
‘Do you remember how when I was a boy, I found a box of things which had belonged to your brother Gerald?’
Watching him carefully, Stuart saw grandfather’s eyes narrow behind the cigar smoke.
‘Yes.’ The tone was non-committal.
‘There was a locket amongst the things … gold, antique, clearly of great sentimental value to someone. And inside the locket was a photograph of a woman – presumably the original owner who had given it to Great-uncle Gerald. When I asked you who she was, you always told me you didn ‘t know. Well – now I have found her.’
In all his life, Stuart could not remember ever having seen his grandfather lost for words. He saw it now: Charles froze, the cigar clamped between his teeth, his expression somewhere between bewilderment, astonishment and dismay.
‘What the hell do you mean, you’ve found her?’
‘Just that. I traced her through a photograph of her granddaughter in a London paper. She was so much like her that I knew they had to be related. While I was in Bristol, I looked her up.’
‘And you say you have brought her here?’
‘Yes. She used to live in Hong Kong. I’m surprised you never recognised her from the photograph in the locket.’
Charles reached for the bottle of Glenfiddich and replenished his glass without offering it to Stuart.
‘Why should I? I could hardly know everyone who lived in Hong Kong. I was too busy learning the business while Gerald was off playing the fool. Who is she, anyway?’ There was an expression on his face which Stuart could not quite fathom. He had seen it before, when his grandfather was pulling a deal – and keeping something back. But now …?
‘Her name is Elise Sanderson,’ he said. ‘She is the widow of the founder of Sandersons International. May I have another drink, tai-pan?’
Charles Brittain pushed the bottle towards him. ‘You drink too much. A bad habit. Helen will take you in hand.’
Stuart poured Glenfiddich. ‘ I never drink when I am either working or flying. Just now, I feel I have earned one. And I don’t know that I want Helen to take me in hand.’
Charles raised an eyebrow. ‘Just so long as you don’t take after your Great-uncle Gerald.’
The scorn was evident, in direct contrast to the picture of – his long-time hero which he had formed from his conversation with Elise Sanderson.
‘Why are you so opposed to him, even now?’ Stuart asked. ‘ I’ve heard of brothers not getting on, but he’s been dead for mote than forty years, for God’s sake!’ ‘He lacked any sense of responsibility towards the company.’
‘Perhaps he wasn’t interested in the company?’
‘He certainly was not. He had no interest in anything but flying aeroplanes and womanising.’
‘For a womaniser, he certainly formed a pretty lasting attachment with this lady,’ Stuart said calmly. ‘Anyway, I asked her if she would like to come back to Hong Kong with me and she accepted.’
‘And where is she now?’
‘At the Peninsula. Her grand-daughter came with her – the girl who looks so much like she used to. They’ve booked the Moon Pearl Suite. But I should warn you that I have invited them to dine one night at Shek-o.’
‘You’ve done what?’ Charles slammed down his glass, his face like thunder.
‘Invited her to dine at Shek-o. I thought it was the least I could do.’
‘The hell it was! Well, I don’t want her at Shek-o.’ Stuart stared in genuine-amazement. The strength of his grandfather’s reaction had taken him totally by surprise. ‘She’s an extremely charming woman. When you meet her …’
‘I have no wish to meet her.’
Stuart rose. ‘Tai-pan, you’re being unreasonable. We often entertain visitors for dinner. After coming half-way across the world …’
‘Yes, and at this precise moment I am wondering why she has come half-way across the world.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Cormorant is a world-famous organisation. It would hardly be the first time people have tried to cash in on their connections.’
‘How ridiculous!’ Stuart said angrily. ‘She’s had forty years to ‘‘cash in,’’ as you put it, if she wanted to do so. Besides, Sandersons is a very viable company in its own right. Elise Sanderson is not short of a penny or two, I promise you. You‘re getting this entirely out of proportion, tai-pan.’
‘Really? Perhaps you are not as far-seeing as I thought, Stuart. Perhaps my choice of you to succeed me as tai-pan of Cormorant was a little premature.’
‘Oh no, tai-pan.’ Stuart drained the glass and set it down. ‘Don’t think you can blackmail me with that one. In any case, I have already extended the invitation.’
‘Then withdraw it!’
‘No!’
‘Shek-o …’
‘Shek-o is my home, too,’ Stuart said. ‘Sometimes I think you forget that.’
He swung away towards the door. ‘ If I am to check my files with Helen before we have lunch, I ought to get on with it. And I also propose to telephone the Peninsula and confirm the dinner invitation to Mrs Sanderson for tomorrow evening. You aren‘t expecting other guests, are you?’
‘No, I am not. And if you’re so set on entertaining them, I cannot forbid it.
‘Good!’
‘As you so rightly say, Shek-o is your home and I wouldn’t like you to think of it as less,’ Charles swept on as if Stuart had not spoken. ‘I have no desire to be the tyrant my father was.’
‘I’m glad you see it that way,’ Stuart said with a wry smile. And left the office before his grandfather could change his mind.
Crossing the stretch of water from Kowloon to Hong Kong Island was, Elise discovered, an emotional experience.
The Cormorant motor launch, sent by Stuart Brittain, had picked up herself and Katy; now it skimmed the blue water towards the south side of the island and Shek-o, reminding her too sharply for comfort of the hell-ride across the harbour on that last fateful day and the voyage on the Cormorant yacht, knowing that Brit was dead.
Still across the years she could feel the yawning chasm of utter despair and indescribably piercing grief which she had felt then, the hopelessness and the sense of futility which had swamped her.
If I hadn’t had Alex to care for, I could never have gone on, she thought. It was as if all the life had been snuffed out of me; I would never have believed until then that it was possible to feel such pain. But she had had Alex and so she had gone on, and when Geraldine had been born – an excruciatingly difficult birth in a foreign base, with bombers thundering overhead and shells splitting the air – a sense of purpose had begun to return.
She not only had Alex, she also had Brit’s child, and when she had named the baby girl for him she had felt a moment’s warmth and pride before the grim despair washed in again like the tide. Brit’s baby, whom he would never see; Brit’s baby, whom she must bring up alone. It had been a long, long time before the periods of normality had begun to appear through the black fog of grief But eventually it had happened: time had healed, though as Geraldine had grown up there had been too many occasions when the fierce grief had reappeared. These had come less and less frequently, until her feeling of loss was no more than a constant sad ache punctuated by occasional moments of intense emotion sometimes months, sometimes years apart. Unexpected things could spark them off, but now one such moment came to her as they crossed the smooth blue water, making her catch her breath with its intensity.
‘Granny?’ Katy’s hand touched her arm. ‘Are you all right?’
She nodded, but inwardly her heart was crying: Look Brit, look! This is your grand-daughter, this beautiful young woman – your grand-daughter, yours and mine. This is the child of the child we conceived in love, child of the child you touched that last night through the taut skin of my belly.
Oh, that a love could be this strong through all the years!
The coastline of Hong Kong Island slipped past, ever-changing. What a mass of contradictions was this fascinating land! – plush luxury hotels and millionaires’ mansions, shanty houses clinging to the cliffs and the floating homes of the junk people. The behaviour of the Chinese could puzzle a stranger: their subservience proving that no task was too demeaning if there was the possibility of a tip – yet always pushing, always shoving, in a perpetual wearying every-man-for-himself. The environment too was diverse, with bustling shops and factories on the one hand, picturesque cliffs and bays on the other, and at its very heart the Chinatown of an Aladdin pantomine, with vertical banners bearing Chinese legends, rows of scrawny chickens hanging outside countless butchers’ shop and clothes suspended from angled poles high above the narrow streets.
There was the Hong Kong of big business, throbbing and pulsating; there was the Hong Kong of Suzie Wong – sleazy night clubs and strip joints. And this morning she had paid a visit to the house which had once been her home and seen yet another side of Hong Kong, constructed when the English had been determined to create a little of England and the British Empire wherever they went.
It had changed very little since the days when she had lived there, but she had been surprised how little emotion it had stirred in her. It was hard to see her former home as the backdrop for so much upheaval, standing there now solid and almost untouched. It was, she had thought, just a house – and it had disappointed her a little that she could feel so calm about it.
Now, however, as they approached Shek-o, the flood of emotion more than made up for her earlier lack of response, and she knew this was due in part to her awareness of the importance of the meeting ahead.
Charles Brittain was a totally unknown quantity. She remembered Brit’s assessement of him – the son his father had wanted – and in the light of Gordon’s opinion of the Brittains of Cormorant this was not a comforting thought. Gordon had despised them as ruthless despots, and Brit’s own view had borne out that opinion. If Charles Brittain had been his father’s son then, forty years ago, how much more would he be so now, after ruling the Cormorant empire for half his life?
But this made no difference to Elise’s determination to bring her plans to fruition. Remembering so vividly the love she had found too late, when she was already committed to someone else, only made her more certain that her decision to prevent Katy repeating her own mistake was the right one. If Katy traded herself to Gunther Dietrich for the good of Sandersons it would be more than just a waste – it would be a tragedy.
I will not let it happen! Elise thought again. I will find a way to stop her, even if it means crawling to Charles Brittain on my hands and knees!
The launch moored and the Chinese boatman, grinning with customary Oriental good humour, helped Elise ashore. To the west, beyond Stanley and Aberdeen, the sun was going down as a ball of scarlet that set the sea on fire behind the misty wall of humidity, but she hardly noticed. Her attention was all for the Porsche car parked nearby and the young man – so like Brit! – who was coming to meet them.
‘Mrs Sanderson.’
Elise smiled, betraying nothing of what she was feeling.
‘I wish you would call me Elise. ‘‘Mrs Sanderson’’ is far too formal and it makes me feel at least a hundred.’
‘All right.’ His mouth lifted at one corner and he turned to Katy. ‘We can certainly reassure her that she looks nothing like a hundred, whatever she’s called, can’t we?’
‘We certainly can. I only hope I look as good at her age.’ Tonight Katy was wearing a simple dress of black and white silk, the bodice cut away at the back to a deep ‘V’ to expose her smooth, suntanned skin, and her fresh appeal was stunning.
‘I’m quite sure you will,’ Stuart responded with feeling.
The Porsche was unlocked; Stuart opened the passenger door and Katy squeezed into the rear seat, leaving Elise to sit in comfort in the front.
‘I would have met you off the launch myself, but I had to take a business call just when it was time to leave,’ Stuart said, starting the engine. ‘ I thought I had left work behind for today at the Cormorant building, but unfortunately it has a way of catching up with me.’
Elise settled herself, enjoying the powerful sweetness of the Porsche engine.
‘I know what you mean. My husband never left business behind and in the end I learned to live with it.’
‘This call was actually for my grandfather. He should have been home by now, but he’s obviously been detained somewhere.’
There was a note of false carelessness in his voice which set alarm bells jangling for Elise.
‘Oh dear! I was looking forward to meeting him.’
Stuart swung the car around a hairpin bend; they had been climbing steadily and the cliff face fell away sheer beneath them to the sea.
‘He had been looking forward to meeting you, too.’
It was a lie and instinctively she knew it. Her heart sank. Charles Brittain did not want her here at Shek-o – perhaps she was intruding into a past he preferred to forget. With so much hanging on this visit, she could have hoped for a warmer welcome. But business was business – Charles did not have to like her in order to make a deal with her.
On a cliff-top curve ornamental gates opened on to a wide drive fringed with jacaranda trees and flame of the forest, whose drooping leaves of bright orange had now disappeared to make way for lush summer foliage. Fifty yards down the drive a wall of these rose ahead, but as Stuart swung the car to the left the house came into sight: a low, hacienda-style building, fronted by two double garages with doors standing open to reveal not one but two Rolls Royces. Passing the garages, he drove up to the front door and the back-drop of sea and sky, partially misted over by humidity, came into view.
Elise, who had noticed the two Rolls Royces, came to the obvious conclusion with some relief.
‘It rather looks as if your grandfather arrived home while you were meeting us.’
‘Unlikely. He has his own motor launch.’ Stuart’s voice was still lightweight, yet once again she sensed rather than heard the note of tension and glancing at him sharply she saw that his face had closed in slightly. ‘ He will be here soon, though, I’m sure. If he had already left the office when the call was transferred to me …’
‘Of course.’
Stuart opened the Porsche door for her and she swung her legs out on to the gravel drive, momentarily forgetting the purpose behind her visit as she looked for the first time at Brit’s home.
This was where he had been born and raised, this luxurious shrine to success; this was what he had turned his back on. It was to this house that he had returned after making love to her at the Peninsula Hotel; here he had planned their escape to Australia; here her locket had lain all those years, unremarked except by a small boy who had woven it into his adventures.
Katy was on the drive, too, totally unimpressed by the splendour of the house but gazing towards the mist-shrouded sea.
‘What a lovely view! It reminds me a little of the South of France.’
‘We’re a long way from the South of France, Katy,’ Elise said, feeling slightly embarrassed, but Stuart appeared unworried by the comparison.
‘She’s quite right. I have often thought the same myself. Except, of course, when a typhoon strikes. I hope there is no typhoon while you’re here!’
A servant was already on hand to garage the car, and as they went into the house boys anticipated their every move, opening doors, offering chairs and plumping cushions. In an air-conditioned open-plan drawing room, Stuart poured them drinks – gin and tonic for himself and Katy, Perrier water for Elise – and Elise marvelled at the way the traditional had been adapted to incorporate the ultra-modern. Some very talented interior designer had been at work here – and very recently, too.
‘This is a beautiful room,’ she remarked. ‘ Is your mother the inspiration behind it?’
Stuart crossed to the window, which gave him a clear view of the drive.
‘My mother lives in England now. She left Hong Kong as soon as she thought she could reasonably entrust my upbringing to my grandfather. No, it was my grandfather’s personal assistant who was responsible for modernising the house quite recently.’
‘Really? I had thought it was the work of a professional designer – and a very good one at that. I was on the point of asking for the name.’
‘Her name is Helen Shaw. But I think you will find that she is totally committed to Cormorant.’
‘Don’t worry, I have no intention of poaching her.’ Elise laughed lightly, but already her mind was wandering again and she wished that she too could see the drive and have warning of Charles Brittain’s return.
A carriage clock over the mantelshelf was in her direct line of vision, however; she found herself watching it as the conversation was bandied back and forth and she was aware too of a growing impatience about Stuart, for all his efforts to hide it. Katy, though, seemed blissfully unaware of any tension, remaining her usual animated and vivacious self. But eventually, during a lull in the talk, Stuart glanced at his watch.
‘I must apologise for my grandfather. It seems he must have been detained. Perhaps we should begin dinner without him?’
‘We don’t mind waiting a little longer, do we, Granny?’ Katy suggested, but Stuart set down his glass.
‘I think he would want us to go on. The cook will sulk for a week if dinner’s spoiled. And clearly something unavoidable has come up at the office.’
Yes, thought Elise, both unavoidable and extremely convenient. Almost from the moment they had arrived, she had been aware of a reserve in Stuart’s manner which had not been there before – obviously he had half expected that his grandfather would not put in an appearance.
But why? Why should Brit’s brother be so determined to avoid me after all these years? And what am I going to do now?
‘Shall we go in?’ Stuart suggested.
And as they followed him towards the dining room Elise felt – for the first time for many years – helpless, bewildered and uncertain about the future which she believed was firmly within her control.
‘Thank you for a lovely dinner and a lovely evening.’
The Rolls slid smoothly to a stop outside the Peninsula Hotel. Stuart, who always drove himself, had insisted he drive them home and they had crossed from Hong Kong Island to the mainland by means of the tunnel that now ran beneath the harbour – another innovation which had surprised Elise. Even in her day there had been talk of a tunnel, but somehow she had expected it to be a project which was shelved and shelved again, along with the proposals for the mass transit underground railway which was now also a reality.
‘It’s been super,’ Katy said, echoing her grandmother. ‘I don’t know why you have gone to so much trouble for us.’
‘Your grandmother is a very special lady to me.’ Stuart was sitting back easily, one arm along the soft leather seat of the Rolls, totally unconcerned that he might be blocking the driveway of the Peninsula. ‘It is my pleasure to entertain her on her first visit to Hong Kong for so many years. And I can only apologise again that my grandfather was detained tonight and unable to meet you.’
‘I must admit to being disappointed,’ Elise said with what she hoped sounded like casual regret, though her mind was still churning. Disappointment was a gross understatement – disaster would have been more apposite.
Stuart turned. The blazing lights from the hotel caught the angle of his face, lending it the ruggedness which had characterised that of his great-uncle.
‘Perhaps, to make up for it, you would allow me to put myself at your disposal. Is there anything you particularly wanted to do while you were here – some place you would specially like to visit, perhaps? Parts of Hong Kong can still be pretty inaccessible, and if Lean help in any way – provide a taxi service …’
‘Yes,’ Elise said. In her anxiety to see Charles Brittain and try to arrange some deal which would ensure the future of Sandersons, she had almost forgotten the pilgrimage she had intended to make here in Hong Kong. Now it returned to her forcefully, as if contrary to the demands of the present it was really the only thing of importance. ‘I should like to visit Brit’s grave.’
She was aware of Katy’s curious glance, but she thought, I’ll answer her questions somehow. Just now I must keep faith with Brit.
‘The War Cemetery is at Chai Wan.’ Stuart looked at her over his shoulder. ‘Out on the north-east tip of the island. Do you know it?’
‘No, I don’t believe I do. It’s not a place I ever had cause to visit.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. It’s very Chinese. You would hardly be likely to find anyone there who speaks English.’ He paused. ‘When would you like to go?’
‘Whenever suits you, of course.’
‘Tomorrow morning?’
‘Tomorrow morning would be fine. But won’t you be working?’
Stuart’s mouth quirked up and in the half-light he reminded her painfully of Brit.
‘I think I can take a day off for something so special.’
Impulsively she leaned across to squeeze his arm with her slender fingers, but there was no need to put her gratitude into words. Their mutual interest in the man whose mortal remains had been interred at Chai Wan gave them instant rapport and something intangible existed between them.
‘Tomorrow, then,’ he said. And she knew that Charles Brittain or no Charles Brittain, this evening had not after all been wasted.