The Russian Concubine

by Kate Furnivall

  ‘Starkey, stop chewing the end of that pen. It’s school property. Anyway, you’ll catch woodworm from it.’

  A faint titter ran round the classroom. The pupil in the second row of desks dug inky fingers into his mop of brown curls and threw his teacher a look of pure hatred.

  Theo, at thirty-six years old, was as adept as any Chinese poker player at keeping his expression blank, so he didn’t chuckle. Just gave a curt nod. ‘Back to work.’

  That was another thing he liked about them. They were so malleable. So easy to provoke. Like kittens with tiny little claws that barely scratched the surface. It was their eyes that were their true weapons. Their eyes could rake your heart to shreds if you let them. But he didn’t let that happen. Oh yes, he liked them all right, but only up to a point. He was under no illusions. They stood on the opposite side of the fence and it was his job to haul them over it into a well-equipped adulthood, whether they wanted to or not.

  ‘I would remind you all that the essay on Emperor Ch’eng Tsu is due in tomorrow,’ he said briskly. ‘No slackers, please.’

  Instantly a hand went up at the front of the class. It belonged to a fifteen-year-old girl with neatly bobbed blond hair and a sweet dimple in each cheek. She looked slightly nervous.

  ‘What is it, Polly?’

  ‘Sir, my father objects to the fact we are learning Chinese history. He says I must ask you why we are finding out what some heathen barbarians got up to hundreds of years ago, instead of . . . ?’

  Theo brought down the wooden-backed board eraser with such a crash on his desk that it made the whole class jump. ‘Instead of what?’ he demanded. ‘Instead of English history?’ His arm shot out, pointing to a pupil in the front row.

  ‘Bates, what is the date of the Battle of Naseby?’

  ‘1645, sir.’

  The arm swung around to the back of the class. ‘Clara, what was the name of Henry the Eighth’s fourth wife?’

  ‘Anne of Cleves.’

  ‘Griffiths, who invented the spinning jenny?’

  ‘James Hargreaves.’

  ‘Who was prime minister during the passing of the Reform Bills?’

  ‘Lord Grey.’

  ‘When was the introduction of macadamised roads?’

  ‘1819.’

  ‘Lydia . . . ,’ he paused, ‘who introduced the rickshaw to China?’

  ‘The Europeans, sir. From Japan.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Theo slowly uncoiled his long limbs from his seat, his scholar’s gown billowing around him like great black wings, and walked over to Polly’s desk. He stood looking down at her, as a crow might look at a wren with its tiny foot in a snare. ‘So, Miss Mason, does that indicate a lack of knowledge in our little group of the history of our noble and victorious country? Would your father not be impressed by such a display of historical facts?’

  Polly started to turn pink, her cheeks ripening to the colour of plums. She stared down at her hands, fiddling with a pencil, and stammered something inaudible.

  ‘I’m sorry, Polly,’ Theo said smoothly, ‘I didn’t quite catch that. What did you say?’

  ‘I said, yes, sir.’ But still her words were mumbled.

  Theo turned to face the room. ‘Class, could any of you hear what Miss Mason said then?’

  In the back row Gordon Trent stuck up a hand and grinned. ‘No, sir, I couldn’t hear nothing.’

  ‘We will ignore that appalling use of the double negative by Mr Trent and return to Miss Mason. So, let me remind you of my question, Polly,’ he said quietly. ‘Would your father not be impressed by such a display of historical facts?’

  Before Polly could reply, Lydia jumped to her feet.

  ‘Sir,’ she said politely, ‘it seems to me that Chinese history is much like Russian history to an English person.’

  With deadly calm, Theo abandoned the bowed blond head before him and moved back to his own desk. ‘Do enlighten us, Lydia. In what way is Chinese history much like Russia’s to an English person?’

  ‘They are both irrelevant, sir, to an English person who is living in England. I think what Polly means is that only out here in China do they matter at all. And all of us in this class will one day soon be living in England, more than likely.’

  Polly cast her friend a grateful glance, but Theo was not aware of it. He was staring at Lydia in silence. His grey eyes narrowed and something tightened around his mouth. But instead of the outburst his class expected from him, he sighed.

  ‘You disappoint me. Not only are you late for class this afternoon but now you exhibit a gross misunderstanding of the country you are living in.’

  At that moment a sudden crackle of noise and explosions outside in the street broke up the tension in the room.

  ‘Firecrackers,’ Theo said with a wave of his hand toward the open window. ‘A Chinese wedding or celebration of some kind.’ He leaned forward with sudden interest. ‘And why do they traditionally use firecrackers at such times, Lydia?’

  ‘To frighten away evil spirits, sir.’

  ‘Correct. So in spite of condemning all Chinese history as irrelevant, you do actually know at least something about it.’ He pointed a finger at Polly in the front row. ‘Tell me, who invented gunpowder, Miss Mason?’

  ‘The Chinese.’

  His finger travelled once more along the young faces.

  ‘Who invented paper?’

  ‘The Chinese.’

  ‘Who invented canal locks and the segmented arch?’

  ‘The Chinese.’

  ‘Who invented printing?’

  ‘The Chinese.’

  ‘The magnetic compass?’

  ‘The Chinese.’

  ‘And are these things irrelevant, Lydia? To a person living in England?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  He smiled. Satisfied. ‘Good. Now that we’ve cleared up that point, let us move on to a study of the Han dynasty. Any objections? ’

  Not one hand went up.

  Theo knew Li Mei was at the window upstairs. The tapering tips of her fingers rested on the glass, as if she would touch him through it. But he didn’t turn. Or even glance up at her.

  He stood beside the school gates, his tall frame very upright, his back melting in the fierce heat radiating off the wrought-iron gates as the afternoon showed no promise of relief. It wasn’t the high temperatures that bothered him. It was the humidity. Throughout the summer it battered you down and robbed you of any energy until you cried out for the bright clear days of autumn. But it was the end of the school day and as always his light brown hair was freshly combed, his gown discarded and replaced by a crisp linen jacket. A headmasterly smile, cool yet approachable, firmly in place to greet mothers as they arrived to collect their children. The amahs and chauffeurs he ignored.

  He did not approve of mothers who were too busy drinking tea or taking tennis lessons or playing endless rounds of bridge to collect their offspring themselves, but sent servants to do the job. Any more than he approved of fathers who poisoned their daughters’ minds. Mr Christopher Mason sat clearly in that category. Theo experienced a familiar ripple of frustration. What chance did this great country have when men like that, men who worked in the administration itself, regarded China’s remarkable history as a waste of time? As not worth knowing. It disgusted Theo.

  ‘Hello, Mr Willoughby. Looks like rain again tonight.’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Mason. I do believe you’re right.’

  The woman who had stopped in front of him was short and smiling, a dimple in each cheek like her daughter. Her fair hair was pulled back by a velvet ribbon and her round face was flushed with exertion. Little drops of sweat beaded her upper lip and glinted in the light.

  Theo smiled. ‘Did you enjoy your ride?’

  Anthea Mason laughed, leaning against her bicycle, which was a bright green tandem, one hand fiddling with the bell so that it gave off little chirrups. ‘Oh no, I never enjoy the ride here, it’s uphill all the way.’ She was wearing a light cotton blou
se and cycling slacks, but both looked creased and damp. Her blue eyes sparkled with anticipation. ‘But that means the trip home is a breeze. Especially with Polly on the backseat.’

  Theo decided to bring up the subject of Chinese history. ‘Mrs Mason, there is something I feel I should . . .’

  But her gaze was already scanning the regimental rows of pupils in navy uniform, all lined up in the courtyard under the watchful eye of Miss Courtney, one of his junior teachers. The school was a handsome redbrick building with a wide driveway at the front, a lawn on one side, and the courtyard on the other. It was a place of freshly waxed floors and clean blackboards.

  ‘Ah, there’s my girl.’ Mrs Mason lifted a hand and waggled her fingers at her daughter. ‘Yoo-hoo, Polly. Crumpets for tea, sweetheart.’

  Polly blushed furiously with embarrassment, and on this occasion Theo did feel sorry for her. She detached herself from her companions and came over, dragging her heels. Beside her walked Lydia, their heads close together, one smooth and golden, the other a mass of long unruly copper waves stuffed under her boater. They were whispering to each other, but years of practice had enabled Theo to develop a batlike ability to decode a pupil’s barely audible mutterings.

  ‘Oh my God, Lyd, you could have been killed. Or worse.’ Polly’s voice was breathless, her eyes wide, her hand clenched round her friend’s thin arm as if she would drag her from the mouth of hell.

  ‘I wish you’d seen him, the way he—’ Lydia stopped abruptly, aware of Theo’s eyes on them. ‘Bye, Polly,’ she said casually and stepped to one side.

  ‘Hello, Lydia,’ Mrs Mason called out in a cheery voice, though Theo saw her regard the girl with concern. ‘Would you like to come home with us for tea? I could call over one of the rickshaws.’

  ‘No, thank you, Mrs Mason.’

  ‘We’re having crumpets. Your favourite.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t today. I’d love to but I have some errands to run.’

  ‘For your mother?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Polly was staring at her, plainly worried. Theo couldn’t work out what was going on. But his attention was taken by a request from Anthea Mason as she placed one smart two-tone shoe on her pedal.

  ‘Oh, Mr Willoughby, I almost forgot. My husband asked me to mention that he’d like a few words, and would be grateful if you could meet him at the club tomorrow evening.’ She shook her head prettily and laughed, as if to make light of the summons. ‘You men, where would you be without your billiards and brandy?’

  Then off she pedalled with her daughter on the seat behind her, both pairs of legs going in unison, and as Theo stared after them his smile slipped. His shoulders slumped.

  ‘Damn,’ he murmured under his breath.

  He turned and almost fell over Lydia, who was hovering behind him. They were both momentarily confused. Both apologised. She ducked her head, hid under her straw hat’s brim. But too late to prevent him from seeing her face. She had been standing, as he had been, staring after the disappearing tandem as it wove its way with a tinkling bell through the busy street. But what shocked Theo was the expression in her amber eyes. They were full of such naked longing. The intensity of it created a little stabbing pain like an echo in his own heart.

  What was it she wanted so badly?

  The bicycle? He was well aware that the girl was poor. Everyone knew that her mother was one of the Russian refugees, with no man to earn a decent wage for the family; well, not a permanent man anyway. But this wasn’t about the bicycle. No, Lydia wasn’t that sort. So was it for Polly she yearned? After all, he’d known more than a few schoolgirls who had fallen in love with someone of their own sex, and certainly they were close, those two. He looked down thoughtfully at the straw boater. He noticed it was yellowing with age and was stained in numerous places on the crown where she had dumped it down carelessly or gripped it with a grubby hand when the wind blew in off the great northern plain. If it were anyone else, he’d tell her to ask her parents to buy a new one instantly.

  So was it the mother she wanted?

  Hardly. Her own mother, though she rarely came to the school unless specifically requested, was far more beautiful and infinitely more enticing than the homely Mrs Mason. But then his own taste in women always ran to the dark and exotic. Even when he was a boy and could pop his penny in the peepshows or peer secretly at his father’s book on the paintings of Paul Gauguin. A sudden influx of cars and parents demanded his attention, a flurry of smiles and polite handshakes, so it was not until ten minutes later when the courtyard was almost empty that he glanced around and found the young Russian girl still at his elbow.

  ‘Good heavens, Lydia, what are you doing still here?’

  ‘I’ve been waiting. I wanted to ask you something, Headmaster.’

  Theo chuckled to himself. He’d noticed before that pupils were very free with his courtesy title when they wanted something from him. Nevertheless he smiled encouragingly. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You know all about China and Chinese ways, so . . .’

  He snorted a derisive laugh. ‘I’ve only been here ten years. It would take a lifetime of study to know China, and even then you’d only have scratched the surface.’

  ‘But you speak Mandarin and you know a lot.’ Her eyes held his and there was an urgency in them that intrigued him.

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed quietly. ‘I do know a lot.’

  ‘So can you tell me the name of something, please?’

  ‘That depends on what this something is.’

  ‘It’s the Chinese way of fighting. The one where they fly through the air and use their feet. I need to know what it’s called.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the Chinese are famous for their martial arts. There are numerous kinds, each one with a different style and philosophy behind it. My own favourite is tai chi chuan. That’s difficult to translate because it carries many meanings, but roughly it is the Yin Yang Fist.’ He noticed the girl was listening with a level of attention he wished she would apply to her ordinary school lessons. ‘But it sounds as if you’re talking about kung fu.’

  ‘Kung fu,’ Lydia repeated carefully.

  ‘That’s right. It translates literally as Merit Master. The Japanese call it karate. That means empty hand. In other words, it’s unarmed combat.’

  She smiled to herself, a soft smile of delight that warmed her slender face. ‘Yes. That’s it.’

  ‘But why on earth do you need to know about unarmed combat?’

  She gave him a bold, mischievous grin. ‘Because I want to learn more about Chinese ways, so that I can decide for myself whether they are relevant or irrelevant, sir.’

  ‘Well, I am pleased that you are so eager to learn more about the land you’re living in, whatever the reason. Now off with you, young lady, as I have other things to do.’

  For a split second Lydia let her eyes slide to the upstairs window, and then without even a good-bye, she was gone.

  Theo sighed. Lydia Ivanova was never going to make life easy for him. Only today he’d had to take the ruler to her knuckles because she was late for afternoon classes yet again. The girl had scant respect for rules. Not insolent exactly. But there was something about her, the way she walked into class, the independent way she held her head and in the way she raised her gaze to his slowly when he asked her a question. It was there in the back of her eyes. As if she knew something he didn’t. It irritated him.

  But not as much as Mr Christopher Mason irritated him. He reached up and locked the heavy gates, shutting out the world. Only then did he allow himself the exquisite pleasure of looking up at the window.

  ‘It is not wise to tweak tail of tiger, my love.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Theo kissed the delicious hollow at the base of Li Mei’s throat and felt the pulse of her blood under his lips.

  ‘I mean Mr Mason.’

  ‘To hell with Mason.’

  They were lying naked on the bed, the shutters half-closed against the heat, allo
wing only a narrow shaft of light to steal into the room. It lay like a dusty sash of gold across Li Mei’s body, as if it couldn’t keep its fingers from her breasts any more than he could.

  ‘Tiyo, my love, I am serious.’

  Theo raised his head and kissed the point of her chin. ‘Well, I’m not. I’ve been serious all day long with a whole school full of monkeys and now I want to be very unserious.’

  She laughed, a delighted sound that was so soft and low it made the soles of his feet tingle. Her skin smelled of hyacinths and tasted of honey, but infinitely more addictive. He brushed his lips down her sleek body, over the curve of her hip, and rested his cheek against her slender thigh with a sigh of pleasure.

  ‘So you go see Mr Mason tomorrow?’

  ‘No. The man’s a menace.’

  ‘Please, Tiyo.’

  She reached down and caressed his head, the tips of her fingers beginning a gentle massage of his scalp, until he could feel all the tension melting from his brain. He adored her touch. It was like no other woman’s. He shut his eyes to block out everything else but that one swirling, emptying sensation.

  ‘Tomorrow is Saturday,’ he murmured, ‘so I shall take you out on the river. There the air is cooler and in the evening we shall stop off at Hwang’s and eat phoenix tail prawns and kuo tieh until we burst.’ He rolled over onto his side and smiled at her. ‘Would you like that?’

  Her dark eyes were solemn. Gracefully she removed the cream orchid and the mother-of-pearl comb from her hair, placed them on the bedside table, and looked at him very seriously. ‘I very much like that, Tiyo,’ she said. ‘But not tomorrow.’

  ‘Why not tomorrow?’

  ‘Because you see Mr Mason tomorrow.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Li Mei, I refuse to go running over there like a puppy every time he crooks his finger in my direction.’

  ‘You want lose school?’

  Theo pulled away. Without a word he left the bed and went over to the open window where he stood staring out, his naked back rigid. After a long silence, he said, ‘You know I couldn’t bear to lose my school.’