Once upon a time in Chinatown

by Robert Ronsson

  By the time they reached the Royal Ipoh Club, they were ready for a drink and Nancy didn’t hesitate as the doorman ushered them inside even though she wasn’t sure that S Y had maintained his membership. She strode up to the porter’s desk.

  ‘Can I help you?’ The Malay porter looked at her over the top of his reading glasses. His demeanour indicated that she must have made a mistake entering his demesne. He had spoken English.

  Nancy responded in Malay. ‘I’m hoping that my father is still a member here and his membership will allow me to entertain this visitor to Ipoh, who has come all the way from Portugal.’

  The porter tapped a few keys on his computer. ‘And who is your father, dear lady?’

  ‘Lee Song Yong.’

  His fingers hovered over the keyboard. ‘Mr Lee of the Leeyate Plaza Hotel and Leeyate Holdings?’

  She bowed her head serenely. ‘The same.’

  He stood to attention. ‘We are delighted for you to take drinks here; a meal perhaps?’

  She waved the suggestion away. ‘No, just drinks.’

  He clapped his hands and a waiter scurried up. ‘Please take Ms Lee and her guest through to the Verandah Bar.’

  ‘Would you like me to sign in?’

  He bowed. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

  They looked out over an extensive lawn, with tennis courts behind a hedge to one side , as they drank gin and tonics. Luis told her that her services would not be required the next day – Wednesday. ‘Haven’t we done all the sites?’ he asked.

  ‘In Ipoh, maybe. You should take a walk along the river promenade but we can do this when we finish here. It is best in the evening. But tomorrow we could go on a trip maybe; try a beach resort? Cross the new bridge to Penang.’

  ‘No, not the coast. Is there anything we should see in Batu Gajah? Anything of historical interest?’

  ‘No Batu is mining town. No history. Tin mining museum, though?’

  Luis’s face did not crack. ‘Then I’ll stick to my original plan. I want to do some research to find out more about my grandfather. Reading the books on local history in the library reference section, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t need my help? I could make sure you read the right… material. What about translation?’

  ‘It wasn’t a problem this morning. A lot of the old books are in English or have English translations. Don’t worry; I can get by with the help of the library staff. You’ve been very generous with your time already.’

  As Nancy had promised, their evening ended with a stroll along a promenade alongside the River Kinta lined, on the other side, by restaurants and food stalls. A loosely-hung string of white lamps, only about half of which were working, lit their way. The river flow was thick with silt and a cocktail of smells, three parts tar and two parts sewage, bubbled out of its sludge.

  ‘Would you like to stop to eat?’ Luis asked.

  Nancy patted her stomach. ‘No thank you. It’s too early after lunch. I will eat much later tonight.’

  Nancy’s previous report to S Y, after her first day as the westerner’s guide, had been perfunctory. Luis had requested no more than she would have expected from any tourist visiting Kellie’s Castle. Now things were different; she hurried to S Y’s office as soon as they had returned to the Leeyate Plaza.

  There were no pleasantries. Her father spoke in Mandarin. ‘I heard that he cancelled this morning. He spent it in the records section of the library. I’m waiting to find out what he looked at. Whatever he saw yesterday is making him act like he’s injected with chicken blood. He is onto something. Couldn’t you have stopped him?’

  ‘Why should I have done?’

  ‘Did you suggest you would go with him?’

  ‘Of course! But he said he didn’t need me.’

  ‘And he’s interested in local history? Researching the records.’

  ‘Yes. I told you.’

  ‘Awah, Lai Ping. I don’t want this to get out of control.’

  ‘He’s just interested in the history of the house. He wants to know what happened to it during and after World War Two. I don’t see what the problem is.’

  He slammed his fist onto the desk. ‘Records! Records are the problem.’ He sighed and walked across to a chest and bent to unlock the shallow, bottom drawer. He slid it out and removed a sheaf of blueprint drawings. ‘I have never shown you this before. Come here.’

  She stepped up onto the dais as he spread the plans across his desk. She soon realised she was looking at an artist’s impression of a renovated Kellie’s Castle. The top line of a text box in the bottom right corner carried the plan’s title: The Leeyate Castle Spa Hotel.

  S Y caressed the sheet, smoothing it flat. ‘This is my dream for the house. It will be first in Malaysia of a new type of hospitality that is growing in Europe called spa hotels – top luxury and guests are pampered with health treatments. This is the hotel of the future.’ He jabbed a finger. ‘Here in the main house on the ground floor you have the public rooms—’ he moved his finger along the frontage ‘—lobby, lounge, bar, restaurant. Upstairs you have four grand suites for first class clients.’

  Nancy recalled the shells of the rooms that she had shown Luis the previous day. There was more than enough space for what he described.

  ‘On this side: kitchens, housekeeping, offices.’ His finger travelled across to the right. ‘Here the new block of standard accommodation. Three floors, ninety rooms, all en-suite.’ The long fingernail on his little finger scratched across the surface of a blue-filled swimming pool that graced the old courtyard. ‘Over here in the original Kellas House we have the spa: treatment rooms, steam rooms, saunas… everything like that. Who knows, here—’ he swept the back of his hand across the smudged representation of plantations at the rear ‘—in time, we have an 18-hole, championship-standard golf course with a top-class clubhouse.’

  Nancy leant heavily on the desk almost giddy with enthusiasm for what he was describing. She had never expected this of her father. It was so dramatic, so… exciting. She imagined herself at the centre of the complex directing the minions as they attended to the cream of Malaysian society. She would be the queen of this castle. The air buzzed with possibilities. This was why she had been born into this family. ‘When, father. When will it start?’

  His shoulders slumped. ‘It’s money. It needs a big investment. Lee money is stretched across all our businesses. New Chinese money is difficult in this political situation. The new laws say we should have Malays on the board. I need to find the right people to come in with us. It’s not easy. We are risk takers. Malays don’t understand our ways.’

  ‘But it will happen? I love it. Can I be part of it? I can help you negotiate… in KL.’

  S Y shook his head slowly. ‘Not so fast. I don’t trust the Bumis who want to come in and… let’s just say we don’t make a deal by spitting on our hands and shaking. The Chinese know what it means to make a deal with S Y Lee – commitment on both sides. The Bumis…’ He shook his head and stared through the window to the floodlights illuminating the railway station, as if he was seeing beyond it to the castle. ‘The old ways don’t work anymore.’

  ‘What has this got to do with Mr Escobar?’

  ‘We can’t afford there to be any doubts when we ask people to put up their money. Your Mr Escobar shouldn’t find anything but we—’

  ‘He is suspicious. Are you worried that he might find out we don’t own the land? Is that it?’

  S Y smoothed back his hair and took a long, controlled in-breath. ‘Don’t rush to conclusions. Let’s just say that doubt has been cast on this in the past but the family is satisfied that it’s all watertight. We don’t want this westerner kicking the sleeping dog.’

  ‘He talked about another relative – an Englishman called Cross.’

  ‘Cross?’ S Y shook his head. ‘Escobar has been sending him faxes. He is in England. But there’s nothing in what Escobar has told him to trouble us… yet.’

>   Nancy sidled round the desk and, in a gesture she didn’t know she had in her, covered the back of his hand with hers. ‘Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t know anything and everything is watertight. Don’t let the birds of worry build a nest in your hair.’

  He smiled. ‘You’re right, daughter. But I would like to be certain that he and this Mr Cross don’t cause us problems.’ He nodded decisively. ‘I think you should have dinner with Escobar tomorrow night.’

  ‘What if he doesn’t want to?’

  He smiled. ‘If you invite him, will he say no? Honestly?’

  ‘I’ll do as you ask, father. But I don’t like the man.’

  ‘That’s not the point. I’m only talking about dinner. You can leave the other stuff to one of the Filipina girls—’

  She felt the blood rush to the tips of her ears. ‘Father!’

  He sighed. ‘Don’t act so innocent, Lai Ping. Do you think I believe you have reached your age without having a man? Phah! Now go and see your mother.’

  14

  I picture Nancy wearing a cheongsam for the dinner with Luis, her hair pinned up and clipped with a fresh, white lotus-flower – traditional and sending a correct, neutral message.

  Luis stubbed out his cigarette and stood as she approached the table. ‘You look lovely,’ he said.

  She lowered her eyes. ‘Thank you.’

  He had changed into a dark-blue, linen suit and a blue shirt with a pink and grey striped tie. The hotel tables for two were big enough to keep her clear of his cigarette smoke. Perhaps, she thought, the evening will be tolerable. A waiter hovered and pushed in her chair as she sat down. She ordered a Champagne cocktail and saw the blood drain from Luis’s face. She smiled. ‘Don’t worry. You dine with me. Everything is on the house. Would you like one too?’

  He nodded and asked her about her day. She said that she had gone to work in the local bank. It was easier than telling him what she had really done, which was sit at her mother’s bedside, talking about her childhood and receiving no response.

  She was still angry with her father for landing her with Luis when she should have been spending time with her mother, but the excitement of their possible joint enterprise with the house had softened her towards him and now she was again focused on the job in hand.

  She spun Luis a story about running some ad hoc individual training sessions with the counter staff until the drinks came and she had helped him order.

  Nancy raised her glass, ‘Gān bēi!’

  ‘Saúde!’

  ‘So, how was your day,’ she said.

  ‘Very interesting. I learned a lot more about my family home here in Perak.’

  ‘Excellent. Do you now know the whole Kellie story?’

  ‘I think so. Are you interested?’

  ‘Is it much more than I told you?’

  ‘I think it is.’

  ‘Then I’m interested.’ She hoped that whatever Luis said now would signal whether her father’s fears were justified. She was the picture of innocence, eyes lowered over her glass as she said, ‘It will be useful for next time I show client around the castle.’

  Over three courses and a glass of port, he told her what he had learned from his day in the library. She wasn’t sure whether he was trying to inject a romantic theme into the evening but he focused on the love story; William Kellie-Smith had built the new Kellas House – the castle – as a testament of his love for his wife Agnes just as a Mogul King had built the Taj Mahal for his wife. (Luis commented that a guide book had compared the railway station to the Taj Mahal. ‘What is it about Ipoh people and the Taj Mahal?’) As he recounted the story, Nancy wished that she could take notes without inflaming his suspicions. How much would she be able to recall when she reported to her father? When they had finished their meal, Luis suggested coffee in the bar. Nancy declined and hurried to the exclusive penthouse lift.

  S Y stood at his desk tapping his fingers. ‘Well?’

  Nancy poured herself a glass of water from the carafe on the sideboard and sat down. ‘He’s certainly been doing his research. He must be the world’s authority on the Kellas Houses.’

  S Y turned to the window so that he had his back to her. ‘What does it mean for us?’

  ‘He knows about the origins of the house back as far as 1890 when his grandfather came here to seek his fortune. How he made his money on other plantations and used it to buy the land here.’

  ‘Before our time. What about us?’

  ‘Most of the time Luis talked about his family. How his mother was born in Malaya and a brother some years later. It was after the boy was born that old man Kellie decided to build the house.’

  S Y waved his hands like a conductor encouraging the orchestra to gather speed. ‘Anything about how the land was divided?’

  She shook her head. ‘Understandably, he spoke about his grandfather’s death in Lisbon – in 1926, I think. His widow was in Scotland at the time with the son. She never came back to Perak and sold the house to a company in the UK called Harrisons and Crosfield.’ Nancy had worried she might forget the company’s name.

  Her father turned. ‘That’s it?’ His head wobbled from side to side as he spoke mimicking her, ‘“She sold the house to Harrisons and Crosfield!” What use is that to me? What exactly did she sell?’

  Nancy’s mouth was dry. She tried to understand how she had fallen short of her father’s expectations. She took a gulp from the water glass. A dribble escaped her lips and fell onto her lap. She brushed it into the fabric. ‘The house. The house. That’s all Luis said. She sold the house.’

  S Y nodded. ‘If that’s all he knows…’ He stepped down from the dais and leant over her. ‘There’s something else, isn’t there?’

  She shook her head. ‘Only what he said before I left him in the bar.’

  ‘What? Tell me!’

  ‘When he got to the bit about the house being sold to the English company, I said, “Is that the end of the story.” He smiled at me as if he had a secret and said, “No, it’s only the start of it.”’

  S Y slammed his fist on the desk. ‘And you left it like that?’

  ‘I was tired. I was tired of his company.’ Her eyes were filling up but she was determined not to cry. She bit her lip.

  ‘Silly girl! He’s hiding something. I know it. What happened next?’

  ‘He said he has an early start tomorrow.’

  ‘Why?’ he demanded.

  Nancy squirmed in the seat. It was if they had gone back twenty years and she was her father’s little girl caught out in some misdemeanour. ‘I asked him where we were going. He said, “I’m going to Batu Gaja again.”’ She looked up at S Y wide-eyed. ‘Only for the morning. We’re meeting for lunch.’

  S Y stood over her jabbing his words home with a pointing finger. ‘Look here, my girl. If he’s going back to Batu Gaja, he’s on the trail of something. Something that could be bad for us. You’d better find out what he knows tomorrow. And this time don’t let him give you the slip.’

  I imagine Nancy’s father shook his head when she returned to the table from the breakfast buffet with only a dish of fresh fruit and yogurt. ‘Is that all you’re going to have?’ He pointed at his own plate of eggs with beef sausage, turkey bacon and hash browns. ‘Haven’t you heard about the saying that we should breakfast like kings?’

  She poured herself some coffee and raised her eyebrows. He nodded and passed his cup. ‘The saying continues, Father,’ she said as she poured his drink, ‘that you should lunch like a prince and dine like a pauper. Your problem is that you dine like a king at every meal… and between.’

  His face crinkled into the smile she knew so well – the one that could equally lead to more light-hearted banter or a stinging rebuke. She could never predict his reaction. He patted the belly that pressed against the material of his loose safari shirt. ‘Lai Ping, if you had known hunger as I knew it before we had all this—’ he waved a hand at the panelled walls of the penthouse dining room and the panoram
ic windows with their view across the infinity pool towards the railway station, ‘—you too would eat your fill at every opportunity. Now tell me, you know what to do with Mr Escobar?’

  ‘I have to focus on the time before our family comes into the story of the house. From when the land was sold to the British company.’

  S Y said the name: ‘Harrisons and Crosfield.’

  She put a hand to her mouth and suppressed a giggle. He had mangled the r’s and l’s as if he was in a cartoon.

  He ignored her and stroked his chin. ‘It’s too bad that he’s going to that piss-and-wind town Batu Gaja on his own. You should have gone with him.’

  ‘I did ask.’

  ‘Awah! What man in his right mind would give up spending the morning with you?’

  ‘Thank you, Father. I think that was a compliment. We are meeting for lunch.’

  One of the staff came in to clear the plates and S Y waved away the offer of pastries. ‘He’s probably going to tell you that he knows the family business – Leeyate Holdings – owns the castle and the Kellas plantation. It will be difficult for you unless you tell him that you didn’t know. Why should you? Tell him I am old-fashioned and would have told you if you were my son. Yes, that should convince him. You must find out how much he knows about how we acquired the property.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It was all done properly… after the Japanese left… but the records… let’s just say some important legal documents were lost during the liberation.’ He chewed a thumbnail. It was a sure sign that he felt vulnerable.

  ‘Are you saying that he might think he still has an interest?’

  ‘He’s mistaken if he does! You must find out what he knows and call me as soon as you leave him.’

  Nancy stayed in her chair waiting for more guidance. She needed to know whether her father was telling the truth. Was he as certain of the castle’s ownership as he would have her believe?

  ‘Go!’ he shouted. ‘Go off and sit with your mother.’

  Luis was back in his cream linen suit, now even dingier after its further exposure to the tropical air. He stubbed out a cigarette as she approached. He had secured a table under a striped awning and he stood as she took the seat opposite him.