Oriental Hotel

by Janet Tanner

  When she went to the nursery to kiss Alex goodnight Su Ming was there, hovering as usual as if contact with his mother was not to be desired.

  ‘Don’t be too long with your mother, now, Alex. She doesn’t want you hanging around her when she is wearing a best dress.’

  ‘Mummy!’

  ‘Of course I do, darling.’ What other things did Su Ming whisper in his ear when she was not there, she wondered. What poisonous comments found their way into her conversation? ‘You know I always want you, Alex.’

  His arms fastened around her neck, his soft face pressed against hers. His skin smelt slightly clammy after the heat of the day, but soon she knew it would smell soap-and-water sweet.

  ‘Mummy, why is your tummy so fat?’

  ‘Darling, I explained that to you. There is a new brother or sister coming to live here and …’

  ‘Su Ming said that was nonsense.’ ‘Nonsense’ was not a word which Alex would have used – Elise knew it had come from the amah.

  Over Alex’s head her eyes met those of the Chinese girl and for the first time she saw a defensive look.

  ‘I was only following Mr Sanderson’s instructions not to discuss such things with Alex.’

  ‘I see.’ Elise was boiling up again.

  ‘So why are you fat, Mummy?’

  ‘Alex, you and I are going to have along talk,’ she said. ‘I have to go now, but tomorrow we will have ice-cream sodas in the garden and talk.’

  ‘But I have already arranged to go with Mr Sanderson tomorrow and take Alex to look at his new school.’

  ‘When?’ Elise fumed. ‘When did you arrange this?’

  ‘The other day.’

  ‘And why did you not tell me what had been arranged?’

  Su Ming’s mouth pinched. ‘It was not my place. You will have to ask Mr Sanderson about that.’

  ‘I certainly will.’

  The blood was singing angrily in Elise’s ears but she reached for Alex, pulling him close so that his sticky little mouth pressed against her ear.

  ‘What’s wrong, Mummy?’

  ‘Nothing, darling. Stop worrying and I shall see you tomorrow.’

  ‘All right, Mummy.’

  Without speaking to Su Ming she went out and down the stairs.

  Gordon was in his study, immaculate as ever in his cream tuxedo but with the now customary glass of gin and tonic in his hand.

  ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  ‘Gordon, is it true that you have told Su Ming not to discuss the baby with Alex?’

  The half smile returned and he drained his glass.

  ‘I asked if you were ready. We don’t want to keep Hugh waiting.’

  ‘Gordon!’ she half screamed.

  He turned cold blue eyes on her. ‘Control yourself! We’ve had enough discussion for this evening.’ He opened the door and stood holding it for her. ‘Are you coming?’ – ‘No! Not until …’

  ‘Elise!’ His voice was warning. ‘To the outside world we lead a normal life. On that condition I allowed you to stay here and have contact with my son.’

  ‘You never said that was a condition! And he’s my son too …’

  ‘Well, I am saying it now. And in my opinion, leading a normal life does not mean arriving for dinner at the Peninsula an hour late and looking more like a fighting cock than my wife. If you wish to discuss things further, we will choose a more suitable time. Now, if you’re ready …’

  She was trembling again. Today she seemed to have been trembling all day. It was without doubt one of the worst days since Brit left, and things seemed to be getting worse, not better.

  ‘Come on, Elise! Or I shall have Su Ming take complete control of Alex.’

  ‘That’s what you want, isn’t it?’ she screamed at him.

  ‘What I want ceased to matter some time ago,’ he said coldly. ‘What I wanted was for my wife to accord me the kind of loyalty I accorded her. Now, will you come?’

  Defeated, she stalked out and went to stand at the passenger door of the car. But Gordon went past her down the drive.

  ‘It is such a pleasant evening, I thought we would walk.’

  ‘But …’ Her stomach felt heavily uncomfortable, all her energy spent on the continual torrent of emotion.

  ‘Come along, Elise!’

  The street seemed endless. Before long her hair hung damply at the back of her neck and all her will was concentrated on keeping up with Gordon’s brisk stride.

  Slow down for me, please! she wanted to say, but pride prevented her.

  When they entered the Playpen Restaurant at the Peninsula, Hugh and his guest were already there. As they rose to greet Gordon and Elise, she noticed with some misgiving that the second cousin was very like a younger Hugh – the same wiry body and dark-skinned face; the same grey eyes and the same impeccable English accent.

  ‘Guy has been at Oxford,’ Hugh said by way of introduction. ‘He gained a First in Classics and now he’s taking a year off, visiting relations and keeping well away from the trouble in Europe.’

  The younger de Gama smiled gravely.

  ‘England is not what it used to be. And the college, too, is sadly depleted, with so many students in the services.’

  Elise sensed Gordon’s tension. He hated any mention of the war.

  ‘I am so sorry we were late,’ he apologised to Hugh. ‘These women, you know …’

  Hugh’s eyes moved over her and she felt them to be as voracious as ever.

  ‘Shall we order?’

  The Playpen was a long, narrow gallery with windows giving panoramic views over the harbour and across to Victoria Peak. Spotless white napery was offset by red carpet and carver chairs and each table was illuminated by a red-shaded lamp. Beside the table where Elise’s party sat, a potted palm rose almost to frieze height and along the length of the gallery ceiling fans wafted cool air down on the diners.

  It was a convivial atmosphere, but Elise lacked any appetite and it was a tremendous effort to keep up her share of the conversation. Had she been dining with Gordon and Hugh, she would not have felt it necessary to talk much – between them, they usually commandeered the talk – but the young Portuguese seemed anxious to draw her in, addressing half his comments to her. Gordon, on the other hand, appeared determined to continue making life unpleasant for her, though his barbed remarks were aimed so skilfully that the young stranger at any rate was unaware of them.

  ‘It’s pleasant here at the Peninsula, isn’t it?’Guy remarked, looking around the elegant restaurant.

  Gordon was ready with the quick, sly glance and comment across the top of his glass. ‘Ask Elise – she can tell you all about it. You have great experience of the Peninsula, haven’t you, Elise?’

  ‘Really?’ Guy turned to her eagerly. ‘Do you come here often?’

  ‘She used to. Things are not quite the same now though, are they, my dear?’

  Face flaming, she bent over her chicken.

  ‘It’s a splendid hotel.’ Hugh seemed anxious to smooth the situation. ‘And you haven’t seen the best of it, my boy. Wait until you see Gripps Graces.’

  Curious grey eyes questioned each member of the party in turn. ‘Gripps Graces?’

  ‘Six lovely girls; the best dancers in Hong Kong, to boot. They entertain here and at the Hong Kong Hotel. Their graces grip you! Although of course …’ Hugh raised his glass towards her, ‘none is lovelier than our own charming Elise.’

  ‘Indeed, indeed, you must be very proud of her.’ The young man turned to Gordon, who was still disposing of gins at a remarkable rate. His face had become a little flushed; now, as he set down his glass, Elise noticed the familiar pouches gathering beneath his eyes.

  ‘That is a matter for conjecture.’

  Something in his tone made her tense. That note of bitterness was usually reserved for when they were alone – or perhaps within Su Ming’s hearing.

  ‘You don’t mean that, Gordon.’ Hugh was apparently also aware of Gordon’s aggression and his own
tone was determinedly light. ‘You’re the most envied man in Hong Kong, don’t you know that? A thriving business was not enough for Gordon, you know, Guy! He also has the most beautiful wife and the brightest son.’

  ‘Alex is a bright boy, certainly,’ Gordon, acknowledged. ‘ We’re starting him at school soon.’

  ‘Oh, where is he going?’

  ‘To a good kindergarten here for the moment. I haven’t yet decided where he will go from there, but of course eventually I’m hoping he will go up to Oxford.’

  ‘Good plan! Good plan!’

  ‘I’d like him to go to Cambridge,’ Elise said, needled by the way Gordon continually excluded her from decisions about her son’s future.

  ‘Why Cambridge, Elise? We all went to Oxford,’ Hugh said conversationally.

  Elise was aware of Gordon glaring at her over his gin glass.

  ‘Oh, I’ve always liked Cambridge. When I was a child I always supported them in the Boat Race,’ she said with determined lightness.

  Around the table the temperature rose another degree.

  ‘That’s no reason; it’s pure idiocy,’ Gordon snapped.

  ‘I don’t see why,’ Elise argued. ‘ I didn’t go to Oxford. I have no allegiance to anyone.’

  ‘That, my dear, is well known.’

  The implication was so obvious that it took her breath. Momentarily she froze, then her eyes flickered quickly towards Hugh and Guy. When Gordon pursued a line such as this at home it was unpleasant enough; here it was far, far worse. She shrank from having their differences aired in public and was embarrassed too for those unwittingly forced to listen to their arguments.

  ‘I mean …’ she began, but Hugh interposed easily, ‘ Gordon, my friend, how is your capon? I always think the Peninsula have a way with capon that is quite unsurpassed.’

  But it was Guy, apparently deaf to the more serious undertones of the contretemps, who inadvertently lit the tinder-dry fuse.

  ‘Never mind, Mr Sanderson. If you have two sons, one can go to Oxford and the other to Cambridge.’

  In the total silence which followed, Gordon’s face tightened and the pouches lowered like thunderclouds around his eyes.

  ‘I have only one son.’

  ‘Oh yes, I know that. But I thought that maybe it will not be too long before you have another …’ Flustered, though totally unaware why his innocent remark had brought forth such a strong reaction, Guy waved a hand in Elise’s direction. Unless, of course, you’re hoping for a daughter …’

  Gordon slammed down his glass.

  ‘Young man, it is immaterial to me whether my wife’s baby is a boy or a girl. As far as I am concerned, it does not exist.’

  ‘Gordon!’ All the tensions of the day exploded in Elise and she pushed aside her plate and thrust the rolled-up ball of her napkin on to the table. A crystal goblet overturned as the plate struck it and fine old wine soaked on to the crisp tablecloth, but Elise appeared unaware of it. With one convulsive movement she was on her feet, pushing back her chair and running between the tables where astonished diners stared in disbelief. A waiter stepped forward as if to stop her, then thought better of it and moved aside as she fled past. Along the corridor, down the richly carpeted stairs she ran, feeling nothing except that she could not endure staying one moment longer to be humiliated in this way.

  Across the lobby she sped, heedless of where she would go or what she would do. Astounded boys opened the doors automatically and through a blur of tears she saw too late the steps in front of her. On the top step her ankle twisted and she pitched forward with a scream of surprise and alarm.

  The rim of the first step dealt her a distinct, jarring blow; then the others followed in a tumbling, pummelling kaleidoscope and the ground came up to meet her, momentarily knocking her almost senseless. She lay there, awkwardly crumpled, painfully shaken, then there were hands on her arms and a blur of voices like the sea heard in a conch shell: ‘Madam, are you all right?’ ‘Lie still – still!’ ‘Get her head down, someone.’ ‘No, don’t move her!’ ‘What the hell’s going on here?’

  And then Gordon’s voice, Gordon’s hands and Gordon’s face coming into her line of vision – misting, clarifying, then misting again.

  ‘Elise, for God’s sake …’

  With all her remaining strength she pushed at him.

  ‘Leave me alone!’

  ‘Elise!’ The shock had sobered him completely and with an arm under her shoulders he lifted her to a sitting position. ‘Are you all right? Darling …’

  She twisted her head away from him and from the smell of the gin that she had come to hate. Blood ran from an open gash on her cheek in a hot sticky river down the side of her neck and dimly she was aware of something pressed to it, stemming the flow. Gordon’s handkerchief. She twisted round again. She wanted him – and yet she did not want him. He was her tormentor – but he had always been her rock. Gordon – oh, Gordon …

  The handkerchief pad slipped and her blood soaked his tuxedo. For a brief moment it seemed the only important thing in the world.

  ‘Gordon – your jacket! It’s ruined …’

  ‘Never mind that.’

  ‘But Gordon …’

  And then the pain began, wave upon wave emanating from the very core of her. Her eyes went wide and she sat bolt upright, hands spread across her stomach.

  ‘My baby! Oh no … my baby!’

  ‘Elise, take it easy.’

  She was desperately trying to hold on because it seemed to her that only in that way could she save the life within her. She had to be conscious – had to be in possession of all her will-power, all her resources of strength. But the blackness that was closing in on her had nothing to do with the night, and try as she might she could not keep it at bay.

  ‘Please – don’t let me lose my baby,’ she whispered.

  Then the darkness overcame her and Elise lost consciousness.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘Elise – are you awake?’

  Slowly, as if even that small movement was painful, Elise opened her eyes and a high cream ceiling with a wide frieze beneath it came into focus.

  It was the ceiling of her own bedroom in their house in Kowloon.

  She shifted her head slightly on the pillow and saw Gordon sitting beside the bed. He looked oddly uncomfortable, she thought, though for the moment she could not quite place the expression on his face.

  He leaned forward. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Awful!’ She said it lightly, though it was in fact an understatement. Her head throbbed, her cheek burned and her whole body ached. Then memory returned and her hands flew to her stomach. ‘My baby …’

  ‘It’s all right. Your baby is all right.’

  But only feeling the bulge of her stomach would convince her and as she traced its rise, weak tears squeezed from the comers of her eyes.

  ‘I thought I was going to lose it.’

  ‘You almost did. It was a very close thing.’

  ‘Oh …’

  ‘But you didn’t – the baby’s fine. Now it’s you we have to worry about.’

  She tried to move, but every bone and muscle screamed a protest.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry! Making an exhibition of myself like that, at the Peninsula of all places.’

  ‘I’m the one who should say I am sorry.’ Gordon’s hand covered hers on the quilt, but it was strangely tentative and suddenly she identified the expression which she had been unable to recognise on his face – it was guilt.

  He shouldn’t feel guilty! she thought. He was a thoroughly nice man – a good husband – and I drove him to behave like a monster.

  ‘I couldn’t think of anything but you and him,’ he said, his mouth twisting bitterly, and she turned her hand over so that her fingers curled around his.

  ‘Don’t! Don’t say anything more. I hurt you; how could I blame you for wanting to hurt me?’

  ‘But not that way … There was no excuse … I didn’t stop to think what I
was doing to you until I saw you lying there on the steps. It brought me to my senses, I suppose.’

  ‘That’s all right, Gordon.’ She didn’t want to talk about it, even now. The last months had been so painful in too many ways.

  ‘Look – Elise – I know now is not the time for long discussions, but I wanted to tell you how sorry I am and ask if we can’t make a fresh start? For Alex’s sake, if not for our own. I’m willing to try if you are.’

  She was silent for a moment. Then she looked up at him.

  ‘I still have the baby. How do you feel about that?’

  She felt the tremor in his fingers.

  ‘If we are really trying to make a new beginning, perhaps I ought not to tell you. But put it this way: I will try to feel differently if you will promise me that Brittain is over and done with. Does that sound fair to you?’

  Her eyes were far away. Fair? When her heart was still weeping for Brit? Fair? When she knew if he stood here now she would go to him in an instant, loving him, unable to help herself?

  But he was not here and he would never be again. She had sent him away and he had gone, bitter and disillusioned. Her life was with Gordon now, as it always had been; and as he said, for the sake of the children if not for themselves, they must try to make things work out.

  She would never love him as she loved Brit. But what was love? Something that brought a little pleasure and a great deal of pain.

  ‘I’ll do my best, Gordon.’

  It was the only thing she could say – the only hope of a future for any of them.

  Her eyes were drooping again and as she slept, Gordon sat with his hand on hers. But as she drifted in the half-world between sleeping and waking, it seemed to her that the touch was someone else’s and the longing that would never leave her whispered through her veins like a sigh.