by Jack Higgins
Tsen nodded. “But of course. He is a great humanitarian. He and the colonel are close friends. They play chess together.”
They paused in the office and he spoke rapidly to the corporal, who grabbed his cap and ran at once from the room. “I have sent him on ahead to warn Comrade Stranoff that we are coming.”
“Stranoff?” Chavasse said with a frown as they went downstairs.
“Doctor Hoffner’s housekeeper,” Captain Tsen explained. “Her father was Russian, her mother Chinese. A wonderful woman.”
There was a sudden warmth in his voice and Chavasse stifled a smile. “I shall look forward to meeting her.”
He managed the briefest of nods to Joro as the Tibetan climbed into one of the rear seats to make room for Tsen and they drove out of the courtyard and through the narrow streets. They passed through the bazaar, where merchants sat with their carpets and bootmakers and silversmiths worked in the open at their trade. People scattered hurriedly as Chavasse sounded his horn, and sullen, unfriendly glances weredirected towards them.
Hoffner’s house was one of the largest in town. It was a three-storeyed, flat-roofed building surrounded by a high wall, and Chavasse drove through the gate at Tsen’s direction and braked to a halt in the courtyard.
He switched off the engine, climbed from behind the wheel and started up the steps to the front porch, Tsen just behind him. At that moment, the door opened and a young, slightly built woman stepped out to greet him.
She wore narrow quilted pants and a Russian-style shirt in black silk edged with silver, buttoned high about her neck. Her hair was quite fair, but her skin had that creamy look peculiar to Eurasian women, her lips an extra fullness that gave her a faintly sensual air.
She had the breathtaking beauty that one always associates with simplicity and Chavasse shivered suddenly and for no accountable reason, as if somewhere, someone had walked over his grave.
She stood before him looking steadily and gravely into his face and then she smiled and it was as if a lamp had been lit within her.
“It is good to see you here,” she said in Russian.
Chavasse moistened dry lips. “I am glad to be here,” he replied, and as she led him into the house, he was surprised to find that he genuinely meant it.
8
The room was obviously one of the best in the house. The walls were covered in painted plaster and sheepskin rugs were scattered across the wooden floor. Most important of all, the bed looked extremely comfortable.
Immersed in hot water up to his neck, Chavasse leaned back in the large wooden tub by the open fireplace, smoked one of his Russian cigarettes and thought about Katya Stranoff.
She was certainly one hell of a woman, but he was going to have to tread carefully. It seemed quite evident that she was pleased to see him, mainly because the Russian element in her nature was uppermost and she considered herself to be a Westerner, an alien in a strange land.
He wondered how she managed for suitable male companionship. Heaven knows, Hoffner was too old for her, but Captain Tsen had made no secret of his regard, and there was always Colonel Li, an unknown quantity in more ways than one.
The door opened and Joro entered, carrying a neat bundle which he placed on a chair. He squatted beside the tub and grinned. “The woman told me to bring you fresh clothing.”
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Chavasse said. “Are they treating you all right?” Joro nodded. “I’m sleeping in the kitchen, which is warmer than the stables at least.” He frowned and shook his head. “There have been changes since I was last here.”
Chavasse reached for a towel, stood up and started to dry himself roughly. “In what way?”
“There’s no longer anyone here I know, which in some ways is a good thing, and I’d never met the Stranoff woman before today. There are only two servants now, a man and his wife.”
“And why should that worry you?”
“Because they’re both Chinese and they don’t care for Tibetans – they’ve made that plain enough already.”
“And you think they’re working for Colonel Li?”
Joro nodded. “One can’t be certain, but I think you’ll have to be very careful.”
“Don’t worry,” Chavasse said with feeling. “I intend to be.”
He dressed quickly in the clothes which Katya Stranoff had sent up. There was a black silk Russian shirt like the one she had been wearing, a pair of quilted pants and a heavy woollen sweater.
He examined himself carefully in the mirror, combed back his hair and turned to Joro. “How do I look?”
Joro grinned. “Very pretty. I’m sure she’ll be impressed.”
“Let’s hope so,” Chavasse told him. “It might prove to be important. You’d better go back to the kitchen now. I’ll see you later.”
As Chavasse was going downstairs, a door clicked open and Katya Stranoff crossed the hall. She paused as she heard his foot on the stairs and glanced up, and her eyes sparkled in the lamplight.
She was wearing a Chinese sheath dress of heavy black silk embroidered with scarlet poppies, which fitted her lithe body like a second skin. It buttoned high about her neck, and two discreet vents on each side of the skirt gave him a glimpse of slender legs as she moved to greet him.
“You certainly look better for the bath. All you need now is a drink and a decent meal.”
“I’d love both,” he said, “but first, would it be in order for me to compliment you on that astonishing dress?”
He could have sworn that she blushed, but in the lamplight it was difficult to be sure. She took his arm and smiled. “Doctor Hoffner is waiting to meet you.”
She opened the door and led the way into a large and comfortable room. The walls were shelved from ceiling to floor and packed with books, and a table in the centre was laid for a meal. A pleasant fire burned on the large open hearth and flames danced on the shiny surface of a grand piano which stood against one wall by the window. The whole room possessed a wonderful air of peace and tranquillity.
The man who had been sitting reading in a chair by the fire turned and got to his feet. Wearing an old corduroy jacket and an open-neck shirt, he was one of the largest men Chavasse had ever seen, with a great breadth of shoulder and hair like a snow white mane swept back behind his ears. But it was the remarkable eyes which most impressed Chavasse. They were dark and deep and full of a tremendous serenity.
For a brief moment they registered puzzlement and there was a slight frown, and then Hoffner smiled and held out his hand. “This is a great pleasure, Comrade Kurbsky. A very great pleasure. We don’t often see visitors in Changu.”
“I’ve looked forward to this meeting for some time,” Chavasse said. “May I compliment you on the excellence of your Russian?”
“You must praise Katya for that, not me.” Hoffner glanced at her affectionately. “When she first came here a year ago, I knew no Russian at all.”
She kissed his cheek. “Come and eat. Comrade Kurbsky must be hungry. Afterwards, there will be time to talk.”
She had obviously gone to considerable trouble to make the meal into something of an occasion. There were candles burning on the table and the food was surprisingly good. They had a clear chicken soup, mutton, boiled rice and chopped vegetables, Chinese style, and the dessert was tinned pears. There was even a bottle of very passable wine.
As he rose from the table, Hoffner sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know how she does it, Kurbsky. I really don’t.”
“What a hypocrite he is,” Katya said to Chavasse. “Each week he allows poor Colonel Li to win one game of chess, which puts him in such a good mood that he willingly gives me anything I ask for.”
“Colonel Li is one of the finest chess players I’ve ever known,” Hoffner said. “He needs no assistance from me when it comes to winning. But I must say he’s very good to us.”
They went and sat by the fire, and Katya made coffee over a small spirit lamp. She looked very attractive with the f
irelight gleaming in her fair hair, and Chavasse suddenly felt relaxed and completely at ease.
He lit one of his Russian cigarettes and as he blew out a long plume of smoke, Katya wrinkled her nose and sighed. “That smell. There’s nothing quite like it. It reminds me of home more vividly than anything else ever could.”
“Would you care for one?”
She shook her head. “I’d better not. What would I do when you’ve gone?” She poured coffee into delicate porcelain cups and handed him one. “How is Moscow these days?”
He shrugged. “There’s a lot of new building going on in the suburbs, but otherwise just the same. To tell you the truth, I see very little of the old town. I spend most of my time abroad.”
“A foreign correspondent’s life must be veryinteresting,” he said. “Always new places, new faces.”
“It has its moments. Unfortunately, I never seem to stay anywhere long enough to really get to know the place.”
“What brought you to Tibet exactly?”
He shrugged. “There’s a lot of interest in Russia about what’s going on here. Besides, a good newspaperman goes where there’s news and the prospect of a worthwhile story.”
“And have you found one?”
“My experience of yesterday will do for a start,” he said. “But I’m really hoping to get something out of the doctor here.”
Hoffner, who had been listening to their conversation as he lit his pipe, raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised anyone is still interested in me.”
“You’re too modest,” Katya said, and turned to Chavasse. “Seventy-four and he still supervises his clinic every day. Did they tell you that in Lhasa? He’s given his whole life to this country, and he could have had a professor’s chair in my university in Europe at any time he wanted.”
“Come now, my dear,” Hoffner said. “You mustn’t try to make me into some sort of plaster saint. I’m anything but that.”
“But that’s the way some people see you,” Chavasse said. “As a great missionary.”
Hoffner sighed. “I’m afraid I gave up that side of my activities years ago.”
“May I ask why?” Chavasse said.
“It’s quite simple really.” Hoffner leaned forward and gazed into the heart of the fire. “I came here as a medical missionary. I wanted to save souls as well as lives. But I found myself amongst a people already deeply religious, who believed in the way of gentleness to an extent almost incomprehensible to the Western mind. What could I offer these people spiritually?”
“I see your point,” Chavasse said. “What was the solution?”
“To give them medical aid when they needed it,” Hoffner said. “Apart from that, to try to understand them and to be their friend.”
“Forgive me for asking a question which might possibly embarrass you, but I’d like to get as complete a picture as possible. Have the Chinese interfered with your work in any way?”
“As a matter of fact they’ve encouraged me wonderfully,” Hoffner said. “My clinic is more crowded than ever. Mind you, I’m not allowed outside the city walls, but that’s only for my own protection. The country’s still in rather an unsettled state, as you’ve found out for yourself.”
“You would say then that any change of government has been for the better?”
“Most decidedly. Take medical supplies, for example. In the old days, everything I needed had to come in from India by caravan.”
“And now?”
“Colonel Li gets me what I want with no difficulty. You know, before the Chinese came this country was still medieval, its people backward and ignorant. All that is changing now.”
Chavasse kept a smile on his face, but inside he was worried, because the old man sounded as if he really meant it. Before he could continue the conversation, Katya stood up and smiled. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to get on with your talk. I must visit the kitchen.”
The door closed behind her and Chavasse said, “A remarkable young woman.”
Hoffner nodded. “Her father was a Russian archaeologist. He was working for the Chinese government in Peking in charge of the excavations at the old Imperial Palace. He was given permission to visit Lhasa before returning home, but died on the way there. Katya came through here with the caravan a week after burying him.”
“And she decided to stay?”
“Colonel Li could have made arrangements to send her through to Yarkand,” Hoffner told him, “but then I was taken ill with serious heart trouble. For six months, she nursed me back to health. Since then, the question of her leaving has simply never arisen.”
“This all makes most interesting material,” Chavasse said. “On the whole, then, you would say that you lead a contented life?”
“Certainly!” Hoffner waved his hand round the room. “I have my books and my piano, and there’s always the clinic.”
“The piano interests me particularly,” Chavasse said. “Rather an unusual item to find in so isolated a region. I’ve been told that your playing is quite remarkable.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Hoffner said, “but it would be a great blow to me if I ever had to do without music. I had this piano carried in by caravan from India before the war. The lamplight flatters its appearance, mind you, but the tone is still quite good.”
He moved across to the piano, lifted the lid and sat down. He played a few chords, a snatch of a Chopin polonaise, and looked up. “Is there anything you would particularly like to hear?”
Chavasse was still standing at the fire, taking his time in lighting another cigarette. He blew out a long tracer of smoke and said casually in English, “Oh I don’t know. What about some music suitable for a May evening in Cambridge?”
Every wrinkle seemed to disappear from the old man’s face, and for a moment, it was so quiet that Chavasse could hear the wind whispering against the wooden shutters outside the window.
“I knew there was something wrong about you,” Hoffner said calmly, also in English. “From the first moment you stepped into this room, I knew.”
“You sent a letter to an old friend some time ago,” Chavasse said. “You might say I’m his answer.”
“So Joro got out?” Hoffner said.
Chavasse nodded. “He’s downstairs in the kitchen now. He’s the Tibetan who’s supposed to have saved my life from the bandits. You can see him later if you like.”
“You said something about music for a May evening in Cambridge?” Hoffner said.
Chavasse nodded. “A long time ago, you lost a bet to Edwin Craig, and he and the girl who’d chosen him instead of you sat in a quiet garden on a May evening while you played for them in the house.”
Hoffner sighed. “Sometimes I think it was a thousand years ago, and yet I can still smell the fragrance of the lilac, wet after the rain. I can even remember what I played.”
He started to play the opening chords of Clair de Lune and Chavasse shook his head. “I don’t think so, doctor. It was the Moonlight Sonata.”
For a long moment, Hoffner sat there looking at him searchingly, and then a slow smile spread across his face. He rose to his feet and took Chavasse by the hand. “My dear boy, I wonder if you could possibly imagine just how delighted I am to see you.”
They crossed to the fire and sat down. Hoffner pulled his chair forward and they put their heads together. “Tell me, how is my old friend Edwin Craig?”
“In excellent health,” Chavasse said, “and very anxious to see you. That’s why I’m here.”
“To see me?” Hoffner said, and a look of incredulity appeared on his face. “But that is impossible. For one thing, the Chinese would never let me go.”
“Never mind about that for the moment,” Chavasse said. “If it could be managed, would you be willing to try? I rather got the impression from our earlier conversation that you approved of what’s been happening around here.”
Hoffner chuckled. “What on earth would you have expected me to say to a foreign correspondent of Pravda?
Oh, Colonel Li has shown me a great deal of personal kindness, I can’t deny that, and he really has done everything possible to ensure that I receive all the drugs and medical supplies I need for the clinic.”
“I must say he seems remarkably philanthropic for a case-hardened Communist,” Chavasse said.
“It’s quite simple.” Hoffner smiled gently. “I have succeeded in building up a certain standing in this country over the years, and the people have come to trust me. The reason that my clinic has not been closed down is that the Communists believe I not only approve of them, but that I am willing to cooperate with them.”
“And the only way to refute this would be to refuse to work at the clinic, which would mean no medical centre for the Tibetans,” Chavasse said. “Colonel Li certainly knows how to put people into a cleft stick.”
“A facility he seems to share with most good Communists,” Hoffner said.
“Which brings me back to my first question,” Chavasse told him. “If I could get you out, would you be willing to leave?”
Hoffner tapped ash from his pipe into the hearth and then started to refill it from an old leather pouch, a slight frown on his face.
After a while, he said, “Young man, I am seventy-four years of age. I’m also in rather poor health, which is no good augury for the future. I may not approve of the Communist regime as practised in this country, but they do at least allow me to continue to give medical treatment to a rather backward people who would otherwise have to manage without it. It would seem to me that my duty lies in continuing to offer it to them for the few years that remain to me.”
“And what if I said you were needed on the outside more?” Chavasse said. “A great deal more?”
“I think it would help if you were to explain,” Hoffner told him, and smiled suddenly. “It would also help if I knew your real name.”
Chavasse shrugged. “It won’t mean anything to you, but I don’t see why not. It’s Chavasse, Paul Chavasse.”
“Ah, French,” Hoffner said. “How interesting, but I hope you don’t mind if we continue to use English for the moment. It makes a delightful change, I assure you.”