“You like her, though? ”
“Well enough. I have no affinity for children.” She said this automatically, something her mother had always told her.
“You’re too young. You’re a child yourself,” he said.
“You like children? ”
“Some children,” he said.
A few weeks later, she asked, “Why me? ”
“Why anyone? ” he answered. “Why is anyone with anyone? ”
Desire, proximity, habit, chance. All these went through her mind, but she didn’t say a word.
Then, the cruel.
“I don’t like to love,” he said. “You should be forewarned. I don’t believe in it. And you shouldn’t either.”
She stared at him, the sting sharp, but she didn’t change her expression. She knelt down and retrieved her clothes and went into the bathroom to dress. Claire often didn’t speak around Will, never knowing what to say. She didn’t want to give too much of herself when he gave so little, but when they were lying together in bed, she felt awful, sharing this intimacy with someone who didn’t really seem to care. And then going home to Martin. With him, the private was mundane, a chore, some heavy breathing and shoving, not at all pleasurable or romantic. With Will, it was something else entirely: fraught and unexpected and excruciating. And like a drug. She had never known it could be like that. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of what her mother would say if she knew.
He would drive her home on Thursdays after the lesson. The amahs had started to talk, she knew it, from the way they would look at her and smirk. She ignored them, except for when she asked them for a cup of tea. She had resorted to taking one sip, and then asking for more sugar, or more milk, so they’d have to go back and fix her cup. It was petty, she knew, but the only way to redress the indignity of their sideways glances.
Today, Will opened the door with a flourish.
“Where to, madam? ”
“Oh, shut up,” she said, climbing in. “Let’s go to your place.”
“Let’s go out, do something,” he said. “What about dinner on the water? There’s a sampan restaurant I go to sometimes. They row you out, cook you a fish? ”
“I have to have dinner at home,” she said. “Martin’s home tonight so I haven’t much time.”
“Or let’s go up to the Peak and look at the stars.”
“Are you even listening to me?” she said, exasperated. “I don’t know that I even have time to go to your flat today.”
“Whatever you want, darling,” he said. “I’ll just drive you home, then, and you can go fix Martin a delicious meal.”
“Stop the car,” she said.
He drove up onto the side of the road and turned off the car.
“As directed,” he said.
“Why do you,” she said, suddenly furious. “You, you always do whatever I say to do, and then . . . it never seems like you’re doing anything but what you want to do.”
He looked at her with amusement.
“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about,” he said.
“You do,” she said. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, but you’re pretending . . . Oh, never mind.” She raised her hands in surrender.
“Just take me home,” she said. “You’ve ruined it.”
There had been times when Claire felt that she could become a different person. She sensed it in herself, when someone made a comment at dinner, and she thought of the perfect, acerbic reply, or something even racy, and she felt her mouth opening, her lungs taking in air so that she could then push out the words, but they never came out. She swallowed her thought, and the person she could have become sank down again, weighted by the Claire that was already too evident in the world. She sensed it when she held a glass at a cocktail party and suddenly felt the urge to crush it in her hand. She never did. That hidden person had ballooned up and deflated so often, the elasticity of her possibility diminished over time.
But then came Will. She could say to him all the things she thought, as long as it didn’t have anything to do with them, and he didn’t find any of it surprising. He didn’t have an idea of what she should be like. She was a new person—one who could have an affair, one who could be ribald, or sarcastic, or clever, and he was never surprised. She was out of context with him. She was a new person. Sometimes she felt that she was more in love with that new person she could be, that this affair was an affair with a new Claire, and that Will was just the enabler.
December 1941
THE HOLIDAYS are coming. Despite the rumblings of war, Hong Kong decks itself out with Christmas lights and decorations. Lane Crawford, store of a million gifts, advertises its genuine English crystal as the perfect present, costume parties are planned, the Drama Club puts on “Tea for Three.” The air is crisp, the moisture sucked out by the cool, and people walk briskly on the streets. The Wongs, a famous merchant family, are having a Grand Diamond Jubilee Party at the Gripps to celebrate their sixtieth anniversary.
“The new governor’s coming, that Young fellow,” Trudy says. “And the governor of Macau, who’s a great friend of father’s. I’ve three new dresses arriving today! A yellow silk chiffon to die for! And a gray crêpe de chine, so elegant. Do you mind if I go with Dommie instead of you? You hate these things anyway, don’t you? ”
Will shrugs. “Fine,” he says. “Doesn’t matter.”
Her eyes narrow.
“Nothing does ever bother you, does it?” she says. “I used to like that but now I’m not so sure. Well, anyways, my father gave me something today. Something very special.”
She motions him into her bedroom.
“He says he was going to give it to my mother for their tenth anniversary, but then, you k now . . .” Her voice trails off. Trudy has always been quite unsentimental about her mother’s disappearance, but today, there’s something caught in her voice.
“Darling Trudy,” he says, and pulls her near.
“No, I’m going to show you something,” she says. “No time for hanky-panky.” She opens a drawer and pulls out a small black velvet box.
“Will you marry me?” she says jokingly as she opens the box and thrusts it toward him.
Inside is an enormous emerald. Will almost can’t see the ring behind it. It glows and glows.
“Smokes,” he says. “That’s quite a stone.”
“I love emeralds, although I should love jade, being Chinese,” Trudy says. “Emeralds are so beautiful and so very fragile. Jade is so, hard. If I knocked this against a table—you know how clumsy I am—it might break. They’re not durable like diamonds.” She plucks the ring out of the box and then suddenly throws it up in the air. Will’s heart leaps inside him like a small bird, and he wildly grabs for the jewel, catching it on its way down. He stares at the green gem in his hand, blood coursing wildly. It nestles in his palm like a cold insect.
“I knew you’d catch it,” Trudy says dispassionately. “That’s the best thing about you. You’re . . . not dependable, exactly, but good in a fix, I suppose.”
Will hands the ring back to Trudy, angry, and watches as she slips it on her slim finger.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she says. “It’s the nicest thing I own.”
He walks out of the room.
On Saturday, there is another party, the Tin Hat Ball, to raise 160,000 pounds so that the people of Hong Kong can present a bomber squadron to England. Trudy begs him to go with her as, at the last one, the only dashing men were Americans and that “wasn’t right.” “You are fickle,” he says, but she ignores him.
In the ballroom of the Peninsula, Trudy is much in demand, as usual. She is claimed three times in a row by a Canadian major. Will is at the Long Bar having a drink, talking idly to Angeline Biddle, when Trudy comes up behind him and interlocks her fingers in front of his eyes.
“Did you miss me?” she says.
“You were gone?” he asks. He knows how to talk to her.
“What are you drinking? ”
Trudy asks Angeline.
“Ox’s Blood,” she says. “It’s champagne mixed with sparkling burgundy and maybe some brandy.”
“Sounds dreadful,” Trudy says, seizing Will’s whiskey instead. She sips at it. “Don’t the Canadians have the funniest names for their teams?”
“Regiments, Trudy,” he corrects.
“What are they, the Royal Guns or something? ” says Angeline.
“No, they’re the Royal Rifles and the Winnipeg Grenadiers. They’ve just come from Newfoundland to help protect us. They love Hong Kong.”
“I’ll bet they do,” he says. “I’m sure it seems like heaven.”
She pouts.
“You’re not going to be all dull and jealous, are you?” She adjusts the straps of her dress, distracted. “Anyway, I’m spoken for the next few dances. Angeline, you’ll take care of my Will, won’t you? ”
Angeline and Will look at each other and shrug.
“Of course, darling,” Angeline says.
As soon as Trudy leaves, they drift away from each other. Will finds Angus Enderby leaning against a wall. Trudy’s cousin, Dominick, wanders by, gives them a curt nod.
“Strange fellow, that,” says Angus. “Can’t figure him out.”
“Trudy says he’s a girl.”
“Something more than that, though. Less innocent.” He pauses. “You know there are Fifth Columnists infiltrating. They’re supporting that Wong Chang Wai chap, who the Japanese installed in China. I’ve heard Dominick has been seen with a lot of that crowd. And Victor Chen, of course, thick as thieves with whoever can help him. Rumor has it that he had the Japanese consulate over for dinner last week. Very hush-hush. Better watch himself. That’s a dangerous game.”
“He’s a survivor.”
“Yes.” Angus shrugs. “Can’t believe the war effort’s been turned into a party. The new governor’s a fool for coming.”
A stout woman is at the bar, with a thinner lady, both sipping whiskey, watching the dancing impassively.
“Do you know Edwina Storch?” Angus asks Will, nodding toward the two.
“I’ve seen her around. Not met them formally.”
“Headmistress of Essex, old-timer. Grim, formidable. Been around forever. Her partner, Mary Winkle.”
Will and Angus walk over to the women. Edwina inclines her head regally, a queen holding court.
“Hello, Angus. Merry Christmas.”
“Edwina, I wanted you to meet Will Truesdale, somewhat of a new arrival to these shores. And Will, this is Edwina Storch and Mary Winkle, Hong Kong institutions. They know where all the skeletons are buried.”
“Pleased to meet you,” says Will.
“I’ve seen you around,” Edwina says. “You’re with the Liang girl.”
“Yes,” Will says. He is not surprised by her bluntness. He has run into this type before: the unapologetic, rude English matron who fancies herself an adventuress and desires nothing more than to intimidate.
“That didn’t take you long.”
“No, it didn’t, luckily,” he says lightly. “She’s been a wonderful introduction to Hong Kong.”
Edwina Storch harrumphs.
“That’s a skewed sense of Hong Kong you’re getting! ”
Mary Winkle lays a small, reproachful hand on Edwina’s arm.
“Now, now,” she whispers. “Trudy has always been lovely, if misunderstood. I do like her so very much.”
Will smiles at her. “She is lovely, isn’t she?”
Edwina sips noisily at her glass.
“What’s that you’re drinking? ” she asks.
“Single malt.”
“A man’s drink. Since you’re with Trudy, I thought you might be a champagne drinker.”
“Are you friends with her? ” he asks politely.
“Of course,” she says. “In Hong Kong, everyone has to be friends or it’s very unpleasant.”
“Of course,” he says agreeably to the women and bows to them before taking his leave. After a pause, Angus joins him back at the bar.
“Something about that woman turns me into a schoolboy about to wet his trousers,” Angus says.
“And you keep going back for more,” Will says drily.
“That one likes her creature comforts,” Angus says. “Always after me about civil salaries and what an outrage they are. Never met a headmistress more interested in money.”
The two men pull at their drinks.
“I heard the governor’s told all the men in the Bachelors they were off their heads for wanting their wives back. His wife’s still in Malaysia, no?”
“Yes, but I don’t know that that’s any safer, do you?” Will says. “How is Amelia?”
“Fine, but she’s making noises about coming back. She’s just in China, you know, refused absolutely to go to Australia. So, she’s in Canton, and complaining mightily. I can hear the racket from here.” Angus looked gloomily at the dance floor. “Might let her come back just so I can get some peace.” He paused. “Though that seems rather counterintuitive, eh?”
“Everything to do with women seems counterintuitive.”
“Trudy not leaving? ” Angus asks.
“Refuses. Says there’s nowhere to go. Which is sort of the truth for her, I think.”
“Pity,” says Angus. “A lot of places could use her right now.”
“Yes, she could charm everyone,” Will says.
“A formidable weapon, indeed,” Angus says.
“Did you see the paper today? Roosevelt sent Hirohito a cable?”
“Yes. We’ll see how effective that is. What are they having you do at the office? ”
“They sent around a memorandum a few weeks ago saying that our Volunteer positions took precedence over company business, but we are supposed to register with them during fighting, if it breaks out. They’ve given us a number to call with our location. I don’t know that they know what they’re doing.”
They watch Trudy twirl around the dance floor, laughing, ivory-white arms draped over her partner’s shoulders. Afterward, breathless and happy, she tells Will that her partner was the “head of the whole thing. He’s very important, and he seemed to like me very much, telling me all about the situation we’re in. And it’s terribly ironic,” she says. “The dreariest of people are safe—the Germans, bless their stolid hearts, the Italians with their awful, funny ways. Hong Kong’s going to be so dull, no parties worth going to at all.”
“So you’re interested when he tells you about the war, are you?”
“Of course, darling. He knows what he’s talking about.”
The orchestra is playing “The Best Things in Life Are Free,” and Trudy is complaining. “He’s horrible,” she says about the accompanist. “I could get up right now and play better than that.” But she isn’t given a chance because a short man with a megaphone strides through the ballroom and gets up onstage. The orchestra grinds to a halt.
“All those men who are connected to the American Steamships Line are ordered to report aboard ship as soon as possible. I repeat, all those connected with American Steamships Line are required to report onboard right now.”
There is a long silence, then on the dance floor, couples uncouple, at the bar, men stand up from their bar stools and pull down their shirt fronts. A few start to make their uncertain way to the door.
“I hate American accents,” Trudy says. “They sound so stupid.” She seems to have forgotten her great love for Americans.
“Trudy,” Will says. “This is serious. Do you understand?”
“It’ll be fine, darling,” Trudy says. “Who would bother with our small pocket of the world? It’s just the alarmists.” She calls for more champagne.
Dominick comes by and whispers something in her ear. He stares at Will while he’s doing it.
“Good evening, Dominick,” he says.
“Hallo,” is the laconic reply. Dominick is one of those queer Chinese who are more English than the English, yet has no great love for them
. Educated in the most precious way in England, he has come back to Hong Kong and is affronted by everything that is in the least bit crass, which is to say, everything—the swill on the streets, the expectorating, illiterate throngs of coolies and fishmongers. A hothouse flower, he thrives only in the rarest of society circles, around damask napkins and clear, ringing crystal—Will would very much like to see him in a rubber apron ladling out soup to butchers and their ilk in a street-market noodle shop, the kind with the bare electrical bulb hanging dangerously on a filament.
“Terrible news, isn’t it? ” Will says.
“This too will pass.” Dominick dismisses him with a slow wave of his marble-white palm. Will finds himself wondering if those hands have seen any labor more arduous than the writing of a thank-you note on cream bond or the lifting of a champagne bowl. He watches the two of them whispering together. They belong together (were it not for the accident of their family relations) but he supposes such a pairing would combust, their pale electricity extinguishing the other.
Dominick says suddenly, “It’s not all bad for Trudy and me, you know. The Japanese are closer to us than the English. At least they’re Orientals.”
Will almost laughs and then realizes that Dominick is serious.
“But you’re the least Oriental person I know,” he says mildly.
Dominick narrows his eyes. “You’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” he says.
Trudy intervenes. “You’re both talking nonsense. Don’t talk about this beastly nationality matter—it makes me ill.” She brushes Will’s hair back from his face. “All I know is that the Japanese are a very peculiar people.”
“You should not say such things,” Dominick says. “You should not.”
“Oh, bother! ” Trudy says. “Have another drink and shut up.”
It is the first time Will has seen Trudy get irritated with Dominick. She wants to go shortly thereafter and they leave, but not before she gives Dominick a quick kiss on the cheek to let him know he’s been forgiven.
On Sunday they wake and go to town for dim sum. There is an odd tension in the air, and the wet markets are filled with grim shoppers filling their bags. They go home and listen to the radio and eat a simple dinner. The amahs are flitting about, chattering nonstop, and it’s giving Will a headache. The office rings up and says that work is suspended until further notice. That night, he and Trudy slip and slide in their sleep, waking each other in their restlessness, breathing loudly.
The Piano Teacher Page 8