She shook her head. ‘It has nothing to do with size. It’s just that I don’t want to walk out of Adam’s life and immediately into another domestic arrangement. Does that make sense?’
‘None at all,’ he said, his brows once more flying satanically together. ‘I want you with me every minute of the day. You want to be with me. We’re having a child. You living at the Pen and me living alone in the apartment just doesn’t make sense!’
She had known that he wouldn’t understand. ‘It makes sense to me,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s what I need.’
‘What you need is a good hiding,’ he said grimly, ‘but I’m in no condition to administer it.’
A smile touched the corners of her mouth. ‘Then, you’ll have to accept what I’m saying.’
There was a new-found assurance about her, and a determination, that he knew he could not argue with. Not yet. ‘How will you manage?’ he asked, thinking that he had found her Achilles heel. ‘The Pen is ruinously expensive, I can’t imagine Adam footing the bill, and I’m not going to.’
Her smile deepened. ‘There’s no need for either of you to foot any of my bills,’ she said, enjoying her new-found independence. ‘My father left me very adequately provided for.’
‘Blast him,’ Raefe said, his eyes gleaming once more. He didn’t imagine that little fact had pleased Adam Harland. A financially independent lady was one who could call her own shots, and it was obvious that that was exactly what Lizzie intended doing. ‘Who was your father?’ he asked curiously. She had talked about him but she had never told him his name.
‘Jerome Kingsley.’
He frowned, trying to remember. ‘Kingsley … Kingsley,’ he said to himself, and then his face cleared. He’d got it. Jerome Kingsley, financial wizard of the thirties. No wonder the Peninsula’s bills left her unperturbed. ‘At least’, he said wryly, drawing her gingerly back into his arms, ‘you’re not marrying me for my money.’
‘I’m not marrying you at all,’ she said, a shade of laughter in her voice.
He grinned complacently. ‘Oh, yes, you are. Just as soon as Adam can be persuaded to divorce you. Do you think you could rearrange yourself a little? I have a knife-wound there that’s giving me hell. What I need is a glimpse of your breasts to take my mind off it!’
‘Je ne comprends pas,’ Julienne said bewilderedly. ‘I do not understand it. Raefe is now out of hospital and living in Victoria. And you are in a single room at the Pen. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ Elizabeth said, amused.
‘Doesn’t Raefe want you to move in with him?’ Julienne asked, wondering if she had been unnecessarily tactless.
They were at the Swimming Club, relaxing at the poolside with long iced drinks.
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth replied. ‘Don’t look so concerned, Julienne. I’m at the Pen because I want to be there.’
‘I wouldn’t want to be there. Especially in a single room!’ Julienne said emphatically. She looked across to where Elizabeth lay on her sun-lounger, her swimming costume still wet from their swim. ‘You know, Elizabeth,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘I do not think that staying at the Pen is very good for you. I think perhaps you are beginning to eat a little too much.’
Elizabeth grinned. Julienne did not yet know about the baby. ‘Yes,’ she said contentedly, eyeing her slightly thickening waistline, ‘I think you could quite possibly be right, Julienne!’
The last few weeks had not been easy for her. Although adultery was rife in Hong Kong, the desertion of a husband or wife was not. Her action in moving out of her marital home had shocked and dismayed. Lady Gresby had crossed her firmly off her list, and so had a lot of other people. Leigh Stafford had been excruciatingly embarrassed when they had met accidentally at the Hong Kong Club. People she had regarded as friends now no longer spoke to her and openly avoided her. She had been uncaring. She was living her life as she wished to live it, and the friends who mattered to her had all stayed loyal. ‘Adam tells me that you’ve asked him for a divorce,’ Alastair said to her when they met one day for lunch at the Parisian Grill. ‘Is that wise, Elizabeth? So soon? It’s a very final step.’
‘So is having a baby that isn’t his,’ she said quietly.
Alastair blanched. ‘I’m sorry … I didn’t realize.’ He toyed with his smoked duck and then said: ‘Wouldn’t it be easier if you moved in with Elliot? People wouldn’t find the situation quite so puzzling.’
‘I can’t help it if people find my personal life puzzling, Alastair,’ she said with unusual crispness. ‘And it doesn’t bother me. It isn’t any of their affair.’
‘No,’ Alastair agreed, with little conviction. He was a man who liked things to be neat and tidy. He didn’t like loose ends or messiness in personal situations, and he was growing increasingly miserable over his failure to persuade Helena to marry him.
‘How are things with you and Helena?’ she asked, sensing the direction of his thoughts.
He shrugged dismally. ‘The same as they have always been. I love her. I’m damned sure that she loves me. But she won’t marry me.’
‘Perhaps it’s still too soon for her. She’s only been a widow for two years.’
‘It isn’t two years,’ Alastair corrected. ‘It’s nearly three now. She used to talk to me about it, but she won’t any more. I think she talks to Adam more than she talks to me.’
‘Adam can be a very sympathetic listener.’
‘Yes.’ He looked across at her curiously. ‘You still see him, don’t you? I mean, not just casually and by accident. You see him by arrangement?’
She nodded. They had needed to meet and talk, and she had not wanted to keep returning to the home they had shared. He had suggested they lunch at the Pen, and they had continued to do so at least once a week.
‘Is he happy about a divorce?’
‘No.’ A shadow crossed her eyes. She didn’t like talking about Adam with anyone, but Alastair had been a good friend to her and he deserved to know something of what was going on. ‘He won’t instigate proceedings yet. He’s still hoping that I will return to him.’
‘And you won’t?’
Her green-gold eyes met his unflinchingly. ‘No, Alastair. I’m in love with Raefe. Even though, for my own reasons, I’m not living with him, my future is with him.’
He sighed. ‘I wish to God Helena felt that her future was with me,’ he said wearily. ‘If the Japs continue being belligerent, I can see women and children being ordered to leave the Colony. And if Helena goes, then I may never see her again. She may just slip away from me, and I couldn’t bear that, Elizabeth. Truly I couldn’t.’
‘Are things really getting worse with the Japanese?’ Elizabeth asked, unable to give him any words of comfort where Helena was concerned.
‘Oh, yes. They’re playing a waiting game, but I don’t think they will wait much longer. An expeditionary force landed at Bias Bay last month. That’s only thirty-five miles north-east of Hong Kong. Canton has been captured. In practical terms our isolation is almost complete.’
‘And, as if it isn’t enough, the Germans are rampaging all over Europe, the Russians have invaded Finland…,’ she said bleakly. She looked round the luxurious restaurant. It seemed very hard to believe that half the world was at war. Silver gleamed on white napery, a trio of musicians played discreetly. There were Sydney rocks oysters for hors-d’oeuvres, smoked salmon, strawberries, champagne and fifteen-year-old brandy.
‘I know,’ he said, reading her mind. ‘It doesn’t seem possible, does it? But it will come here as well, Elizabeth. It’s just a matter of time.’
‘Would it help this period of adjustment you’re giving yourself if we took a trip to Australia?’ Raefe asked her as they lay in bed in his Victoria flat.
‘Australia?’ She turned her head towards him, her hair (brushing his shoulder. ‘Why Australia? Do you have to go on business, or does Fort Canning want you to go?’
‘Neither, sweet love,’ he said, amused, h
is hand resting comfortably on the growing rise of her belly. They had no secrets from each other. She knew far more about his intelligence work than he should ever have told her. ‘Roman is on tour there. The orchestra is giving concerts in Sydney, Melbourne, Adelaide and Perth. I thought we could meet up with him on the last leg in Perth.’
She sat up in bed, looking down at him, her eyes shining. ‘Oh, that would be wonderful, Raefe. It seems forever since I heard a great orchestra!’
He leaned back against the pillows, loving her so much his heart hurt with it. ‘He wants to hear you play.’
Her eyes widened in horror. ‘You’re joking! He’s one of the greatest conductors in the world! What could I possibly play for him?’
‘Bach, Schubert, Beethoven, anything that you like,’ he said grinning. ‘Don’t tell me you’re not capable of it. Not after all the work with Li Pi.’
She laughed down at him. Her horror had only been because he had taken her by surprise. She knew her capabilities very well and she was more than ready to play for a conductor of Roman Rakowski’s stature. The prospect sent adrenalin singing along her veins. ‘Roman Rakowski…,’ she said again in awe. ‘I can hardly believe it.…’
He pulled her down beside him. ‘Don’t say his name with quite such adoration or I might change my mind and keep you as far apart from him as possible!’ His hands reached out for the full lusciousness of her breasts. ‘They’re getting bigger, Lizzie. How many months is it yet?’
‘Ages and ages,’ she said languorously, sliding her legs between his, luxuriating in the pleasure of his touch. ‘Another six months at least.’
He lowered his head, his tongue circling her silk-dark nipple, his lips pulling gently. She gave a soft moan, pushing her pelvis against him, hot and damp with reawakened desire.
‘Twice before breakfast can’t be very good for my health,’ he murmured teasingly as her hands moved caressingly downwards. ‘I’m thirty-two, sweet love. Not twenty-two.’
‘You’re wonderful,’ she murmured, her lips on the bronzed flesh of his shoulders, her legs spreading wide, her breath exhaling on a low deep sigh of fulfilment as he entered her. ‘Wonderful … wonderful … unbelievably wonderful.…’
They arrived in Perth on Christmas Eve. Neither of them had wanted to spend Christmas in Hong Kong. It was too emotive a time. Raefe was sure that Adam would ask her to spend the day with him and, if he did, knew that she would feel bound to do so. As it was, she had been able to tell him that she would be in Australia and she had been deeply relieved by Helena inviting Adam to spend Christmas with her and Alastair and the children.
Melissa had gone, of her own choice, back to the farm in the New Territories. She didn’t want to be surrounded by the curious eyes of family and friends. Every day was still a battle for her, and she wanted to fight her battle alone and in private.
‘It seems funny to see Christmas trees and imitation snow and snowmen when the sun is blazing down,’ Elizabeth said as they window-shopped in Perth, looking for a Christmas present for Roman. He tucked her hand more tightly in the crook of his arm. ‘I keep forgetting that you’ve never spent a Christmas in the southern hemisphere before. We’ll spend tomorrow on the beach. That will really disorientate you.’
They passed a news-stand, the headline on the month-old papers from England headlined with a defiant ‘COME ON, HITLER! WE’RE READY FOR YOU!’
‘I wonder what next year will bring?’ she said, suddenly sombre.
He patted her hand. It was Christmas. He didn’t want to think of Hitler, or the Japanese, or the darkness the world was plunging into. ‘It will bring a baby,’ he said, deliberately misunderstanding her. ‘Our baby!’
Her sombreness lifted as he had intended it should. She hugged his arm. ‘The nurse at the clinic says that it should start to move within the next few weeks. I wonder what it will feel like?’
‘Uncomfortable, I should imagine,’ he said with a grin.
They were passing a shop window. Backed against a neutral screen of shot-grey silk, stood an exquisite bronze head.
Raefe turned and glimpsed it. He stopped. ‘Our window-shopping is over,’ he said, drawing her near to the glass. ‘Look.’
She looked and saw the name, edged in gold: ‘Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.’
‘Oh,’ she said, letting her breath out slowly. ‘It’s beautiful, Raefe.’
‘And perfect for Roman. Come on. Our shopping expedition is over.’
‘It’s wonderful!’ Roman Rakowski said, his eyes shining as he lifted the bronze carefully from its tissue wrappings. They were in the empty auditorium of Perth’s concert hall. Elizabeth and Raefe had sat, spellbound, as Roman had taken the great orchestra through its rehearsal for the evening’s performance. Now the three of them were alone, with Elizabeth excruciatingly aware of the Steinway grand standing off-centre on the platform above them. His present to them had been a small painting of the boy David, his sling in his hand, his eyes fearless, as he faced Goliath and the Philistines.
‘I thought it apt,’ he said, his deep voice filling the empty hall. ‘A small force facing a larger one. It reminded me of your situation in Hong Kong.’
‘It’s lovely,’ Elizabeth said truthfully. The colours glowed with vibrancy and there was something so pure, so brave about the boy’s stance that her throat tightened. She had nearly forgotten Rakowski’s Jewishness. He was not at all what she bad expected. He was a big bear of a man with a shock of dark-gold, unruly hair, and an engaging habit of running his fingers through it whenever he explained a point to the musicians. He was ridiculously young for a conductor of such stature, but she could see why he had achieved such eminence. There was a presence, a vigour, an authority about him. Enthusiasm emanated from him in waves.
‘What do you think, my friend?’ he had demanded, bounding down from the rostrum when the musicians had been dismissed, hugging Raefe as if he were a long-lost brother. ‘The sound has changed, eh?’ He had turned towards Elizabeth, his smile wide, his eyes welcoming. ‘The sound of the orchestra now comes from the string-playing. Did you hear it? We are softer in the brass section, not so dominating as other orchestras, and in the strings we do not have this very spiccato off-the-string way of playing. I think, especially for classical music, it is wrong. This is better, don’t you agree?’
He had put his arms around them both, leading them to the far right of the platform where he had a flask of coffee tucked away.
‘It’s not much to greet you with,’ he had said, shrugging his huge shoulders apologetically, ‘but the champagne will have to wait until after tonight’s performance.’
There was a permanent undertone of suppressed laughter in his deep bass voice, and Elizabeth felt herself instantly drawn towards him, liking him unreservedly.
When they had drunk the coffee he had looked down at her, lines crinkling around his eyes as he said: ‘The concert platform is yours, Elizabeth. Make yourself comfortable. Play whatever you want.’
A moment of pure undiluted terror coursed through her veins, and then, as he touched her arm encouragingly, she remembered who she was, and what she was, and she stepped up on to the concert platform with the confident knowledge that it was where she belonged.
The first flawless notes of Grieg’s Piano Concerto filled the hall, and Raefe let out a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been overcome by nerves. She was playing to the best of her ability. God damn it! She was playing like an angel!
Afterwards, as they sat in a tiny Polish restaurant that served the icy bortsch soup that Roman loved, Raefe asked him: ‘Where do you go next?’
Roman broke a roll of rye bread in half. ‘Palestine,’ he said with deep satisfaction, ‘as guest conductor.’
Raefe gave an impressed whistle. ‘That must mean a lot to you,’ he said, pouring more wine into Elizabeth’s and Roman’s half-empty glasses.
‘It does.’ Roman’s voice was suddenly sombre, and all three of them fell silent, thinking of the musicians who formed Palestin
e’s national orchestra. Musicians who had fled the horror of Hitler’s Europe.
When Roman spoke again it was to say tersely: ‘Did you know that the British are restricting the entry of refugees into Palestine?’
Raefe nodded, and Elizabeth said uncertainly: ‘I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand.…’
‘There are hundreds of thousands of Jewish refugees seeking to enter Palestine,’ Raefe said to her quietly, ‘and as Palestine is a British-mandated area the British have control of the numbers being accepted.’
Elizabeth’s face was pale. ‘What happens to the refugees that Britain refuses entry to? Where do they go?’
‘They are shipped back to whatever country they fled from,’ Roman said, his grey eyes bright with fury. ‘And the persecution they tried to flee continues. They will be herded into ghettoes, sent to concentration-camps.’
Raefe took Elizabeth’s hand. ‘It isn’t only the British who are being deaf and blind,’ he said gently, sensing her shame. ‘The Americans are being just as bad.’
Roman ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Why the hell can’t they realize the gravity of the situation?’ he asked despairingly. ‘Why can’t they forget about numbers and quotas? The bureaucracy of it all is beyond belief!’
‘Bureaucracy always is,’ Raefe said tightly, and his rage and frustration weren’t directed only at the faceless governments who were closing the doors against those needing sanctuary. It was directed at the bureaucrats of Fort Canning as well. At the high-ranking military personnel still obstinately adamant that there would be no war in the East.
That evening Elizabeth and Raefe sat in the concert hall in the seats that Roman had reserved for them. The atmosphere was electric. Many of the music-lovers in the audience had never been to a Rakowski concert before but they knew of his reputation and they were waiting in tense anticipation to see if it was justified.
There was a storm of applause as Roman strode out on to the concert platform and made his way towards the podium.
A Multitude of Sins Page 36