‘Happy to meet you, Mrs Vagina.’
The Queen smiled again and her eyebrows rose a further eighth of an inch. ‘Never mind. Names and titles are such a bore. I just wanted to thank you for what you did. It was important for the country. Skyparc may be based on a European plane, but it is basically a British project. And I’m not just thanking you on behalf of my country. One of my own family members was on board, young Armstrong-Phillips, so I have a personal debt to you.’
This was shaping up into the sort of conversation that the geomancer liked. One of the richest people in the world was acknowledging a personal debt to him. Well, she could clear the debt very easily by simply giving him a small country she no longer wanted. Or even a medium or large one. He quite fancied Australia. It was well away from the violent West, and could easily be made into an outpost of Asia. It was also said to have the best Chinese food outside China. This line of thought reminded Wong that the Queen was a property mogul of significant stature. He decided that this might be the safest discussion topic for them. They could use their shared interest in that area to get to know each other better. But he didn’t want to scare her. Perhaps he should start by suggesting some small, foot-in-the-door investments.
‘Your main business is real estate, yes, Mrs Vagina?’
She thought about this. ‘In a manner of speaking, I suppose it is.’
‘I wonder: have you consider investing in Shenzhen? Is a place in Guangdong province, China. High-rise apartments quite cheap. Two-bed, five hundred square feet, less than half a million Hong Kong dollar.’
‘You’d recommend it as an investment, would you?’
‘Oh yes. I think perfect for you.’
‘I don’t think I’ve been to that part of China.’
‘You can buy one flat, leave it empty, use it as holiday home for yourself and Mr Vagina. Price will go up, up, up. Guarantee.’
‘Sounds very interesting. Perhaps we can talk about it later, when you visit my present home.’
‘My pleasure, Mrs Vagina.’
Jackson, approaching, caught the end of this conversation. ‘That’s Regina,’ he whispered sharply at Wong. Then he turned to the Queen. ‘I apologise, Your Majesty. I should have briefed him better.’
‘I enjoyed talking to Mr Wong. And I have told him that we will continue the discussion later, at the palace.’
‘Of course.’
Wong could not help rubbing his hands together.
She nodded once more and left them, a smile playing on her lips.
Prince Charles’s private envoy delivered Wong back to his friend Sinha and then marched straight past everyone, head down. Jackson was sure there’d be no one there to greet him: after all, he was a single man these days, focused on nothing but his career. But he felt as if he was a changed man. These last days, he’d learned a lot about life, and about love, and about himself, and about what was important and what was not. He’d decided that he would go home, get some sleep, and then call the boss. Ask him for a couple of weeks off—maybe a month even, so he could go and get some rest, think about things, find out what he needed to do with his life.
But then he stopped short, his jaw dropping.
Among the squeals from the crowd were calls of ‘Daddy, Daddy,’ from tiny voices he thought he knew. It couldn’t be, could it?
‘Martha? Marianne?’
He saw his ex-wife, standing waiting for him as everyone else melted away, one of their daughters in front of her, the other perched on her shoulders. ‘Vanessa. Hi.’
His steps speeded up, as did his heartbeat. ‘Hello, my darlings.’ He ran over as fast as he could, and kissed all three of them, in tears for the first time in years.
In the beginning of creation, the Red God and the Blue God were choosing their elements. Two gifts lay on the altar for them. A bottle of water and a burning candle.
The Red God was more kindly than the Blue God, and allowed him to choose first.
The Blue God said: ‘I choose water. It cannot harm me.’
The Red God was left with fire. He picked it up carefully and held it at a distance.
As the gods’ party started, the Blue God shared his water with everyone else. But every time he filled a glass, he noticed his vessel becoming emptier.
The Red God lit everyone’s candle. But the more he shared his fire, the more fire there was.
Blade of Grass, many folktales tell stories of bottomless jars. Such things really exist, and are there to be found.
From ‘Some Gleanings of Oriental Wisdom’
by CF Wong.
NURY VITTACHI did not win the Vogel for his first novel, was not shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize with his subsequent books, and has never been nominated for a Nobel Prize for Literature. ‘I hope to make it a clean sweep by not winning the Pulitzer next year,’ the Hong Kong-based novelist said.
Mr Wong Goes West Page 24