The Harbour

by Francesca Brill

  ‘She agrees?’ A sharp intake of breath. Stevie wasn’t sure she had understood. ‘Oh my God, she agrees!’ Stevie’s world shifted. She thought she might burst with triumph. It had all been worth it. The leaving Shanghai, the hanging around in this stuffy place, the long sessions with various grim men attached to Madame Kung’s entourage. But above all, the hope. The secret hope she had allowed herself to invest in being taken seriously.

  Stevie flung out her arms towards an even more disgruntled Lily.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’

  She put her arm through Lily’s and pulled her towards the front door. ‘Let’s celebrate.’ She was a force of nature and Lily couldn’t resist. But she had something else to say and as she was bustled out of the apartment she said it.

  ‘You should be more careful who you flirt with.’

  Stevie glanced at her, puzzled. Then, with a flush of embarrassment, she remembered.

  ‘You don’t mean that dreary British officer? That wasn’t flirting. That was . . .’ But she gave up. ‘Where do you get a proper drink around here, anyway?’

  The euphoria didn’t last long. About as long as the hangover and not half as long as the anticipation. The serious business of being taken seriously kicked in. Stevie had to submit the draft interviews she had already conducted with the other two Soong sisters. She had to meet more members of Madame Kung’s entourage. She had to wait for Madame Kung to come back from a shopping trip to Shanghai. What, she asked Jishang, did he think she was shopping for? Information and a few handbags, not necessarily in that order. She was waiting again. So it was out of despair that she accepted an invitation to a cocktail party from the Clarke-Russells, the Colony’s self-appointed pillars of society. And it was out of mischief that she accepted on behalf of both herself and her companion, Wu Jishang.

  As she walked up the drive towards the detached colonial bungalow arm in arm with Jishang, she brushed against the thin branch of a camelia bush. An overblown flower came apart and drifted through the darkness to the ground. It released its frail scent into the heavy air and Stevie drew Jishang closer. She felt the cool, exquisite silkiness of his long traditional coat. Light spilled on to the gravel and over the clipped lawn. Equally clipped voices could be heard through the open windows.

  ‘What are the odds it’ll be sherry?’ she teased. Jishang barely deigned to reward her with a smile.

  Over-stuffed British ex-pats sat on sofas in the chintzy drawing room. Through the French windows at the back bloomed a rose garden. The only sign that they were in the Orient and not in the Home Counties were the Chinese boys in white uniforms who passed among the chattering pink people, carrying trays of glasses.

  Harry exchanged his empty glass for a full one. He, like many of the other men, was in uniform. He stood with their host, the earnest, humourless Director of Medical Services, Dr Clarke-Russell, and his wife Phyllis, who carried every year of her forty-five but to whom her still red hair was a source of great pride. She was talking in her habitual, head-girl voice. The one that made quite sure no servant argued back.

  ‘You’re quite wrong, of course. Hong Kong is as safe as houses. The Japanese have nothing to gain by pushing further into Nationalist territory. It’s ridiculous to imagine they’d risk making trouble with us, after all.’

  ‘Naturally. How could those funny little barbarians take on the might of the British Empire as represented by – well – by us?’ Harry indicated the well-fed partygoers. Phyllis didn’t quite catch the mocking irony but she knew enough about manners to be offended.

  Just then a young, blonde woman appeared at Harry’s side and took his arm, gripping it tightly. Her voice was tense.

  ‘Oh don’t get in such a tizzy, Phyllis, really. We all know Harry thinks he’s being amusing when he talks like that.’ She smiled but it didn’t disguise her disapproval.

  Turning to Harry she spoke in a little girl’s wheedle.

  ‘Darling, come and meet poor Muriel, would you. She’s dying to join the tennis club. I told her you might put in a word.’

  Harry glanced at the sofa and caught poor Muriel’s keen gaze. She waved. He smiled weakly. Phyllis’ attention was momentarily distracted by a glimpse of her eight-year-old pyjama-clad daughter peering, part anxious and part sullen, around the door frame across the room. She made her way swiftly to her.

  ‘Margaret, what’s going on? Where’s Nanny?’

  ‘She’s in the kitchen.’

  ‘What on earth is she doing there? You should both be upstairs.’

  ‘I sent her.’

  ‘Well, that was very naughty. Mummy and Daddy are busy.’

  Margaret put a hand out and grasped a handful of her mother’s shiny taffeta skirt.

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘Didn’t Nanny give you tea?’

  ‘Yes but I’m still hungry. It was disgusting soup.’

  Phyllis pulled her skirt out of Margaret’s fingers. ‘Well, you jolly well have to eat what’s put in front of you.’

  Margaret’s voice was plaintive now. ‘Mummy, will you read me a story?’

  ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Margaret, this is hardly the time. Even you can see that.’ She seemed to regret her tone immediately but exasperation was never far away in her encounters with the girl. She softened her voice. ‘Be a good girl and run along now. I’ll read to you tomorrow, all right?’

  Margaret’s eyes glittered, dangerously close to tears. Phyllis patted her hand. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ Gratifyingly, Margaret nodded. ‘Good. We often have nice teas and things, don’t we. So be a good girl and get back to bed.’

  Across the room, Jishang and Stevie hovered for a moment in the doorway, the sea of uniforms and floral tea dresses rippling before them. The white-gloved hand of a Chinese waiter offered a glass of sherry to Stevie. She took it and caught Jishang’s eye, her raised eyebrow an ‘I told you so’. The waiter looked at Jishang with confusion and hesitated before offering a glass to him, the only non-European in the room apart from the waiters themselves. The hesitation was insult enough.

  Margaret surprised Phyllis by raising the hand that was still absent-mindedly patting her own to her lips and kissing it. ‘Oh,’ Phyllis said unconvincingly, ‘that’s nice, darling,’ and Margaret let go and withdrew towards the stairs. Relieved, Phyllis glanced around the room, instantly spotting the new arrivals. She charged towards them, her hand extended.

  ‘So glad you could come, Miss Steiber. We’re always happy to see new faces in dull old Hong Kong.’

  Her gaze moved to Jishang and the slight flinch of surprise was visible before her manners kicked in.

  ‘And I see you’ve brought someone. How nice.’ Her voice betrayed her.

  Stevie swigged the sweetly cloying sherry and smiled a honeyed smile. ‘Perhaps you could find a waiter’s uniform for my friend, it might make you feel more comfortable in his company.’

  Those fellow guests in earshot exchanged anxious and thrilled glances. Surely there wasn’t going to be a scene? While Phyllis reeled, a rotund, balding man stepped aggressively towards them.

  ‘We’ll have none of that kind of talk. Your sort is not welcome here.’

  Phyllis held out a restraining arm. ‘No, it’s all right, Mr Evans. Thank you.’

  Before Mr Evans could continue his blustering defence of the Colony’s honour, the tall, broad figure of Harry strode towards them, his voice carrying across the room.

  ‘Miss Steiber – Mr Wu, what an honour.’ With his clean smile – his direct gaze – he was at their side. Stevie, not used to being rescued, felt an unfamiliar sense of relief. She hadn’t meant to cause a scene, she just couldn’t let the insult ride. Her mother was right. She would be the death of herself with her stupid sharp tongue and her bad attitude to authority. ‘How marvellous to see you both.’

  And with that Harry took Jishang by the elbow and guided them deep into the room. The wall of conversation built around them.

  Stevie excused herself
and made her way back to where Phyllis was instructing one of the waiters on how to pour the correct measure. Stevie plunged straight in. ‘Listen, I’m sorry. That was intolerably rude of me.’

  ‘Think nothing of it.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you but I’m utterly mortified. I’m a fool and not really fit for polite society.’

  Phyllis, while not exactly warming to her, could hardly resist the apology.

  ‘It’s perfectly all right. I’m delighted you brought your friend.’ A tiny pause. ‘You can’t imagine how difficult it is to meet Chinese people here.’

  For a second, Stevie’s eyes met Harry’s over Phyllis’ shoulder. And for a second Stevie was lost. He held her look and seemed to reel her in. But Phyllis drew her back. ‘May I introduce you to Mrs Harry Field.’

  Stevie saw a neat-featured, pale face surrounded by a cloud of baby-fine blonde, wavy hair. A pocket-sized doll with a tight smile. Stevie was reminded of the Little Bo-Peep nursery rhyme. A surprising disappointment crept over her. Of course he was married. Of course. And anyway, why should it matter at all to her? Why should it mean anything?

  ‘Sylvia, this is Miss Steiber. She’s new in town.’ Stevie took the small hand that Sylvia proffered. Her skin was incredibly soft, like a child’s, and the handshake was weak and unconvincing.

  ‘I know how frightfully clever you are. My husband has tried to make me look at your magazine.’

  ‘How awful for you.’

  Sylvia laughed a nervous laugh, betraying her loathing for clever women. The girls who answered the questions at school had seemed to her like a different species. But just look, her expression seemed to say, here she was married and running a household and where were they? She glanced at her straight-backed, clean-shaven husband for reassurance and Harry moved towards her. As soon as he started talking, though, her eyes clouded over with a familiar, bitter resentment.

  ‘Miss Steiber, perhaps you could help settle a matter we’ve been discussing.’ He indicated Jishang and another, younger man with freckles and a uniform, Ken Ramsay.

  ‘Don’t you agree that the day of the white man is well and truly over?’

  Sylvia, maintaining her social smile, turned her disappointed eyes on him and hissed.

  ‘You’re drunk.’

  But Harry was not to be deterred. ‘We’re finished but we just won’t admit it. This is exactly like the last days of Rome, only this time we’re racing blindly towards the extinction of capitalism. Fiddling, all of us.’

  Sylvia tilted her pretty head.

  ‘I think it’s time to go home, darling.’

  The chill in Harry’s voice was unmistakable.

  ‘Yes. Good idea. Off you go.’

  Sylvia, tears glinting in her eyes, spun on her delicately clad heels and walked away. Stevie was acutely aware of being alone in the crowd with Harry.

  ‘That wasn’t very nice. You probably are drunk, you know.’

  ‘Of course I am. It’s traditional here. One either gets drunk or one gets married. I seem to have done both.’ She could sense the life in him. He was so close. ‘Hong Kong is the end of the line for all the useless sods of the empire. Don’t know what to do with a chap? Send him here.’ Harry gestured contemptuously around the room at the maze of uniforms and complacent faces. ‘I mean, just look at them.’

  Stevie looked at them. Then back at him.

  ‘And what makes you so different?’

  ‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’ Stevie’s blood seemed to be pumping so fiercely around her body that she was sure he must be able to hear it.

  The barrel-chested little man who had been so quick to get rid of her rolled past. He leaned towards her and whispered. ‘I know your sort. You won’t get away with it here. This isn’t Shanghai, you know.’ He turned to Harry. ‘Look here, old man, the lovely Sylvia is waiting for you, we thought we could all share a cab back down together.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Evans, I have business to attend to.’

  But Mr Evans was gripping Harry’s arm and seemed to be ready to physically remove him from Stevie’s company. And Jishang was coming towards them with a beaming and excited Phyllis by his side. She started talking while still some distance away, unable to contain herself.

  ‘It’s so delightful to speak to someone with such an intimate knowledge of the mainland. I can’t tell you what a thrill it is. Really.’

  Harry held Stevie’s gaze as he allowed himself to be drawn apart from her by Evans’ machinations. And before long he was dutifully in that shared taxi rolling down the steep Peak road, while Stevie bore witness to the familiar sight of Jishang charming every reluctant soul within half a mile. But for once, she felt no pride in the fact that it was she who would be going home with him at the end of the night.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Why would I want to stay in this dump, anyway?’

  Stevie knew she sounded childish. The shabby concourse echoed with voices and buzzed with energy. Normally she loved airports. The sense of excitement – all those places she could go. All those adventures waiting to be had, the huge richness of possibility. But today she felt none of this. A sudden dread gripped her as Jishang checked his ticket one more time. A young woman with a child holding each hand pushed past her. In the noise and disarray Stevie felt adrift and afraid.

  ‘Take me back to Shanghai with you. Please.’

  ‘No.’ Jishang must have sensed the unusual panic in her. He softened. ‘No. And you know why.’

  ‘Remind me.’

  ‘Because you’ve got unprecedented access to all three Soong sisters and you’re going to write a great book about them and make the world take you seriously.’

  ‘If you say so.’ She had the sensation that Jishang was far away already though they were standing close to each other. ‘Look, I know Hong Kong’s not up to much but I wish you’d stay.’

  She sounded petulant when what she felt was vulnerable. She had no rights over him and hadn’t wanted them so where was this tone coming from? And he had already stayed longer than he had planned. He had business to attend to, important decisions to make, people waiting for him in Shanghai, and she had monopolised him in an unprecedented way. Though she had no doubt that his meetings and discussions here in Hong Kong would be put to good use in one way or another, she also knew that he had lingered for her.

  Jishang took her hand and examined her thumb and forefinger. He rubbed at the dark opium stain.

  ‘You’ve got to stop doing this. You have to stop. It’s not so funny if you’re caught using it. You know what happens?’

  He drew a line with his fingernail across Stevie’s throat, leaving a faint red mark. Stevie pulled her hand away.

  ‘Tell me everything’s going to be all right.’

  ‘Prediction is a dangerous game.’

  ‘Ancient Chinese proverb?’

  He laughed. ‘No.’

  Suddenly Stevie leaned in to him, holding him tight, feeling the beat of his heart through the expensive double-breasted jacket. She kissed him on the lips. A lover’s kiss which surprised them both. It was given in defiance of the fact that he had become more like a brother to her and she could barely remember the last time they had actually made love. People stared as they passed. Jishang gently disentangled himself.

  ‘Work well.’

  Stevie shrugged.

  ‘I shall. There’s nothing else to do in this hole after all.’

  Jishang smiled and slipped into the crowd.

  Stevie smoked as she typed on her baby Hermes. The smoke curled round her head. Flying fingers making words, words, words.

  She snatched the paper out of the machine and pushed her chair back. She paced the room, avoiding the sharp corner of the bed, as she read. She sat down at the desk again and leaned her head on her hands. Her eyes began to close.

  The door opened and, quietly, Lily surveyed the scene. Walking in her purposeful and graceful way she stepped into the room and picked up some of the stray pieces of
paper from the chaos on the floor.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Stevie’s voice was indignant.

  ‘How can you work in this mess?’

  ‘I know where everything is, all right? What’s it to you, anyway?’

  ‘I’m your assistant. Wu Jishang has employed me to be your assistant. So that’s what I’ll be.’

  Stevie sat back in her chair, outraged.

  ‘He’s impossible. Does he think he owns me? That I can’t look after myself?’ She brought her hands down hard on the desk in front of her, making a satisfyingly loud slap. Her palms stung. ‘My God. My God.’ Sighing, she glanced over at the tough little figure planted firmly in the middle of the faded Persian rug.

  ‘Can you type?’

  As the days passed, Stevie understood that she was slowly infiltrating the layers of etiquette and sycophancy that cushioned Madame Kung from everyday realities. It was ever thus for the exceptionally wealthy. Knowing that someone is rich beyond one’s wildest dreams is one thing. Being allowed into their lives to witness how they live is quite another. At the very beginning Stevie had felt crushed by the chasm between herself and Madame Kung, but the surprising thing was that Madame Kung was brilliant and shrewd. In a way she was the sister that Stevie had expected the least of.

  She had spent the day at an old Kung compound in the New Territories on the mainland. A traditional estate, it was one of the most beautiful places she had ever seen. It would be somewhere she would revisit often in her dreams. A whole world of serenity and profound beauty was contained within the whitewashed walls and the huge fortress-like painted gates. A world serviced by a world’s worth of silent staff. Each courtyard offered a different version of peace. Each veranda, a different vista; in one direction the distant hills marking the boundary of the New Territories, in another the restless waters of the bay. Each room contained simple but lush comforts. The dark wood of the interior complemented the pale light in the series of courtyards. There was light where you needed it and shade where you could listen to the rustle of the leaves above you. You could lose yourself here and forget which century you were living in.