by Graeme Hall
By the same author
The Goddess of Macau
Published in 2020 by
Rodrigues Court Press
Copyright © Graeme Hall 2020
The right of Graeme Hall to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
All rights reserved. No part of the publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN (paperback) 978-1-5272-7137-1
ISBN (ebook) 978-1-5272-7138-8
Cover Design and Interior Layout by designforwriters.com
For Anne with love
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Interlude
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
About the Author
Prologue
Hong Kong, August 1997
Even without opening it Sam knew at once who the letter was from. It stood out among the junk mail and bills, and there was no mistaking the hand that had written the address. The vertical strokes in the H and the K, the tails of the ‘g’s. It was handwriting he had seen in messages on his desk telling him to return a call he had missed. He recognised it from notes left on the fridge reminding him to buy milk. It was handwriting that had been on the first Valentine’s card he had received in years. The letter was from Emma.
The envelope was postmarked Winchester, so that meant she was back with her parents. He shouldn’t really have been surprised. After all, that was where she’d said she would be going, but he hadn’t been sure if she was telling the truth. Her sudden unexpected departure, leaving with barely a warning, had left him doubting everything. He held the envelope in his hands. He should open it, of course, and he would when he was ready, but it had been a long day. He threw his jacket over the back of a chair and slumped on the sofa, leaving the letter on the coffee table in front of him.
The office had become his anaesthetic of choice: losing himself in his new role as a partner; working late so that he had an excuse when colleagues tried to drag him out to a bar, cutting himself off from even his closest friends; trying to overwrite his memories and thoughts with contract terms and warranties, agreements and memoranda. He had to keep going because the dark times came when he stopped. That was when his mind went back to those final days, only a few short weeks ago. The day Emma told him that it wasn’t going to work, the day she said that they couldn’t be together, that she was going back to the UK. When he stopped moving, when he stopped running away from his thoughts, that was when the memories came rushing back. He re-lived their final conversations on a permanent loop, looking for an explanation that he never found. Looking for something he might have missed.
‘But why?’ he would ask.
This was then followed by a ritual exchange, a catechism:
‘Is there somebody else?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t you still love me?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it something I’ve done?’
‘No.’
Every time they had this argument Emma would fall back on her story, which had the great advantage of being true. At least in part anyway.
‘You know how it is, Sam, I need a visa and I don’t have a chance of getting one. I’m going to have to leave in the end, so it’s better we don’t get too involved.’
This never satisfied him. It couldn’t be the reason, it didn’t make any sense. It never even sounded as if she believed it herself. You didn’t end a relationship because of a visa problem. And what was with this ‘better we don’t get too involved’? Weren’t they already deeply involved? He knew he was, anyway. He’d never been so much in love. Yes, her visa would be an issue, but he also knew that it wasn’t insurmountable, and besides, they had months before it expired. In the end he had reluctantly accepted that explanation rather than know the real reason, for fear that somehow it was his fault. Certainly, Emma hadn’t been herself in the weeks beforehand. The sleepless nights she’d spent staring out at the harbour. The times she’d been anxious and twitchy and he knew that something was wrong, but when he’d tried to broach the subject she would always back off. He wished now that he’d pressed her more. Things could hardly have turned out worse if he had.
On the day she finally left he’d helped Emma with her bags. They took a taxi into town so she could get the airport bus, and while the driver sang along to the radio Sam had been reduced to looking out of the window, the loud Cantopop ruling out conversation. At first he’d been grateful for that, until he recognised that the song was the latest Andy Lau hit: You are my woman. The irony of the title had not been lost on him. Perhaps it had been a mistake asking her to stay in his flat until the end. A clean break might have been less painful, but he hadn’t been able to stop himself from wanting to hang on to her for as long as possible. He suspected that she may have felt something similar, given the way she’d held him in her sleep on their last night together. He felt a sharp pain as he remembered how it was to feel her body pressed against his, her head on his shoulder.
When they reached town Sam paid the driver, who continued to sing tunelessly, leaving the two of them to unload Emma’s luggage. The bus station was busy and they struggled with the bags as they worked their way through the crowds to the queue for the airport bus. Sam had offered to go with her, but she had declined. He held her as they stood in the queue, but there was no kiss and after wishing her a safe journey Sam turned and walked away. He heard her call out something but didn’t look back. He’d known how much it would hurt if he did.
And now here was a letter. How much would it hurt to read it? The pain hadn’t even started to ease, even if his time with Emma was beginning to seem like a different life. Something that belonged to a different Sam. Would there be an explanation? An apology? What could she possibly say that would explain, let alone justify, what happened? For a moment he was tempted to tear the thing up, leaving it unread; rip it into a thousand pieces and scatter them out of the window. Let them rain on the street below like confetti from the wedding that might one day have been. But the moment passed, the temptation to give in to anger and resentment eased. He opened the envelope.
Halfway through, Sam was disbelieving. She’d written the letter while still in Hong Kong.
‘Why the fuck couldn’t you just have told me this? Didn’t you know what I’d do? Didn’t you trust me?’ he berated the absent Emma as he absorbed her words. By the time he came to the final paragraph though, he was crying.
My love, I hope you understand that I couldn’t stay in Hong Kong any longer. I made my choice and the file will be in California by now. I don’t really know what will be done with it, but she promised that nobody will connect it to
you. That’s one of the reasons why I left – if you do stay then I didn’t want it to look like we were in it together. But you have to make your choice, and you need to make it on your own, without me around, without me influencing you. If you decide that your future is in Hong Kong, then I wish you a happy life. If you decide to leave, then please forgive me and write to me or call me at my parents’.
Whatever you decide, I love you.
Emma
Chapter 1
Hong Kong, September 1996
The flowers Emma had bought were a mixture of white lilies and small yellow orchids; she thought that the colours were appropriate for the occasion.
So much had changed since she had been at this Wan Chai junction on the same day last year. An attempt at gentrification was beginning, and on one corner a five-storey walk-up was in the process of being demolished to make way for upmarket apartments; the pavement made impassable by protective hoardings that displayed posters of happy, smiling families with perfect teeth and hair, enjoying a perfect life in their perfect homes.
Opposite, the road was being excavated by an electricity company, and although it was a Sunday the sound of a pneumatic drill breaking up tarmac was starting to get to Emma as she looked around for somewhere suitable for her flowers. Nowhere seemed quite right until she noticed a spot between a bank and a 7-Eleven. Emma placed the lilies and orchids next to a drainpipe and then used a piece of ribbon to secure the flowers in place.
A couple of passers-by looked curiously at this young blonde woman and what she was doing, but for the most part nobody paid any attention to her. In this part of town few were ever surprised by anything a Westerner did.
***
‘I heard there was mainland money involved?’ Rob looked at Sam inquiringly, his estuarine accent rivalling Cantonese in tonal complexity.
‘Where did you get that from?’
‘Just some gossip from a trader I play football with. He was surprised that the government would allow it.’
‘Well it’s nonsense. It’s a Bahamas-registered company for a start,’ said Sam.
‘Which – as you well know – means fuck all.’
Sam did know only too well, and for a moment a number of bad memories briefly surfaced.
‘It’s just an investment company Leung Hing-wah has set up. You know he’s looking to get into telecoms. That’s all.’
Sam and Rob were on the top deck of the junk belonging to McShane Adams, the law firm they both worked for. It was half-eleven on a Sunday morning and they were on their first beer of the day. Kate joined them, making her way unsteadily as the boat pitched and rolled in the wake of a passing tug.
‘God, can’t this thing keep still? Are you two talking work?’ she said. ‘It’s a glorious Sunday morning, we’ve got the whole day ahead of us and I don’t want to be trapped on a junk with a pair of corporate lawyers who can’t talk about anything else. If you’re going to talk shop I’m going back down to the others.’ The rest of the party were sensibly in the shade on the main deck.
‘I love the way she talks about lawyers,’ Rob said to Sam. ‘To hear her speak you’d never guess that she was one as well.’
‘Not on a Sunday I’m not. Now, which one of you two is going to be a gentleman and rub sun-cream on my back? Sam?’ Sam took the proffered bottle. ‘Thanks … don’t miss under the straps … You’ll make someone a great husband one day, Sam. Who knows, the way things are going it may yet be me.’
Kate and Sam had started at McShane Adams on the same day three years ago and had worked together ever since. They were good friends who offered each other a shoulder to cry on when romantic liaisons were not working out. Only once had the mutual comfort gone further and they’d kissed, before they both pulled back not wanting to spoil a friendship. But one night, after a party and at least one margarita too many, and when they were both more maudlin than normal, they’d vowed to get married if they were still single when they hit forty.
‘Oh that’s nice … Has anybody ever told you you’ve got great hands?’
‘Sam,’ said Rob, ‘you should come to Manila with us next weekend. Play some golf.’
‘No thank you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, for one thing I don’t like golf.’
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘And that’s the other reason. I know you’re not going for the golf.’
‘Now, boys,’ interrupted Kate, ‘no fighting on my birthday.’
‘That’s not until tomorrow,’ Rob protested.
‘Close enough.’
Another roll of the junk in the swell caused them all to hold on to a handrail until the boat steadied itself again.
‘So why haven’t we been invited to your birthday bash tomorrow?’ asked Sam.
‘Girls only, I’m afraid. It’s Ladies Night at Carnegies and a bunch of us are going. No men allowed, or at least no men that we might have to meet again the next day. It’s a bummer it’s a Monday though.’
‘I wish I hadn’t asked now.’
‘Don’t be a prude, Sam,’ said Kate, ‘you should try it sometime. Just not tomorrow.’ Kate lay back on the deck, sunhat covering her face.
***
On a Sunday morning Wan Chai looked even seedier than normal; at least at night the neon gave an illusion of fun and glamour, a suggestion of parties and good times. The detritus of Saturday still hadn’t been completely cleared away, but even at this early hour some of the bars were starting to open, or perhaps they had never closed. Sometimes Emma wished that she could enjoy Wan Chai the way others did, and occasionally she tried and let herself be dragged there, but it had too many associations and normally she made a point of avoiding it if she could.
Checking the time, Emma spent a quiet moment with the flowers and then flagged down a taxi.
***
When the second bottle of champagne was opened Sam wished they’d given more thought to the food they’d brought with them. He was starting to feel light-headed. Rob seemed unaffected, while Kate was in party mode.
‘Come on, Sam, answer the question: myself excepted, of course, who is the best-looking woman in the firm?’
‘There’s no way I’m going to answer that. You’re just trying to trick me into embarrassing myself. You should have been a litigator.’
‘Ah, you’re on to me. There’s no pulling the wool over your eyes.’
‘There’s no pulling at all where Sam’s involved,’ said Rob.
‘Oooh! Cruel,’ said Kate. ‘Are you going to stand for that?’
‘If we don’t have something to eat soon I’m not going to be able to stand full stop.’
***
Alice was already at the restaurant when Emma arrived. Tall but with a slight build, Alice was a local the same age as Emma; they had met when Emma was working in one of her first temping jobs. Emma didn’t make a habit of being late, but running a few minutes behind she wasn’t sorry that Alice had arrived first. The restaurant was a very traditional dim sum place where gweilos were unusual, and while Emma wouldn’t have been turned away, they both knew that she would have felt uncomfortable on her own. Brightly lit and almost full just after noon, it was a world of shouted conversations and the staff barking orders.
Emma squeezed her way between the crowded diners to where Alice was already seated at a small table in a corner.
‘Emma!’ Alice got to her feet and they embraced, Emma’s English reserve overcome by Alice’s natural ebullience.
‘Heavens, this place is heaving. Sorry I’m late. It’s just as well you’ve grabbed a table.’
‘Mo man tai. No problem.’ Alice poured two small cups of jasmine tea. ‘How are you?’
‘Good thanks,’ said Emma, picking up one of the cups and then putting it down hastily until it had cooled a little.
A waitress was hovering nearby with a trolley of dim sum to choose from.
‘We’d better order. Food first then gossip,’ said Alice. Wit
h the queue for tables already growing, polite chit-chat before ordering food was not the restaurant’s business model. ‘Is there anything special you want?’
‘No, you choose, you know what I like.’
Emma let Alice order and wondered if she would ever be able to master Cantonese. Like many of her friends she had started lessons, but soon gave them up and made do with a few basic phrases and just enough to get her home in a taxi. The food order sorted, they returned to their conversation.
‘So what have you been up to this weekend?’ asked Alice.
‘Something I had to do this morning – that’s why I was late, the traffic was bad getting back – and then yesterday I had lunch with a crowd down at Shek O.’
‘Anybody interesting there?’
‘Just some people I worked with the other week. Oh … you mean were there any single men? Only boring business types. You know what they’re like. Full of talk of money and deals … unsavoury tales of Wan Chai bars.’ Emma sipped her tea cautiously and found that it had cooled a little. ‘What about you?’
‘You forget I’m a Hong Kong girl. I went to that new mall in Mongkok yesterday. It was a break from studying.’
‘How’s the course going?’
Alice worked as a secretary but was doing a part-time law degree.
‘It’s okay, I guess, but a lot more boring than I thought it would be. You think it’s going to be all about defending the innocent, human rights and so on, but the reality is so dull. Land law, contract, remembering the names of all these stupid cases from years ago. Just dull and boring. But I can’t stay a secretary forever and either I get myself a qualification or a husband. At the moment the law degree seems easier.’
Emma smiled. ‘No luck on that front then?’
‘Alas no,’ Alice sighed, after an almost imperceptible pause.
The food started to arrive. Bamboo steamers of har gau and siu mai, plates of bok choi, turnip cake, noodles and – to Emma’s alarm – chicken’s feet. To her they were one of the mysteries of Cantonese food that she was happy to leave to the locals. Seeing the expression on Emma’s face, Alice was quick to reassure her.