by Graeme Hall
Kwok-wah stood, unsure whether to take a seat. He absorbed the room while he waited for the professor to return. He had been there before, when he was interviewed for his PhD, but he’d been so nervous at the time he hadn’t taken much in. There were wooden beams in the ceiling and a window that looked out over a well-tended rose garden. Kwok-wah watched as a team of gardeners worked on the flower beds. A notice in both Chinese and English prohibited walking on the lawn. In the office itself, tidy well-organised bookshelves contrasted with the piles of papers stacked on the large wooden desk that dominated the room. To Kwok-wah’s mind it all seemed rather old-fashioned and in contrast to the nature of Professor Ye’s research, and yet at the same time it seemed appropriate and gave a sense of gravitas; a feeling of academic weight and authority. Kwok-wah was nervous and found himself fiddling with his hands.
‘Please, sit down. It’s good to see you again. Welcome to Shanghai.’ They had met only twice before: that one time in Hong Kong after Professor Ye’s talk, and then once in Shanghai after Kwok-wah had first applied to do his PhD. When he first saw Professor Ye in Hong Kong, Kwok-wah had been surprised that he was only in his early thirties. Smartly dressed in a good suit and wearing modern-looking metal-rimmed glasses, Professor Ye looked as much the successful businessman as a university professor.
‘How are you settling in?’
‘Well, thank you, Professor.’
‘Good. And how did you find the lectures?’
‘Useful, thank you.’
‘I’m sure they weren’t.’ Professor Ye smiled. ‘I’m sure you knew all that stuff anyway, but we’re a bit rigid in our procedures here, and if the rules say you have to take a course then you have to. We like to make sure everyone is starting at the same place. Even our star foreign students.’
‘I understand.’
‘Now, on to more interesting things. Your research …’
They discussed Kwok-wah’s planned PhD. The subject had been agreed before: Kwok-wah was to carry out a comparative study of different algorithms to be used in mobile data transmission. There would be a mixture of theoretical studies, some computer modelling and a little experimental work.
‘I know you’ve been round the department before,’ said Professor Ye, ‘but I’ll get my secretary to show you everything.’
And that was it. After a few more pleasantries Kwok-wah was dismissed. In time, he settled into a routine. Mornings were spent in the library researching the literature, afternoons at his desk in the department. Kwok-wah was far too junior to warrant an office of his own, and instead shared a space with one of the post-docs, who grumbled and made it clear this was completely against his will, but in spite of that gave Kwok-wah the desk by the window.
***
Importantly his Putonghua improved and his room-mates realised he wasn’t an alien after all. When they discovered a common interest in basketball, barriers quickly came down and he began to be accepted as one of them.
‘That shot was as lucky as fuck,’ said Zhao Zhanyuan – the physicist from Hunan. ‘But I’m not complaining. It showed those tossers from Block D a thing or two.’ In Hong Kong Kwok-wah would have been shocked by the language, but he was becoming used to his room-mate’s turn of phrase.
‘Pity about the rain,’ said Li Lao, the engineer from Beijing. ‘Did you see those girls watching us? That tall, slim one, she was something, didn’t you think?’
‘I certainly did, though if you’d paid more attention to the game and less to the skirt we might have won more easily.’
Kwok-wah was quiet as he changed out of his wet kit and thought about taking a shower. He had also seen the young women who had been watching them play, and while he knew he was probably imagining it, he would have sworn that the tall, slim one Li Lao had mentioned had been paying particular attention to him.
Chapter 3
Sam stood at the bus stop contemplating the day ahead. The first without his secretary. Sam had been incredulous when she’d told him her holiday plans. Two weeks was her entire allowance for the year. He’d have to suffer a temp. It was always a nightmare having to work with someone who didn’t know their way around the files and how he liked to do things. He was busy enough as it was without that hassle.
Apart from one or two small clouds, the sky was clear and the sun was already unrelenting. Although the extreme temperatures of summer had passed, it was still undeniably warm and humid, with the fresher autumn weather yet to come. To make things worse the bus stop seemed to have been located in something of a suntrap and heat radiated from the pavement.
‘God, it’s hot again.’
The words came with a Texan accent. Sam recognised the speaker as someone from his building. He thought it odd that a Texan would find this weather hot, but not particularly wanting to engage anyone in conversation Sam muttered a reply, while a well-dressed older Chinese woman delicately mopped her brow with a handkerchief. A passing cloud briefly hid the sun, giving a moment of respite.
Sam hated having to wear a suit and tie, and while he wouldn’t admit it in public in private he had to acknowledge that he was putting on weight. He reckoned he’d added an inch to his waistline for each year he’d been in Hong Kong. He didn’t care for the heat either. He’d been standing for no more than five minutes, but already he was feeling like a damp rag. There was always a magical day in autumn when suddenly the humidity would drop and everyone knew the worst was finally over, but until then it seemed at times as if summer was never going to end and the city became increasingly fractious in the heat. Sam could only envy friends who worked in more relaxed fields, but the law was stubbornly traditional and McShane Adams more so than most. But then it had been like that ever since Sir James McShane met Hector Adams Esq. at the Hong Kong Club in 1853 and decided to go into practice together. Sam took off his jacket and carried it over his arm. He stood as still as possible so as not to make the heat any worse. A bead of perspiration meandered down his neck and under his collar.
***
The traffic was heavier than usual and Sam arrived at work feeling prematurely stressed. Never a good start to the day. Kate and Rob were already at their desks but otherwise the corporate law department was quiet. He made himself coffee and enjoyed the calm.
Kate appeared at his door.
‘Morning, Sam, how you doing? Recovered from yesterday?’
‘Just about, I think, though I could have done without the journey in this morning.’
‘Well, you’re the one who wanted to live in the sticks.’
Sam’s first apartment had been closer into town and, on the rare occasions when the weather was neither too hot nor too wet, he could even walk to work, but when the lease was up he had moved further out in search of more space and a little greenery. On his first morning there he had enjoyed being woken by the cicadas on the hill behind his building, rather than the city sounds he had been used to, but sometimes there was a price to pay with the commute.
‘A bit quiet here this morning?’ said Sam.
‘I think the merger team were in over the weekend,’ said Kate. ‘When I got in there were still a couple of pizza boxes the cleaners had missed.’
‘That would explain it. More importantly, happy birthday.’
‘Thank you. You busy today?’
‘Working on my telecoms deal, Paul wants a draft contract ready for when he gets back.’
‘Well, if you’re free for lunch do you want to grab a bite?’
‘Of course.’
‘Good. Half-twelve by the lifts.’
Conscious of his late start, Sam started to immerse himself in the papers: reports from the auditors and accountants, schedules of assets and liabilities, draft contract terms, memoranda of understanding. He enjoyed the minutiae of the work and the need to pay attention to detail. It appealed to something in his nature, a desire for order perhaps. Soon he was lost to the world to the extent that he didn’t notice the arrival of Clara Chang, the firm’s HR manager, until she ann
ounced her presence with a discreet cough. Sam looked up and saw Clara, and standing next to her a thirtyish slim fair-haired woman in a light summer dress, wearing a beaded necklace and silver earrings that spoke of a market somewhere in Southeast Asia.
‘Morning, Clara, what can I do for you?’ asked Sam.
‘Good morning, Sam. Sam, this is Emma Janssen, she’ll be working for you while Annie’s away. Emma, this is Sam Hebden.’
For a moment Sam was slightly taken aback. The last thing he’d expected was a gweilo as a temp, and an attractive one at that.
‘Hello, Emma. Welcome to McShane Adams,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’
‘Sam’s one of our bright young things,’ continued Clara.
‘Hardly.’ Sam blushed.
‘You see, Emma, he’s also very modest. Paul thinks very highly of you anyway.’
‘Paul?’ asked Emma.
‘Paul Ridgeway, senior partner in the department. He’s away at the moment but you’ll meet him while you’re with us. That’s right isn’t it, Sam?’
‘Yes. He’s back next week.’
‘I’ve already given Emma a tour of the department,’ said Clara, before turning to Emma and adding: ‘But just give me a call if you need anything.’
‘I will.’
‘So I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.’ Clara smiled as she left Sam and Emma.
‘Grab a seat,’ said Sam, gesturing to a chair in the corner of the room. Emma pulled the chair over so she could sit facing Sam across his desk.
‘Emma … Jenson?’
‘Janssen.’ Emma spelt it out. ‘It’s Dutch. My grandfather moved to the UK at the start of the war and stayed on.’
‘So how long have you been in Hong Kong?’
‘Just on two years. The usual story of ending up here by accident and enjoying it. And you?’
‘A little longer, three years now.’
There was an awkward pause in the conversation. Sam didn’t want to go down the route of the usual conversational clichés about life in Hong Kong, but he was somewhat wrong-footed by Emma and didn’t know what to say.
‘Well … perhaps I should show you some of the things that need doing,’ was the best that Sam finally managed. He went over to a table covered in papers neatly arranged in piles.
‘Of course,’ said Emma, getting up from her chair and smoothing down her dress. ‘There is one thing I should mention though. Clara already knows this but I do have a slight hearing problem. Tinnitus and a little hearing loss. It’s not usually an issue, especially if I’m facing someone, but if occasionally I seem to be ignoring you I promise I’m not really. Just tap me on the shoulder or whatever to get my attention.’
‘Oh … okay.’ Sam was again nonplussed. Not only had he never had a Westerner as a secretary before, but he had never had one with a hearing problem either. He wasn’t quite sure how that was supposed to work.
***
Kate and Rob were waiting for Sam by the lifts when he arrived. They were looking at him expectantly.
‘Well,’ said Rob, ‘who’s the blonde?’
‘Emma.’
‘And?’
‘And what? She’s my temp for the next couple of weeks.’
‘Clara must like you is all I can say, I’ve never had a temp who looks like that. If you feel like introducing me some time …’
‘Stop it, Rob,’ said Kate. ‘It’s my birthday so I’m supposed to be the centre of attention. Is she any good?’
‘She is, thank God,’ said Sam, before Rob could make the inevitable crude remark. ‘She’s picked things up very quickly. Is it just the three of us?’
‘I’m afraid so. Everyone else pleaded pressure of work. I’ll try not to take it personally.’
‘Their loss.’
Later, after a longer than intended lunch, Sam returned to find Emma sitting at her computer, a cup of green tea in her hand.
‘How are you doing?’ Getting no answer, Sam realised that Emma hadn’t heard him, so he moved to the other side of her desk and repeated his question.
‘Oh, hi, I was lost in the work,’ said Emma.
‘Sorry I was gone so long. It’s Kate’s birthday today and we got a bit carried away.’
‘While you were gone you got a call from Paul Ridgeway … Where’s my note? Ah, here it is. Can you call him back?’
‘Did he leave a number?’
‘Yes – it’s on here.’
Sam took the proffered note and reflected that it was Sod’s Law the call would have been when they were out for lunch. He gathered the papers he imagined Paul probably wanted to talk about and then rang back. To Sam’s relief his efforts in the morning meant he was able to answer all of the questions and avoid any embarrassment over the late return from lunch.
‘Everything okay?’ asked Emma, standing at the door to Sam’s office.
‘Yes, fine thanks. He’s not a bad person to work for but he can be quite strict at times.’
‘And you need to impress him, right?’
‘If I want to progress in the firm then yes, and I think I do.’
Even as he said this Sam wondered why he was telling so much to someone he had only met that morning. He wouldn’t normally admit his ambitions to friends and colleagues – in fact, certainly not his colleagues, not even Kate, perhaps especially not Kate. Perhaps it was easier to talk to a stranger about these things, someone who couldn’t use it as a weapon against him later. He’d learnt that lesson before and it wasn’t a mistake he was going to make twice.
Sam had the sense that Emma was about to say something in reply but instead she simply returned to the green tea and her work. He watched her for a while then forced himself to get back to his papers.
***
Emma came into Sam’s office at the end of the day.
‘Is there anything else you need from me today?’ she asked.
‘No, I don’t think so, thanks – we’ve made good progress.’
‘I’m glad to hear that. I know it must be a pain when you have a temp. Do you have to stay late?’
‘I’ll probably do a bit more to make up for the long lunch.’
‘Well, I’ll be off now, if that’s okay.’
Sam worked on quietly after Emma had gone until he was interrupted by Kate. She was wearing a plastic tiara and a sash saying ‘Birthday Girl’. In her right hand she was carrying a balloon. Sam raised his eyebrows.
‘Gifts from the secretaries,’ she explained. ‘I’ll lose them when I get out of sight. Has Emma gone?’
‘Of course,’ said Sam, ‘it’s only idiots like us who are still working at this hour.’
‘Emma’s a good-looking girl.’
‘Not you as well. I’ve only just met the woman and know nothing about her.’
‘Well, we’ll just have to do something about that. I’ll see what I can find out from her tomorrow. Until then I shall love you and leave you.’ Kate headed for the lifts, singing a rather approximate rendition of ‘I Feel Pretty’. Sam winced at how out of tune she was.
***
Back home Sam switched on the air-con, which stuttered half-heartedly into life. There was much noise, clanking and whirring but not a lot of cooling. He’d have to get it looked at. He changed into shorts and a T-shirt, and then went to the fridge to see what there was for supper. Not much was the answer, but he found a supermarket ready meal and a can of beer. They’d have to do. He tried to watch television while eating, but noisy renovations in the flat above had been going on late into the evening for weeks now with little sign of finishing soon. Giving up on television, and hoping to drown out the hammering, he put on a Coleman Hawkins CD, turned up the volume, and went back into the kitchen to find something else to eat. While he looked at the bag of potato chips that had the potential to be dessert, the telephone rang.
‘Sam, glad I caught you. Sorry for ringing you at home.’ It was Paul Ridgeway. Sam turned off the music.
‘No problem, Paul. What can I do fo
r you?’
‘Nothing urgent, but Mr Leung wants a meeting as soon as I get back. Can you organise something and confirm the details with his PA?’
‘Sure. No problem.’
‘Thanks.’ Paul abruptly cut short the conversation. Sam wondered why if it wasn’t urgent Paul had bothered to call him at home. Restless for the remainder of the evening, Sam was troubled by thoughts of mainland money and Bahamas companies, and the last time that he allowed his ambition to overcome his judgement.
***
It was Friday, and with Hong Kong looking forward to the weekend the heavens had opened.
The weather had broken from the heat of the beginning of the week, but not in a good way. Instead it was a type of day that was depressingly common in a Hong Kong summer. A day when it rained so heavily that at times it was dark enough for the street lights to come on. There was an intensity to the rain as it drove through the heavy air; a constant background to accompany the cadenzas of thunder. The rain formed torrents flowing down the roads, bringing an uncontrolled wild element into this most urban of environments. When the weather wasn’t ridiculously hot and humid, it would rain instead. It was moot which was worse.
Nor was this a short, sharp summer shower where you simply took shelter until it passed. This was rain that Noah would have recognised. This was rain that could continue for days, flooding streets and floating away taxis with the rising waters. Rain that could work its way through permeable walls in badly built apartments. Rain that closed schools and airports. Rain that could bring the city to a halt. This was rain that could cause landslips. Rain more than capable of bringing down a hillside and homes with it. Rain that could take lives.
Emma collected her umbrella and bag and stuck her head round the door of Sam’s office.
‘Is it okay if I leave now?’ It was only 5 pm. She knew it was a bit early but she had worked through lunch and needed to get to the meeting. ‘Is it still raining?’ Emma looked past Sam and through his window.