by Ovidia Yu
Nicole was still beautiful but, looking carefully, I thought I saw signs of drug use in her glazed eyes and pallid skin. It was possible that was due to her not having put on her make-up yet. Although it was almost noon, she was in her dressing-gown, with the remains of her breakfast around the room.
‘Taylor might be a banker, not a doctor. He’s probably at the post office again, watching all his investments and stocks. Thank goodness he takes Junior with him. Good for children to get out.’ Nicole watched Parshanti from under slightly lowered eyelids. ‘Of course, I suppose some of us are only interested in where Kenneth is.’
‘Red seven on eight of clubs,’ Parshanti said, keeping her eyes on Nicole’s card game.
Nicole cheated at patience, sliding cards she didn’t want back into the pack and drawing new ones. She wasn’t cheating anyone else out of anything, so it wasn’t really wrong, but I found it interesting that someone would break rules they had chosen to play by. Now she threw down the cards she was holding, ‘Oh, I’m so bored I could just die and I wouldn’t know it!’
That was when it happened.
Suddenly there were loud bangs and yells coming from somewhere close at hand. I heard glass breaking and the splattering of what might have been brains or intestines, and thought of bombs and bullets and firecrackers. Out of these, I had only ever heard firecrackers, but they are generally set off in the middle of the night around Chinese New Year and we were in the middle of the day in December – in a hotel where one man had already been murdered.
‘It sounds like it’s coming from Kenneth’s room!’ Nicole shrieked. ‘Oh, my stars and garters, someone’s gone and killed Kenneth too!’
I made for the door and hurried down the corridor towards the source of the explosions. Parshanti started after me but Nicole grabbed her and hung on, wailing, so I was the first to reach the door of Kenneth’s room just as General Manager Van Dijk raced up the stairs followed by two uniformed porters.
I put my ear to the door. ‘I can hear someone moaning inside!’
Van Dijk was holding a tiger rifle and his porters were carrying batons.
‘Stand back, miss!’ Van Dijk ordered. He rapped on the door. ‘Mr Mulliner! Are you all right, sir?’
I heard Kenneth call something I couldn’t make out. At least he was alive. Nicole and Parshanti arrived, with other hotel guests and staff. Some people were carrying arms, others first-aid boxes. Everyone was tense, excited and alarmed, remembering Victor’s death.
Van Dijk used his master key and pushed open the double doors. A scene of apparently bloody carnage was revealed. ‘What the—’ He raised and swivelled his rifle around the room, then lowered it slowly.
It looked as if bloody chunks of flesh and guts were splattered on the walls, floor and furniture of the room. Kenneth Mulliner, standing facing us, was also soaked with gore but seemed not to be in pain.
‘It’s nothing.’ Kenneth gestured feebly for the doors to be closed. ‘Nothing at all. Sorry about the noise. Just an accident.’
I followed the staff in, broken glass crunching under my shoes. I sniffed and bent down for a closer look. ‘It’s tomatoes,’ I said, amazed. ‘It’s cooked tomatoes.’
‘It’s my tomato ketchup!’ Nicole’s high voice cut through the confused, relieved and baffled mutterings. She was standing in the doorway, Parshanti peering around her.
‘Kenny boy must have kept all of it for himself instead of handing it over to that Chinaman. And it blew up on him. Oh, Kenny boy, you’ve been caught red-handed! In fact, you’ve been caught red all over!’ Nicole shrieked with laughter and almost everyone joined in, more out of relief than anything else, now the tension was broken.
The sounds we had heard had come from the huge glass jars of tomato sauce exploding. They had been left out in the sun for a couple of days and very likely the jars had not been sterilized as well as they should have been. With bugs and gases multiplying inside, the pressure had built up steadily. And when Kenneth had knocked over a case by accident, one jar exploded and set off all the others.
‘You’re going to owe me for all my tomato ketchup!’ Nicole told Kenneth. ‘Oh, what a joke. Kenny, you greedy cheapskate! You made fun of me wanting ketchup for my wedding day and all the time you were hoarding it up here in your room. What were you going to do with it? Eat bowls of it so you don’t have pay for meals downstairs?’ Nicole was still laughing as the rest of the gawkers dispersed.
‘Why is it yours? You didn’t order it or pay for it. I just didn’t want it all to go to waste,’ Kenneth said sullenly. He looked at me. ‘Your uncle wouldn’t take it. Doesn’t want his shop blamed if somebody else gets poisoned.’
I could see Uncle Chen’s point.
Kenneth’s room was much smaller than Nicole’s. And it was crammed so full of crates and boxes and bundles, now covered with tomato ketchup, that it was hard to walk through without knocking something over. It was easy to see how Kenneth’s accident had happened.
‘Kenny boy, you’re a ketchup thief!’ Nicole shrieked with laughter. She poked at a crate. ‘You even stole the canned shrimp! It was supposed to be for our canapés! What a hoot!’
‘Good food shouldn’t be wasted. I would have done the same,’ I said to Kenneth. ‘The Mission Centre always needs food donations for poor families. They would welcome some of this, if you’re willing?’
Kenneth nodded miserably. ‘That’s a good idea. I just didn’t want to throw it out. But I didn’t know who to see about it, now it’s such a mess.’
‘I’m not having poor widows and orphans gorging themselves on my canned shrimp!’ Nicole’s laughter had a manic edge. She almost seemed drunk. ‘Here, Kenny boy, food fight!’ She threw the tin at him and jeered when it caught him on the shoulder. Kenneth didn’t try to dodge.
‘Here comes another!’
‘Oh, stop that and be quiet!’ Parshanti rounded on her.
‘You’d better mind your manners, girl, or I’ll—’ Nicole’s shrill voice was harsh.
‘Shame on you!’ Parshanti took the can from Nicole and replaced it in its crate. ‘How dare you pick on someone who’s down? You’re nothing but a bully. A big cowardly bully!’
For a moment, I thought I was hearing Miss Blackmore, the founder of our mission school. The voice coming out of Parshanti sounded exactly like the one Miss Blackmore had used to tell off bullies, whether she was speaking to her students, their parents or drunken sailors.
And she had been right too. Bullies weren’t always the biggest or the oldest children. Often they were those who enjoyed being mean because hurting others was the only way they knew to make themselves feel good. I realized that was why Nicole kept Kenneth around. She knew how he felt about her and how to give him just enough crumbs of hope to keep him painfully devoted while she entertained herself by hurting him.
Nicole stared at Parshanti, her mouth open. ‘You— I— How dare you? Kenneth, did you hear what this creature said to me? You, boy! Don’t just stand there, get her out of my sight at once. I want her thrown out of the hotel and arrested.’
Van Dijk, to whom this last was addressed, didn’t appear to hear her. He continued checking the window frames and mirrors for damage, making notes of what needed to be replaced.
Parshanti put a protective hand on Kenneth’s stained shirt. She looked like an Indian warrior princess defending a peasant against a demon. Still, I didn’t think she had a chance against a riled-up Nicole. Nicole didn’t play fair. Someone who cheated at cards, even when playing alone, wouldn’t.
‘You’ve had a terrible shock.’ I took Nicole’s arm and started guiding her back to her own room. Since Dr Covington had told us about her drug habit I found her behaviour easier to understand. ‘We’ll go back to your room to calm down. Mr Mulliner, if you are willing to make a food donation, I am sure the Mission Centre will send someone over to clean up your room. Parshanti, can you see to that?’
‘I’ll take care of it,’ Parshanti promised.
&nb
sp; I pulled Nicole away despite her protests.
Missing Lipsticks
By the time we reached her suite, Nicole had forgotten her rage and was humming to herself. I could tell the excitement had energized her. It was as good a chance as I was likely to get so . . .
‘Mrs Covington, you mentioned losing a lipstick. Did you ever find it?’
‘The hotel people tried to palm one off on me but it wasn’t mine. Nasty cheap thing. Said they found it in Victor’s room. The one Taylor gave me probably cost a lot. It must be here somewhere . . .’
Nicole started rummaging through the pillows and magazines and chocolate boxes on the sofa. ‘It came in a jewelled case. No, not real jewels, just coloured glass beads. Taylor’s a stingy old cuss despite everything he sponges off me. You didn’t take it, did you?’ She turned on Junior, who had slipped into the room after us. ‘You’re always sneaking off with my things. What are you doing here anyway? Where’s your grandpa?’
‘No! I never did! Grandpa made me promise never to touch it!’
‘Taylor gave that lipstick to me on the voyage over after I lost my favourite, the one I was using. I’m sure one of the cabin stewards took it. They were always sneaking in and going through my stuff. I set traps for them – buttons on drawers and things like that. But they said the motion of the ship shook things around. I suppose the old bugger bought it on-board. It must have been hideously expensive as well as just plain hideous.’
‘I don’t get seasick,’ Junior said. ‘I like ships.’
‘Bully for you.’ Nicole shook a magazine fretfully as though a lipstick might have been hidden in its pages. ‘Make yourself useful, girl. Find Taylor and hand Junior over to him.’
‘Grandpa went out. He told me to stay with you.’
Nicole kept her eyes on her magazine. I felt bad for him. I had been a child without parents. But now I saw having a live mother who wasn’t interested in you was far worse than having a dead one you knew had loved you more than anything.
‘What would you like to do?’ I asked the child.
‘Sometimes Grandpa lets me go down to the kitchen and watch them cook. A nice man there lets me help make yoghurt with a stick.’
I remembered Kaeseven letting Dee-Dee Palin play with his makkhana phirni, the beautifully carved piece of wood he used daily to pound spices, skim sauces and make butter. It had been a favourite tool and I guessed it had come with him to the hotel. ‘Is that Kaeseven the chef? Would you like to go down to the kitchen?’
‘So that’s where you got that stick,’ Nicole said. ‘I wondered about that. I’m sure they’ve called the police. They’ll never feed you another meal here once they find out you’re the one who took it. Raddy steals things, you know.’ She turned to me. ‘He’s a little thief. A kleptomaniac. Taylor won’t admit it. He just keeps putting the things back when he finds them and pretending he knows nothing.’
Junior looked at his feet. ‘I don’t want to go to the kitchen. I hate it there.’
‘Would you like to go and see your friends?’
‘He doesn’t have any here,’ Nicole said. ‘Neither do I. None of us has anyone worth calling a friend in the world.’ She turned a page.
‘What about Greg and Pat McPherson?’ I had seen Mrs McPherson when I passed the tea room downstairs.
Junior’s eyes lit up. ‘Their mom said I could come see them any time. I like them.’
I prayed Mr Meganck was better and wouldn’t mind me adding an extra child to his entourage. I also needed to find out what Parshanti was doing but I didn’t want to take Junior back into the tomato mess. Why had Taylor Covington disappeared without his grandson?
Mrs McPherson seemed to like the idea. ‘Why, of course, Miss Chen. What a fortunate coincidence meeting you here. I’m in town to do some shopping and just came in to be out of the heat. I like to get away on my own every now and then. Give them time to have a good gossip about me behind my back. Junior can come with me, and the boys would love to have high tea at the hotel later so we’ll bring him back safely. Why don’t you join us, Miss Chen?’
‘Thank you, but I have to see to something here. Mrs Covington is resting and doesn’t want to be disturbed.’
‘I wasn’t disturbing her,’ Junior protested, fairly enough.
‘Quite right. I’m sorry.’
‘Can I play with Greg’s Erector Set?’
‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’ Mrs McPherson smiled. Then, more quietly to me, ‘How is his mother holding up?’
‘Frustrated at being kept in limbo.’ I could understand how Nicole felt. But it was easier to sympathize with her when I wasn’t in her presence. ‘I don’t think she’s used to being alone.’
‘Try to keep Mrs Covington happy in the hotel,’ Mrs McPherson said. ‘Gregory is busy so I don’t want him disturbed, and that poor young woman keeps sending notes inviting herself to stay at Government House. I’m afraid she’ll turn up one day without warning. In which case, you’ll have to arrest me for assault, which would have unfortunate political repercussions.’
That made me laugh. I decided I liked Viola Jane McPherson very much indeed as I waved Junior off in her car. It would have been fun to visit Government House again and see what changes the new governor and his family had made.
Now I wanted to see if Corporal Wong could find me the lipstick in a jewelled case he had listed on the belongings of the dead Japanese prostitute. But first I would check in with Parshanti. I didn’t know what she was telling her parents to explain her absences from home. She would say it wasn’t my business, but I needed to know if I was her excuse so I could stay out of their way.
Kenneth after Tomatoes
It must be difficult to go on holding yourself aloof and superior after everyone has seen you covered with pickled tomatoes.
Even harder if they’ve all heard the woman you love mocking you for stealing them from her.
I was afraid Kenneth would slip away from the hotel and disappear. What reason did he have for staying? The friend he had been travelling with was dead and the police had no reason to detain him.
When I returned to his room I found him looking much better. Parshanti had cleaned his cuts and applied iodine and plasters where needed. He was still a pretty miserable sight, but fortunately nothing had been deep enough to require stitches.
A couple of the women from the Mission Centre had turned up and were making good progress mopping and wiping up the mess in the room. I greeted them and offered to help but they said they had things under control. These women had survived being horribly abused by the men in their lives, whether husbands, fathers or brothers. They were very good at cleaning up messes without asking who or what had caused them.
When I asked about Kenneth’s clothes and fabric furniture covers, thinking I would put them to soak in carbolic soap overnight, I learned they had already been sent out to the dhoby, probably to the same men who did the hotel laundry but without incurring the additional hotel charge.
I was impressed by how fast and efficiently Parshanti had handled everything.
Kenneth was very subdued. The cuts on his face suggested he had been in a fight. Oddly, I thought he looked better for them. But that might have been because he was no longer wearing the contemptuous sneer I was used to seeing on his face.
‘Are you hungry? I am. What about going downstairs for some lunch?’ I asked. There was no point in waiting around at HQ if Corporal Wong Meng was on his lunch break.
‘I don’t think Kenneth wants to go to the restaurant,’ Parshanti whispered. ‘The people there might have heard what happened and laugh at him.’
‘Well, we can’t eat here – we’ll be in their way.’ Cleaning was in full swing. ‘It’s either downstairs in the bar-restaurant or room service in Nicole’s suite. Dr Covington and Junior are out so it’s just Nicole. She’s ordering lunch up for herself.’
‘The bar-restaurant,’ Kenneth said decisively. It was an easy choice between might laugh and would defini
tely laugh. Or maybe it was just too difficult for him to face his Nicole just then.
Given that he had changed into a fresh outfit, it was possible he wouldn’t be recognized in the lunchtime crowd.
But he was.
Some of the guests recognized him immediately. They had probably been telling the story and when they saw him they did nudge, point and laugh. But they also smiled. Some waved, offered to buy him Blood Marys or Singapore Slings and invited him to join their tables.
Even after the three of us were seated in a secluded corner, other diners stopped to say hello to the tomato-sauce man and describe their own awkward encounters with food in strange places. It was as though Kenneth’s embarrassment had broken down the British social barriers.
The mood at the Farquhar had been sombre ever since the death of Victor Glossop. By giving everyone a roaring good laugh upstairs, Kenneth had got into everybody’s good books and they appreciated him for it.
For the first time in his life and without having to pretend to be anything or anyone he wasn’t, Kenneth Mulliner was popular. And I saw the change it made. As it gradually sank in to him that people were being friendly and their invitations to dinner or drinks were genuine, he relaxed and produced real smiles.
‘I always wanted to travel east. I never thought it would be like this.’ Kenneth turned back to his coconut rice and curry after the two middle-aged ladies who had paused to tell him flirtatiously that they liked his accent moved on (Parshanti glaring at them throughout the exchange).
‘Why did you come?’ I asked. ‘I know the official answer, of course. At the police interview you talked about wanting to widen your horizons and see more of the world. That sounded reasonable enough from a rich dilettante like Victor Glossop, but you don’t really belong in that category, do you?’
