by Janet Tanner
‘Well, in that case I shall come with you.’
Now it was Elise’s turn to register surprise.
‘Katy, there’s no need for that.’
‘I was invited too. You heard Mr Brittain extend the invitation to me?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘But nothing. Why should you have all the fun, Granny?’
‘But your job! Surely you cannot just take time off when you like? First this afternoon, now … I don’t know how long I shall be away, Katy. The invitation was for the journey out only and I shall have to come back on a scheduled flight.’
‘All the more reason why you need someone with you. The gallery can manage without me for a week or so. I’m due for some holiday – overdue, in fact. And with the hours I have been working and the sales I’ve been pulling off, they will never dare to complain. No, there is no point in looking at me like that! I have made up my mind – and when I do that, I can be every bit as stubborn as you. You are not going without me – and you can take that however you like!’
‘Katy, you are becoming quite a bully,’ Elise said, but secretly she could not prevent a feeling of relief, as if someone had just stretched a safety net beneath the high wire she was beginning to walk.
To go back to Hong Kong after so long was going to be quite an ordeal and when the past was resurrected it would be traumatic and emotional. But she did not think Katy would intrude on her privacy. Rather would she be there as a bridge to normality, a breath of fresh air in a world that might close in as stiflingly as a hot and humid Hong Kong summer. As for her meeting with Brit’s family, her determination to safeguard Katy’s future would be the stronger when she was reminded constantly of her grand-daughter’s capacity for love.
Katy looked up. Her face was shadowed, so that it was the softness of her mouth and the delicate curve of her nose that were accentuated, rather than the fiery hazel flecks in those brown eyes; the sun, shining through her hair, obscured the dark browns and highlighted the molten gold strands until it might have been a halo painted with bold brush strokes or a tapestry woven with shining silk threads.
But Katy’s voice, vibrant and decisive, destroyed the illusion of ethereality, injecting life and youth and humour.
‘If I didn’t keep tabs on you, Granny, heaven only knows what you would get up to next!’ she said. ‘But I promise I only do it because I love you. Now – it looks as if your tea is absolutely stone cold. I shall ring for some more and then we can sit quietly and plan exactly what we have to do. OK?’
‘Fine,’ Elise smiled. And thought: Thank God tor Katy. What did I ever do to deserve her?
Chapter Twenty-Six
‘Are all those islands Hong Kong? Good heavens, there are so many of them!’
As the Lear jet began its descent, Katy leaned over to look out of the window, excited as a child, and Elise suppressed an urge to do the same.
Although most of Hong Kong’s rain fell in the summer, today was clear – the sea as blue as the sky, lit to sparkling brightness by the sun, and from it rose the islands, more than two hundred of them – some rocky and weather-worn, others lushly green and fringed with golden beaches.
During her time here in the East, Elise had known many of them – Cheung Chau, once infamous for smuggling and piracy, where junks and sampans jostled in the bay; Lantau with its glorious beaches and the mysterious Trappist monastery hidden away in the hills; Lamma, Hong Kong’s ‘Stone Age’ island, inhabited for more than four thousand years and still idyllic with no cars or motor cycles to spoil the peace. But now many of the names escaped her and she felt a strange detachment.
I used to live here, she thought, but it was as if this had been another person in another life.
The Lear jet banked and the open countryside that was the New Territories spread out beneath them, patchworked with rice-fields and neat terraced farms, as old as China itself. Then they were over Kowloon – all modern skyscrapers and moving traffic around the busy mainland side of the harbour – and now dropping lower and lower until they skimmed Kai-Tak airport and wheels touched tarmac on the long runway built out like a jutting finger into the harbour itself. Elise glanced at Katy as the blue water rushed past them and saw from the wide eyes and parted lips that she was enjoying every moment, enjoying even the slightly scaring illusion that the plane would inevitably continue on and into the sea.
But of course this did not happen. Just as the pulse rate increased and breath became right in the throat the Lear jet slowed, slewing gently round and changing direction along three sides of a rectangle before taxiing gently back towards the mainland.
‘That’s it then, Katy! We have arrived,’ Elise said and the slight tremble in her voice made Katy reach over and touch her hand lightly.
‘You are all right, aren’t you, Granny? The journey hasn’t been too much for you?’
‘The journey’s been a peach!’ Elise said briskly – and so it had. The jet was built for comfort, the curved leather couch and matching armchairs made it as pleasant as any drawing room; moreover the weather conditions had been good, with little turbulence to toss them up and down or from side to side.
The moment the doors were opened the smell of the East began wafting into the cabin – the sickly, pungent smell which Elise remembered so well and which evoked nostalgia in her as no sight or sound could do. How it took her back, arousing forgotten shades of emotion, evoking poignant memories in the depth of the subconscious!
Katy, however, was wrinkling her nose in distaste. ‘What is that smell?’
Elise smiled. ‘You’ve never been out East before, have you, Katy? I promise you will soon get used to it.’
‘Never!’
‘You will. In a couple of days you won’t even notice it any more!’
Katy pulled a face. ‘Well, if you say so. But ugh! It is a bit off-putting.’
‘And how did you enjoy your trip, ladies?’ Stuart Brittain entered the cabin and as always the sight of him shocked Elise slightly. Eventually, she supposed, she would get used to seeing this modern-day Brit; at the moment it could still take her breath away if he caught her unawares.
Now, standing slightly stooped and with one lean brown hand resting on the back of the leather couch, he looked none the worse for the long flight. There was not a crease his lightweight suit and he had obviously just shaved so that there was no hint of stubble on his angular chin.
‘As Granny was just saying, it was a very good flight.’ Katy stood up, and Elise thought that she looked every bit as fresh as Stuart in her cool kingfisher silk blouse and black and kingfisher harem pants. Her hair – despite having missed its customary daily shampoo – still fell to her shoulders with that tantalising hint of curl, and since she wore practically no make-up a warm damp towel from the ready prepared box in the small galley had been sufficient to bring a glow to her cheeks. ‘ Were you flying us, Stuart?’
‘Most of the time,’ Stuart admitted. ‘When I am on board, the Cormorant pilot knows he’s likely to be more or less redundant.’
‘You’re very good.’
‘I enjoy it. That’s the most important thing, I imagine.’
‘No, I expect it’s a talent. Granny says the Brittain she knew flew a Spitfire in the Battle of Britain.’
‘You don’t know what a treat this is for me,’ Elise said as she stretched inconspicuously. ‘ Now, I dare say you have a few formalities to attend to and you must not let us interfere with that.’
‘Not at all.’ Stuart Brittain smiled easily. ‘That is something which company pilots can do very well! What’s more, I have asked him to let the Peninsula Hotel know we have arrived, so that they can send a car for you.’
Elise smoothed down the silk dress in shades of delicate mauve and blue that travelled so well.
‘Marvellous as the flight was, I must say I’m looking forward to a bath after the journey.’
‘And after you’ve freshened and rested, I hope you will come out to Shek-o,’ Stuart sugg
ested.
She nodded. ‘Yes. There are quite a few things I want to do while I’m here, of course – places to revisit and things to see. But I assure you, coming to Shek-o is at the top of my list.’
‘Good.’ He smiled and Elise had the grace to feel slightly guilty. What would he say, she wondered, if he knew why she was so anxious to visit Shek-o? But no matter. If she could arrange a private interview with his grandfather, there would be no need for him ever to know.
‘If it would be any help to you, I can have a company car placed at your disposal,’ he said. On a sudden impulse she reached out and touched his hand as it rested on the back of the couch. It felt hard and sinuous beneath her fingers, reminiscent of another hand which she had held in what now seemed another life.
‘I don’t know why you have gone to so much trouble,’ she said warmly. ‘But I really am very glad, you know.’
Eyes, slightly darker than hazel but with the same wicked gleam, met hers in what was almost a wink.
‘I don’t think you realise – you are a boyhood dream come to life!’ he told her.
Kowloon was a hotch-potch of teeming streets – taxis and minibuses bearing the names of the luxury hotels; bicycles, motor cycles and omnibuses, modern office apartments and slums and a Chinese laundry where the washing was spread out along the roadside. As they passed the streets where the chickens hung, coated with cooking syrup, outside the shops, the odour of the East grew even stronger, wafting in to mix with the subdued leather smell of the interior of the Rolls Royce. Then as they drew level with the waterfront, the strong whiff of fish became predominant.
Nathan Road was wide, clean and bustling, the harbour sparkling blue; on the other side of the water, on Hong Kong Island, a flurry of skyscrapers rose, dwarfed by the majestic height of Victoria Peak yet giants in their own right.
Elise thought briefly of the last time she had seen it. There had been no skyscrapers then – only the solid blocks which were the legacy of an empire long since dispersed – and everything had been obscured by that terrible fog of thick, black smoke. She shuddered now at the memory. How had she lived through it all? She could not imagine, she only knew she would not like to face it again. Yet even now that she was here, it seemed so long ago.
A domed building on the opposite side of the road from the Peninsula drew her attention – a planetarium. Then the Rolls was sweeping round the flower beds and the fountain to the main entrance of the famous hotel.
Bellboys ran down the steps the moment the Rolls came to a halt; one held open the doors, another began unpacking cases and stacking them with an expertise born of long practice. In the lobby Elise paused for a moment, remembering the Peninsula not as it had been the last time she had seen it – disrupted by the chaotic tumble of refugees and stripped for action – but as she had known it in the days when she and Brit had met here. Naturally there were changes – the overhead fans and ornate chandeliers had gone, replaced long since by air conditioning and concealed lighting; and the furniture, though similar in shape to the old squarely welcoming design, was strictly modern. But the atmosphere was the same, the air of elegance and sophistication, so that the changes were not immediately noticeable.
She waited while Katy attended to the formalities of booking in, then they crossed to one of the row of mirrored and adorned caskets that could not, she thought, be demeaned by the name ‘lift’. It rose smoothly, so that one was not aware of movement, taking them to the fourth floor where she had been fortunate enough to be able to book the sumptuous Moon Pearl Suite. Then, when they were alone, she sank into one of the soft chairs, kicking off her shoes and sighing gratefully.
‘Katy, I have come all this way to look at the past, yet just at the moment I have no plans beyond a bath, a cup of tea and the most delicious rest.’
Katy laughed, taking in the pearly greys and moonlight blues that had been used in the Moon Pearl Suite to interpret the old Chinese legend which had inspired it – admiring, yet in no way in awe. It was a disadvantage in a way, Elise thought, to be born into a world that took such things for granted.
‘You’re quite right. Granny,’ Katy said now. ‘ I agree with you about the bath and the tea, and I’m sure a rest will do you the world of good. But while you are resting. I should like to go out and have a look round. Will that be all right?’
‘I’m sure it will,’ Elise had never felt anything but safe on the streets of Hong Kong. ‘And you need hardly leave the hotel in order to look at the most super shops – there are arcades of them right here. But if you want to go out, go ahead. I shall be here where you get back, I promise.’
Later, as the door closed after Katy, she leaned back and closed her eyes, content for the moment simply to be once again in Hong Kong.
‘Well, and how was the trip? Sorted Roydell out, have you?’
The tall, well-made man was pouring generous measures of Glenfiddich whisky into crystal tumblers as he spoke.
To Stuart Brittain, the broad, linen-jacketed back was as unchanging as ever. Throughout his life he could never remember seeing his grandfather in shirt-sleeves, no matter how steamy the weather. The thick, dark hair had turned to iron grey, though not thinned, the lines in the leathery face had deepened and the trim waist had thickened to a slight paunch. But Charles Brittain, tai-pan of Cormorant, wore what had become virtually his uniform throughout – linen suits and hand-made cream silk shirts by day, tuxedos by night. Never once had Stuart seen him dressed for relaxation – Charles Brittain did not relax! He worked a sixteen-hour day, seven days a week and he had always thrived on it. One day, the inevitable would happen and he would hand over as tai-pan, but to do so would probably kill him. Work was his life-blood, and to him this penthouse apartment which crowned the Cormorant building on the Hong Kong Island waterfront was home in a way that his mansion at Shek-o never could be.
Waiting for his drink, Stuart glanced quickly around. It was very much his grandfather’s domain, this apartment. The familiar aroma of his cigars had impregnated the heavy cream curtains and the deep carpet, the silver-framed photograph on the desk was of his wife who had died ten years before Stuart was born. But there was much here that was older, part of the tradition of Cormorant – the Chinese lacquer and the jade carvings, the antique ship’s clock and the oil paintings of the East India clippers in which the founders of the company had sailed. Even the decanter was of the flat-bottomed type and had come from one of the early Cormorant ships. History merged with everything that was vital and modern about Hong Kong here, and Stuart found it a little daunting – though no less stimulating – to realise that one day all this would be his responsibility. Groomed from his earliest youth as ‘ Crown Prince’ of Cormorant, he had not become blase about the prospect; but neither was he over-awed, as many were, by his grandfather. For an inner confidence told him that when the time came he would be as good a tai-pan as Charles. Less single-minded, perhaps, but that would be his strength. To the house of Cormorant he would bring his own fresh approach, his own enthusiasm and judgement which would work for another forty years or so at least.
Charles turned, handing him the whisky tumbler. ‘ Well, how were Roydell?’ he asked again.
Stuart tipped his glass slightly in acknowledgement to his grandfather and drank.
‘Eager.’
‘Good.’ Charles tipped his own glass. ‘You ironed out a contract which is beneficial to us, then?’
‘No, I didn’t actually.’
Iron-grey brows knitted together. ‘Why not?’
Stuart crossed to the window. From its vantage point more than twenty storeys up, it gave a panoramic view of Hong Kong: ant people and toy cars in the street below, toy boats glinting against the blue water of the harbour as the sun caught them, skyscrapers rising in a slight haze on the Kowloon side and blending into the hills of the Chinese mainland.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’
‘Instinct, I suppose, tai-pan.’
He had almost called his grandfather ‘Sir’. Strange how the childhood form of address returned to slip off his tongue when his grandfather questioned him in this overbearing way. But ever since adulthood he, like everyone else, had addressed Charles as ‘tai-pan. ‘Roydell want the order, that’s plain. The chap who met me – a Grantly Hedges – was falling over himself. And the terms are good. But I’m not confident they can deliver.’
Charles brought his whisky tumbler down hard on the desk.
‘Dammit, Stuart, we need those parts.’
‘We’ll get them; I shall see to it. But in my own way.’ ‘ I hope so. I don’t understand why there should be any doubt. Roydell have never let us down in the past and they are known throughout the world.’
‘I know that, and I have promised them that when I have had time to check the contract details, provided everything is in order I will sign. This is my department, tai-pan. Let me do things in my own way.’
The iron-grey brows furrowed again and the deep, leathery lines around the mouth deepened. I’m still tai-pan here and don’t you forget it, that look seemed to say, but Stuart ignored it, looking out instead at the panorama laid out beneath the penthouse windows.
‘How has Hong Kong been in my absence?’
‘How would I know?’ Charles asked crustily. ‘I never see Hong Kong.’
‘The business?’
‘Which part of it?’
‘Any part. Is anything new?’
‘Everything and nothing. We’ll talk over lunch. In the meantime you ought to see Helen; she has been deputising for you in your absence.’ He bent over the desk to reach for an intercom button and depressed it: ‘Helen, can you come in?’ He glanced up at Stuart, his eyes sharp hazel beneath the heavy brows. ‘She’s a great asset, is Helen. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?’
Stuart said nothing. The tai-pan clearly knew he had been dating Helen and just as clearly he approved. Helen Shaw was, as he said, an asset. And whatever faults Charles Brittain might be guilty of, snobbery was not one of them. With him, the fact that Helen might not be of their social standing would not go against her. If Stuart wished to marry her and she fitted Charles’s very strict criteria in other ways, then he would have his grandfather’s blessing.
