by Janet Tanner
Elise, who had noticed the two Rolls Royces, came to the obvious conclusion with some relief.
‘It rather looks as if your grandfather arrived home while you were meeting us.’
‘Unlikely. He has his own motor launch.’ Stuart’s voice was still lightweight, yet once again she sensed rather than heard the note of tension and glancing at him sharply she saw that his face had closed in slightly. ‘ He will be here soon, though, I’m sure. If he had already left the office when the call was transferred to me …’
‘Of course.’
Stuart opened the Porsche door for her and she swung her legs out on to the gravel drive, momentarily forgetting the purpose behind her visit as she looked for the first time at Brit’s home.
This was where he had been born and raised, this luxurious shrine to success; this was what he had turned his back on. It was to this house that he had returned after making love to her at the Peninsula Hotel; here he had planned their escape to Australia; here her locket had lain all those years, unremarked except by a small boy who had woven it into his adventures.
Katy was on the drive, too, totally unimpressed by the splendour of the house but gazing towards the mist-shrouded sea.
‘What a lovely view! It reminds me a little of the South of France.’
‘We’re a long way from the South of France, Katy,’ Elise said, feeling slightly embarrassed, but Stuart appeared unworried by the comparison.
‘She’s quite right. I have often thought the same myself. Except, of course, when a typhoon strikes. I hope there is no typhoon while you’re here!’
A servant was already on hand to garage the car, and as they went into the house boys anticipated their every move, opening doors, offering chairs and plumping cushions. In an air-conditioned open-plan drawing room, Stuart poured them drinks – gin and tonic for himself and Katy, Perrier water for Elise – and Elise marvelled at the way the traditional had been adapted to incorporate the ultra-modern. Some very talented interior designer had been at work here – and very recently, too.
‘This is a beautiful room,’ she remarked. ‘ Is your mother the inspiration behind it?’
Stuart crossed to the window, which gave him a clear view of the drive.
‘My mother lives in England now. She left Hong Kong as soon as she thought she could reasonably entrust my upbringing to my grandfather. No, it was my grandfather’s personal assistant who was responsible for modernising the house quite recently.’
‘Really? I had thought it was the work of a professional designer – and a very good one at that. I was on the point of asking for the name.’
‘Her name is Helen Shaw. But I think you will find that she is totally committed to Cormorant.’
‘Don’t worry, I have no intention of poaching her.’ Elise laughed lightly, but already her mind was wandering again and she wished that she too could see the drive and have warning of Charles Brittain’s return.
A carriage clock over the mantelshelf was in her direct line of vision, however; she found herself watching it as the conversation was bandied back and forth and she was aware too of a growing impatience about Stuart, for all his efforts to hide it. Katy, though, seemed blissfully unaware of any tension, remaining her usual animated and vivacious self. But eventually, during a lull in the talk, Stuart glanced at his watch.
‘I must apologise for my grandfather. It seems he must have been detained. Perhaps we should begin dinner without him?’
‘We don’t mind waiting a little longer, do we, Granny?’ Katy suggested, but Stuart set down his glass.
‘I think he would want us to go on. The cook will sulk for a week if dinner’s spoiled. And clearly something unavoidable has come up at the office.’
Yes, thought Elise, both unavoidable and extremely convenient. Almost from the moment they had arrived, she had been aware of a reserve in Stuart’s manner which had not been there before – obviously he had half expected that his grandfather would not put in an appearance.
But why? Why should Brit’s brother be so determined to avoid me after all these years? And what am I going to do now?
‘Shall we go in?’ Stuart suggested.
And as they followed him towards the dining room Elise felt – for the first time for many years – helpless, bewildered and uncertain about the future which she believed was firmly within her control.
‘Thank you for a lovely dinner and a lovely evening.’
The Rolls slid smoothly to a stop outside the Peninsula Hotel. Stuart, who always drove himself, had insisted he drive them home and they had crossed from Hong Kong Island to the mainland by means of the tunnel that now ran beneath the harbour – another innovation which had surprised Elise. Even in her day there had been talk of a tunnel, but somehow she had expected it to be a project which was shelved and shelved again, along with the proposals for the mass transit underground railway which was now also a reality.
‘It’s been super,’ Katy said, echoing her grandmother. ‘I don’t know why you have gone to so much trouble for us.’
‘Your grandmother is a very special lady to me.’ Stuart was sitting back easily, one arm along the soft leather seat of the Rolls, totally unconcerned that he might be blocking the driveway of the Peninsula. ‘It is my pleasure to entertain her on her first visit to Hong Kong for so many years. And I can only apologise again that my grandfather was detained tonight and unable to meet you.’
‘I must admit to being disappointed,’ Elise said with what she hoped sounded like casual regret, though her mind was still churning. Disappointment was a gross understatement – disaster would have been more apposite.
Stuart turned. The blazing lights from the hotel caught the angle of his face, lending it the ruggedness which had characterised that of his great-uncle.
‘Perhaps, to make up for it, you would allow me to put myself at your disposal. Is there anything you particularly wanted to do while you were here – some place you would specially like to visit, perhaps? Parts of Hong Kong can still be pretty inaccessible, and if Lean help in any way – provide a taxi service …’
‘Yes,’ Elise said. In her anxiety to see Charles Brittain and try to arrange some deal which would ensure the future of Sandersons, she had almost forgotten the pilgrimage she had intended to make here in Hong Kong. Now it returned to her forcefully, as if contrary to the demands of the present it was really the only thing of importance. ‘I should like to visit Brit’s grave.’
She was aware of Katy’s curious glance, but she thought, I’ll answer her questions somehow. Just now I must keep faith with Brit.
‘The War Cemetery is at Chai Wan.’ Stuart looked at her over his shoulder. ‘Out on the north-east tip of the island. Do you know it?’
‘No, I don’t believe I do. It’s not a place I ever had cause to visit.’
‘No, you wouldn’t. It’s very Chinese. You would hardly be likely to find anyone there who speaks English.’ He paused. ‘When would you like to go?’
‘Whenever suits you, of course.’
‘Tomorrow morning?’
‘Tomorrow morning would be fine. But won’t you be working?’
Stuart’s mouth quirked up and in the half-light he reminded her painfully of Brit.
‘I think I can take a day off for something so special.’
Impulsively she leaned across to squeeze his arm with her slender fingers, but there was no need to put her gratitude into words. Their mutual interest in the man whose mortal remains had been interred at Chai Wan gave them instant rapport and something intangible existed between them.
‘Tomorrow, then,’ he said. And she knew that Charles Brittain or no Charles Brittain, this evening had not after all been wasted.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The temperature was several degrees higher next morning and the humidity rose with it. It was a sultry day when the smells of Hong Kong hung heavier than the heavy air; the milling Chinese poured sweat, as they jostled in the streets and in the queues for th
e Star Ferry which would take them across the harbour to their offices and shops. Only the children on their way to school looked quite fresh in their neat cotton uniform dresses and white knee-socks.
From her window in the Peninsula Hotel Elise watched a beggar settling himself down for the day’s ‘work’ – carefully arranging himself in a position of abject suffering, half lying along the pavement with his begging bowl held out pitifully in one outstretched hand. His feet were heavily bandaged and he had a white stick indicating blindness propped up beside him, for good measure. There was no cause for anyone to beg in Hong Kong today, Elise knew – a welfare net operated to help the needy – but begging was an art, sometimes passed down through families, and its practitioners had no intention of relinquishing it too easily.
He will have a hot, uncomfortable day today, Elise thought, smiling faintly as the beggar finally satisfied himself that his pose was sufficiently heart-rending.
‘I’m ready, Granny! Are you?’ Katie emerged from the bathroom, looking stunningly attractive in a white sundress that enhanced her smooth golden tan.
‘I’ve been ready for some time,’ Elise confessed. ‘I didn’t sleep too well last night and I got up at first light.’
‘Why didn’t you sleep well?’ Katy was on to the confession in a flash. ‘Were you quite warm enough? The air conditioning here is so efficient that it makes me feel quite chilly.’
‘I’m sure it was nothing to do with that, dear.’ Elise had no intention of explaining how she had lain awake thinking and worrying; nor, if it came to that, mentioning the irritating niggle of discomfort in her chest which she supposed was indigestion. Eating a meal in the evening did not suit her these days; next time she was invited out to dinner, she would simply have to make this clear.
‘Stuart should be here in about half an hour. It’s a good idea to go before the full heat of the day.’ Katy said. ‘ Is there any coffee left in the pot?’
‘I think so.’ She lifted the lid of the pot on the breakfast tray and nodded in confirmation. ‘As for going early, it’s also a good idea because it means Stuart will have some of his day left to work. I don’t like imposing on him.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he doesn’t mind. He is a poppet, isn’t he?’
A poppet! Elise was amused. How would Brit have reacted if anyone had called him a poppet!
‘And he does work extremely hard,’ Katy continued. ‘He was saying last night that his grandfather absolutely lives Cormorant and expects him to do the same.’
‘Yes, I heard him.’
‘Did you? You looked so faraway, somehow. Are you sure you’re all right, Granny? You have had hardly any of this coffee.’
‘I didn’t really feel like it,’ Elise confessed.
Katy’s brown eyes were penetrating. ‘I think you should have an early night tonight.’
‘Don’t fuss, darling. I’m fine.’ But she didn’t feel it. The things nerves could do to your constitution, especially when you reached what magazines called ‘a certain age’!
‘Let’s hope Stuart brings the Rolls. It’s not so much his car as the Porsche, I know, but the air conditioning will be a great deal more comfortable for you.’ Katy poured coffee, strong and black, and piled muscovado sugar into it. ‘What’s more,’ she added impishly, ‘We can have the stereo playing Duran Duran and drink iced champagne from the cocktail cabinet.’
Elise smiled. ‘The champagne sounds inviting, but I assure you that pop music all the way from here to Chai Wan would more than outweigh the advantage of air conditioning. I really couldn’t stand it, Katy! I know it means I must be getting old, but I can’t help it. Give me Mozart any day, and even that not played too loudly!’
‘Well. I certainly shan’t take you to Annabel’s for your birthday treat!’ Katy teased.
‘Thank you, darling. That is a relief!’
‘Do you know, I think this is a lovely place, Granny.’ Katy was at the window, drinking coffee.
‘The Peninsula? It’s one of the great hotels of the world.’ Her mind wandered a little as she said it. She had stayed in so many of the great hotels on that voyage with Brit – Shepheard’s in Cairo, the Taj Mahal in Bombay, the E&O in Penang and Raffles in Singapore – but it all seemed a little like a dream now. So long ago, so very long ago …
‘No, not the Peninsula,’ Katy continued. ‘It’s a fabulous place, of course, but I didn’t mean that. I meant Hong Kong itself.’
‘You like it?’
‘Oh, I love it! It’s so different! There’s a feeling of excitement in the air and yet at the same time it’s not like being in the rat race any more.’
‘You never were,’ Elise reminded her.
‘I suppose not. Though I assure you that even my job has its pressures, whatever Daddy may think.’
‘And that feeling of freedom simply comes from being on holiday. It would soon wear off if you lived here all the time, as I’m sure Stuart would tell you.’
‘Yes, but all the same, I love it,’ Katy said.
‘I’m glad.’ Elise smiled. She had loved Hong Kong so much that she was happy that Katy felt the same way.
‘And you were quite right about the smell,’ Katy added wickedly. ‘I don’t even mind that any more.’
‘I told you!’
‘Yes, you did! I suppose it’s like Mummy and her stables. She loves the horses, so the pong is all part of it. I think I must be an awful disappointment to her, you know, because I just couldn’t feel the way she does. And a disappointment to Daddy for not wanting to go into the business.’
‘Katy,’ Elise said firmly, ‘you are not a disappointment to anyone.’
‘I would have been a disappointment to you if I hadn’t liked Hong Kong,’ she teased.
‘All right – yes, you would.’
‘There’s a Rolls Royce coming along the road now,’ Katy reported. ‘I think this could be Stuart – unless it’s one of the Peninsula rollers. No, it doesn’t look like a uniformed chauffeur and there’s no one else in the car. Did you say you were ready, Granny?’
‘I think so,’ Elise said, but her heart seemed to be pounding against the walls of her chest and a voice inside asked: Are you really? Are you really ready for this? To see his grave for the first time forty years after his death?
She stood up, smoothing down the skirt of her silk dress and taking a breath that seemed to catch and hold in her lungs, imprisoned by that painfully beating heart.
I have done a great many things in my time, but none that needed more courage than this, she thought. Yet I have no choice. Now I know where you are, Brit, how could I stay away?
‘Yes, Katy, I’m ready,’ she said.
The Rolls Royce pulled on to the hard standing at the roadside overlooking Chai Wan harbour.
Directly opposite, three columns of pale stone roofed together with light green tiles rose behind a low wall. Between the columns the skyscrapers around the bay and the distant peaks of Lei-Yue-Mun were clearly visible. The central column of the three bore a stark black cross.
Stuart opened the door of the Rolls and Elise stepped out from the air-conditioned interior into the warm, damp wall of humidity, carefully balancing an armful of deep pink roses which she had bought from a flower-seller’s stall on the way. The choice had been fantastic – deep purple spider orchids, imported from Singapore, and every shade of chrysanthemum, but she had chosen the roses. The orchids had seemed too fussy for Brit, the chrysanthemums too funereal. Roses simply expressed her love.
Not waiting for the others, she walked towards the columned entrance, catching a glimpse of the first neat row of creamy white tombstones, erect and uniform as the men they honoured, and her heart began to pound again, sending sickening echoes through her veins and forming a hard lump in her throat. Once through the entrance, three shallow steps led down to a lawn, incredibly green, bordered with evergreens and flowering shrubs. There was a memorial carved out of the same rock as the tombstones, engraved simply: ‘THEIR NAME LIVETH F
OR EVER MORE.’ Her heart twisted again as a painful combination of grief and pride rose to overwhelm her.
Stuart and Katy had followed her through; now Stuart led the way without speaking between those first evenly-spaced white tombstones. Her eyes skimmed them: ‘A soldier of the 1939-1945 War. Known Unto God.’ Endless rows of stone all with the same legend. Endless graves for soldiers with no name – ‘Known Unto God’. At least Brit’s tombstone would bear his name. Unbearable sadness for all those unknown soldiers who had died in defence of the land she loved swelled her personal grief. She turned, her eyes full of tears, and saw that Katy was hanging back uncertainly by the stone arch. She was glad: she could not have talked to Katy or anyone just now and instinctively the younger woman had realised it.
The cemetery was much larger than she had imagined it would be, falling away to the very edge of the hillside and centred by a tall cross. The paths were well-kept and between the graves roses, hibiscus and frangipani flowered, lending splashes of red, orange and yellow to the soft green and white. Beyond the evergreens and the banana palms the skyscrapers rose on the reclaimed land in junk Bay, but they were dwarfed by the majesty and the reverence, the silence and the tranquillity. The sky, the sea and the distant mountains provided a back-drop in varying shades of blue and the air was heavy with the scent of roses.
Three-quarters of the way into the cemetery, Stuart turned off the gravelled way and on to a springy green side path. A butterfly big as a small bird sailed past her, but she was unaware of it. She had eyes only for the tombstone he was indicating: so like the others, identical but for its inscription. Her feet stopped moving and a stillness seemed to lie in the very heart of her, as if every pulse had been deadened, every breath frozen. Life and living, times past and present were suspended then, and in that pool of stillness she heard her own voice – soft, silent except to her own ears – putting into words the inscription her eyes were reading:
