Oriental Hotel

by Janet Tanner

  FLT LT. GERALD BRITTAIN, RAF

  12TH DECEMBER 1941

  AGED 24 YEARS

  Beneath it was carved the crest and motto of the RAF:

  PER ARDUA AD ASTRA

  For a lifetime it seemed she stood there without moving. This was it, then, a small voice reminded her, this was the spot where Brit had been buried; his mortal remains lay beneath this soft green turf. Yet now she was here it seemed impossible to believe it. Theee was sadness, yes, but it was sweet sadness rather than the swamping grief of yesterday. There was a sense of loss, a piercing nostalgia for what might have been – and a comforting knowledge that now, whatever happened, there were not many years left to live through without him.

  Her eyes misted; she swallowed at the lump that was sending sharp, treacherous darts to scorch her eyes and throat. Then slowly, with the slight stiffness of her sixty-four years, she knelt on the turf, leaning forward to heap the roses on the grave.

  Through the silk of her dress the grass felt cool and slightly damp; it reminded her of the cool damp earth beneath and something within her cried out a sudden protest.

  Brit, no! You can’t be there, decayed and gone, the face I loved, the body that loved me. I can’t bear it!

  Her hands clenched as the agony scythed through her and she stiffened against the urge to throw herself down on the turf. Even now, with grief bearing in on her with startling suddenness, she was conscious of Katy and Stuart waiting for her at a discreet distance, but watching and waiting, none the less. There was pain inside her chest and a blackness before her eyes, as the injustice of it screamed at her down the years.

  Oh God, why? Why? Oh Brit – Brit!

  The tears poured down her cheeks and she let them come, unable to think of anything but the pain. Then, just when she had thought it would never end the spasm began to pass. She opened eyes which had been tight-closed over those tears, to feel the peace and serenity still there just as before. Only there was something else besides, some extra dimension …

  Brit!

  It was as if the air was full of him, borne on the scent of the roses; the chirping of grasshoppers and the humming of bees seemed to contain the echo of his voice. She could not see him, could not touch him, yet she knew he was there. The wonder of it lifted her suddenly, lighting her face and making it young again.

  Brit. You are not under the cold, damp earth. You are with me – with me always, because I love you. And as long as I am alive, you are alive too. Brit, my love, my one real true love!

  She leaned forward, touching the roses and tidying them into place. She would leave them here because this memorial was to his mortal remains. But she would not leave Brit. Never again. Perhaps she never had.

  Slowly, slightly awkwardly, she got to her feet. She almost believed she could see the shadow of his face on the creamy stone. Touching her fingers to her lips, she pressed them for just a moment against that cool stone slab. Then she turned away.

  Stuart had retreated to the archway at the entrance in order to leave her in privacy. She could see him sitting with Katy on one of the carved stone benches, waiting for her.

  The warmth of the sun had already dried the tears in her eyes but she passed one finger swiftly across her cheeks. Then, without a backward glance, she walked up the path towards them.

  ‘Granny, Stuart has very kindly offered to take us sightseeing this afternoon,’ Katy said as the Rolls purred back along the coast road. ‘He suggested a trip on the tram to the top of Victoria Peak.’

  Elise, still deep in thought, came back from a long way off.

  ‘Oh Katy, I don’t think we can impose on Stuart’s time any more. He has been far too kind already.’

  ‘It’s no problem.’ Stuart swung the car around a hairpin bend with the expertise born of long practice, plus some of the natural flair that was evident in every aspect of his driving and flying. ‘ I have already arranged to be away from the office today.’

  ‘I would like to see Hong Kong from the Peak,’ Katy continued. ‘And you’ve always told us what fun the Peak Tram is.’

  ‘Absolutely – at your age! I think I could live without it.’ Elise felt very tired suddenly, exhausted by the depth of emotion she had experienced in the cemetery.

  ‘Well, why don’t you have a rest this afternoon?’ Katy suggested ‘If Stuart doesn’t mind taking me?’

  ‘It would be a pleasure.’

  ‘All right,’ Elise conceded. It did seem a shame for Katy to make such a long trip and not see the sights while she was here – sights which Elise had known and loved herself.

  ‘Shall we take you back to the Peninsula Hotel when we’ve had lunch?’ Katy suggested.

  ‘I thought perhaps we could eat at the Jade Gardens,’ Stuart offered. ‘Genuine Chinese cuisine for a genuine English lady!’

  ‘Better and better,’ Katy laughed. ‘I must say I’m enjoying every moment of this, aren’t you, Granny?’

  Elise nodded. Just at the moment, however, the comfort and luxury of the Moon Pearl Suite at the Peninsula was the most inviting prospect she could envisage.

  But after a glass of cool Perrier water, a light meal of some of the Chinese delicacies she had most enjoyed during her time in Hong Kong and a refreshing pot of jasmine tea, she was beginning to feel revived, in part at least, and her mind was returning to the other purpose behind her visit to Hong Kong – the attempt to persuade Cormorant to come to the aid of Sandersons.

  Since she had been unable to approach Charles Brittain under social conditions as she had hoped, one alternative was left: she must meet him on a business footing, in his business premises. And how much easier that would be with Stuart and Katy safely out of the way on Victoria Peak and not on hand to ask awkward questions.

  ‘We’ll drive you back through the tunnel then, Elise,’ Stuart said, signing the bill for a boy who bowed and scraped with even more respect than usual when he heard the name ‘Brittain’.

  ‘It’s all right, you need not bother.’ Elise injected buoyancy into her voice and Katy glanced at her, fingering the long-stemmed red rose with which the enchanted waiter had presented her.

  ‘Have you changed your mind and decided to come to the Peak with us after all. Granny?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. But I am feeling much better. I shall stay here – have another cup of jasmine tea and then perhaps take a look round the shops. It’s so wonderfully cool in the big arcades, I’ll be absolutely fine. And I really should find some little gifts to take back for Marcus, Paul and Julian.’

  ‘My cousins – Uncle Alex’s boys,’ Katy enlightened Stuart. ‘Quite honestly, the only thing I’ve ever known them to be enthusiastic about is food – apart from cricket and rugger, I suppose.’

  ‘Give them time. In a few more years you will be proud to be seen with such good-looking young men.’

  ‘Well, all I can say is it was very inconsiderate of Uncle Alex to leave it so late having them,’ Katy twinkled. ‘I could do with three handsome escorts now, not in ten years’ time.’

  Elise fixed her with an amused look. ‘ Since when, Katy, have you been short of escorts?’

  ‘Oh, Granny!’ Katy’s dimples played. ‘ She makes me sound like an irresistible playgirl, Stuart!’

  ‘And you’re not?’

  ‘There you go, you’re just as bad! Come on, are you going to take me up in the Peak Tram or not?’

  ‘Where shall we meet you, Elise?’ Stuart asked.

  ‘Oh, heavens …’ She tried to think of somewhere and failed. All the rendezvous had changed since her day.

  ‘I know, why don’t we say the foyer of the Cormorant building?’ Stuart suggested. That’s easily identifiable, and above all it’s cool, with some comfortable chairs – just in case we should get held up. Do you think you can find it all right?’

  If only they knew! thought Elise, suddenly feeling a little like a deceitful child.

  She watched as they left the restaurant, then gathered her things together. In
the cloakroom she tidied her hair and retouched her lipstick under the eagle eye of the little Chinese attendant who followed her every move attentively, sweeping away the odd hair from beneath her comb, offering her fresh hot towels – and hovering for her expected tip. Elise handed her a two-dollar piece and she beamed her satisfaction.

  Outside in the street, the humidity hit her like a shower of steam, but she shrugged it aside. The tension was singing now in her veins, making her head ache a little, and the discomfort had returned in her chest – heavens, surely Chinese food at lunch time wasn’t going to begin upsetting her? But this, too, she disregarded. An interview with Charles Brittain was not going to be easy – she needed all her wits about her to carry it through to a successful conclusion.

  The Cormorant building was on the main thoroughfare an impressive, twenty-two-storey structure which had replaced the original rambling buildings of the old days – and the glass-fronted foyer was rich in chrome and shining black. Huge black and chrome boards announced the names of the companies belonging to the Cormorant empire – the list was endless and impressive: Cormorant Holdings, Cormorant Shipping, banking interests, land, plant hire, clothing factories … on and on it went. Elise ran her eye down it, not troubling to read them all. She was already aware of the diverse nature of the corporation.

  A Chinese concierge opened the doors for her and she went in, sweeping past him with all the authority she had acquired during her years as wife of the founder of Sandersons. Behind the black, leather-padded reception desk, a pretty girl of Chinese origin looked up with customary pertness, but even she was impressed by the slimly elegant woman who stood before her, one hand holding an expensive looking kid bag while the other rested lightly on the desk top.

  ‘Good afternoon.’ Her English was perfect.

  ‘Good afternoon. My name is Elise Sanderson of Sanderson International. I would like to see the tai-pan.’

  She saw the girl’s slight start. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘No. But if you tell him I am here, I am sure he will see me.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Sanderson, but I am not sure, that will be possible.’

  Across the years an echo reached her. Cairo-1941: ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Sanderson … a passage is impossible …’

  Elise raised her chin. She had not given in easily then, when she had been a young business wife; she would certainly not give in now.

  ‘Is the tai-pan not in?’

  ‘There tai-pan’s diary is fully booked, Mrs Sanderson. I don’t think you appreciate …’

  A slight sound attracted her attention and she turned to see the elevator doors opening smoothly. A man emerged, tall, broad, grey-haired, dressed in a cream linen suit; a man who exuded so much power that even if the family likeness had not been evident she would have known at once who he was:

  Charles Brittain.

  Joss, as the Chinese would say, she thought. Good joss, on her side for once.

  She turned away from the reception desk. ‘Mrs Sanderson!’ the girl called after her, sotto voce, but she ignored her and went directly to the man.

  ‘Tai-pan, I am Elise Sanderson. I should be very grateful if you would spare me a few minutes of your time.’

  She saw the momentary shock in his face before his guard came up.

  ‘I’m sorry …’ He made to turn away. ‘You must excuse me – I’am due in a meeting.’

  Elise stood her ground. ‘I won’t detain you long. But I feel that a few minutes’ conversation could be of benefit to both our companies.’

  His head tilted slightly. Was there anything of Brit, in his demeanour? If so, she could not see it.

  ‘I had hoped to meet you at dinner yesterday evening, but unfortunately that was not to be,’ she said smoothly.

  ‘The reason is that I am a very busy man, Mrs Sanderson. You must forgive me, but I am afraid …’ He glanced dismissively at his watch, a solid gold Carrier taking up almost half his thick wrist.

  Elise drew herself up.

  ‘In that case, Mr Brittain, you give me no alternative. I would have much preferred to talk to you, but if you cannot find time for me, then I shall be forced to make my propositions to your grandson. And I think you will find they can be very attractive.’

  A muscle tightened in his cheek, but the momentary veiled wariness in his eyes told her that her thrust had gone home. He checked his watch again.

  ‘Very well! Two minutes.’ He turned to the Chinese concierge. ‘Have my car brought round, Tok.’ Then he opened one of the shining black doors that gave on to the foyer. ‘We can talk here, Mrs Sanderson. There is no time to take you up to my apartment, I’m afraid.’

  Although small, the room was light and impeccably furnished in the same black and chrome as the foyer. As the door closed after them, Charles Brittain indicated a padded leather swivel chair.

  ‘Please take a seat.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Elise sat, but when Charles Brittain remained standing she rose again. She had no intention of being placed at a disadvantage by that old trick.

  ‘Well?’ He extracted a cigar, placing it between his teeth. ‘ What is it you want to say to me that has – how did you put it? – advantages for both our companies?’

  She raised her eyes to meet his.

  ‘I understand that you are in the market for certain components. My enquiries tell me that you need them urgently and that you might have some difficulty in obtaining delivery from Roydell, your usual suppliers.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘And where did you get this information? Has my grandson been talking?’

  ‘No. But in business the bush telegraph network can be very active. I suggest, Mr Brittain, that you place your order with Sandersons. We have a factory that could supply you within any reasonable deadline you care to lay down and you would be very well satisfied. We don’t have Roydell’s labour problems and our track record is second to none. Place the order with us and you certainly will not regret it. Delay – or put your faith in Roydell – and I think you may well find yourself in difficulties.’

  Charles Brittain drew smoke, his eyes narrow beneath the heavy gtey brows.

  ‘Forgive me for being so obtuse, Mrs Sanderson, but I must admit to feeling puzzled. I didn’t realise you were so active in your family’s business. Why, if I may ask, has the widow of the founder come half-way across the world to put this proposition direct to me?’

  ‘Because of our past connections, Mr Brittain.’

  Not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash did she betray the tension she was experiencing, but her words were enough. He was on to it instantly. So he had been right in what he had said to Stuart – she was attempting to cash in!

  ‘And so, Mrs Sanderson, I ask you again – why have you come half-way across the world? There is a catch in this, if I am not mistaken.’ He glanced once again at his watch. ‘Perhaps you will save us both a good deal of valuable time by telling me what it is.’

  ‘Very well,’ she said coolly. ‘We have a cash-flow problem. The injection of three-quarters of a million pounds on signature of a contract would put matters right for us.’

  Around the cigar, his mouth curved slightly.

  ‘I see. Well, let me pay tribute here and now to your not inconsiderable nerve, Mrs Sanderson. But of course, my answer has to be no.’

  It was no more than she had expected – deals could not be conducted in this way and she knew it. She had nursed a vague hope that if they could have discussed it over dinner, in a friendly manner, possibly something could have been worked out. As it was …

  ‘Please don’t give me your answer quite so lightly, Mr Brittain,’ she said. ‘There is a little more to this than immediately meets the eye. It concerns the welfare of my grand-daughter, Katy. I have reason to believe that if I am unable to help Sandersons out of its present difficulties, Katy’s future happiness will be at stake. Provided she makes herself agreeable to a certain German tycoon, the money will be forthcoming elsewhere, but I’m not pre
pared to stand by and let that happen.’

  Charles Brittain snorted. ‘Well, I’m very sorry for your grand-daughter, Mrs Sanderson. But she is hardly my concern.’

  ‘That is not entirely correct, Mr Brittain. By birthright, Katy is entitled to certain considerations from your family.’ She paused, brushing astray curl off her forehead. ‘ I’m sorry if this should come as a shock to you, but I am here to tell you that Katy is in fact your great-niece. Her mother, my daughter, was also the daughter of your brother Gerald.’

  For a long moment there was silence in the room. Elise was aware of constrictions in her chest, sending long aching shivers down her arm, but she ignored them and concentrated instead on Charles Brittain’s face. It was like thunder, lines etched deep and leathery, brows knitted. Yet oddly she saw no surprise there.

  ‘I’m not asking you to give her anything personally,’ she said. ‘Katy herself has no idea about this. What I am asking for is an advance payment on a deal which will prove as beneficial to you as it will to us. And that, I believe, is due to her.’

  ‘I see.’ Charles Brittain crossed to the chrome table, stubbing out his cigar. His back was totally inexpressive – it gave nothing away. Then he turned with a movement that was swift for a big man. ‘Mrs Sanderson, during my time as tai-pan of Cormorant I have heard some strange reasons for deals being done. I may say that you have just presented me with the strangest yet.’

  She held his gaze. ‘Perhaps. It happens to be the truth.’

  ‘Really? And how am I to know that?’

  ‘Because I am telling you so, Mr Brittain. Your brother and I travelled to Hong Kong from Cairo in 1941. We were lovers. Had he not been killed, we would probably have set up home together in Australia. As things turned out, our daughter Geraldine was brought up a Sanderson. But the truth is she is a Brittain – your flesh and blood. And so is her daughter Katy.’