I was shocked when I read this and I rushed through to the kitchen, where Marie and Sandy were having their mid-morning cup of tea. Sandy saw my tears and he jumped up.
‘What’s the matter, Lizzie?’
‘I’ve just got this letter from Margaret. Gerald has died of a heart attack and has been buried in Lisbon.’ I handed the letter to him.
He sat down, and after he had read it he handed it to Marie, who looked shocked.
Sandy said, ‘What an awful thing to happen, to make plans to leave a country and end up being buried there.’
I was still crying as I sat down to answer Margaret’s letter. ‘I’m going to go back, Marie, back to Scotland to be with her.’
Marie said she understood, but Sandy disagreed.
‘Look, Lizzie, Marie and I know Margaret very well, and I don’t think she’ll want you running back there.’
I looked at Marie, and she agreed, but she said, ‘Write to her and ask her if she wants you to return to be with her, Lizzie. Margaret is a very self-sufficient woman and well enough able to cope with whatever life throws at her. Tell her you’ll return when you hear from her.’
I was torn in half. One part of me wanted to get on the next ship back to Carnoustie, but another part wanted to experience life here in Hong Kong. So I wrote and waited for Margaret’s reply.
The days that went past were filled with a mixture of grief at Gerald’s death and pleasure at teaching the children in my class, but before long Margaret replied and told me to stay where I was and to make the most of my life.
Gerald and I had a wonderful life together and he always enjoyed his work. Travelling the world was like an addiction to him, and I want you to fulfil your dream of living abroad and making the most of that dream. Please thank Marie and Sandy for their condolences and give them my best regards. Your loving aunt, Margaret.
When I told them what she had said, Sandy nodded.
‘I knew she would say that, Lizzie. If I know Margaret, then I guess she has made loads of friends where she lives, so you’re not to worry about her.’ As he went out the door, he turned. ‘I still feel guilty about laughing at Gerald that day. I didn’t mean any harm and I regret my words very much.’
I said I felt the same. I knew he was just being funny about the man I had never met and never would meet now.
Life settled down again to the usual daily routine, with Sandy and I still going out in the evening to sample Hong Kong cuisine.
One of my favourite shops was Mr Wang’s Wonderful World of Books. Sandy had introduced me to it and I spent most of my spare time there. The shop was situated down one of the narrow streets that was always a hive of activity even until late at night. Mr Wang’s shop was deceptive. From the street, it looked like just another one of the businesses that traded there, but when you went inside it was like entering a cavern filled with book-lined shelves that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. Little benches were placed beside these shelves, and it was possible to come in and read a book without having to pay for it.
During my childhood I had often seen pictures of Chinese people and Mr Wang fitted my image of a Chinaman. He had a long, stringy, grey beard and he wore a fabulous embroidered coat and hat. He sat behind a desk that was situated just inside the door. By his side was his abacus, which he deftly used to count the purchases of his customers, and he would nod and smile when one entered and did the same when they left, regardless of whether they bought a book or not. I adored him, and he always made me feel welcome.
‘Miss Lizzieeeee,’ he said, making it sound as if I had ten e’s attached to the end of my name.
‘Mr Wang, how are you tonight?’ I always asked him, and he would nod and smile. I always bought a few books from him, as I didn’t like the idea of forever sitting in his cavern reading his stock.
In the beginning, Sandy would come in with me, but after a few visits he disappeared into the shop next door, which sold bottles of beer.
‘I only have the two bottles of beer,’ he said. ‘If I go over that, Marie will know what I’ve been doing.’
I said I didn’t believe him, but he laughed.
‘Believe me, it’s true. Marie is able to smell alcohol from a distance of a hundred yards, unless it’s downwind – then it’s half a mile.’
I gave him one of my disbelieving looks, but he said, ‘Trust me, I’m an ex-Scout.’
I didn’t mind, because I was in my element sitting amongst all these books, with Mr Wang’s kindly eye on me unless he had another customer, and then his abacus would go click, click, click.
33
THE YEAR OF THE DOG
It was the Chinese New Year: 14 February 1934, the Year of the Dog. The school was closed for the celebration, as were a lot of the small shops. Sandy, Marie and I were standing outside watching the dragon parade as it slowly made its way down the narrow streets followed by what looked like the entire population of Hong Kong. Fireworks were cascading into the night sky over the harbour, colourful rockets shooting upwards in a multitude of sparks. The smell of gunpowder lay thick in the air. I had never witnessed anything like it.
I recalled how Laura and I had spent New Year’s Eve in Dundee and how we both thought at the time how busy and noisy it was, but compared to this spectacle it was a very minor event. Families with young children and babies were out on the streets, laughing and chattering about the new year ahead of them.
Sandy explained how the Chinese calendar was made up of twelve animals and how the Year of the Rooster was now over and the Dog was in the ascendant. ‘The Chinese people put huge faith in the elements of each animal year,’ he said. ‘Every year has different elements.’
Personally, I was fascinated by everything, but when Sandy suggested we should go along with the dragon parade, Marie said she was going back inside.
‘I think Lizzie would like to see the rest of the parade, Marie, so we’ll just go out for a wee while.’ He took my elbow and said to stay close to him, as he didn’t want me to get lost in the crowds. ‘Marie will kill me if I lose you.’
As we neared the harbour, I could see crowds of people standing on the banks, and the little sampans were all lit up, with the families gathered on the decks watching the fireworks.
Sandy said that Mr Wang’s Wonderful World of Books was to be open, as two authors were due to visit it and sign their book. He asked me if I wanted to go and I said yes, I would love to. The shop was busier than usual and there was a large poster in the window advertising Dragon Land, a book by author Jonas O’Neill with photographs by Alex Garcia.
Mr Wang sat at the desk and gazed at the waiting queue with his usual inscrutable air, but he nodded his head when he saw me. I sat on my usual bench and had a good view of the two authors, who sat at a large table surrounded by copies of their book.
I had no idea which one was which, but I assumed the Italian-looking man with the black, slicked-back hair was Alex Garcia, which meant his companion must be Jonas O’Neill. He was tall and very slim with light-brown hair and blue eyes, and I liked the way he spoke to the customers with his soft Irish voice. It was difficult to say how old he was, but I reckoned he was in his early thirties.
Mr Wang’s abacus was clicking away due to all the sales of the book, and after the crowd had thinned out a bit, I joined the end of the queue. I had noticed that most of the customers were Chinese, but there was a smattering of British people buying the book.
When it came to my turn, Jonas O’Neill gave me a direct look and he smiled.
I held out my copy. ‘Can you sign it to Lizzie Flint, please?’
His eyes screwed up with laughter. ‘Certainly, Lizzie Flint, and it’s a grand name you have.’ After he signed it, he held the book open for Alex Garcia to sign, and I was taken aback by the dark-haired man’s American accent. I thanked them and went back to my seat.
I must have sat for a good hour reading the book, as it was a fascinating account of life as lived in China, with wonderful photographs by
Mr Garcia. Every few minutes I would look across at Jonas O’Neill, but when he caught my eye I blushed like some immature schoolgirl. I didn’t know why I felt drawn to this stranger, as he wasn’t especially handsome, but I was. I tried to look at him less in case he thought I was some forward hussy.
I went over to Mr Wang to pay him and he said, ‘Miss Lizzeeeee, you seem to like Mr Jonas?’
‘Oh no, Mr Wang, I don’t even know him.’
‘Ah, but Mr Wang knows you do, and he likes you, I can tell.’
There was still no sign of Sandy, so I resumed my seat and held the book up to make it look as if I was reading it. I felt someone’s eyes on me. It was Jonas, who was studying me with a quizzical look. I tried to look nonchalant and kept glancing at my watch. Thankfully Sandy appeared, and he said he had been standing at the door waiting for me.
‘You seen to be taken with that author chappie, Lizzie,’ he said with a smile.
I felt my face go red again, but my voice was steady. ‘What author chappie are you talking about, Sandy?’
‘You know damn well who I mean, so stop trying to deny it.’
I gave him a steady look. ‘How many beers have you had tonight?’
‘As a matter of fact I’ve had three, but that’s because it’s the new year and tomorrow I might need the hair of the dog, which is funny because it’s the Year of the Dog.’
I gathered up my book, and without a backward glance at the author chappie I walked out of the shop, with Sandy following behind. Mr Wang called out, ‘Happy New Year, Miss Lizzieeeee.’
I turned around. ‘Happy New Year, Mr Wang.’
Then I saw Jonas O’Neill and Alex Garcia gathering up the leftover books, and as I caught his eye, he waved. ‘Goodnight, Lizzie Flint.’
Sandy gave me one of his looks. ‘I told you, didn’t I, that you’ve made an impression on him.’
‘Nonsense, Sandy,’ I said, but I felt my heart hammering in my chest and couldn’t for the life of me think what had happened to me that night.
When I got home, Sandy made straight for his room, no doubt dodging Marie, who would smell the beer on his breath, but I sat up with her and we had a small sherry each to celebrate another year.
Later, in bed, I sat up with my book. I couldn’t put it down. It was full of the history of China, from the opium wars to the Boxer Rebellion. It told of the slow demise of the emperors in their Forbidden City with all its concubines, and of the warlords and civil wars. It told the story of the famines, and of the incredible cruelty but also the beauty of this fabulous land, all told in words and great pictures. I turned to the back cover and found the photographs of the two authors: Jonas O’Neill, born in County Cork and a graduate of Dublin University, and Alex Garcia, born New York and a photographer of merit. Both men were now residing in Shanghai, where they were freelance reporters for a Shanghai newspaper.
It was 3 a.m. when I closed the book, but when I woke up next morning I was mortified to recall the dream I had had of Jonas O’Neill.
34
MR WANG’S WONDERFUL
WORLD OF BOOKS
After the New Year celebrations were over, life at the school seemed rather flat: a feeling that wasn’t helped by the weather, which was wet and humid. By the end of the day all I wanted was a bath and clean clothes, and I noticed Sandy wasn’t his usual cheery self.
For some time now, ever since Gerald’s death, I had been toying with the idea of going back home to see Margaret. All her letters were full of how well she was keeping and her social life in Carnoustie, but I was still worried about her.
I was also still thinking about Jonas O’Neill, and I had no idea why I felt like this. It had never happened to me before. I mentioned it when I wrote to Laura and was shocked when she replied that I was in love with the man. ‘What nonsense,’ I thought, ‘and so typical of Laura’s romantic nature.’ How, I asked myself, could I possibly be in love with someone I hardly knew and had only spoken a dozen words to?
I was worried about leaving Marie and Sandy in the lurch, as the new school term had started, so I said nothing about leaving. At the beginning of March, Sandy announced one morning that the two authors of Dragon Land were coming back due to the popularity of their book. He had given me a bland look as he ate his porridge with its powdered milk, then said, ‘Oh by the way, Lizzie, I was talking to Mr Wang and he’s having another book signing with those two author chappies.’
I nearly choked on my toast, and Sandy looked triumphant. ‘I knew you would be pleased.’
‘I’m not pleased, Sandy,’ I said indignantly. ‘It’s just that I never expected them back here in Hong Kong when there’s the entire country of China to go round with their book. And another thing: why didn’t Mr Wang tell me?’
‘Well, I expect they have been doing that, but they obviously have enough customers here to warrant another trip. Or maybe they’ve got another motive. As for Mr Wang, he said to tell you, and I’m telling you now.’ He scooped the last spoonful of porridge into his mouth with a grimace. ‘Good Lord, Marie, this powdered milk tastes atrocious.’
She looked at him over the top of her spectacles. ‘Well, I must say it’s taken you a long time to come to that conclusion, Sandy. You’ve been eating it for years.’
‘I know, and my stomach has finally gone on strike, so I won’t be eating any more of it.’
‘Are you sure your stomach isn’t rebelling against that awful junk you eat every night?’ she said tartly.
I had to smile. Sandy had eaten two helpings of fried rice and prawns along with two bottles of beer last night, and Marie’s words echoed my thoughts.
Although I hadn’t said anything to Sandy, a few weeks earlier I had written a letter to the publishers of Dragon Land, hoping they could pass it on to the two men. It was a short letter stating that I wanted to thank them for such a super book and how much I had enjoyed it. I hadn’t had a reply, but then again I wasn’t expecting one.
I could barely wait to get to Mr Wang’s shop, and I found him putting up a poster about the book. The event was on the Saturday, which was three days away.
On Saturday I was in two minds whether to go or to stay in the school. I tried on three different outfits, but all the time my mind was on the letter I had sent. Would Jonas O’Neill and Alex Garcia think I was some starry-eyed youngster? Why had I written it, I wondered? The answer was that I’d never expected to see either of them again. I finally made up my mind I wasn’t going to go, but when Sandy popped his head round the door I found myself walking out with him into the crowded streets.
‘I’ll not bother coming into the shop with you, Lizzie. I’ll just pop into the wee restaurant down the road, as it’s a special menu on tonight.’
I started to panic. ‘Can you not come in for a minute or two, Sandy?’
He laughed. ‘No, if it’s a toss-up between Mr Chan’s sticky ribs and rice and Jonas O’Neill’s book, then the rice wins hands down.’
I hesitated by the door and was almost on the verge of leaving when Mr Wang called out, ‘Miss Lizzieeeee.’
I saw Jonas turn round and he smiled. ‘Hello, Lizzie Flint, nice to meet you again.’
I picked up a copy of the book and walked towards him. ‘Can you sign this, please? Put “To Margaret from Lizzie”.’
I watched as the now familiar flourish of a signature was scrawled across the page, and Jonas handed it to Alex, who also signed it.
‘We want to thank you for your letter, Miss Flint,’ Alex said. ‘It’s always good to hear how well our readers like the book.’
Jonas didn’t say anything and my heart sank, but when I looked at him he smiled. ‘I was hoping your father would give you our special invitation.’
‘My father …?’
‘Yes, the man who was with you the last time we were here.’
‘Oh, he’s not my father. We’re both teachers at the same school, but yes, he did say you were both coming back.’
As I went to pick up the signed boo
k, Jonas touched my hand.
‘Can you wait till we’re finished here? I would like to take you out for a meal.’
I thought, ‘Will I wait? Why, Jonas, I’ve been waiting a lifetime to meet you.’
Instead, I smiled back. ‘Yes, I’ll wait.’ I pointed to the bench. ‘I’ll be sitting over there.’
The shop began to fill up. There was a huge queue in front of the table and I could hear Jonas’s voice as he chatted to the customers. When Sandy appeared, I said, ‘Hello, Father.’
He laughed out loud. ‘I didn’t want to let on to that author chappie that I’m not your father. I hope you don’t mind.’
I said I didn’t mind at all and explained about having a meal with Jonas.
Sandy looked worried. ‘I’m supposed to be looking after you, Lizzie, and I’m not sure about this chappie’s intentions.’
‘I’ll be fine. I’m a big girl now, and I promise I’ll not stay out too long.’
‘Well, mind and remember that. I won’t mention to Marie anything about this. I’ll just tell her you’re still at Mr Wang’s shop.’
Earlier on I had noticed a lovely Chinese girl sitting quietly on one of the other benches, but as the signing came to an end she got up and went to the table.
Jonas came over.
‘I’m leaving my book with Mr Wang,’ I said, ‘and I’ll collect it later.’
Jonas took my arm. ‘There’s someone I would like you to meet,’ he said as we went over to where Alex was sitting with the girl. ‘This is Sue Lin Crawford, Alex’s fiancée.’
She said, ‘Hello, Lizzie, nice to meet you,’ and she laughed when she saw my surprise that she had a Scottish accent. ‘I lived in Scotland for twelve years and went to Glasgow University.’
I told her I was from Dundee and had been a teacher there before coming out to Hong Kong.
As we left the shop, Mr Wang beamed a huge smile at me. ‘Goodnight, Miss Lizzieeeee.’
Dragon Land Page 21
