Rowland found himself wondering what it was that had singled him out for Bernadine’s particular attention. Surely she had come across Australians before. What could she possibly believe he could offer by way of entertainment?
As the second course was served, Bernadine raised the incident at the Cathay Hotel, without once looking at Rowland. Of course the direction of the enquiry was clear. Chao Kung, the Buddhist cleric, looked up from his prawns, and the acrobat crossed himself. Shao Xunmei deftly changed the subject with an anecdote about his time at the École des Beaux Arts in Paris.
“You’re an artist?” Rowland gratefully took the conversational lifeline Xunmei had offered him.
“More art lover than a serious artist,” Xunmei replied, winking. “What with poetry and martial arts, who has time to paint?”
Rowland smiled, and the two fell into an exchange about Paris and painting and the artistic scene in Shanghai. Both men knew the French capital well, having spent time there as students. They had walked the same streets, drunk wine at the same cafes, and even painted the same scenes.
“Perhaps you will care to accompany me to a gathering of the Celestial Hound Society?”
“Greyhound racing?” Rowland ventured, a little puzzled by the invitation.
Xunmei laughed. “The society is a brotherhood of artists in Shanghai influenced by the Parisian scene.”
“Oh, I see.” Rowland relaxed. The thought of talking about art with fellow painters appealed a great deal. “I would—very much.”
Xunmei nodded. “I’m sure my brothers would be interested to meet you.”
“Rowland.” Bernadine inserted herself into the conversation again. “I did want to tell you how sorry I was to hear about that frightful incident at the Cathay Hotel. It must have been a terrible shock. How are you coping?”
Rowland paused. So it was scandal that had piqued Bernadine’s interest in him. “Quite well, thank you.”
Bernadine continued. “When Mickey mentioned what had happened, I thought inviting you to one of my salons was the least I could do. To take your mind off the whole terrible business.”
“How very kind.”
“Was it dreadfully ghastly?” she whispered. “I imagine there was rather a lot of blood.”
“I don’t think—”
“You don’t suppose it was some kind of elaborate threat, do you?”
“Threat?”
“Commercial transactions in Shanghai are a brutal business.” She nudged her husband. “Isn’t that right, Chester?”
Chester Fritz nodded. “Yes, dear. Ruthless.”
“Perhaps the wicked fiend mistook the Russian girl for your beautiful Edna.”
Rowland’s expression was unreadable. He kept the horror, the cold realisation that it was possible, from showing on his face.
“It wouldn’t be the first time that a businessman’s family was threatened or abducted or even murdered,” Chester added. “Shanghai is a place where fortunes are made and lost. The stakes are high, and extortion has been the bread and butter of many criminal elements in the city.”
“It is vital to have good friends in this city, Mr. Sinclair.” Chao Kung inserted himself into the conversation. Rowland paused for a moment as he wondered how one addressed a member of the Buddhist clergy. He was pretty sure that that “Father” was not correct. There was a vague familiarity about Kung which he could not at that moment place. “Fortunately, sir, my friends are travelling with me.”
Kung’s fleshy lips curved up. “Of course. I pray that you will require no others.”
A commotion at another table interrupted all conversation. The macaw had somehow escaped its cage and was now flying around the pagoda. It flapped madly over heads, frightened by the screams it elicited in response. Rowland stood to help with the recapture, happy to have any excuse to escape Bernadine’s interrogation. It seemed there were many people glad to leave the seats to which they’d been assigned. By the time the bird was recaptured, common purpose and laughter had thawed any reserve between the guests and formality was abandoned. It was Milton who eventually caught the macaw by using his fez as a makeshift hood to subdue the creature and return it, somewhat regretfully, to its cage and its mistress. The gathering cheered and, now out of their seats, did not feel compelled to return to them. Many took to the dance floor; others moved tables, disrupting Bernadine’s carefully drawn seating plan. In amongst the disorder and joviality, Rowland found Edna.
“Oh Rowly, thank goodness!” The sculptress took his hand.
“Are you all right?” he asked, concerned by the sense of relief in her manner.
“The gentleman Bernadine wanted me to meet was anything but,” she said, pulling a face. “And the most determinedly boring man I’ve ever met.”
Rowland’s eyes flashed. “Did he offend you?”
“No, he was just a buffoon. Stay with me and he won’t return. Lord James’s admiration had no courage in it.”
“Point him out and I’ll—”
“Don’t be silly. Did you meet anyone interesting?”
Rowland told her about Shao Xunmei. He looked around. “I should introduce you and Milt.”
“Is that him?” Edna directed Rowland’s gaze towards the table at which Mickey Hahn sat. Beside her was an elegant man in scholar’s robes. The two were sucking on orange segments as they talked, their eyes fixed on one another.
“Yes.”
“I think it’s best we don’t interrupt.”
* * *
Ranjit and Harjeet had gone home, but Wing Zau and Clyde were still awake when they returned from the restaurant in Yangtzepoo. Emily Hahn had not returned with them, but left the party with Shao Xunmei. It was an act of impropriety which had upset their hostess and scandalised other guests. It seemed Bernadine’s rejection of the colour bar only went so far.
“She should be careful,” Wing observed. “The Shaos are no strangers to opium. Xunmei’s father was renowned for it. It comes with vast wealth and a poetic spirit. Perhaps that’s why Miss Hahn was drawn to him.”
Rowland was less comfortable with Mickey’s fascination with opium, her conviction that the drug would open the “real China” to her, than with her choice of companion. He had heard tales of opium addiction in the dens of inner Sydney, seen the vacant, listless eyes of those who’d been enslaved by the habit. He could not understand why the journalist coveted it.
“They seemed quite taken with each other,” Edna said, curling up in an armchair with a balloon of crème brandy. “And he does cut a tremendously romantic figure.”
“It was quite a bizarre gathering,” Milton observed. “A collection of the brilliant and odd.”
“One wonders why we were invited,” Edna mused.
“Well clearly, I’m the former,” Milton replied. “You and Rowly…who knows?”
“Bernadine had an inordinate interest in the details of Alexandra Romanova’s murder,” Rowland offered.
“Why?”
“Mostly for the sake of curiosity and gossip, I expect. She must at least believe I had nothing to do with it, or she would not have invited us.”
“That may not be true,” Wing said. “Mrs. Szold-Fritz is famous for the people who have attended her suppers.”
Clyde laughed. “Are you saying she isn’t fussy?”
Wing shrugged. “About certain things she is fussy.”
Rowland was quiet as he pondered over Bernadine’s theory as to why Alexandra had been murdered. He didn’t want to consider it, but he couldn’t ignore it. It terrified him. He moved a wooden chair next to Edna’s armchair and sat down. He told them of Bernadine’s supposition that Alexandra had been killed by mistake; that Edna had been the intended victim.
Milton and Clyde both sat up. Rowland took Edna’s hand before he continued.
“It may be nonsense,” he sa
id and he hoped. “But it is possible.” He looked down at Edna’s hand in his. “I think you should all go home.”
“What about you?” Edna asked.
“I’m still under investigation; I can’t leave.”
“Then we can’t either,” Milton replied.
“Milt, what happened to Alexandra—”
“We don’t know what exactly happened to Alexandra or who killed her. There’s a lot wrong with Bernadine’s theory.” Milton stood and paced. “If they killed Alexandra because they thought she was Ed, it still doesn’t explain what she was doing in our suite. If she wasn’t murdered there, but left there, why on earth did they think she was Ed?”
“On top of that, mate,” Clyde spoke up. “You’re trading wool, not a kingdom.”
“You’re not even doing that, Rowly.”
“But they don’t know that.” Rowland shook his head. “I know it sounds absurd. But if there’s the slightest chance that you are in danger—”
“There’s always a chance that we are in danger, Rowly,” Edna said quietly. “Even in Sydney. Even at Woodlands. It’s a dangerous world.”
“More dangerous in my company,” Rowland said sullenly.
Edna laughed. “This may not be all about you, Rowland Sinclair.”
“Ed…”
“Oh, Rowly.” Edna placed her glass on the coffee table so she could clasp his hand in both of hers. “You’re panicking because Bernadine has somehow made you see me in poor Alexandra’s place.”
“Yes, I am. Ed, I can’t risk—”
“We’d do anything in the world for you, Rowly, but you cannot order us to abandon you.”
“I’m not ordering you to—”
“That’s just as well then.” Edna unfurled her legs and stood. “Come on. You and Milt get Clyde up the stairs to bed. We’ll worry about what we’re going to do next, tomorrow.”
Wing jumped up. “Allow me to assist,” he said, offering Clyde his arm.
“I’ll be fine on my own,” Clyde grumbled, but he took Wing’s arm to pull himself up.
Rowland lingered downstairs, helping Edna to collect the various glasses and dishes from the drawing room and take them into the kitchen. She watched him check that the back door was locked and then tossed him a tea towel.
“I’ll wash—you dry. You need to practise.”
She picked up a sponge and began washing the glasses. “Well at least the chauffeur and the butler didn’t kill each other while we were away.”
“There is that.” He told her about his conversation with Ranjit Singh on the subject of Wing Zau.
Edna laughed. “What exactly does he think Mr. Wing is trying to do?”
“I’m not sure.” He frowned. “Perhaps I shouldn’t disregard his suspicions. It wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about someone.”
“Don’t be silly, Rowly. They just don’t get along, that’s all.”
Rowland didn’t reply. He was, if truth be told, not really thinking about Wing Zau.
“What’s wrong, Rowly?”
“Someone may have tried to kill you?”
“It’s more than that. You seem cross, out of sorts.”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
Rowland sighed. “I’m sorry. I just feel guilty I guess.”
“Because someone might have been trying to kill me?”
“Yes that.” Rowland hesitated. “And because I’m so appallingly glad they got the wrong woman.”
Edna’s face softened as she realised why he was so troubled. She wiped her hands on her skirt and looked up into his eyes. “Oh, Rowly, you wouldn’t have wished what happened on either one of us.”
“No…but I saw Alexandra’s body, saw what had been done to her, and now I can only be glad that it wasn’t you.” He shook his head in disgust. “It just seems so indecent, Ed. She wasn’t you, but I knew her.”
“Rowly, it’s natural. You’re not glad she’s dead, just that I’m not.” She returned to the sink and washed another glass which she handed him to dry. “What have we been doing since Alexandra’s body was found, Rowly?”
“I’m not sure I understand—”
She answered her own question. “We’ve been trying to find out who killed her, and not just to clear you. We haven’t not cared. You haven’t not cared.” Edna handed him another glass. “You might want to dry the inside of the glass as well,” she suggested gently.
He smiled. “You’re right. Thank you.”
She rinsed the last glass and handed it to him.
He dried the inside. “I’d still feel safer if you went home.”
“I wouldn’t. I’ve always felt safer with you nearby.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Communist Party’s fight for Aborigines
DRAFT PROGRAM OF STRUGGLE AGAINST SLAVERY
Full Economic, Political and Social Rights
…The white workers in unions, and in other mass organisations, the intellectuals, scientists, and humanitarians must all unite with the Communist Party in a common fighting front against murderous, rapacious imperialism, and help win back for the natives of Australia part of their native country and common rights as human beings. The Communist Party, speaking in the name of white and black workers of Australia, demands:
(1) Full and equal rights of all aborigines—economically, socially, and politically—with white races…
(2) Absolute political freedom for Aborigines and half-castes; right to membership in, and right to organise, political, economic and cultural organisations, ‘‘mixed” or aboriginal. Right to participate in demonstrations and public affairs. Right to leave Australia as full citizens.
(3) Removal of all color restrictions on aborigines or half-castes, in professions, sports, etc.
Aboriginal intellectuals, school teachers, etc., not to be prevented from practising because of the “color line.”
(4) Cancellation of all licenses to employ aborigines without pay
(5) Prohibition of slave and forced labor
(6) Unconditional release from gaol of all aborigines or half-castes, and no further arrests until aboriginal juries can hear and decide cases.
(7) Abolition of Aborigines Protection Boards—Capitalism’s slave recruiting agencies and terror organisations against aborigines and halfcastes…
(8) Absolute prohibition of the kidnapping of aboriginal children by the A.P.B., whether to hire them out as slaves, place them in “missions,” gaols or “correction” homes…
(9) Full and unrestricted right of aboriginal and half-caste parents to their children…
(10) Aboriginal children to be permitted to attend public and high schools and to sit for all examinations
(11) Liquidation of all missions and so-called homes for aborigines…
(12) Full right of the aborigines to develop native culture…
(13) Unemployed aborigines to be paid sums not less than other workers as unemployment allowance…
…Workers, Intellectuals, humanitarians, scientists, anti-imperialists fight for these demands for the aboriginal race. Prevent Capitalism exterminating this race through bare-faced murder or slavery. Struggle with the aborigines against Australian Imperialism! Workers and oppressed peoples of all lands, unite! Smash Imperialism!
—Workers’ Weekly, 25 September 1931
* * *
Kruznetsov arrived at the Kiangse Road house in his employer’s Cadillac. It seemed the generous American woman was happy to contribute the use of her motorcar in aid of her chauffeur’s romantic ambitions. Assuming that Kruznetsov had once again been too eager to see Edna to wait for a more sensible hour, Rowland was not especially alarmed. He had, to be honest, forgotten that the Russian count had invited Edna to the pictures, an invitation into which he had insinuated himself. He suggested Kruznetsov tak
e breakfast with them.
“I’m afraid we cannot linger, Rowly.”
Rowland glanced at his watch. “What time does the film begin?”
“Oh we’re not going to the film… I have a much better outing planned.” Kruznetsov smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, Rowly. You were looking forward to seeing Charlie Chan in Shanghai—perhaps you do not wish to come now?”
Rowland groaned inwardly. Kruznetsov was obviously trying to rid himself of a chaperone. Clumsy as the attempt was, it did make it a little awkward to insist on accompanying the couple.
“Where are we going?” Edna came down the stairs in a sleeveless claret dress and a white cloche and kid gloves. “Should I change?”
Kruznetsov put his hand on his heart. “No, you are a vision. We visit Fengjing, a canal town. Ancient and very beautiful. People say it is the most romantic place in all of China.”
Wing intervened. “Fengjing! Why Mr. Sinclair, that was the town of which I spoke to you yesterday. How lucky that you are visiting it today!”
Rowland cringed. This was getting worse. He decided that honesty was the only vaguely dignified response. “Look, Nicky, it may be overprotective, but until Miss Romanova’s murderer is found—”
Kruznetsov bowed his head graciously. “I understand. Edna is a sister to you. I, too, would be protective.”
Edna rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you come along too, Mr. Wing? We might need a translator in the country. A girl can’t have too many brothers!”
* * *
Fengjing was on the very outskirts of Shanghai, about forty miles to the southeast. The urban congestion of sikumen gave way to sparsely populated country. Rowland sat forward as a tower came into view with what seemed to be a small city of tents at its base. The red, white, and black of the Nazi flags were distinct on the landscape. Kruznetsov noticed his gaze.
Shanghai Secrets Page 19
