The Orchid Tree

by Siobhan Daiko

  Engines grumbling, the boat was approaching its destination. Ahead, bobbing sampans lined the shore. Elegant arcaded colonial buildings took up virtually every inch of space alongside the strip of flat land, and green slopes lifted sharply behind them to the Peak. I’d lived a pampered life there in those untroubled days before the Japanese invaded; everything would be different now.

  We arrived at a pier with a roof pitched like a Chinese temple and there was Papa, standing in the shade next to his chauffeur-driven Daimler. I jumped off the boat and propelled myself into his arms. ‘I thought we’d never get you home in time for Christmas,’ he said, hugging me. ‘Was that cargo ship all right?’

  ‘Quite comfortable, actually.’ I kissed him and his moustache brushed my cheek, the sensation as familiar as the aroma of tobacco radiating from him. ‘You look well,’ I said. He was much too thin, though ─ almost as thin as me.

  ‘Thank you for meeting my daughter,’ Papa said to Lieutenant Stevens. ‘I really should get my own boat one day.’ He let out a self-deprecating laugh. ‘Why don’t I organise a dinner one evening when Tony and Jessica are free, and you can join us?’

  Lieutenant Stevens shook hands with Papa. ‘I’d be delighted,’ he said, smiling directly at me. I thanked him and followed Papa to the car, where porters had already stowed my suitcases.

  In the back of the Daimler, I sank into the soft leather, my gloved hand tucked under me. I looked out at the buildings I’d known my whole life: the hundred year-old St John’s Cathedral with its gothic bell tower, the sloping roof of the Peak Tram station and its large clock face. I glanced at the back of the driver’s head and my smile wavered. ‘What happened to Ah Fong?’

  ‘He died while we were in Stanley,’ Papa whispered, patting my arm. ‘Starvation, apparently. Dreadfully sad . . . This is George. Lots of locals are using European first names these days.’

  Twirling my jade bangle, I thought about Jimmy. He’d changed his name as soon as he’d learnt to speak English. Did he still call himself Jimmy? Or had he gone back to his Chinese name? I frowned, trying to remember. Chun? Chun, Chun – Oh, Ming, like the vase. A tease from over a decade ago tickled my mouth. His name had been Chun Ming, or Ah Chun to his family and friends.

  Gravel crunched under the Daimler’s tyres. I rolled down the window. The house was nothing like the shell I’d last seen. The windows were intact again, the outside walls gleaming white, the black roof tiles all in position. Potted poinsettias lined the driveway like they’d done every December of my childhood.

  The door opened, and Ah Ho stepped out. Gold teeth catching the sunlight, my old amah seemed just the same. I clambered from the car, flung my arms out wide, and ran forward. ‘How are you?’ I caught the scent of Chinese herbs and gripped Ah Ho’s bony frame.

  ‘Wah! You very beautiful now!’

  I laughed. ‘How’s Jimmy?’

  ‘He in China. He teacher like you.’

  Papa gave a tolerant smile. ‘Don’t stand out here on the doorstep, dear girl! You can catch up with Ah Ho later.’ He made his way into the hall. ‘Time for a drink before lunch.’

  Heels clicking on the parquet floor, I followed him into the sitting room. Papa sat in an armchair, and dear Ah Woo, our old houseman, arrived with a whisky soda on a tray. I greeted him and was rewarded with a grin practically as wide as his face.

  I let myself out through the veranda doors and took a seat on the patio. My gaze was immediately drawn to the spot where, before we’d left for internment, I’d watched Papa and Ah Woo bury the family silver. The heady scent of the Bauhinia flowers wafted towards me. Such memories! I peeled off my blood-soaked glove, and stared at the scabs on my hand. Sobs welled up.

  A shout from Papa, ‘Kate, where have you got to? Lunch is nearly ready!’

  I dried my eyes and stared at the place where Papa and Ah Woo had dug that grave-like trench. I stuffed my gloves into my pocket. I should bury the past and everything that had happened ─ just like I’d buried the silver photograph all those years ago. I wouldn’t harm myself anymore. Straightening my shoulders, I turned and headed back into the house.

  ***

  A month after my return to the colony I was standing on the veranda overlooking the harbour, waiting for Papa’s guests. Light radiated from myriad buildings boasting neon signs below me. On the dark water, ships shimmered in the evening glow. Ferries festooned with fairy lights made their way to and from Kowloon, a giant pool of illuminations watched over by the shadowy shape of the encircling hills. All the years I’d been away, I’d dreamed of this view, and I’d looked at it every night since I’d returned, never tiring of it.

  The grumble of a car engine from the driveway, and I went indoors.

  Tony and Jessica Chambers, followed by Lieutenant James Stevens, came through from the entrance hall. ‘Jessica, how glamorous you’re looking tonight,’ Papa said, getting up from his armchair. He held out his hand to James. ‘Welcome. What would you like to drink?’

  ‘A gin gimlet, please.’

  Papa summoned Ah Woo by ringing the small brass bell from the sideboard. ‘Where has Kate got to? Oh, there she is!’

  I hesitated in the doorway and then walked forward, the gold silk of my gown swishing. ‘Hello, everyone!’

  ‘Kate, darling!’ Jessica aimed a kiss at my cheek. ‘My goodness. You’re all grown up. And so pretty. Not that you weren’t before, but that ghastly camp made us all look like ghouls by the end.’

  Tony strode across the room and enveloped me in a hug. I pushed down the panic spreading through me. I should have realised seeing Tony and Jessica again would crack the thin veneer with which I’d sealed the past.

  At dinner, talk soon turned to the civil war in China. ‘Looks as if the communists are getting the upper hand,’ Tony said.

  ‘Humph. I heard Peking has fallen without a fight,’ Papa muttered.

  I swallowed a knot of apprehension. ‘The communists aren’t going to want Hong Kong, are they?’

  ‘They have to respect the treaties,’ Jessica said. ‘Don’t we have a lease on the New Territories until 1997?’

  Tony helped himself to a slice of Beef Wellington from the dish held out by Ah Woo. ‘I doubt the colony will be able to hold out against the People’s Liberation Army any better than against the Japanese. Not unless we reinforce the garrison.’

  ‘But I’ve only just come home,’ I said, my mouth dry.

  Papa reached across the table and patted my hand. ‘Don’t worry! China is in a complete mess. She’s not going to risk the wrath of the world by attempting to invade us.’

  ‘Good thing too,’ James said. ‘I’ve had enough war to last a lifetime.’

  ‘What do you think of Hong Kong?’ I asked him.

  ‘Very friendly. It’s a bit like a village. I mean, the European population is small so it’s easy to get to know people.’

  ‘You’re right, I suppose. I just wish we had more Chinese friends. That’s something I hope will change. It must be interesting for you to work for the Customs and spend so much time in China.’

  ‘Actually, I’m planning to hand in my notice and find a shore job. The Chinese won’t employ Europeans for much longer, not with the communists taking over. Tony’s managed to get himself appointed General Manager of Holden’s Wharf. He wants me to be his deputy as soon as he can wangle it.’

  ‘Good luck!’

  ‘Thanks. Are you working?’

  ‘I met the Director of Education last week. He said there was a shortage of teachers and, as I’ve just qualified, he offered me a job at my old primary school. I start on Monday.’

  James lifted his glass. ‘Congratulations!’

  The evening ended with coffee, liqueurs and dancing to a Bing Crosby gramophone record. You must’ve been a beautiful baby, Crosby crooned as James whispered the lyrics in my ear.

  ‘Don’t!’ I stiffened. ‘You’re embarrassing me.’

  ‘I apologise for that, but I’ve never spoken truer words, Mis
s Wolseley.’

  ‘Please, call me Kate.’

  ‘Only if you stop referring to me as Lieutenant Stevens. I’m James.’

  ‘James. It’s a nice name.’

  ‘And I rather like Kate.’

  ‘Well, at least we agree on something,’ I said, my lips twitching. ‘I wonder if we’ll be in agreement on anything else . . .’

  ‘Only one way to find out.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘We could have dinner together.’

  ‘Let’s see,’ I said, regarding him sideways. How to let him down? ‘I’m terribly booked up, you know. Perhaps you’ll telephone me in a day or two?’

  ‘Can’t you tell me now?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I really am. For some reason, I’m invited out almost every night to parties, dinner and dances. I think it’s because there aren’t many young women for people to invite.’

  ‘Certainly none as lovely as you,’ he said with a smile. ‘Shall I ring you tomorrow when you’ve consulted your diary?’

  ‘Now you’re making me sound pretentious. Come onto the veranda and I’ll show you the view!’

  I linked my arm with his and led him outside.

  ‘It’s fabulous,’ he said.

  ‘Did you know that the Chinese believe the earth is a living entity and its breath chi, dragon vapour?’ I pointed. ‘Those hills are actually dragons that have rolled themselves south across China. Kowloon, gau lung, means “nine dragons”. Except there’re only eight of them as the emperor himself was considered a dragon, the ninth one.’

  ‘Fascinating.’

  ‘Hong Kong is a real dragon’s lair. When I was little, I used to fantasise about the creatures coming to life while I slept. They’d be protecting the territory and keeping us safe in this haven. Pity they took a break from their duties and let the Japanese invade.’

  I gripped my arms so hard I felt a sharp pain. Stop! I mustn’t think about it; I’d resolved to leave the past buried, hadn’t I? I hadn’t harmed myself since I’d got back and I wouldn’t start again now. That had been part of my previous life, the lonely time in Australia when all I had were my memories.

  Back inside, I sat next to Jessica on the sofa, letting her prattle on about the best shops to buy silk. How to get out of having dinner with James Stevens? He was charming, admittedly. Easy to talk to and good-looking. But there was only one person who could melt the ice within me. One person who could light my inner flame. One person whom I could love.

  20

  Heung Kong, Fragrant Harbour. James let out a wry laugh. Not very fragrant today. Such a stench: bilge, sewage, seaweed, dead fish and a rotting pig’s carcass, the flotsam of a busy port, borne on the muggy April air. James picked his way along the quayside and stepped aside. A bloody great crane was lifting a crate from the hold of a vessel. He stared at the Holden’s Wharf godowns, lined up like army barracks, an office block in the centre. It was here that Tony was waiting for him to start his new job.

  A new challenge. I can’t wait.

  James thought about his duties. He’d have to help oversee the unloading of European imports destined for the colony from the company’s Red Funnel ships. They’d be loaded with Hong Kong re-exports, mainly of goods from China, on the return journey to England. All he needed, apparently, were good organisational skills and a degree of honesty. The last deputy had left under a black cloud, something to do with demanding too many kick-backs from the stevedores. James’ administration skills were excellent. As for honesty, he’d proved his integrity by not accepting that bribe from Leung, hadn’t he?

  The lift boy slammed shut the doors and the old machine clanked up to the second floor. James stepped into the office. Fans whirred on the ceiling, stirring the heat and humidity of early summer. Urgh! Spring was practically non-existent in Hong Kong; the season had changed from cool and damp to hot and wet overnight. For the next six months he’d be scraping mould from his shoes and books, and taking salt tablets to replenish the minerals he’d lose sweating. But not to worry, it was a small price to pay for getting out of war-torn Britain.

  ‘There’s your desk, old chap.’ Tony pointed towards the centre of the room. ‘The blackboard behind you is to keep track of all the ships unloading from the wharves and loading from junks in the harbour. There’s a stack of paperwork from the godowns for you to tackle as well.’

  ‘I’ll get cracking then.’ James didn’t mind being Tony’s workhorse; it wouldn’t be forever. His salary was even better than it had been with the customs, but as soon as he found someone to back him, he wanted to start an import-export business. There was money to be made in Hong Kong, and he’d be one of those who made it.

  Work kept him busy all morning and at lunchtime he was enjoying bacon and tomato sandwiches with Tony at the USRC, the United Services Recreation Club, in the heart of Kowloon. They sat sipping coffee in the members’ lounge and leafing through the newspapers.

  ‘Bloody hell! My old ship the Amethyst has been caught up in the communist advance.’ James put down The South China Morning Post. ‘Apparently she ran aground on the Yangtze, came under heavy fire, and there were a huge number of casualties.’

  ‘That’s a bit of a poor show.’ Tony sat back in his armchair. ‘We haven’t taken sides in their civil war. What the hell was Amethyst doing up there anyway?’

  ‘She was supposed to relieve Consort and evacuate British and Commonwealth citizens from Nanking.’

  ‘Thank God we left the Customs when we did. I wouldn’t like to be in China with all this malarkey going on.’

  ‘You’re damn right. I only hope they leave us in peace here.’

  ‘We can’t defend the colony. If it comes to that, we’ll just have to hand it back. But I don’t think it’ll come to that, old boy.’

  ‘I bloody hope not.’ It would be just his luck if the Chinese came over the border and fucked everything up. ‘Hong Kong seems to be full of nationalist Kuomintang supporters. Don’t know which group is worse. The communists or the nationalists.’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned,’ Tony said, ‘they’re each as bad as the other. Our friend K C Leung, for instance.’

  James shuffled forward in his seat. Finally, Tony had mentioned the smuggler. ‘Can you tell me now why we didn’t seize his junk?’

  ‘Been meaning to fill you in, but have only just got the go-ahead from Special Branch.’

  ‘Go-ahead? Special Branch?’

  ‘I helped them out when I was in the Customs. Found out Leung has been smuggling goods into China. He’s involved with the same guerrillas who helped some of our POWs escape during the war.’

  ‘So that’s why you let him go . . .’

  ‘That and his links, or rather his niece’s links, with the Macau Consortium.’

  ‘Macau Consortium?’

  ‘A gold trading monopoly backed by the corrupt Portuguese administration. They fly the gold into Macau from Hong Kong on seaplanes.’

  ‘I thought gold trading was regulated by international agreements.’

  ‘Portugal didn’t sign up to them. They decided to play the open market. The China price for gold is higher than anywhere else. It isn’t supposed to leave Macau, and officially it never does.’

  ‘But unofficially . . . ?’

  ‘Special Branch has heard that Sofia’s half-brother is smuggling the gold back into Hong Kong. They suspect local banks are buying some of it. They want to find out which ones.’

  James leaned in closer, intrigued. ‘And . . . ?’

  ‘Special Branch needs someone to keep an eye on Leo Rodrigues, and I’m no longer up to it. Also, they want someone to get the confidence of Leung’s niece. She’s the daughter of Paulo Rodrigues, who runs the Consortium.’

  ‘What are you asking, exactly?’

  ‘The Head of Special Branch, Gerry Watkins, knows Leung invited you to dinner the last time you were in Macau.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Gerry wants you to go back there. Pretend to be a tourist. Cont
act Leung’s niece. Perfectly legitimate thing to do. After all, she’s quite a beauty.’

  James sat back and thought for a moment. ‘Do you need my answer straight away?’

  Tony lit a cigarette. ‘Mull it over for a couple of days then let me know. You’ll be richly rewarded if you do decide to accept. Well, that’s enough talk for now. We’d better get a taxi back to the office.’

  At his desk James checked bills of lading. He was finding his new job just as easy as his previous one; it hardly required any intelligence at all, and he prided himself on his intelligence. In spite of his inadequate schooling, he’d pulled himself up by his own efforts to be the match of anyone he came across. He read voraciously and was addicted to a wide range of fact and fiction. Only last night, he’d had his nose buried in The Naked and the Dead, one of the best war stories ever written. It was thanks to his officer training in the Navy that he’d received an education of sorts, but he’d kept on learning ever since. One thing he did lack, though, was wealth. And a place in society. He’d get both before too long. He’d bloody better . . .

  He glanced at his watch. Time to call it a day. He’d go for a bath and a massage before catching the ferry over to the Hong Kong Island side of the harbour. It would be the ideal place to think about Tony’s proposition.

  ***

  In the bath house cubicle, he undressed and locked away his things in a drawer beside the bed. A uniformed attendant in soft-soled slippers wrapped him in a towel. He’d been here several times and no longer felt any shame at standing naked before another man. In fact, the whole experience had become quite impersonal. He sipped a San Miguel and relaxed.

  The attendant returned and indicated that he should follow him to a room, which bore a surprising resemblance to his bathroom back at the small hotel where he’d been staying since he’d arrived in the colony: white enamel bath, wooden soap-and-sponge tray, brass taps. The attendant prepared the water, stirring it to make sure the temperature was right and adding pine scented salts.