The Orchid Tree

by Siobhan Daiko

  James immersed himself. Should he get involved with Special Branch? The sum Tony had mentioned on the way back to the office meant he’d be able to afford that Dragon yacht he was hankering after, not to mention have a bit of cash to fall back on.

  I’m very tempted . . .

  A bath boy opened the door. The slim young man with a shaven head was stark naked. Having the bath boys work nude was probably a way of saving on drying their clothes.

  ‘Can do?’

  ‘Yes. Can do.’ James closed his eyes and prepared to be ministered to like a baby. The boy lifted each of his limbs out of the warm soapy water. The sense of relaxation was so complete James began to drift off. But the youth stopped washing between his toes, prodded him, and made motions with his hands that he should stand up.

  After placing two boards on top of the bath at right angles to form a T, the boy signalled that James should stretch out on the stem. The young man wrapped a hot, dry towel around his forearm and rubbed him with it, rubbing and rubbing until he sloughed off the top layer of James’ skin. It came away in filthy black sheets. How could there be so much dirt? He was meticulous about cleanliness and showered morning and night.

  Back in the cubicle he lay on the bed. The uniformed attendant returned and covered him with a towel, through which he massaged his arms and chest. James let his thoughts drift again. Sofia Rodrigues intrigued him. Could she be involved with the disreputable side of her family’s business?

  I’ll have to tread carefully . . .

  The attendant stopped pummelling and pinching and asked him to roll over. He climbed onto James’ back and walked up and down his spine, kneading him with his feet. It was impossible to concentrate and James gave himself up to the massage. The attendant bent his legs up towards the back of his neck. ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Finishy... Tippu?’ The masseur held out his trousers.

  Out on the street, the heat hit James like a punch in the guts, and he was sweating again, moisture prickling his armpits and hairline.

  He walked past shops selling embroidered linen, carved ivory statuettes, jade jewellery and other curios. Better go back to his hotel; he had to get ready. After repeated requests, at long last, he was taking Kate Wolseley out to dinner.

  21

  A fan on my dressing table stirred the warm evening air as I sat marking a set of exercise books. In spite of the memories, I was glad I’d come back to Hong Kong. I loved teaching at the Peak School; my job filled my days and the loneliness of Australia was fast becoming just a memory.

  Sometimes, in Sydney, I used to go out to the pictures and dancing in the evenings with casual male acquaintances in order not to feel so alone. None of them could take Charles’ place in my heart, though.

  I shut my eyes and remembered the feel of his smooth skin against mine. One day, I’d go to the area where that ship had been sunk and lay a wreath of orchid tree flowers over his watery grave. Heart aching, I covered my face with my hands.

  A knock, and Papa peered around the door. ‘Aren’t you having dinner with Lieutenant Stevens?’

  I rubbed my eyes. ‘Yes. With James.’

  ‘He’s a very nice young man. Entirely suitable.’

  I put my pen down. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think he could be right for you.’

  ‘I’m only going out for dinner with him. Nothing more.’

  ‘You should consider your options. I’ll be retiring next year and you need to find yourself a husband if you want to stay on. Someone who can keep you in the style to which you’ve become accustomed, as they say.’

  Papa shut the door. I picked up my pen and scratched it across a spare sheet of paper. Papa treated me like a child, and no wonder, for I was still living at home. I’d looked for a flat, but accommodation was at a premium because of all the war-damage. I’d just have to put up with him babying me for now. As soon as the right place became available, or I found a flat-mate, I’d move.

  I scrunched up the paper and threw it into the wastepaper basket. I had no intention of getting involved with James Stevens. I had no intention of getting involved with anyone. I’d only agreed to have dinner with him when he’d asked me so many times it was impolite to refuse.

  I went to my wardrobe. What to wear? Something not too alluring. I flicked through my dresses and found a yellow taffeta frock with a V neckline and fitted waist.

  After a bath, I dressed, left the house, and strolled to the Peak Tram station. The bell rang and the funicular started its descent. From my seat at the front of the car, I looked out at the thick sub-tropical jungle dropping steeply down to the city below. Once, I’d glimpsed a cobra curled in the shadows; I’d seen it raise its head and spread its hood as the tram rattled by. But today there were no reptiles lurking in the undergrowth, and soon we arrived at the terminus. Stepping onto the pavement, I found a rickshaw to take me to Jimmy’s Kitchen, the oldest European restaurant in Hong Kong.

  James was waiting at the bar, gin gimlet in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

  I took the stool next to him. ‘Am I late?’

  ‘Not at all. You’re looking beautiful. That colour really suits you. What would you like to drink?’

  ‘A brandy soda, please.’ Glancing up, I was startled by the intensity of his gaze, and felt a flush up the side of my neck. ‘How’s the job at Holden’s Wharf?’ Best keep him talking about himself. That way he wouldn’t be able to ask too many personal questions. Even if his deep blue eyes smiled attractively in that fine English face . . .

  ‘The work is hardly exciting, but the best thing is, the company’s building some flats in Kowloon.’ James signalled the waiter. ‘So I’ll be able to move out of my hotel. Have you always lived on the Peak?’

  ‘Yes. The servants love living at number eight.’

  ‘Oh. Why?’

  ‘The Chinese consider eight an excellent number.’ A safe topic of conversation, not intimate at all. ‘The word for eight sounds the same as prosperous and is also the yinnest of the yin numbers from one to nine.’

  ‘Yin numbers?’

  ‘Like everything else in nature, numbers have yin and yang qualities.’ Our waiter placed my drink on the table, and I took a sip. ‘Odd numbers are considered yang and even numbers are considered yin.’

  ‘Shall we order?’ James picked up the menu and handed it to me. ‘Then you can tell me all about it.’

  ‘The Mulligatawny soup is a speciality.’ I pointed. ‘As it says here: lightly spiced and delicious.’

  ‘Sounds perfect. What about the Beef Stroganoff to follow?’

  ‘You go ahead, James. My stomach can’t digest much, so I’ll just have a salad.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely. It’s nice to be back here, though. I used to come with my parents before the war. It was a bare-boned type of place then, with scrubbed table-tops and naked light bulbs, but the food was always excellent.’

  James ordered then turned to me. ‘What’s the difference between yin and yang?’

  ‘It’s a very ancient concept. How do I explain without boring you?’

  ‘I won’t be bored. It’s fascinating.’

  I didn’t care if I was boring him to death. It would stop him from inviting me out again, and I wouldn’t need to put up with the intense way he looked at me. ‘Yin represents femininity, darkness and passivity. I don’t agree females are necessarily passive, though.’

  ‘I see your point. What about yang then?’

  ‘It’s the opposite: masculine, bright and active. Everything has an opposite, but never absolute.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘No one thing is completely yin or totally yang. For example “night”, which is yin, can turn into “day”, which is yang. If there’s an imbalance, an excess or deficiency of one or the other, that’s relative as well. A surplus of yang makes the yin become more intense.’

  ‘Seems complex. How do you know so much about all this?’

  The waiter l
ed us to a table in the corner, and I told James about my childhood friendship with Jimmy.

  ‘How unusual to have a Chinese lad for a companion. As far as I’m aware, the British and the Chinese seem to lead a sort of parallel existence in Hong Kong.’

  ‘It’s different with the servants. They’re almost part of the family and we get to know them. Even so, we must be careful not to make them lose face.’

  ‘Yes, I understand a bit about face. I used to feel as if I was treading on eggshells in the Customs.’

  We finished eating, and James suggested we go on to a night club. I yawned, covering my mouth with my fingers. ‘I’m sorry to be a wet blanket, but I’ve got to be up early for school tomorrow. Would you mind dreadfully if we didn’t?’

  ‘Not if you promise we can do this again.’ He reached across the table and took my hand. ‘I’m serious about my intentions towards you, Kate. Dare I hope you might feel the same way?’

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. I pulled away from him, and made the excuse that I needed the loo. In the powder room, I stared at my reflection. Had I been sending the wrong signals? What the hell was I supposed to do now?

  Back at our table, James was swirling a brandy. ‘I’m sorry for rushing you, Kate. Please forgive me.’

  I smiled at him. ‘Of course.’

  Outside the restaurant he hailed a taxi. ‘Shall I come with you as far as the Peak? The driver can take me to my hotel afterwards.’

  ‘I’ll be fine, thanks.’

  I waved through the back window of the cab. I couldn’t help liking James. He was good-looking and charming. I’d enjoy seeing him again, but I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. I would never love anyone but Charles.

  22

  By the open grave in St Michael’s cemetery, Sofia picked up a handful of earth, and threw it onto Father’s coffin. The smell of the soil rose in the air: musty, sweet and clinging.

  Father had died three days ago in his sleep; for the first and last time in his life Paulo Rodrigues had lost a fight and the cancer had finally defeated him. She stared at the wooden casket. He lay inside, dressed in his finest suit. Her chin wobbled and she breathed in gently; she mustn’t lose control. Father had brought her up to be strong; he would have expected her to show that strength now.

  How could she leave him here in this dismal depressing place, crammed with Victorian marble tombs and smelling of rot? Sorrow surged through her, but she couldn’t let herself break down in front of all these people. She turned to go.

  ‘Not so fast,’ Leo said. ‘We have to greet everyone first.’

  Sofia stood next to him. A queue of dark-suited men had formed. They bowed and shook Leo’s hand, then shuffled past and ignored her. Leo had probably orchestrated this charade to humiliate her. The last mourner presented himself. Uncle. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said in Chiu Chow, taking a handkerchief from his pocket. ‘I hope your father was in no pain at the end.’ He dabbed eyes that were almost in danger of disappearing into his fat cheeks.

  ‘The opium took care of that.’ Her voice trembled with sadness. ‘He spent his last days dreaming.’

  ‘For the best, I expect.’ Uncle walked with her to the waiting car. ‘What are your plans now?’

  ‘Father has left me half his shares in the Consortium. I want to sell them to Leo and move into your house.’

  Uncle patted her hand. ‘It is better you come and live with me. Your mother was my dearest sister, and she would have wanted it.’ He sighed. ‘Why don’t you have dinner with me tonight?’

  ‘Not tonight. I’m too miserable. Can we make it tomorrow at the usual place?’ Despite being in mourning she had to eat. She also had to get out of Father’s house. She kept expecting to bump into him around every corner and, when she didn’t, the sense of loss was so, so overwhelming.

  ***

  In her bedroom, she changed out of her black funeral dress and put on the baggy kung fu trousers and grey tunic she usually wore at home. She went into the bathroom and splashed cold water onto her cheeks. Her face was pinched with grief and dark circles spoiled the skin under her eyes. She left the room, marched down the corridor, and knocked at Leo’s door. ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘I’ll meet you in Father’s study. Just give me ten minutes.’

  She looked him up and down. The only thing different about him since Father’s death was that the arrogance, once simmering beneath the surface, now rose from him like steam from fresh horse dung.

  At Father’s antique desk, she pulled out a chair and waited. She didn’t wait long. Leo crossed the room and took the seat opposite; his newly-acquired Boxer dog, Balthazar, at his feet.

  She pushed back her sleeves. ‘I want to sell you my shares in the Consortium. And I’m planning to live at my uncle’s.’

  ‘That traitor!’ Leo leaned down and fondled Balthazar’s ears. ‘He’s not as clever as he thinks he is. When he was so careless with my shipment, I had him investigated. And it’s not over yet.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough. The terms of Father’s will state that I am your legal guardian until you turn twenty-one.’

  ‘My birthday’s in October. You might as well let me go now, as you won’t be able to stop me then.’

  ‘You can go.’ He slammed his hand down and sent a sheaf of papers cascading to the floor. Balthazar barked twice. ‘But your shares in the Consortium will remain under my control until October.’

  She clenched her fists so hard her arms shook. ‘You bastard!’

  ‘It’s not me who’s the bastard.’ Leo’s lips twisted into a smirk. ‘You’re an educated young woman. Think about your prospects and don’t be too hasty! There are huge changes taking place in China, and the Consortium is rightly placed to take advantage.’

  ‘I don’t want to get involved with your cronies.’

  ‘They’re just members of an anti-communist action group, but Mao is gaining ground so they’ve fled here.’

  ‘And now they’re in Macau to make their living by pimping and extortion. I think it’s revolting.’

  ‘Your ideals will get you nowhere, Sofia. Life isn’t as simple as you seem to believe.’

  ‘There’s no point in discussing it further.’ She got to her feet. Of course, she knew it wasn’t that simple. She wasn’t an idiot. Leo’s associates must have found it hard to leave everything behind in China. She wouldn’t have liked to have been forced to give up her life. She’d give it up voluntarily when the time was right.

  She strode out of the room and across the hall to the staircase. As she passed the front door, the bell rang and she opened it. Derek Higgins was standing on the doorstep.

  ‘Derek! What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come to give my condolences to you and your brother. I couldn’t make it to the funeral.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll call the houseman and he’ll take you through to Leo.’

  Sofia stared at Derek’s back as he followed the servant down the corridor. What was he up to?

  ***

  Sofia put down her menu and glanced around the Solmar. She’d told Uncle all about her conversation with Leo. She’d tried to persuade him to intervene on her behalf, but he’d told her she’d be better off biding her time. Five months were nothing, he’d said; they would pass quickly.

  Should she tell Uncle that she’d seen Derek at the house? No. She had nothing to go on. All she could do was keep an eye on him. And what about Leo’s ambiguous remark? She looked up again and put a hand to her mouth. That Englishman, James Stevens, had just walked into the restaurant.

  ‘Good evening,’ he said, coming up to the table and beaming a smile.

  ‘Why don’t you join us?’ She turned to her uncle. ‘That would be all right by you, wouldn’t it?’

  Uncle grunted his agreement, and James pulled out a chair. ‘This restaurant was recommended to me,’ James said. ‘I’m here for a bit of sight-seeing, and I was going to give my sympathy to you tomorr
ow. So sorry to hear about your father.’

  ‘He’s at peace now.’ Best to change the topic of conversation. Talking about Father made her too sad. ‘The Solmar is famous for Macau cuisine,’ she said.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Portuguese traders brought spices from Africa, India and Malaya hundreds of years ago and blended them with native vegetables and seafood. You won’t find food like this anywhere else in the world.’

  James shuffled his chair closer. ‘Fascinating.’

  ‘The most popular dish is bacalhau.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s salted, dried codfish imported from Portugal. Before cooking, the fish slices are soaked in water for hours and hours to get rid of the salt.’

  ‘I don’t fancy eating a fish that has come half way across the world, even if it was in a dried state.’ James laughed. ‘My boss said I should try the sole.’

  ‘You can order Linguado Macau if you want to play it safe. As it says on the menu,’ she read, ‘fresh and tender Macau soles fried and served with green salad together with cheese, shrimps and seafood.’

  ‘Sounds superb, but I think I’ll be daring and try the bacalhau after all.’

  Ha! He rises well to a challenge. Good to know. ‘Portuguese wines are excellent.’ She glanced at her uncle. ‘Why don’t we order a bottle?’

  ‘The best thing to drink with Macau food,’ Uncle said, snapping his fingers. ‘Waiter!’

  They chatted about the history of the Portuguese territory. James didn’t know much about it and seemed genuinely interested.

  After dinner, Uncle said, ‘I was expecting Derek Higgins to meet me here. I’d better find him. He has to go to Hong Kong for me tomorrow, and I need to give him my instructions.’

  Uncle signed a chit then made his way out of the restaurant. This was the first time in her life Sofia had been left alone with a man, and a gwailo foreigner at that. Her uncle must be worried about Derek.