The Orchid Tree

by Siobhan Daiko

  We landed on the other side of Mirs Bay and I thought we’d arrived at a ghost village. Completely silent. No dogs barking, no chickens clucking. We could see vegetable plots stretching up towards the darkness of the mountains behind. Bit by bit, figures came out from behind the bushes and soon we were surrounded by villagers and insurgents. They gave us condensed milk and biscuits before we started marching up the valley towards unoccupied China. We spent the night at a stronghold of the anti-Japanese resistance, in a village house together with the family’s livestock.

  After a breakfast of sweet cakes we marched along the raised paths through the paddy fields. We stopped to catch our breath at several villages, and were given tea and steamed buns by the women, whose men were all off fighting the Japanese. As in most of China, the only communication lines were the ribbon-like footways we were walking on, made up of low walls of mud running from one rice field to the next.

  We were in smugglers’ territory and climbed up wide steps, hidden under a canopy of overhanging trees and shrubs. The great flat stones had been worn smooth by the passage of thousands of padding feet, carrying merchandise unloaded from junks on the coast. At the top of the steps we had our last view of Hong Kong – a distant peak on the west coast of the bay. I thought about you, Kate, stuck in Stanley, and I prayed it would not be long before we could be together again.

  On the fourth day we reached Waichow. Fei took me to the Seventh Day Adventist Mission, which overlooked the East River and the mountains beyond. It was a haven of tranquillity, with lawns shaded by old trees, flower gardens and a lake. I stayed with the pastor and enjoyed the luxury of a bath and a shave, wishing with all my heart that you could have been there with me, you would have adored the place, Kate.

  Having done his duty, Fei said goodbye. I was sad to see him go as I’d grown used to his cheerful company and had felt safe with someone who had six Japs under his belt. From then onwards, I was in the hands of the BAAG, the British Army Aid Group, which was the resistance movement we were in touch with in the camp. Shortly after Chinese New Year we were evacuated upriver and, a few months later, sent farther north again, as the enemy was on the move.

  When the Japs surrendered, I was able to make my way back to Hong Kong and found out I’d missed your departure by one day. One day! Can you believe that? Desperate, I went to your house on the Peak, but it was almost in ruins and there was no one around. I couldn’t find anyone who knew how to get in touch with you. But I expect the house will be renovated and I just hope someone will forward this letter.

  Darling Kate, if you get this, please write to the above address. I long for your news and to know you still love me as I love you.

  Yours,

  Charles xxx

  Why hadn’t Kate answered his letters? He’d written to her every month for nearly a year. Perhaps she’d had second thoughts and had decided not to answer. No, that couldn’t be. They’d been so close, so in love. He knew Kate and he knew she’d never forget him. The only explanation could be that his letters hadn’t got through to her. Simple as that. She was probably still in Australia and, as soon as she returned to Hong Kong and found out he was here, she’d get in touch with him. He couldn’t wait to see her dear, darling face again and to feel her in his arms.

  He’d enjoyed the month-long voyage from Southampton, once he’d got over the initial sea sickness and the wrench of saying goodbye to his family. His cabin was air-conditioned and his fellow-passengers friendly. Especially the young, single women making their way out to the colony to stay with friends and relations and, possibly, meet someone to marry. They wouldn’t consider him a suitable catch as he was half-Chinese, he knew, but that hadn’t prevented them from flirting with him. He’d got used to flirting with girls and keeping them at arm’s length. Kate was the only one for him.

  At Port Said an Egyptian, or gully-gully man as everyone called him, came on board and delighted people with his antics. Dressed in a long white robe and brown sandals, the man had waved his magician’s wand and conjured up live baby chicks from behind the children’s ears.

  A first class passenger, Charles had to dress formally for dinner - except the first night and nights in port. He’d enjoyed the deck quoits, dancing, and a peculiar ceremony when they crossed the Equator, with first-timers having to give a present to King Neptune. Luckily, he didn’t qualify; he’d already gone through that on his voyage out to England.

  The farther east they’d sailed, the closer he’d felt to his roots. There’d been some spectacular sunsets over the Indian Ocean. In Colombo he went ashore and bought tiny wooden carved elephants; they’d make useful presents. Singapore reminded him of a quieter, cleaner Hong Kong and he’d relished hearing Cantonese in the shops.

  Now, the dull drone of the turbines and the song of the wind were in his ears. The sky was lightening and the shadowy shape of islands came into sight. Ships, and freighters, and barges, and Hong Kong Island rose out of the gloom. Other people emerged on deck and Charles greeted them with a smile. Tugboats guided the SS Canton towards Holden’s Wharf through the melee of water craft thronging the harbour.

  He stood at the railings and eyed the crowd gathered on the quay. There were Uncle Phillip and Auntie Julie! He waved frantically until they returned his greeting.

  Disembarkation formalities completed, he ran down the gangway and they threw their arms around him. Auntie kissed his cheek. ‘Welcome home.’

  Soon afterwards Charles was sitting in their spacious sitting room. Peking carpets covered the waxed parquet flooring, and the antique lacquer chests and jade screens he remembered were in their usual places. The last time he’d been here, they were still in storage. ‘It hardly seems any different.’

  ‘We’ve redecorated it to be the same as before the war.’ Uncle Phillip rubbed his brow. ‘As you know, we managed to hide our choice pieces in an out-of-the-way warehouse.’

  Uncle, whose real estate business was flourishing after he’d made some wise investments, had arranged a job for Charles at Beacons law firm.

  ‘It’s very kind of you to help me,’ he said, touching Uncle’s shoulder.

  Auntie poured tea. ‘How is your mother?’

  Charles smiled at his aunt. Her resemblance to Ma was uncanny. It would be years before he’d see his family again, but he didn’t regret his decision to return to Hong Kong. He’d been a stranger in England. It had been a struggle to adapt at first, but thanks to his paternal uncle’s generosity they hadn’t wanted for anything. Initially they’d lived in the East End, but they’d moved to Chelsea after the war and Pa had started his own business dealing in Chinese antiques.

  ‘Ma is well and so are Pa and Ruth,’ he said to Aunt Julie. She was still childless after many years of marriage, and he knew she considered Ruth and him almost like her own children.

  ‘You’ll find Hong Kong is changing.’ Uncle offered him a cigarette.

  ‘Thanks, but I don’t smoke. Please tell me about the changes.’

  ‘Masses of people are pouring over the border because of the troubles in China. I’m a member of a Kaifong Association and we’re doing our best to provide free education and health care.’

  ‘Where do all the refugees live?’

  ‘Most of them are in squatter huts on the hillsides. The rest are on rooftops, in alleyways, anywhere they can find.’

  Auntie wagged a finger. ‘I think the Government needs to wake up to its responsibilities and send them back to China.’

  ‘These poor people must have good reason to abandon their homes, sever their family ties, and renounce their traditional allegiances to come here.’ Uncle smiled indulgently. ‘We have to accept them in the name of humanity.’

  After lunch, Charles went to his room to unpack. But the amahs had got there before him and all his clothes had been tidied away, his books placed in neat piles on the chest of drawers. He’d have to get used to a house full of servants again and there would be many other changes he’d have to deal with. Returning to his
roots had been the second goal that kept him focused while he’d been away. The first goal, of course, was that he’d see Kate again and rekindle their love.

  ***

  Charles crossed the harbour on the Ferry the next morning, and walked the short distance to Alexandra House. The Star Ferry was still just the “Ferry” - some things didn’t change.

  The union flag flew from the domed cupola on top of an elegant four-storey building perched on portico arcades up ahead. It was as familiar to Charles as a pair of old shoes. But the roads were even more crowded than he remembered: tramcars, buses, taxis, bicycles and rickshaws all vying for space with private cars in the rubbish-strewn streets. People scurried between the vehicles and the noise was thunderous: horns hooting, trams jangling, bells ringing, people shouting. Charles inhaled the petrol fumes, the smell of wok oil and the stink of humanity living cheek by jowl and let out a happy sigh. He’d truly come home.

  His office was on the fifth floor and he rode up in an antiquated bird cage lift, to be met by his secretary, Mabel, a Portuguese Eurasian, plump and middle-aged. The Cantonese office boy, a relation to one of Uncle Phillip’s messengers, busied himself reading the paper and providing endless cups of tea. Charles and his secretary got on with the correspondence, the ordering of business cards and the like. His workmates seemed friendly, a mix of British, Eurasians and Chinese solicitors. The barriers had never been there when it came to business.

  At lunchtime Charles strolled down Queen’s Road. On his right loomed the granite-faced fortress of The Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank. A pair of polished bronze lions guarded the door, symbolising the financial stability of the colony. He patted the lions like everyone else, for luck. He had it on good authority the building possessed excellent feng shui; the life-force of the dragon of the mountain flowed down from the Peak to the harbour via its premises, bringing wealth and prosperity to all who banked there.

  He glanced across the road and caught sight of the back of a tall lady with long, wavy dark-brown hair getting onto a tram. Could it be Kate? His heart quickened, but he was too late to catch up with her. If it had been her. The tram was already clanking its way towards Wanchai.

  The Supreme Court rose up on his left and Charles walked to the entrance. A statue of a blindfolded woman, witness to the impartiality of the law, stood with scales in her right hand. She held a sword in her left one to remind the population of the law’s power of punishment. It wouldn’t be long before he walked through that hallowed door, ready to work with a barrister and try a case to the bench.

  Charles bowed his head and said a silent prayer in front of the Cenotaph, remembering Bob and all the others who had died at Stanley.

  The Glorious Dead 1914-1918

  1939-1945

  He stared at The Hong Kong Club building. That was one place where he wouldn’t be setting foot. Its constitution excluded the membership of shopkeepers, Chinese, Indians, women and other undesirables. Not that he fell into any of those categories, but Pa hadn’t been considered when he’d applied to join before the war. It didn’t take much intelligence to work out why.

  Charles felt proud of his background, however, and ready to take on the establishment. He didn’t need to be a member of any of their clubs. There were enough clubs he could join that would accept him. He thought about Henry Wolseley. Should he telephone him and ask about Kate? No, he’d find her himself. It had been too problematic from London, the distance too great, communication too erratic. Now he was back in Hong Kong, the difficulties would be different . . .

  27

  On board his Dragon yacht, Jade Princess, moored at the Yacht Club, James was checking the lines and making sure they were separated, ready for departure. The boat had been built in the 1930s, and he’d bought it from a fellow about to retire in England.

  Sofia was due to arrive from one of her uncle’s trading junks, anchored nearby. Should he feel guilty about her? He shook his head. It wasn’t as if he and Kate were engaged to be married. They were simply seeing each other socially. Perhaps he really had reinvented himself in Hong Kong; he certainly wasn’t the same man he’d been brought up to be. He’d never imagined himself as the type to take a mistress.

  And such a mistress!

  So beautiful and exotic. What he felt for Sofia was pure intoxication. She hadn’t hinted she wanted anything more from him other than the occasional assignation. Was he pleased or annoyed at her casual approach? Just grateful their relationship had been kept secret; he didn’t care for the disapproval of Hong Kong society. He was certain he would be ostracised if anyone found out. If only he didn’t have to consider the social taboos of this bigoted place . . .

  Sofia had taken to sailing as if it were in her blood. She appeared to have an instinctive feel for it, and could have managed Jade quite well on her own if he’d let her. This was the third time they’d slipped away at first light. They’d cruise out of the harbour on Jade’s inboard engine and unfurl her powerful sails to find a deserted cove, where they would skinny-dip and make love in the shallows. He smiled to himself, remembering the first time. She’d laughed at the speed of his love making and had made him lie back afterwards while she’d tantalised him, instructing him not to move as she ran her hands down his body.

  She’d taught him the ancient Chinese art of love that she’d learnt from reading the books in her uncle’s library. James was relieved Sofia hadn’t learnt it from another man. She’d been a virgin and he could hardly believe his luck that she’d chosen him. Heat crept up his neck as he thought about their lovemaking. He’d learnt to prolong the pleasure and not to come too quickly.

  The creak of the single oar being sculled on a sampan, and he reached out his hand to help her aboard. They set off and soon they anchored in Rocky Bay.

  The sun had risen and the early morning sea was still as glass. At this time of day and mid-week, the beach was deserted. Sofia dived off the side of the boat. Her body was spare but shapely, and she swam with the assurance of someone who’d practically grown up in the sea, unlike him; he’d only learnt to swim in the Navy. He slipped on his bathing shorts and dived into the cool depths. Surfacing next to her, he shook the droplets from his hair.

  He kissed Sofia deeply and she laced her legs around him. Treading water, he manoeuvred her backwards until they reached the side of the yacht, then placed her between himself and the ladder, holding onto the rungs with both hands. She pulled off her swimming costume and tossed it into the boat. He did the same, then lifted her onto his erection. They moved in unison, the tepid seawater caressing them, every nerve in his body tingling. ‘Now,’ Sofia said, at last. He came, then, losing himself in her, hot pleasure shooting through him. Intoxicating pleasure. No words spoken, just a physical need assuaged.

  They climbed aboard the yacht and sipped the piping hot coffee Sofia brewed in Jade’s tiny galley. Overlooking the bay perched the exclusive bungalows of the wealthy expatriates, whose residents’ committee kept out locals and undesirables. Last week he’d been invited to a party with Kate there, given by the Taipan of one of the Hongs, as the larger trading companies were known. The Taipan and his wife were friends of Kate’s father, and they had a weekend retreat on a ridge overlooking the Shek-o golf course.

  James had been envious of the fabulous location, although at the time he’d called it a bit remote. It had been an excellent opportunity to make the right contacts, but he’d longed to be with Sofia and his passion had fought against the sensible voice inside his head that told him no good would come of his affair with her.

  He glanced at her towel-drying her hair. God, she’s beautiful! What does she see in me?

  ‘Have you any news yet about helping us save the factory?’ she asked, putting on fresh lipstick.

  ‘My contacts are keen for me to meet with your uncle. To discuss possible cooperation.’

  Maybe Sofia was seeing him to keep him soft for K C Leung? The sudden thought soured the coffee in James’ mouth.

  ***


  He met Leung at a restaurant in Kowloon, where K C had booked a private room. Sofia hadn’t been included in the meeting. Why? Her uncle greeted him jovially and showed him to the table.

  ‘I’ll lay my cards on the table,’ James said, sipping brandy and picking at the crispy seaweed with his chopsticks. ‘I’ve been asked to find out about Leo Rodrigues’ Triad contacts and the banks in receipt of smuggled gold. Sofia tells me you’re in debt to him.’

  ‘That’s right. But I don’t want to repay.’ Leung thrust out his chest. ‘I want trick him into thinking I repay.’

  ‘How do you propose to do that?’

  ‘He flies the gold into Macau regularly on Catalina seaplane. I’ll arrange for a robbery to take place after aircraft leaves Hong Kong. I need you be on my launch, pick up my men and the loot.’ K C laughed and settled back in his chair with exaggerated casualness. ‘I’ll repay Leo with his own gold.’

  ‘Who will steal the gold?’ James blinked. The plan was foolhardy. No other word to describe it. ‘And what will happen to the plane?’

  ‘One of my associates trained to fly Catalina seaplane in Philippines. He and other man will board flight from Hong Kong to Macau, and hold gun to pilot’s head when seaplane reaches cruising height.’

  James laughed. ‘And you expect them to just hand over the plane?’

  Leung’s smiled. ‘If they don’t want get killed.’