The Orchid Tree

by Siobhan Daiko

‘Oh?’ What was he on about?

  ‘Before the war, he’d already started building his real estate empire. From the safety of Macau, he gave instructions to his contacts to buy up duress notes.’

  ‘Duress notes?’

  ‘Hong Kong dollars issued by local bankers under Japanese orders. Noble got them at a fraction of their face value. Of course, on liberation, the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank honoured the notes at their full worth and he made millions.’

  ‘That’s not exactly dishonest. He gambled and won.’

  ‘We’re getting too many of these rich Chinese in the colony. Place isn’t the same at all.’

  I clenched my jaw. It was useless to argue with Papa and far too distressing. Didn’t he realise Hong Kong was changing? I saw it all around me. More and more people were flooding in from China. Because of all the wealth the rich immigrants were bringing with them, the shops were booming. The Chinese taitais went on shopping sprees all morning and played mah-jong all afternoon, just like the bored British missies did before the war. In the old days, they only went to Lane Crawford’s and Whiteaway’s department stores. Now there was much more choice and you could buy anything - if you had the money.

  It was such a contrast to the abject poverty of those who’d crossed the border with nothing. Beggars thronged the streets and shanty towns were springing up everywhere. Papa seemed oblivious to their misery, but I couldn’t ignore it. I was determined to find a way to help; I just hadn’t found it yet.

  I thought about Charles, and happiness fizzed through me. Hopefully, it won’t be long before we can announce our love to the world.

  30

  Charles was one of the first guests to arrive at the Consul-General’s villa. He was standing in the garden with a glass of chilled white wine and gazing at the view. Balanced on a rocky promontory between Repulse Bay and Deep Water Bay, the property overlooked Middle Island and the South China Sea beyond.

  ‘Just like the Côte d’Azur,’ Arnaud had said a minute ago before he went off to greet other people.

  Charles hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Kate since last Saturday. Mid-week he’d called her, but her father had answered the phone and he’d made up the excuse of a wrong number. Although he had no evidence, he was certain Henry Wolseley had intercepted his letters. A gut feeling. How to win the man over? Charles wanted everything to be perfect for Kate, for her to have the wedding of her dreams with her father in doting attendance. He chewed his lip and looked around.

  Arnaud, a flashy character, was circulating among his guests. ‘I only invite beautiful women to my parties,’ Charles remembered him saying when they were introduced at the races. The Frenchman had stared pointedly at Kate. As if on cue, her laughter tinkled from the other side of the lawn.

  She was standing next to that Englishman, James. Kate looked across the garden and met Charles’ eyes.

  I’d give anything to sweep her off to a quiet place and make love to her.

  He stood in the shadows and watched her. In the camp, she’d almost been a beauty, but semi-starvation had kept her from blooming into the lovely woman she’d now become. Her bow-shaped lips parted in a half-smile and his heart-rate quickened. She was still slim, even thin, but her figure was curvy.

  Don’t do this to yourself! Be patient!

  At dinner, he sat next to Jessica Chambers. She must have been in her early thirties, and the years as well as his new position in society had shrunk the gap that used to exist between them. Jessica leaned towards him. ‘How do you find life in Hong Kong these days?’

  ‘Different in some ways, yet fundamentally it’s the same old place.’

  ‘Where are you living?’ She lifted her soup spoon and swallowed a mouthful of vichyssoise.

  ‘Still at my uncle’s but I’m moving into a flat in Pokfulam next week.’

  ‘And how is work?’ Jessica’s bright red lipstick had smeared the wine glass she held to her lips.

  Most of his cases involved petty family disputes. Bigger cases would come his way once he became better known. ‘So far so good. It helps to have the right contacts, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ Jessica stared around. ‘Isn’t this an interesting mix of people? Quite different from the stuffy parties we used to go to before the war.’

  Charles studied the other tables. Kate was at Arnaud’s table and James had been placed to the left of Arnaud’s wife, Adèle, at the head of her own table. Two standard poodles sprawled at her feet, and she was feeding them scraps from her plate. The other guests were a varied bunch, and the ladies beautiful.

  Charles listened to the woman on his left. Statuesque, blonde, probably Danish judging by her accent, with a voluptuous bosom in danger of escaping from her low-cut dress. She was discussing a development at exclusive Shek-o with the Englishman on her right. ‘I don’t understand why they don’t let the Chinese buy houses next to the golf club.’

  Hong Kong was changing, but some changes were taking longer than others. Charles was the only Oriental at his table. He gazed around the room again; each table had its own token local representative. How open-minded of Arnaud . . .

  The blonde now smiled at Charles. ‘I’m delighted to meet you. I hardly meet any Chinese. Everyone here keeps to a small social circle of like-minded people, inviting each other and being invited by each other to an endless round of parties. I do think Arnaud is clever to give these mixed dos.’

  After coffee, the ladies disappeared to the powder-rooms, and the men smoked cigars and drank port. Charles lowered himself down next to Tony Chambers on a plush, white sofa. Through the open doors, servants were clearing the tables from the terrace. ‘What happens next?’

  Tony blew cigar smoke. ‘Usually dancing to gramophone records.’

  Charles took his leave and wandered into the garden, separated from the main road by a high boundary wall with Chinese roof tiles on top. He walked to the place where he’d stood earlier. A full moon reflected in the inky blackness of the sea below. On the horizon, the lights of the fishing sampans flickered in the September night. He wasn’t surprised when Kate came up; their minds had always been in tune.

  ‘It’s glorious, isn’t it?’ she said.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Can you smell those roses?’

  Bushes lined the bank below and steps led down to the beach, where white sand glittered in the moonlight. Kate’s floral perfume mixed with the heady scent of the flowers. If only he could take her in his arms and crush her against him! He gripped the iron rail so hard his knuckles turned white.

  The Englishman appeared at his elbow. ‘Ah, here you are, Kate. I’ve come to claim you for a dance. Good to see you again, Charles.’

  Kate walked to the veranda with James and they performed a slow waltz. Was something going on between them? Charles shoved his fists into his pockets. No, Kate wouldn’t . . .

  He strode across the lawn and bumped into Jessica. She grabbed his arm. ‘I hope you’re a good dancer.’

  The music switched to a tango, and he led Jessica in an open embrace. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kate standing on the side, watching him. Jessica performed a leg hook and, after what seemed like hours, the record finished.

  ‘I’m exhausted,’ Jessica said. ‘Let me hand you over.’

  What could he say? He was holding Kate before he could think of anything, and doing the slow-slow-quick-quick of a foxtrot. ‘You’re good,’ she whispered. ‘I knew you would be.’

  Charles held her gently, not too close, but she pressed her lovely body against his and he started to respond.

  ‘I was expecting you to ring me,’ she said.

  ‘I did, but your father answered. I think it’ll be better if you rang me.’

  Kate leant back and regarded him in a thoughtful way. ‘All right.’

  Charles felt her melding into him again. Oh God! Oh God! He wanted her so desperately it was like a knife twisting his gut. ‘Do you mind if we take a break?’ He dropped his hold. ‘I’ll get
us some refreshments. What would you like?’

  ‘A brandy soda, please.’

  Ten minutes later, he returned with their drinks. Damn! She was sitting on the side talking with James. Charles handed Kate her brandy and pulled up a chair, but she was giggling at something James had said and hardly seemed to notice him. Damn again! The Englishman had taken her hand and was patting it while laughing at himself. Charles could feel his cheeks burning. Perhaps there was something going on between them? No. Kate was a beautiful young woman and was bound to have admirers. Especially as she’d thought he was dead until a few days ago. He could trust her, he knew he could. Whether he could trust James Stevens, however, was another matter . . .

  31

  I was on my way back from the orphanage. My taxi halted at traffic lights, and I stared out of the window. A man was striding up a rough track leading to a steep hillside on the far side of the crossing, swinging his arms like Charles did. I told the driver to stop, and paid the fare. I had to see him again. If it was him. I’d spoken to him on the phone a couple of times, but it wasn’t the same as being with him face to face. He’d asked me about James Stevens, and I’d told him James was just a friend. I couldn’t help feeling pleased Charles loved me enough to be jealous.

  I set off at a brisk pace, walking past coolies carrying heavy bundles on their shoulder-poles, and rickshaws laden with packages. Then I came to a flattened area, almost a plateau at the top of the path. Built in close proximity stood thousands of huts made of thin wood, corrugated iron, and old packing cases. A whole city had risen from bare ground. People turned and stared at me.

  A bare-bottomed toddler, his lower lip quivering, nose running with phlegm and tears streaming, hid behind his mother’s legs. The woman, a baby slung from her back, picked up her child and ran off down a narrow alleyway. Everywhere washing hung out to dry. Where did these poor women get the water to wash their clothes? There was a standpipe down by the main road; they must have to carry buckets all the way up here. Obviously there were no sewerage facilities and a stench in the air reminded me of Stanley.

  I looked around for Charles. He’d disappeared and I doubted it had been really him that I’d seen. I was out of place here; it was so different from my usual haunts. And I was frightened. Not of the people, who seemed more scared of me than I of them, but of the poverty. I started to trace my steps back down to Waterloo Road. Someone tapped on me on the shoulder, and I turned around.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Charles asked.

  ‘I could ask the same thing of you,’ I said, smiling.

  ‘My uncle has built cheap blocks of flats on some land he bought. I was getting the names of people to re-house. It’s a drop in the ocean, though. There are far too many refugees.’

  Charles offered me a lift home, and I walked with him to where he’d parked his car in Kadoorie Avenue, breathing in the faint citrus smell of him, intensely aware of his physical presence, his broad shoulders tapering to a slim waist. ‘It’s turned out to be a gorgeous afternoon,’ I said, falling into the safe refuge of small-talk.

  Bright sunshine had cleared away the humidity that had clung to me like a blanket while I’d been at the orphanage. I pointed at two magpies, perched in an orchid tree. ‘One for sorrow, two for joy.’

  Charles took his keys from his pocket and led me to an MGA Coupé parked in front of his uncle’s house. ‘Shall we take the car hood off?’

  ‘What fun.’ I glanced back at the tree, remembering the one in Stanley. Had Charles made the same connection?

  ‘How about a spin?’ he said.

  We crossed the harbour in the vehicular ferry, headed through the mid-levels, skirted Happy Valley, went over the gap and down towards the south. Charles turned right onto Island Road, the MG’s engine making a purring sound, and we motored towards Aberdeen fishing village.

  ‘This was the fragrant harbour that gave Hong Kong its name,’ he said. ‘In the last century the British would stop off and get fresh water from a waterfall. The fragrance came from the scent of the joss sticks traded here.’

  ‘I always thought the name referred to Victoria Harbour, which isn’t fragrant at all.’

  Charles seemed to relax behind the wheel of his car, sure of himself as he drove me around the back of the island. I was so aware of him it hurt - his thigh long and lean on the other side of the gear stick, his strong, capable hands on the steering wheel.

  ‘I’ve just rented a flat in Bisney Road,’ he said. ‘Moved in yesterday. Would you like to see it?’

  The apartment was on the second floor of a new three-storey block. There were staff quarters and three bedrooms, but so far he’d only furnished one of them. I stood at the door to his room and stared at his bed, a flush spreading through me. Turning abruptly, I collided with him.

  He took me in his arms and kissed me. My body fused to his and I kissed him back, real kisses, the years of longing unravelling like a dropped stitch. He lifted his head and his eyes sought mine. ‘Kate?’ His voice cracked with emotion.

  I nodded.

  Charles steered me backwards and we toppled onto the quilt. My hand slipped under his shirt and I caressed his smooth chest. He undid the buttons of my blouse, reached behind, and unclasped my bra.

  His mouth explored my breasts. ‘Oh Charles . . .’ I was losing myself to the pleasure. I couldn’t think of anything but him. My one and only love. He pulled down my panties, and I unbuckled his trouser belt.

  It was my first time and I’d expected discomfort. But all I wanted was to keep him inside me forever. Exquisite sensation filled my body.

  Oh Charles, oh Charles, at last.

  The pleasure built and built and I was melting with it. Then something happened, something I’d read about yet never imagined could be so extraordinary, and I let out a low shuddering moan. Charles quickly withdrew. ‘I love you so much,’ I said, turning to smile at him.

  ‘And I love you too, my darling.’ He stroked my cheek. ‘I want you here with me, you know I do, but we have to be patient. So I think it’s time I got you home to your father.’

  I wanted to shake him and tell him Papa didn’t matter. But something stopped me. Of course my father mattered. Hands trembling, I put on my panties, buttoned up my blouse, and picked up my handbag. ‘Let’s go, then.’

  All the way back up to the Peak, I maintained silence. I’d made love with Charles, I should have been bubbling with happiness. Instead, though, my insides were tied up in knots.

  32

  Charles dropped Kate off at her front gate. He watched her marching away from him, and an invisible hand squeezed his heart. She’d been so quiet in the car. Too quiet. Should he run after her? Charles grabbed the door handle. He pushed down, then stopped himself. He had to be cautious, otherwise he’d make mistakes and he wouldn’t achieve his goal. Kate meant the world to him; her happiness was paramount.

  He drove back to his flat. Thankfully, his amah had been out at the market when he’d brought Kate here earlier. Tittle-tattle spread around the colony through the servants’ grapevine and God forbid Kate should be the subject of the latest gossip.

  Stepping into the hallway, he called for Ah Tong and requested an early supper. Emotions drained, he collapsed on the sofa and sipped a beer, listening to his amah’s clattering in the kitchen. Shame he had little appetite, but he had to give Ah Tong face and do honour to the meal.

  The sweet and sour fish eaten, every bite an effort, he drew a bath. Lying back in the tub, he remembered the first time he’d met Kate. She was sitting in the cemetery, unaware he was watching her twirl her plaits like a little girl. Later he’d fallen in love with her sweet face, her amber eyes and irrepressible giggle. She’d been young for her age and he’d loved her innocence, probably the result of her sheltered upbringing. Kate was the apple of Henry Wolseley’s eye, anyone could see that. And she reciprocated her father’s adoration. If Charles were to cause a breach between them, it would affect Kate for the rest of her life. He couldn’t do
that to her.

  ***

  The following evening, he drove towards the car ferry terminal through streets lined with four-storey buildings, their flimsy wooden balconies festooned with washing strung on bamboo poles. The poor of the city lived here in sub-standard housing. Most of the flats had no bathrooms, no toilets, no courtyards and only one kitchen for about twenty families. Far worse than Stanley. The apartments were divided into eight foot square cubicles shared by five or more people. Charles had experienced overcrowding, but this was on a much greater scale than in the internment camp.

  Filthy pavements were lined with stalls selling everything from congee to cans of cola, and in between stretched the mats of the street sleepers - whole families who hadn’t been able to find anywhere to live. He opened the window and reeled at the stink of human ordure, rotten fruit, decaying vegetables and cooking oil. Strident Cantonese voices filled the air - shouted conversations interspersed with the cries of the hawkers. Rain pummelled the roof of his car and ran down the windscreen. Charles wound up the window.

  On the ferry he stayed in his MG. He thought about Kate, as Kowloon emerged from the mist with its hills and teeming tenements. Perhaps they shouldn’t have made love, they weren’t married yet, but it had been just how he’d dreamt it would be. When they’d melted into each other, he’d pulsed with such love for her he could have died at that moment and felt fulfilled.

  Except he hadn’t died, of course, and, hopefully, he and Kate would have a future together. He stared around him. Living here was like living in a human ant colony: people building, toiling, making, striving and always hoping for better days to come. Everyone wanted to accumulate wealth; it was the goal of every person, from the lowly street sleeper to those who were already rich but who had every intention of getting richer. Part of the Chinese character, and he didn’t disapprove. Hong Kong was an amalgamation of east and west, just like he was. Charles sighed. How to break through Henry Wolseley’s prejudice and be accepted as a suitable match for his daughter? The ferry was docking, and Charles started the car. There had to be a way, there just had to be . . .