by Meira Chand
‘Madam, I’m mortified,’ said Dicky Huckle.
He reminded her of a fox terrier, flirting and prancing by her side. He was short and, though young, already balding, but his sideburns were thick and his face was like a mischievous schoolboy’s. He was with the Hong-kong and Shanghai Bank and had arrived in Yokohama a week after Amy.
‘So we’re both of us newcomers, both of us raw.’ Dicky Huckle laughed. The saddling-up bell went for the first race; the ponies were emerging from their stalls to be led around the paddock. Dicky identified them on her programme, pressing closely all the time. Another bell went. Tilly Manley walked by with Jack Austen; her husband was back at sea.
At the sound of the bell rich, urbane men, well upholstered beside fastidious women, turned towards the tiers of seats. The grandstand rose above the crowds, a massive, brooding shell of iron. The polished beasts and their jockeys, rippling with muscle beneath shining satin, were caught by the sun like precious stones, a-glitter in the morning. Binoculars were alerted, programmes consulted, last wagers made. Bottle after bottle of fine champagne was thrust into buckets of ice. At this moment the arrogance of Negishi, green with turf and trees, reflective as fine crystal, was more splendid than the sumptuous feasts beneath chandeliers awaiting the end of the meet. Only the grandstand, to which the crowds moved, remained distant from the scene, looming with the menace of a dark, ill-humoured bird.
They settled at last as the third bell went. Dicky Huckle handed Amy into her seat amongst Mabel’s friends. Amy knew them little better than Reggie’s friends, but their welcome enfolded her as if they had known her for years. Mabel’s group took up two rows of seats. They were young and vivacious; an aura set them apart. The women were a worldly echo of Mabel and moved, unescorted by their partners, in Mabel’s élitist world. Yokohama’s most eligible bachelors were part of Mabel’s crowd. Mabel stood out amongst her friends with more than the flash of her diamonds. People drew instinctively about her as if given substance by her. But for her, Amy thought, they would all have drifted without consequence; it was Mabel who made them a group. Amy watched her slim hand flash a ruby and a diamond.
‘They’re away,’ Mabel announced. There were decorous screams from the women and roars from the men, a sudden straining forward in seats. Enid Desmond and Ada Price clung to each other as Tom Boy came up beside Traveller and then passed Montezuma to take the lead. Dicky Huckle stood up beside Amy and cheered and stamped his feet. Henry Corodale roared so boisterously that in the midst of their excitement people turned in their seats. Soon it was over. Enid Desmond and Ada Price continued to cling together, too weak from emotion to part. It was then that Guy le Ferrier appeared with a tray of glasses and champagne, carried audaciously out of the bar behind the backs of waiters. These were passed along the rows and filled and finished with appreciation. A disgruntled steward soon appeared, truculent at such a breach of rules. Guy le Ferrier raised an incredulous eyebrow at the man’s protest. He swung a silk scarf about his neck. Mabel’s friends laughed and called for more; the steward walked sourly away. Old Mr Porter turned to observe them through his monocle, and some Japanese nobles and the Belgian Ambassador inclined their heads in disapproval.
Dicky Huckle, next to Amy, leaned closer than she liked, she moved to speak to Lettice Dunn on her other side. If Reggie came, where would he sit? All the seats were taken. Perhaps Dicky Huckle would vacate his in politeness. But when Reggie at last appeared Dicky sat on in his seat, unmoving. Amy put a hand anxiously to her throat.
‘Oh, Reggie, I tried to save your seat, but even Patrick has lost his place,’ Mabel appealed with a smile. A look of annoyance crossed Reggie’s face. Mabel’s group stared silently; conversation ceased. Reggie said he would take his original seat; Amy might stay with Mabel. He turned to make his way across the crowd. Between the Russells and the Figdors, Mrs Bolithero viewed the course, an empty seat beside her. Had she even gone with Reggie, Amy wondered where she would have sat, her place was already occupied. A rush of fury filled her. Reggie sat down beside Mrs Bolithero, conferring with her over her programme, his head close to the sweep of her hat. He smiled. There was movement beside Amy; Lettice Dunn left her seat and Guy le Ferrier filled it. When at last Amy turned she found Guy le Ferrier watching her with a smile.
‘How could you be so cruel, not even to notice I had sat down beside you?’ Guy le Ferrier asked reproachfully. His French accent was appealing; he affected boredom. Some people called him arrogant and indolent. To Amy these qualities appeared his charm.
‘Guy is French Consul in Yokohama, the most eminent of our group,’ Dicky said in introduction. ‘You must be careful. He’s a notorious bachelor, unlike myself who am a harmless specimen of our species.’
‘I’ve just been told by that Mrs Bolithero, from the very obvious wealth of her experience, that no man, however apparently harmless, is ever to be trusted,’ Amy told Dicky, happy to be outrageous in the manner Mabel’s group demanded. Dicky rolled his eyes in horror. Amy pulled a dour face.
‘Of course, if you are not wanting me here, I will go. Sometimes three people are more than a crowd,’ said Guy le Ferrier, deepening his tone of reproach.
‘You mean two’s company, three’s a crowd, I think, Guy,’ Dicky grinned.
‘Oh, your English phrases,’ Guy slapped his forehead in exasperation.
‘We could just as soon make Mr Huckle the crowd,’ Amy said, smiling at Guy. She already understood that this impolite banter, instead of offending, was the accepted vernacular of Mabel’s friends.
‘Oh, cruel woman.’ Dicky pouted.
‘Ah, you see, without even a duel I have won her,’ Guy announced. ‘Are women not unfaithful?’
‘Fickle, Guy, that’s the word you want,’ Dicky grinned again.
‘It would never do for you to fight over me. I shall divide my attention equally. How about that?’ Amy replied. It was exactly what she intended to do.
‘The lady has a heart.’ Dicky feigned relief. Amy began to laugh. She saw that Mabel and the others watched her. It was as if her behaviour was before a selection committee. People had already noticed that she and Reggie were divided in the grandstand, a perverse pleasure filled her when she saw this. The glass of champagne, drunk down so quickly, made her head feel thick, as if nothing really mattered. Across the grandstand Reggie pointed out horses for Mrs Bolithero.
Mabel gave a gasp as Douglas Roseberry rode onto the course. The group began to cheer; Mabel adjusted her hat. ‘Now Douglas is out with Diplomat, Patrick will be along soon. Oh dear, what a problem, there really isn’t a seat. Amy, shall we send him along to Reggie? Do you think they’ll have room for him there?’ Mabel giggled and Amy laughed. The men either side of her joined in. Beneath the laughter their thoughts seemed to run together in a pleasurable conspiracy. Something she could not put into words seemed understood between them. Beside Reggie and Mrs Bolithero sat Mr Buchanan, the manager of the Mercantile Bank, a gouty, grey-haired figure with whom Reggie leaned forward to talk. Amy was glad to be where she was, far from such decrepitude. She smiled in satisfaction. Fate seemed to have already divided them into appropriate epochs.
‘You’ve a pony? You will come riding with us?’ Guy le Ferrier asked.
‘You do promise, don’t you?’ Dicky insisted from the other side.
‘I’d love to, but I don’t yet have a pony,’ Amy was forced to confess.
‘Of course she’s going to have a pony,’ Mabel said, leaning forward. ‘Patrick wants to sell a little brown hack to make room for a new pony from Shanghai. We’ll talk to Reggie. He won’t object,’ Mabel predicted.
Amy felt confused by the champagne and the sudden rush of events. So many things seemed already decided without her intervention. She was entering at last the secret world of the Bluff Mabel had told her of. Nothing, she knew, would ever be the same after today in Yokohama. It was as if in that moment she had shed a skin. And when Douglas Roseberry raced first past the flag she threw up her hands and
cheered like Mabel, as loudly as decorum allowed. When the noise died down she turned to Guy le Ferrier.
‘Can’t you steal some more of that marvellous champagne?’ She inclined her head and smiled at him in a way she had not before. From the other side of the grandstand Reggie observed her through his binoculars, pretending to survey the course. She began to laugh again.
*
Life changed for Amy from that day. It seemed that the pony, Nikko, acquired from Mabel, was responsible. Reggie had no objection, as Mabel had craftily foreseen; every man of money had a pony in his stable, and Mabel assured him payment could be staggered or deferred. Reggie immediately doubled his debt by buying a pony for himself, as befitted his position. Whenever she could through the spring after Cathy’s birth Amy rode out in the fine, warm weather. She rode on the course at Negishi, as did everybody else, but also into the hills beyond flecked with wild flowers, teahouses and weathered roadside shrines.
She returned in happiness to the child, her life textured with the richness of the hours she spent with Cathy. She felt a new completeness. The child’s tiny arms entwined her neck, and she screamed with laughter until she hiccoughed at Amy’s kisses. From the security of this new love, Amy found she could view with more detachment her relationship with Reggie. His devious wanderings, she realized now, she must accept. She felt calmer. The stimulation of contact with Mabel’s friends renewed something vanished in her. With secret regret she took Mabel’s advice and learned to trust Cathy to the young amah Rachel, who was adequate to the task. She was sure the child waited, as she did herself, for the hours they spent together. But the adult life beyond this idyll began to claim her more and more.
She rode regularly with Mabel and her friends. It was the habit of Yokohama to ride in the early mornings and late afternoons, when the men were free from their desks. In the early mornings, now, she and Reggie went up to the course together. Besides the exercise, Reggie said, you conveniently met the best people there, beginning the day in the same healthy way. Reggie was unavailable in the afternoons but Henry Corodale, Dicky Huckle and Guy le Ferrier were always ready to ride with Mabel’s group. Douglas Roseberry were also there, close to Mabel. Henry Corodale seemed shared by Enid and Ada, Lettice Dunn rode with fat Rowly Bassett. As at the spring races, Amy found herself between Dicky Huckle and Guy le Ferrier. But time soon clarified a different pattern. She knew Guy wished to ride alone with her, and Dicky would not leave.
It was impossible to know how this was established, what made her feel it so. The knowledge kept her awake at night. She lay beside Reggie filled by the thought that she was desired by another man. He desires me. The words rose and overflowed in her, as sensuous as those feelings she had almost forgotten, until her pulse began to race. She sat up in bed fearful and confused. She had been grateful to be rid of emotions she had decided were an illness. Why had they returned? She did not want the torment, nor the strange regeneration. And she struggled as never before with those distant warnings of her mother. It was one thing to surrender to such emotions within a conjugal context, another to imagine so vividly the fulfilment of adultery. But even as she bit her nails those words welled up and split through her, stronger than before. He desires me. She knew now she wanted Guy le Ferrier in the way she had once wanted Reggie. She was ill again with all those terrible feelings that had thrown her into Reggie’s life, that had carried her here, so far. Beside her Reggie snored and turned. She ran her own hand down the length of her body. She was not a good woman. She was no better than a whore if thoughts could act like deeds. But such censure of herself, instead of bringing sanity, only increased the feelings in her. A new and strange excitement filled her at the thought that she was wicked. Reggie resettled himself; Amy looked at him apathetically. He left her alone and took his pleasure, she knew, anywhere he could. But now, as he desired other women, she desired another man.
*
It was not good weather the day they rode out beyond Honmoku. Amy had insisted, sure it would not rain. Dicky had gone to Kobe to play in an inter-port cricket match. She would not have insisted had she known he could come. She would ride alone, beside Guy le Ferrier. There was nothing improper, they were in a crowd. It was as she had willed. She was suddenly apprehensive then and urged her horse forward nearer Mabel, but found him always there. And Mabel did not want her; she looked at Amy sharply, wishing no distraction from Douglas Roseberry. Ada, Henry, Enid and Rowly Bassett were already a distance ahead. Lettice had not come. Amy was left with Guy, as she had dreaded and hoped. She saw the amusement in his face at her half-hearted attempts to escape him. Now she could almost touch what they had created, she was frightened. Guy did not speak; she knew he was waiting. She was unsure of what to expect, what might be expected of her. It was not too late to turn away. The heroines in novels she had read all turned away at such moments, rejecting lust for purer things that triumphed in the end. Amy Redmore rode on, consumed by her own sensuality.
The sky was disapproving. Clouds gathered across Mississippi Bay in a darkening bruise. A breeze turned up the leaves, blowing petals from the cherry trees. They adhered in pale flakes to hats and lapels; Amy brushed one from her nose. Something daring in the weather suited her feelings. She willed it not to rain. They had thought they would get as far as Sugita, but near Honmoku Mabel turned in her saddle.
‘Henry says we should return when we reach the beach. The sky is quite black beyond Honmoku. There’ll be a downpour soon.’
‘Those clouds are far away, I’m sure we’ll be all right. Do let’s go on,’ Amy shouted. She glanced quickly at Guy; he smiled. She looked away and studied the assurance with which Mabel handled herself beside Douglas. Amy’s body moved lightly to the rhythm of the horse; Guy le Ferrier watched her. The road dipped sharply to skirt a cluster of farmhouses, shaggy in thatch and disrepair, and then they were on the flat shore road that led to Honmoku beach. In front the others drew to a halt, looking anxiously at the sky.
‘Best go back now before it comes down,’ said Henry Corodale. Rowly Bassett shook his plump cheeks in agreement. A sudden flurry of wind sliced off Henry’s words. From the bank above a shower of petals rained down, covering the road about the horses’ hooves, and the high-crowned hats of the riders.
‘We will catch you up soon,’ Guy said. ‘I’ve promised to show Mrs Redmore the view from the hill behind that temple. I know a short way from there to meet the road you are on. I cannot disappoint Mrs Redmore, when we are so near.’ He spoke smoothly as if they had arranged it already. He leaned forward to steady Amy’s pony as it danced about. She knew she should tell him, no.
‘Yes, I’m determined to see the view. We’ll catch you up. We’ll be with you before you’ve time to miss us,’ Amy heard herself tell them instead.
He turned in his saddle when they were gone. ‘I hope you do not think badly of me for such impertinence? The view from the hill, it is really true. And I want a moment alone with you. You know that.’ He smiled.
‘Well, I’m not sure this is all really quite proper. I might lose my reputation.’ Amy laughed to keep her voice light; upon the reins her hands began to tremble. ‘We must not be long.’ She ignored his question about being alone. She did not dare reply.
The ponies danced impatiently in the threat of rain, Guy laughed. She followed as he rode ahead, turning onto a narrow path winding steeply up the hill. She had pleased him, had taken the right step in the curious dance that now involved them both. If only she had experience, if only, like Mabel, she knew what to do, knew what was expected of her. None of it was right. None of it was right. She must have left her senses. Her thoughts blew like the breeze about her, filling her with confusion. But in their midst, cool and unperturbed, that one thought was still within her. He desires me. He. Me.
She was flustered, her hands still trembled, but inside something bold pushed her on. The horses climbed higher up the hill, stumbling, slipping. She was two people, she knew it now. She was in the possession of a woman a
s rapacious as any man. She had no defence against this person who directed her. Across that ballroom in Somerset, so long ago, Reggie had done no more than show her to herself. But never again could she mistake for love what lay uncovered within her now.
He motioned her to pull the horses in. ‘Look back down there, is it not true what I said? Is it not good?’
The ground fell away to small cottages and vegetable gardens, patterned like a patchwork quilt. There was a copse of cherry trees and upon the sea a line of rusty, archaic junks, their sails ribbed like dragons’ wings. The rain began suddenly, then spat viciously from the sky.
‘There is an old teahouse here. We can shelter,’ said Guy. It was as if he had planned it. They tied the ponies beneath camellia trees, their thick, dark leaves like oiled paper. The teahouse was dilapidated and deserted; it smelled of cobwebs and rot. The rain fell beyond the eaves outside torn paper windows. Guy examined the place.
‘I’m sorry. We must remain, maybe some time. The rain is very heavy.’ He looked like a giant in a doll’s house.
‘Yes, I can see that,’ she laughed. She tried to sound natural, even flirtatious.
He spread his jacket on the floor for her to sit upon. Everything seemed immediate yet unreal, as if she was locked into a dream. He sat down beside her, leaning back against a crumbling wall that revealed its straw insides. His hand hung limply over a raised knee. She waited for him to show her a way.
‘Amy.’ He held his hand out to her; the palm was narrow and clearly lined. He spoke her name softly. ‘Amy.’ He said it again as if coaxing a hesitant animal. Slowly, she put out a hand and laid it on his palm. She felt his fingers close about her. ‘I did not think it would rain, it is the truth. But perhaps it is fate, do you not agree? Do you believe in fate?’ he asked.
