by Meira Chand
‘My wife tires easily,’ Reggie informed him. ‘Her health has been delicate and her time is well occupied with our home and child.’ He spoke firmly, but Armitage seemed not to take the hint. He proceeded to explain about the death of the original illustrator and how the book was nearly finished and needed little more.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Armitage.’ Reggie put an end to the matter, pushing up his chin. As he spoke he was struck by the way Baron d’Anethan and Sir Hugh Fraser observed him without sympathy. He began to feel uncomfortable. In spite of everything, Matthew Armitage had the right connections. It would not do to upset him, to lose through Amy an avenue to a most illustrious group. It was all very difficult.
‘Her health forces me to make this decision. Perhaps in the future, at another time, another book, she might be better able to consider your proposition.’ Reggie made himself sound amiable, then nodded and walked off. Sitting on a rug with the women some distance away, he saw Amy watching him keenly.
As they returned to the hotel the storm, brewing for hours, burst upon them as they hurried inside, emptying out of the sky, thunder vibrating through the building. Lightning shot about behind the heavy curtains of the Fujiya. Cathy, terrified, cried and clung to Amy, who rocked her. She was glad to be back with the child after the day away. In the dim room Cathy’s face eased into sleep and then stirred again, tightening her grip upon her mother.
‘I shan’t leave you again like that,’ Amy promised. In the midst of the complex undercurrents of emotion that had textured the day, Cathy seemed an anchor.
‘Just leave her to Rachel, can’t you? That’s what she’s employed for,’ Reggie said, looking into the room on his way downstairs. ‘We’re already late for dinner. The storm’s abating, she’ll go to sleep now.’ He waited until Amy reluctantly obeyed and followed him downstairs, exhausted by the day.
Halfway down the main stairs Amy reached out and held onto the banisters, feeling suddenly faint and sick. It could be the heat or the exertion and tension. Or more than this – she was suddenly sure that she could be pregnant once again. She stopped on the stairs behind Reggie, the thought rooting her to the spot.
‘What is it now?’ Reggie asked over his shoulder. ‘Cathy’s all right, I tell you. I had almost no lunch, I’m too hungry to wait any longer.’ With an effort Amy straightened up.
‘It’s nothing,’ she said. She dreaded another pregnancy, although she welcomed the child at the end. But she had not the strength at this moment to face the tangle of thoughts flooding her on the stairs. If she really were pregnant it would be even more difficult than before to look at Guy le Ferrier and remember all she had done. She gave herself a shake. Her imagination was running away with her; it was probably only the heat.
Amy was silently preoccupied at dinner, alone with the men. From Mabel’s table behind them came a flow of laughter and conversation. Reggie and Mr Cooper-Hewitt looked across in disapproval. Mrs Cooper-Hewitt was not at dinner, her metabolism affected by the tense, close weather. Mrs Figdor was also absent, exhausted by the exertions of the day. Amy ignored Mr Figdor’s smile, colliding only accidentally with it sometimes above her wine. Mr Cooper-Hewitt held forth scornfully throughout the meal on the subject of demonic possession. Japan was a country of alarmingly naïve and credulous suspicions, backward in the extreme. He had spent the afternoon talking to Valentine Chirol, The Times correspondent, who had told him of the common belief of possession by foxes. It was exclusively women who were attacked, becoming double personalities, aware of the strange creature in themselves, yet helpless to resist. Listening, Amy wondered if that other woman in herself, so separate and irascible, was not a similar horrendous phenomenon.
‘Just to show the primitive consciousness of these people, Chirol told me in 1889 a tale was widely circulated and believed of a fox having taken the shape of a railway train on the Tokyo to Yokohama line. A female train, I suppose,’ Mr Cooper-Hewitt concluded. Reggie guffawed into his wine and nearly choked. Beneath the table Amy felt the sudden pressure of Mr Cooper-Hewitt’s knee against her. She drew away with alacrity and caught his small, sarcastic eyes. It was not the first time Mr Cooper-Hewitt had tried this subterranean manner of approach beneath the starched white tent of the table. Whether she encouraged or discouraged him, Mr Cooper-Hewitt she knew, would later censure her on either count. She gave him a look she hoped made her enmity clear. After dinner Reggie and Mr Figdor retired to the smoking room with Mr Cooper-Hewitt to drink brandy with Valentine Chirol. Amy was left alone.
There was an evening entertainment arranged, a demonstration of spinning tops. Amy sat with Mabel and the Tokyo ladies, Guy le Ferrier was not around. She felt depressed and excused herself afterwards to go to bed. She walked past the closed door of the smoking room, the low rumble of men’s voices penetrated the wood. Farther on a lacquer screen divided off a small enclosure with a writing table. Dicky scratched noisily at a letter. He waved as Amy passed.
‘I’ve got it here, come and look. A Guide to Hakone. It cannot be missed. It’s thirty-two pages has an analysis in four parts and thirty-two sections, besides a preface at the end! A choice specimen,’ Dicky Huckle announced. Amy stopped, delighted at the relief he offered. Dicky sat down beside her on the hard-backed sofa and opened a little blue book.
‘Now, listen to this.’ He grinned and cleared his throat, assuming a serious expression. ‘View of Fuji Mountain and its summit is covered with permanent undissolving snow, and its regular configuration hanging down from the sky like an opened white fan may be looked long at equal shape from several regions surrounding it. Everyone who saw it ever has nothing but applause.’
Amy laughed. ‘It’s marvellous.’
‘Doesn’t matter where you open it, jewels await you on each page. Take a look, choose your own.’ He handed her the book.
‘Oh yes, look. Wind proper in quantity suits to our boat to slip by sail and moonlight shining in the sky. Oh dear.’ Amy leaned back, laughing. Dicky took the book from her, his face consumed by mischief.
‘The mountain streams of Hakone are transparent and delicate liquid constantly overflowing from the vat and its purity free from deflement fully values on the applause of the visitors.’
‘Deflement?’ Amy clasped her hands in delight. Dicky observed her.
‘It’s good to see you happy. You looked very serious today.’ He regarded her earnestly. Amy’s laughter died in amazement.
‘You look beautiful when you smile. You should always smile.’ He began to blush, she had never seen a man blush. There was silence suddenly between them, the book forgotten in Dicky’s hand. Amy knew the awkwardness she felt was precipitated by the confusion of Dicky’s own feelings. She had been unaware she stirred such emotions in him, she felt a surge of satisfaction. It was amusing to be loved, instead of involved in the wearisome agony of loving. In ignorance she had won a game she did not know she played. She smiled at Dicky questioningly; his face was now bright red.
‘Look here.’ Dicky pulled from his pocket his diary to cover his embarrassment. ‘I forgot to show you this masterpiece, discovered above a laundry. We mostly clean and carefully wash our customers with cheap prices as under; Ladies eight shillings per hundred; Gentlemen, seven shillings per hundred.’ Amy laughed and could not understand, until she looked towards the door, why Dicky had stopped reading.
Reggie stood before them, his face as flushed as when he had choked earlier at dinner. Fury trembled in him like a gale in a paper window. Mr Cooper-Hewitt hovered behind in the corridor, with avaricious eyes. Reggie strode up, he clenched his fists at his sides, a vein on his cheek stood out. From the sofa Dicky looked up in apprehension. Reggie took him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him to his feet.
‘I shall request you, Mr Huckle, to leave my wife alone. Do you understand? Have I made myself clear?’ He released him suddenly with a push; Dicky fell back beside Amy. Mr Cooper-Hewitt looked on, a faint smile upon his lips. Reggie dragged Amy up and thrust her before hi
m; the lacquer screen rocked dangerously as they passed. Mr Cooper-Hewitt steadied it and watched as Reggie hustled Amy up the corridor, then he turned back into the smoking lounge, his eyes bright and satisfied. Mr Figdor came towards him, inquiry on his face.
In their room Reggie released his grip upon Amy, flinging her down upon the bed. ‘I will not have it!’ His voice was hoarse. Outside the storm had died, thunder sounded far away, rain drummed on leaves and stone lanterns in the gardens.
‘Have you no self-respect, no restraint? Must you act like a bitch on heat? You encourage them. I’ve seen how they come, like bees round a honeypot.’ He stood over her, anger thumping in his voice. She saw the blow coming, fended it off and slid free. She was filled with overwhelming rage.
‘I’ve watched you. I’ve seen that French Ferret sniffing round you. What does he mean to you? Tell me.’ He was before her again, grasping her arm.
‘Nothing. You imagine things,’ she said. He approached too near the truth. ‘I haven’t even spoken to him.’
‘Not today,’ Reggie yelled. ‘But what of before he went to Tokyo, all those hours in his company?’ It was clear to him now that something had definitely passed between them.
‘And then that Armitage. All he needs is a monkey on his shoulder to look like an organ grinder. A Ferret, an Organ Grinder and now a damn Youth. Younger than yourself that Huckle is. Shame upon you, woman. Shame.’ He hurled the words at her, his breath strong with brandy.
‘Stop it. Stop it,’ she cried, trying to twist away from him. ‘You’re hurting me.’ He took no notice of her.
‘Thought you’d prance about with that Armitage under my nose in search of wild flowers? How sweet and innocent,’ Reggie mocked. ‘Well, I can tell you I put an end to that, I did. And in front of Fraser and d’Anethan too, just to make sure he understood.’
She had no words to cover her rage and humiliation before Matthew. What must he have thought of Reggie? She could see the benign patience in his face. He would understand more about Reggie than ever Reggie would about him. She began to shout in anger.
‘Well, seeing how you feel, it would be unfair to expect you to tolerate me any longer. I am leaving, I am going. I shall find a new life. I’ve money, I’m not a helpless woman. I shall see a lawyer when I return to Yokohama.’ She felt strengthened as she spoke. She stepped onto the wet verandah, banging the glass door shut behind her. She had made her decision, she would leave him. She could not take any more. Reggie would destroy her. She watched the rain falling against the lights of the hotel. She tried not to think of Cathy. She would take her with her, of course.
He left the room, locking the door behind him in anger. He went to sit on a chair in an alcove at the end of the corridor. He needed to think. Things had reached a climax. Amy could no longer be restrained. She was full of audacity and independence, but he was not unprepared. He had given much thought to their relationship, and he had his priorities right; he was willing to pay a price for the convenience of his marriage. He took out his watch. His thoughts had swallowed him up, it seemed only minutes since he had sat on the chair. He walked back to the room. Amy was where he had left her.
He went out to stand behind her on the verandah. It was cool, the rain no more than a drizzle now. A lamp at the gate reflected through the steamy mists. The smell of wet earth, held in by the hills, was overpowering. He did not waste time, he never did once his mind was made up. He was calm, anger replaced already by the need for guile. He chose his words carefully.
‘It will not be to your advantage to divorce me, Amy.’
‘Oh?’ She turned to face him, her voice mocking and defiant.
‘It would be better for us to talk. We can arrange a compromise. A compromise is not uncommon. It might be our solution, Amy. We must stay together for Cathy.’
‘I don’t know that I could trust any solution you offered,’ Amy told him.
It amazed her that in a matter of moments his attitude could change, to manipulate a situation to his own advantage. He had seen the departure of her money. She turned her back to the rain and observed him warily, wondering how he sought to trap her. She must be on her guard. He never took a step that did not protect his own interests.
‘I have my faults, I will admit. But you know the man I am, I can never change. And let us face it, I shall never be a faithful husband. I’m not that kind of man.’ He confessed.
‘I’ve had ample opportunity to realize that,’ she said.
Already he manipulated the situation. She heard the sly insinuation in his voice and wondered where he meant to lead her. She must keep her wits about her, to evaluate things clearly.
‘I see the life you wish to lead, the examples that are set you. Yokohama is a special place, not bound by the strict conventions of home. And we’re of different ages, Amy. Perhaps this is our problem. We have come to move in different circles.’
She began to feel confused. Reggie continued, ‘It is to the advantage of us both, to continue in our marriage. What you seek is the freedom to live your own life. I could give you that freedom, Amy, while you remain married to me. That will be our compromise. We shall be free and equal friends, frank with each other in a new way.’ His eyes rested on her, motionless. She could not look away.
‘You must have a condition for all this freedom you offer. I know you too well.’ She replied. He was silent then and looked down at his feet, preoccupied.
‘You will set me up in business, Amy, later on when the time is right, probably in silk or tea. That is my condition. You have the means to help me. I’m a mercenary man, I admit it. I shall make a fortune if you start me off right. Money makes money, Amy. You too will enjoy the benefits.’ He watched her. She did not reply and he spoke again.
‘Your marriage is your protection, Amy. Without it you’ll not get far. You’ll go home to be a stigma and a burden on your family. If you think about it you’ll see it’s best if you remain.’ His pale eyes assessed her, leaving no way. She did not trust him; she was thrown off balance. He was speaking again, softly and persuasively.
Together, Amy, we could command Yokohama. We have contacts in different circles. We could have a life we would never see in England. Everything money can buy, and status, Amy, status. It’ll be easy, if we play our cards together. I’m giving you everything you want, Amy, just to stay with me. It’s not a bad proposition now, is it?’ He smiled as if for him also things had clarified.
It was too sudden, too strange. She needed time to sort it out, to make sure he did not trap her in some new and subtle way. ‘I’m tired, I can’t think. Let’s talk again tomorrow,’ she told him. He nodded and opened the door. She stepped back into the room, airless as the still and sodden night.
It was impossible to sleep. The pale shroud of mosquito netting hovered above her in a ghostly shape. Weird dreams sucked her down, only to toss her into wakefulness. But the dreams dissolved without trace in the morning. She realized suddenly that Reggie was right. She must accept the terms he offered; she had never had a choice. But she was overcome with a longing to return to Somerset, if only for a while. That too was a decision the night had made.
‘Since we’ve now agreed to accommodate each other, I think you should know I want to go home for a while. It’s four years since I left Somerset,’ Amy said, watching Reggie soap his shaving brush before the washstand.
‘A splendid idea,’ Reggie agreed. ‘A holiday would do you good. I couldn’t accompany you this time, but you should plan to go at the end of the year, or early in ‘93.’ He took it calmly as he shaved, his calves pushing through a white silk dressing gown. In the tree beyond the verandah a warbler repeated itself tirelessly. The room was filled with morning light, the rain had taken the edge off the heat. Amy talked from behind the mosquito netting, propped up in bed, a breakfast tray on her lap. There was already a new maturity between Reggie and herself; there was nothing now to be destroyed. With the lack at last of pretence they had stumbled unexpectedly into an allian
ce that allowed a relationship to begin. It was all very strange. Reggie was full of faults, but looking at him over her coffee cup Amy found a magnanimity she had not felt when chained slavishly to his will. Their life would be different from now on. In spite of everything, it surprised her to find that some affection still remained.
*
When they arrived back in Yokohama, her mind was too full of returning to Somerset to give time to wild flowers. She wrote a note to Matthew Armitage, explaining the situation, hoping it might be possible to help on a future book. But in the end her departure was delayed until the following spring when she could return to her parents with not only Cathy but also Tom, her son.
Reggie was proud of the boy, a fine strapping child with a blood-curdling yell. He said he took after him. In the silence of her heart Amy was not so sure. Retracing the occasions when she might have conceived, it was impossible to know whether she had borne Reggie’s son or the child of Guy le Ferrier. The nightmare had sickened her pregnancy and faded only with the child’s birth. From the first moment Tom was his own red-faced, individual self, demanding of respect, not an acquiescing replica of Guy le Ferrier obvious to all. After one look Amy lay back in relief. If he had a secret the child would keep it privately, with her. The blond hair and blue eyes he shared with both of his possible fathers would be as much his protection as his innocuous identity. And Reggie certainly had no doubts about the paternity of his son.
Through the dull months of pregnancy, hazardous as ever for Amy, the new maturity of her relationship with Reggie had by necessity to hang in abeyance. Reggie lived his own life as fully as ever, but she kept in mind that she too in time would assume her own role in their pact.
In April, when the baby was a month old, Amy sailed on the Empress of China with her two children for home. She set her face to Somerset and the recovery of herself. And afterwards, on her return, to the new life that would await her.
