by Meira Chand
Reggie was silent, regarding her over a brandy and soda. ‘Since you ask, I’ll tell you. I’d have spoken of it anyway, for I’ve been informed by the Chartered Bank of Mr Huckle’s interference.’ Amy drew a breath. Reggie leaned forward and continued. ‘Of course, no such thing could receive their sanction without my permission and approval. I have told them to ignore your instructions. What made you think it possible? And as for the earrings, I was under certain obligations to her,’ he said mysteriously. ‘She wished me to buy her the earrings. I could not refuse. I needed money quickly. I cabled your father to write me an advance on the next settlement in December. Two can play at that game, Amy. And as for that little nincompoop, that Youth. He’s no more than a downright fool,’ Reggie sneered.
‘How could you write to Father for that woman? Isn’t it enough that she’s taken my June allowance? And now already you want my next money in hand, and for that woman again.’ Amy gripped the arm of her chair.
Reggie leaned back, crossing his legs. ‘I’d not have done it but you went like that behind my back, thinking you’d make your own arrangements, thinking you’d make a fool of me.’
*
They had come down from Miyanoshita just in time, for a September typhoon had rattled across the country, swamping the Fujiya Hotel and nearly blowing a Japanese inn at Kiga off its rocky perch. Its flowers were battered, its goldfish scooped up and tossed indiscriminately about. In Yokohama the commotion was considerable, slates and bricks and trees uprooted as easily as dry leaves. Rikishas were lifted and slammed against walls like a squashed massacre of black beetles. The wind suffered and howled and the rain struck down in a load of iron ammunition. But now it was over, and in the damp woods of the Bluff steam rose from a drying earth. The wreckage of trees cut off paths; ants worked at dead birds and rats.
‘Let’s go back to the hut,’ said Dicky.
‘Will it still be there?’ Amy wondered. They turned the horses around. The hut, when they reached it, stood unharmed, shielded by the camellia trees. It leaked and squelched, a part of the roof was gone and showed the open sky, there was a thick and musty smell.
‘Now tell me,’ said Dicky. ‘How can any of this be? It defies my imagination.’ He wiped a tea box and Amy sat down. ‘How could he use your money for that woman?’
‘Well, it’s true,’ said Amy. ‘He wrote for the money himself to my father.’
‘Dear God,’ said Dicky, ‘he’s vile.’
‘You don’t know what he’s like when he’s angry. And why didn’t you think the bank would warn him? Oh, it’s my fault too – I should have realized. I thought I was being clever. I must think of another way.’
‘The best way is to leave him. He feels he can do as he likes with you.’ He held her hands, worried.
The time was not yet ripe; she needed firmer evidence for a court of law. He took her suddenly in his arms. ‘Will you do as I say?’ His voice was hoarse; he cleared his throat. ‘Divorce at all costs, I’m here beside you. I’ll do anything to help you, anything you say.’
*
Reggie burst into the drawing room, Amy looked up from her book. By his expression she could see he had news, and that for the duration of its telling there was to be a truce in their relationship. He went to the sideboard and poured a drink, then sat in a chair.
‘Do you know what I heard today? You’ll never guess in a hundred years,’ he said.
‘If to guess is that hopeless, why should I try?’ Amy inquired, not raising her eyes from her book.
‘It’s Annie, Annie Luke. After all these years, by God.’ Reggie gulped his brandy and soda. Amy put down her book in shock, her heart began to thump.
‘Is she here?’ she asked as calmly as she could. They had heard nothing of Annie Luke for years. The child had died of diptheria when it was three, freeing Amy from the woman.
‘Near enough,’ Reggie replied. ‘It seems she’s in Port Arthur.’
‘How on earth has she got there? Is she following you?’ Amy asked.
‘Shouldn’t think so, unfortunately. Wouldn’t mind seeing Annie again,’ Reggie chuckled. ‘Chap for Vladivostok came into the club today, been over to Port Arthur. Never seen him before, but he mentioned her name in connection with a fellow called Reilly who owns a timber firm in Port Arthur. This Reilly seems an odd sort – dubious, I’d call him. Some people say he’s a spy, he comes often to Tokyo on mysterious business. The chappie from Vladivostok said Reilly was having trouble with his English wife and was involved with the fiancée of his senior assistant, a woman called Annie Luke who’s come out from England to marry. He couldn’t describe her much, but said she was blonde and came from Cornwall. Of course I didn’t let on I might know her, but I’m sure as hell it’s our Annie. And in these parts too, by jove. Who’d ever have thought it?’
‘She’s not our Annie, she’s your Annie.’ Amy closed her book with a snap. Reggie took no notice of the remark, busy in thoughts of his own.
‘Who knows, she might come to Japan. We might see her here in Yokohama. It’s near enough to Port Arthur. Think of that – Annie here.’ Reggie considered.
‘I’ve no wish to think of such a thing,’ Amy replied. ‘I’ve done enough for the woman. I want no more of her now.’
‘Well, you never know,’ said Reggie.
‘I hope you’ll not try and contact her,’ Amy threatened.
‘I might, and again I might not,’ Reggie replied.
‘If she comes here or has contact with you, she’ll be asking for money, sure as I know my own name. And I’m not paying a penny to your Annie again,’ Amy said.
‘What are we talking about, anyway? She might never come to Yokohama,’ Reggie shouted.
‘I’m just warning you, and don’t raise your voice to me,’ Amy said.
‘Go to hell,’ Reggie replied and left the room, drink in hand, slamming the door behind him.
She opened her book again but could not read. She was back on that verandah in Sungei Ujong, faced with the discovery of Annie Luke. She had never digested the shock, never grown beyond the moment, it seemed to her now, confronted with the woman again, invisible as before.
She had had enough. Enough. Divorce at all costs, Dicky had said. She must give Reggie a shock, pull the ground from under his feet; she must learn cleverness, Mabel had said. Amy stood up and walked to the window. Beyond the garden the sky was alive with the setting sun, she watched it slip behind the hills. She needed a plan of action. She twisted her rings in growing agitation, her mind full of Annie Luke. The thought that Reggie had got at her money for Mrs Bolithero was more than she could bear. And now Annie Luke loomed again, waiting to destroy her. She was justified before the world in finding a way to leave Reggie. The problem was to prove his character and abuse of her private money. Proof, she knew, was never easily obtained. She sat back in the chair to think.
The idea came suddenly, hare-brained in proportion to her own desperation. She would make use of Annie Luke herself. She would invent her for Reggie in Yokohama, she would make his dream come true. She would write a letter to Reggie, pretending to be Annie, and ask him for some money. She would suggest he get this money for her from his wife, as he had before. Reggie must be persuaded to reply to Annie via the post office, and Amy could retrieve the letter. She would then have proof of Reggie’s ways in writing for her father and trustees or a court of law. It might work if luck was on her side. And if not, she had only to admit a practical joke to Reggie. The plan filled her with excitement; her heart began to beat.
From then on the thought of Annie Luke filled Amy’s mind in a different way. She decided her Annie must make a personal appearance. Amy alone would be witness to it. Reggie would not doubt her, considering their discussion of Annie appearing in Yokohama and his wish for this to happen. Once she had a single letter in hand from Reggie saying all she needed, Annie Luke could disappear as she had come, never meeting Reggie. Annie would make her appearance on Saturday, regatta day, Amy decided. Reggi
e would be at the Yacht Club, and she could later confirm Annie’s visit before Reggie’s friends. She closed her eyes and prayed that God would take her side.
*
Regatta day dawned wet as a sodden rag. Amy felt wretched from a recurrent bout of malaria. She forced herself up and stared from the window at the rain. The loquat trees dripped outside, and in the room a damp patch stained the ceiling; it was dark and unbearably cramped. They would not be here much longer, negotiations for the new house were progressing, and they planned to move before the winter. Amy felt happy at the thought of their new home. Even Mabel had approved of the airy rooms, immaculate garden and its view of the bay.
Amy shivered in the damp and began to dress lethargically; she would rather stay in bed. A few days in Miyanoshita the week before had done nothing to revive her. The autumn air had been crisp and the hills beautiful, but she felt no better. Quinine no longer had an effect; she must take arsenic again, as Dr Charles advised. She would ask him for a prescription if she met him at the boathouse. It was already past tiffin, Reggie had gone to the regatta hours before. She must pull herself together. Annie Luke must appear today.
Amy went downstairs to the bureau in the drawing room. She hesitated for a moment as she sat down, then took out a sheet of paper and began to write.
Dear Reggie,
A most mysterious lady came here just now and asked to see Mr Reginald Redmore. I told her you were not in when she said she will call again early this evening about 4.30 as she must see you. She would give me no name or reason for her visit. She came about ten minutes ago (2 o’c) and seemed much distressed at not finding you in. I promised to let you know and said you would be back later. She said this afternoon or tomorrow morning she must see you. I think it is too wet to go down to the boathouse but may come if it clears. Will you be back to see your ‘Lady in Black’? If not what message shall I ask Rachel to give her? Enclosed is her card.
Yours Amy.
She searched in the bureau drawer and found a small, plain visiting card. Carefully, she printed the initials A.L. and then beneath a date, 1888, the year Reggie last met Annie, the year their child was born and the year Reggie married Amy. Satisfied, she sealed the envelope and at the front door called a rikisha from the stand in the road to deliver the letter to the yacht club. The boy grinned toothily as she handed him the money, she shut the door and leaned against it, sick with nerves. There was no going back now. She would not tell anyone, neither Dicky nor Mabel. No one must know Annie Luke was not real. She would tell Reggie the woman was heavily veiled if he asked for a description. And it was not unusual that she should answer the door herself. At this hour Jessie was in the nursery with the children and the servants were not about the house, lazing in their quarters in the hour after tiffin. There seemed no loose ends to her plan, nothing she had forgotten.
It was all puddles and a drizzling sky at the boathouse; people huddled beneath umbrellas. Teams rowed bravely, hair plastered above wet flannels. Reggie was baffled by the news of the veiled woman who had called for him at the house. Amy teased him before the crowd; the more people who heard, the better.
‘I went to the door myself,’ she explained. ‘I’d never seen the woman before. I couldn’t make out her features behind all that heavy veiling. She refused to tell me anything beyond giving me that card I sent to you, Reggie. She said she’d return at four.’
‘You’d better be off, then,’ chuckled Mr Cooper-Hewitt, ‘to keep your appointment with this mysterious woman.’
‘Any idea who she is?’ Mr Ewart asked in excited falsetto.
Amy laughed. ‘She seemed troubled, Reggie. I hope you’ve not got a damsel into distress. Now do go, as Mr Cooper-Hewitt says.’
Reggie nodded and ambled away bewilderedly, stooped beneath a black umbrella, the concentration of his thoughts apparent from his back. Amy stayed on talking to Dicky and Mabel about the woman, and Dicky expressed his further disgust in no uncertain terms.
‘I’d better go, I feel so unwell,’ Amy said at last. ‘The damp makes my bones ache terribly.’
‘Keep a stout heart,’ Dicky said meaningfully. ‘Let us know about the veiled lady.’
‘In your circumstances I’d have insisted she reveal herself,’ Mabel said. ‘I hear a skeleton rattling in a cupboard. Otherwise why the mystery?’ Mabel raised her eyebrows.
Dr Charles passed as they stood on the verandah of the boathouse. Amy called to him and put up her umbrella, walking across to meet him as he came towards her.
‘I was hoping to see you here, Dr Charles,’ she smiled.
‘Mrs Redmore?’ The doctor greeted her. ‘I trust Miyanoshita did you some good?’
‘Not really. I feel quite wretched still. The quinine has lost all effect,’ she admitted.
‘Well, I can only suggest, as I have before, a course of arsenic. But you don’t like the idea, do you?’ Dr Charles replied. His bulk beneath a striped umbrella faced her argumentatively. ‘If you will follow your own advice or that of others not qualified, it is no wonder you are not better.’ She had upset him by consulting a homeopath whose medicine had done nothing. She did not get on well with Dr Charles, even at the best of times. She had the feeling he looked into her soul and saw there only what he wanted.
‘It is just that I do hate the after-effects. It does not agree with me and I feel depressed.’ She remembered the time a couple of years before when she had taken it on his prescription.
‘You must make up your mind, Mrs Redmore. You have my advice if you wish to take it,’ Dr Charles sniffed.
‘Well, if you see no other way I will give it another try. I cannot go on feeling like this,’ she agreed reluctantly.
Dr Charles nodded. ‘I’ll write you a prescription now.’ He fished about in his pockets for a piece of paper.
‘Let me hold your umbrella,’ Amy offered, taking it from him. Dr Charles pulled out his regatta programme and tore off the blank back page.
‘This’ll have to do,’ he said, writing the arsenic prescription upon it. ‘There, that should put you right.’ He took back his umbrella from Amy and walked on towards the boathouse.
‘I hope it helps,’ Amy said to herself. Reggie’s tolerance of the horrid stuff never ceased to amaze her. At the thought of Reggie she hurried towards the gate. He must be in a fever of impatience, waiting for Annie Luke.
Amy returned home by five o’clock. Reggie was pacing the drawing room. ‘She didn’t come. Look at the time – you said she’d be here by four.’
‘She did say if not this afternoon, then in the morning. Maybe she’ll come tomorrow,’ Amy reminded him.
‘I’m sure it’s Annie. I told you she was in Port Arthur. She’s found her way to Yokohama. Whatever can she want and why the mystery? I should think she’s in trouble through that cad Reilly. He’s notorious,’ Reggie said excitedly. He did not doubt the presence of Annie Luke in Yokohama. Amy prayed the remainder of her plan would proceed as comfortably.
*
Reggie was agitated, he could settle to nothing. It was a miserable Sunday morning. Rain still fell, it had not stopped since yesterday, ruining the regatta. Who else could the mysterious woman be but Annie, and why had she not come again? If she were here with that Reilly she might have good reason to remain incognito, many people said the man was a spy. Where could he find her? He felt abnormally groggy after the exertion of the regatta, he was coming down with a bout of liver. He had been taking extra arsenic for several weeks in an attempt to ward off an attack, building up his dosage to a level that usually put him right. This time it was not working, he felt only worse and worse. Amy insisted he see Dr Charles, as if the man, like all his kind, had some magic up his sleeve. To humour Amy he had agreed to him coming at five. Why did Annie not arrive? Reggie crossed the room to stand before the window. The road was bare. A coolie swept up some leaves, the sky was heavy with rain. Where could Annie be? He turned to his medicine shelf and poured another dose of Fowler’s into a glass of water.
He must get himself right. It was a matter of will and the right amount of arsenic. This was not the time to be ill.
*
Amy sat down at the bureau, cupping her chin in her hand. Since the regatta Reggie had been unwell with his usual liver troubles. He had spent Sunday in bed but, however ill, he took no notice of Dr Charles’s plea for moderation in his diet and his life. Tonight he was dining out with Mr Cooper-Hewitt, and Amy knew what that implied. Today was Tuesday, three days since Annie’s mysterious visit. Reggie was in a fine state of agitation, he had not a single doubt about Annie’s existence in Yokohama. It was difficult to control her anger, seeing him so aroused by his Annie. What must the woman really be like, Amy wondered bitterly, to have such power over a man like Reggie. Amy was filled by resentment, but also by authority. She controlled Reggie invisibly now, manipulating him like a marionette at the arbitrary pull of a string. It was time to give him the message he waited for so eagerly. She wondered what to write and how to write it, toying with the pen. She had only a vague recollection of Annie’s writing – she had destroyed that terrible letter received in Sungei Ujong. She practised a few words. It was hopeless – she could not remember Annie’s writing. But Reggie was in such a state he would probably notice nothing; it had been years since he heard from Annie Luke. She must first build up Reggie’s anticipation to a point where he would do what Annie wished. She would not ask immediately for money. Amy began to write.
Dear Reggie,
I must see you. Why have you done nothing since you got my card, or perhaps she never let you get it? I cannot meet her again, she makes me mad when I think what I have done for you. I cannot give you any address. I am living wherever I can find shelter but you can find and help me if you will, as I know you will for the sake of old times.
