Sunrise in Hong Kong

by Denise Emery

  It was an hour or so past midnight. Susanna had pushed back her flowing silver-lame evening cape to reveal the mauve lace jumpsuit she was wearing beneath it. Or perhaps she had thrown back the cape to leave her arms free for the task at hand.

  She was not suitably dressed for the occasion.

  At the exact moment when Peter and Margaret parted in the lobby of the Star of the Orient — after agreeing to .meet before dawn the following morning so that they could watch the sunrise together from Peter's motor launch — Susanna entered the suite of offices on the tenth floor of that hotel which had been set aside as Pan Orient's convention headquarters. She seemed to be looking for something in the now-deserted area where the convention did its business during the working day. She appeared to be in rather a hurry to find it, too, whatever it was.

  She had been out to dinner earlier in the evening. For want of a better offer, she had accepted the invitation of a wealthy Brazilian banker she'd met at a party. After dinner, Senor Perez had suggested dancing, and after that, over Susanna's protests, a nightclub. The later it had got, the more restless she had become. Finally, at twelve-thirty, Susanna had insisted on being taken back to her hotel.

  'The night is young,' the portly gentleman had crooned mournfully into her unwilling ear.

  'Oh no it's not!' she'd snapped as she jumped out of the taxi and hurried into the lobby of the Victoria. She had gone directly to her room, where several items lay in readiness on the bed: a pair of jeans, a jumper, a torch. But when she glanced at her wristwatch, she decided there wasn't time to change. She simply kicked off her dancing slippers, pulled on the pair of old white tennis shoes she'd set out, and grabbed the torch. Then she went out again, down the back stairs of the Victoria, and into the night.

  It was easy enough to get into the Star of the Orient without being seen, especially at that time of night. Susanna used the tradesmen's entrance. Gaining access to the tenth-floor convention suite was rather more of a challenge. Susanna met it with the liberal application of Hong Kong dollars to the palm of a willing porter, to whom she bade a whispered 'Hurry!'

  Even by the weak light of the torch, it didn't take her very long to orientate herself, once she got inside. The 'suite' was nothing more elaborate than a large ballroom which had been temporarily divided by partitions into dozens of small cubicles, arranged in rows up and down most of the length of the room. Each was furnished with a desk and a couple of straight chairs, and a quick look-in on each one confirmed that none contained anything more interesting than the overflowing ashtrays, crumpled paper plates and half-empty coffee cups of the previous day's business, evidence that the late-shift cleaners had not yet been round.

  She was quick to distinguish the large open area at the far end of the room. She hurried to it, and there her torch picked out the shadowy shape of a large desk and some chairs, and the dull sheen of a row of filing cabinets which stood against one wall. In her eagerness to open the top drawer of the first cabinet she tried, Susanna broke a fingernail, and swore. She swore again when she discovered that all the cabinets were quite securely locked.

  She stood back, heaved a deep sigh, and yawned. She flashed the torch around the area once again, as though for one last time, as though she'd all but given up. Nothing. Nothing save for the full wastebaskets stacked in a corner, topped up with that day's crumpled paper. Susanna shrugged heavily, and with a muttered 'What the hell!' she stooped to the distasteful business of sorting through the rubbish. As she did so, her torch played over the top of the desk. One single file lay open on its surface, a file which someone had forgotten to lock away. Surely it wouldn't be…

  Susanna straightened up at once, grabbing- for that file as though it might fly to the ceiling if she didn't hurry. And when she'd trained the torch on the papers inside, she smiled to herself in the darkness of the cluttered office as though she'd just won the pools. She seemed to debate for a while whether or not to take the file with her. She picked it up and put it down again, reluctantly, several times. Finally she shook her head. 'Too risky,' she murmured softly to herself. 'It would be missed.'

  After one last, lingering examination of its contents, Susanna left the file the way she had found it, on the desk. She had barely made her way out of the suite when she heard the cleaners come clattering down the main corridor of the tenth floor, towards the convention suite. She daren't use the lift, for fear of being seen. That would have meant answering awkward questions, or at the very least it would have meant the application of still more Hong Kong dollars. She used the service stairs; by the time she slipped out of the Star of the Orient the way she had come in, she was exhausted.

  But it must have been worth it. Whatever she had found in that open file kept her smiling a radiant, triumphant, totally satisfied smile for a long, long time.

  7

  The harbour was busy in the pre-dawn darkness. Groups of smoking, talking, laughing men were gathered on the docks, preparing their boats for the day's fishing. Lights winked from the bay as freighters and masted sailing junks glided smoothly towards the piers from the open water beyond. But within minutes of boarding the China Doll, Margaret and Peter had left the heaviest of the harbour traffic behind them. And half an hour later, when Peter cut the engine and anchored the launch off the dim shape of a sheer cliff, it seemed as though they had the entire South China Sea to themselves.

  The sky had lightened just enough by then for Margaret to be able to make out the majestic outline of Victoria Peak as it emerged from the mists, to the south.

  'Where are we?' she asked. She and Peter were sitting side by side, on the mahogany deck, leaning against the two enormous beach pillows he had brought.

  'Shh…' he answered softly. Then he glanced at the sky and reached for her hand. Just watch.'

  He pointed to the east, out to sea. The two of them looked on, awed and silent, as a soft glow of golden light began to swell and spread on the horizon until it filled the whole of the eastern sky.

  And then, so suddenly that Margaret caught her breath, the sun appeared, shot straight into the sky, and it was morning.

  'It's true,' Margaret breathed, 'that the dawn comes up like — like thunder, out of China. Just the way it says in the song…'

  Peter laughed at that. 'Unless my navigation's gone completely up the junction, we're southeast of China at this particular moment. Hardly in a position to watch the sun come up out of China. Though the part about the thunder… yes, I suppose that's a very accurate way to describe it. I wanted you to see it with me.'

  'It's beautiful!'

  'And so are you.' Peter shifted slightly, tilted her chin in his hand, and kissed her. Not passionately, on her lips, but lightly, on the very tip of her nose. Then he rose to his feet and walked aft, to rummage in the large box he'd brought aboard with them. 'I just happen to have a flask of hot coffee in hers, if you'd care to join me.'

  He also happened to have fresh, crusty rolls and butter to go with the coffee, towels, sun hat? tanning lotion, and an elegant picnic lunch which featured pate, several sorts of European cheese, and wine.

  'How did you manage all that?' Margaret asked, grinning up at him as he handed her a steaming cup of coffee.

  He shrugged. 'Whenever I'm in town, which is most of the time, I'm a privileged guest in one of my own hotels. All I've got to do is pick up a telephone and ring through to room service. Hey presto! My slightest wish is their command. Sometimes it frightens me.'

  The coffee was welcome in the slight chill of early morning, but even before they had emptied the flask between them the sun was high and hot, the day perfect. The water in which they were anchored was as clear and still as a forest pool, and the high, rocky cliffs that sheltered them formed a rough crescent, lacking only a roof to make the cove seem like a vast room.

  'You still haven't told me where we are,' Margaret pointed out lightly, not really caring, enchanted by the perfection of the day and the beauty of their surroundings. 'But wherever we are, we seem to have i
t all to ourselves.'

  Even when they had walked together along the midnight beaches of Hong Kong, they had occasionally met other couples who were walking there too. But that morning, with the China Doll anchored off the coast of an island too small to be found on any but the most detailed map, Margaret and Peter may as well have been the only couple in the world.

  'I could show you exactly where we are on a navigational chart,' Peter answered just as lightly, but we do have it to ourselves, that much is certain. Why, we could probably stay here a week or even longer without seeing another living soul.'

  Margaret's mouth curved into a slow smile at that, and her eyes danced. She set her empty cup on the deck, and shifted round until she faced him. 'I see…'

  'Oh no, I didn't mean — I—'

  She stopped his protests by reaching out to touch his hair, to stroke it, and when her fingers found the nape of his neck his arms went round her and he pulled her close. His mouth found her slightly-parted lips, and they shared the careless oblivion of a long, burning, urgent kiss.

  At last it ended, though even when Peter was holding her at arm's length they were kissing still, with their eyes. A spell seemed to shimmer between them like a magnet, threatening to propel them into another embrace.

  'You do know where kisses like that could lead us?' Peter asked softly, his voice grave.

  'Down the primrose path to the everlasting bonfire,' Margaret recited, teasing him.

  No, seriously, love. I didn't bring you out here to seduce you,' he insisted quietly.

  Once again the slow, languorous smile curved Margaret's mouth. 'Here we are at the threshold of the twenty-first century, and you make me sound like an Edwardian spinster, tempting a fate worse than death!'

  He smiled at that, and then he laughed. 'You're more of a tease than any spinster I've ever come across before. As for the fate worse than death — well, I didn't mean to sound so solemn, but this has gone… so very quickly…'

  'How long is it supposed to take, to fall in love?'

  Peter considered that for a long moment before he answered. 'It's come to that… hasn't it?' he asked finally, wonderingly.

  'Oh yes,' she answered softly. 'At least, it has for me. I've never felt this way before, never. And now I'm leaving in less than a week, I—'

  'I know… my love.' Peter said the phrase 'my love' as though he was testing it, as though he wanted to know how it felt to say it out loud. 'But before we realize it, we'll be together again. And we can write to one another, and I can telephone you, just to make sure you don't forget me—'

  'But all the same, I'll be in London, and you'll be here,' Margaret said forlornly, anguished, her voice threatening to break. Her eyes filled, and one enormous tear slid slowly down her cheek.

  Peter took her into his arms again, kissed the tear away, and said 'Shh… shh…' as he cradled her against his chest. After a while he held her at arm's length and began to speak to her.

  But Margaret shuddered violently as he released her from the embrace; she reached out then and caught his hands, guided them until they cupped her breasts.

  'No!' he cried hoarsely, the single syllable ragged, as though it had torn itself unwillingly from his throat.

  'Why not?' Margaret teased in a husky whisper, emboldened by the slow, thudding drumbeat of desire she had felt at the touch of his hands on her body. 'There's no one to see us, you said so yourself…'

  Peter rose to his feet in one lithe motion, reached out one hand to help her up; he held her close as he found the zip fastening of her flimsy cotton sundress. He eased its straps down over her shoulders and finally the dress fell, forgotten, and Margaret stepped out of it.

  All the while he undressed himself, he caressed her slender nakedness with dark eyes that were pools of tenderness, smoky with desire. When they came together again, they were lost in the rapture of another long, passionate kiss.

  Then he was kissing her closed eyelids, her throat, her shoulders, and finally her breasts, and at last they lay together on the polished deck beneath the brilliant morning sky.

  Margaret moaned softly, pleading with him to hurry, to make her truly his.

  'I wouldn't dream of doing that,' he whispered into her hair. 'There's plenty of time, remember? And a spinster lady deserves very careful attention…'

  'As does the gentleman she loves,' she whispered back languidly, laughing softly.

  Even as he traced the delicate curve of leg and hip and tender mounds of breasts, first with his hands and then with his lips, Margaret reached out to touch him as well, to caress the strong muscles of his shoulders, and the smooth, lean contours of his back.

  Unhurried, tender, he touched her again and again and again, until her aching need to be joined with him mounted to an urgency she had never dreamed of, until she could bear it no longer.

  Eternity seemed to pass for her until they became one, and then they moved together until they reached the top of a spiral of light which seemed to spin them into dizzying infinity. Then they were still.

  'Swim with me?' he asked tenderly, after a while.

  'Oh, but I didn't bring a—'

  She had been about to say bathing suit, and that made them giggle together, conspirators who shared a delicious secret.

  Moments later they were in the water, splashing around like children, carefree and innocent and laughing. But then their bodies touched, and their game intensified as they touched again and again, suspended in the sweet, new knowledge of their love.

  Neither of them spoke as they climbed back into the boat. They simply lay together on the smooth deck and kissed with unashamed hunger.

  Their bodies touched again, but the sea no longer separated them in its cool depths. There was nothing between them but fire as their bodies joined again; it was as though they shared one soaring, beating heart.

  Peter smiled lazily as he looked down at her afterwards, brushing one wet, curling tendril of hair out of her eyes. 'I didn't intend that to happen,' he said simply.

  'But it was wonderful,' she answered, smiling up at him through half-closed, love-filled eyes.

  'Yes,' he agreed softly, 'that it was. But now, you see, you shall never, ever be free of me…'

  'That's wonderful as well,' she said.

  It was more than that, and Margaret knew it even at the time. That whole long morning was engraved on her heart as surely as if it had been burned there. Years later, she would still remember the taste of pate-flavoured kisses, and the way Peter looked at her, and the label on the bottle of wine they shared with lunch.

  Too soon, Peter was steering a course through the sparkling sea, and the China Doll was taking them back to Hong Kong Island, back to the world of people who were no part of the universe which belonged just to the two of them, and no one else.

  And finally, reluctantly, they parted in the lobby of the Star of the Orient.

  'I shall miss you terribly when you go back to London,' Peter said sombrely.

  'Ah, but I haven't gone yet!' she insisted bravely, gaily. 'And meanwhile, of course, we have tonight…'

  Margaret slept that afternoon. When she awoke, she remembered, and a flush began to rise from her slim throat. But then she smiled softly to herself, and after that she threw back the covers and got out of bed.

  Long shadows fell across the room from the open windows of the balcony. She would just have time, if she hurried, to have a quick cup of tea with Ralph before she dressed for her dinner date with Peter. She climbed into a pair of jeans and pulled a top over her head, gave her tangled hair a quick brush, and raced downstairs. Ralph was there in the coffee shop, surrounded by loose papers, looking so weary that Margaret felt an immediate pang of guilt for her neglect of him.

  'Hello, love!' he said cheerfully.

  'Hi, Ralph. Sorry I haven't been around much lately—'

  'It's OK, lass, don't worry over it! I shan't bore you with the details, but it looks as though I'm set fair to realize a fine old profit out of this lark, soon
er or later. Why, if things work out, the trip'll pay for itself. You going out tonight, love?'

  'You — you wouldn't mind, would you?'

  Ralph didn't mind in the least. He was exhausted, and besides, he hadn't seen Margaret looking so happy since — well, come to that, he couldn't remember a time when she'd looked as happy as she did that afternoon…

  8

  'Hello there, stranger!' Susanna said, when she and Peter nearly collided on the pavement outside the Star of the Orient.

  'Why, Susanna! Hi!'

  Susanna had been watching for him to emerge that afternoon -from a discreet distance. She knew where he had spent the morning, too. Or more accurately, she'd been able to winkle out enough information from here and there to know he'd taken the China Doll out to sea, and that the Hamilton girl had been aboard as well. No doubt he had just made another date with the dowdy little bitch. God, he looked so happy! Lord only knew what the two of them had got up to in that boat of his!

  Susanna had dressed carefully for her accidental meeting with Peter, all in white. She looked so well in white, everybody said so. It underlined her cool, blonde good looks. It never hurt to look good. Even more critical, though, was that she should get maximum mileage out of telling him what she knew… what she'd taken the trouble to find out. And of course she'd have to make the whole thing sound as casual as humanly possible. He might have known about it all along. If that were the case, it would never do to appear to be trying to stir up trouble for dear, sweet little Margaret Hamilton…

  'Still hard at work on your convention?' she asked brightly. That was as good a way as any to open, she had decided. Peter had talked of nothing else in the days — no, weeks — before it started. Lord, men could be boring about their business plans! Still… sometimes it paid to listen.

  'Oh yes, I suppose I am,' Peter replied easily. 'Sure. Though now it's nearly winding-up time, the thing seems to be running itself.'