Sunrise in Hong Kong

by Denise Emery

  'Good evening, Peter, and Susanna,' she murmured politely, thinking wildly that a similar meeting had begun the whole painful thing, and not three weeks ago.

  It took every ounce of self-control she could muster not to reach out like a savage, to wipe the simpering, triumphant smile off Susanna's face with one resounding slap. Instead, she squared her shoulders and looked directly into Peter's face, taking in Susanna's elegant bikini and her careful make-up in one swift sidelong glance, without allowing a flicker of what she was feeling to show through.

  'I tried to ring you, Margaret,' Peter said gravely, 'several times, in fact. But you were out—'

  'Yes, so I was,' she cut in evenly. Out with friends, just as you are now.' Margaret paused a moment to be sure that had sunk in, and then she added, 'It's so very late, I'm sure you'll both excuse me.'

  Peter murmured something in answer, to that, some resigned acknowledgement that he had no choice but to excuse her, but Margaret barely heard him. She had turned away by then, and it required all her concentration to walk with slow, deliberate steps along the beach in the direction from which she had come, back to the hotel.

  Linda didn't seem to mind being awakened by her ringing telephone in the middle of the night, not when she realized it was Margaret, incoherent with grief.

  When she was finally calm enough to take it in, Linda said slowly, 'Now, Margaret, simply do as I say. When we ring off, dial room service. Ask them to bring you a double brandy, do you hear me? Sleep will help, I swear it will. We can talk the whole thing through tomorrow, all right?'

  And when Margaret had promised, still sobbing, to obey the instruction, Linda had issued her dinner invitation. 'And tomorrow night,' she added firmly, 'you'll take a sleeping tablet with you when you and Ralph go back to the hotel. You'll swallow it too, before you get into bed. No one can know at this stage how things will work out — or not — between you and Peter. And I still think there could be any number of reasonable explanations why Susanna was with him tonight on the beach. Lord knows the woman's persistent enough! But there's one thing I'm sure of: I'm determined to get you home in one piece if it's the last thing I do!'

  Through it all, Ralph remained serenely unaware that things were not exactly as they should be.

  Margaret ordered and drank the brandy, and fell into an uneasy sleep; by morning, though every muscle in her exhausted body ached, she was able to act her way through breakfast as though she hadn't a care in the world.

  Linda says she's longing to cook a meal for someone, she confided gaily, stirring her tea. 'She claims you and I will be perfect victims for her attempts to get back into practice with plain English cookery. Especially you,' she finished slyly, winking at him.

  'Ah, well now,' Ralph said, 'that's an offer I wouldn't dream of turning down. Nice though it is, this Chinese food does get a bit fancy as a steady diet. I'd love to come along. What should we bring? White wine, or red?'

  Linda wasn't really out of practice, or at least she didn't seem to be. The prime rib of beef was delicious, crusty on the outside and rosy in the middle, and the potatoes she had roasted around it were brown and perfect.

  'Actually, I cheated,' Linda admitted modestly, 'by using one of the thingummies Mum sent me from Sainsbury's. It's called a Roastabag, or something like that.'

  Linda got quite a bit of conversational mileage out of explaining Roastabags to Margaret. She dragged out every other homely topic she could think of, too; how she'd made the feather-light Yorkshire puddings, the method she'd used to glaze the carrots, and exactly how much sherry she'd put into the tipsy trifle she served for pudding.

  'This Naylor fellow's a lucky man,' Ralph observed appreciatively over coffee. 'Though it's only fair to add that Margaret knows her way around a kitchen, too. When she decides to settle down, he'll be a lucky bloke and all…'

  Margaret and Linda exchanged a quick look at that, Linda telegraphing 'Strength!' and Margaret acknowledging it gratefully.

  'Oh, Ralph,' she exclaimed, laughing, 'don't be silly. I shan't be settling down for a long time to come!' If ever, she thought grimly even as she smiled. I'd have to be out of my mind to dare so much hurt, ever again.

  And to think she'd been on the point of believing Peter when he'd offered an apology with those flowers! God, it hadn't taken him very long to seek solace in the super-willing arms of that smirking Baker-Leigh woman! He hadn't even waited until Margaret left for London. Oh no, she'd been right to tell him they were finished! It took an effort of will to force her attention back to the conversation at the table, the painless, easy, ordinary small talk which Linda kept going so valiantly.

  It was late by the time Ralph and Margaret left, and the following morning was far too busy to allow Margaret any time to think. She was calm enough when Linda chauffeured them to Kai Tak airport, with thoughts of toothbrushes and passports chasing each other through her mind.

  It hit her with force, though, shortly after take-off, the question which had been nagging at her even after she'd dutifully swallowed the tablet Linda had pressed into her hand the previous evening. It wasn't exactly a question. It was more nearly a cameo of a scene which had burned itself into Margaret's mind. A scene in which Peter walked with Susanna Baker-Leigh along an endless silvery beach, hand in hand with her, laughing softly. That was the first part. The scene shifted after that, until Margaret could see Peter and Susanna on the deck of the China Doll… entwined in one another's arms…

  After that, it ended. Except that it projected itself endlessly on the screen of Margaret's mind, over and over again until she thought she would scream, or die.

  She did neither. She had got this far, with Linda's help, carrying the burden of her broken heart. She would accomplish the rest once she was safely home again in her room, in her job, the ordinary round of days, and Ralph would never be the wiser. It was simple enough; a matter of living through one dreary day at a time.

  They showed a film on the flight back to England; Margaret was grateful for the darkened cabin that went with it. Ralph slept through most of it, and when he awoke to see that Margaret's eyes were full of tears he was alarmed at first. But then he realized what was on the programme, and he relaxed into his seat, shaking his head fondly over the sentimentality of women. They were showing Love Story…

  11

  'Looks as if we're home again for sure,' Ralph said cheerfully as they walked out of the terminal. It was Sunday, it was late, and it was raining. The tarmac of the airport carpark glistened beneath artificial light as they walked to Phyllis's car. 'Never mind. Wouldn't be London without a drop or two of rain.'

  'It sounds very much as though you're glad to be back,' Phyllis said. 'Didn't you enjoy Hong Kong?'

  'Oh, yes I did, what I saw of it. Which wasn't much, admittedly, apart from the inside of a boardroom. Still, it was worth it. Now it can be told, incidentally, at least among friends. I managed to have one or two very successful meetings with young Benhurst while we were out there. He's the one who runs the show at Pan Orient. They're planning to open up shop here early in the spring, and we rate to benefit from that; we'll probably be offered a tie-in with their continental hotel chain, somewhere along the line.'

  Phyllis shook her head, smiling as she unlocked the boot of her mini so that Ralph could stow the luggage. 'Typical Ralph,' she muttered. 'Business, business, and more business. But what about you, Margaret? I trust you managed to have a bit of fun while you were away, without troubling yourself overmuch with young Benhurst and his hotel empire. You've got a wonderful tan, I'll say that much.'

  Margaret had shuddered at the first mention of Peter's name, and when Phyllis mentioned him again she cringed inwardly, though she covered her reaction by pretending to rummage in her shoulder bag. She even managed to smile convincingly when she raised her head to meet Phyllis's grin.

  'Oh yes! Yes, indeed I did. It was really marvellous. Everything I expected, and then some…'

  She could say that again, Margaret reflected gr
imly, and no doubt she would have to, over and over again. It wasn't every day a girl was treated to the dream holiday of a lifetime. Everyone she knew in London would admire her tan, her hand-made clothes, her snapshots. They would ask her if she had used the few words of Chinese she knew, and what she had thought of 'authentic' Chinese food.

  Someone might even ask her if she'd met any interesting guys while she was out there. Well, she'd just have to learn to smile sweetly and lie in her teeth, that was all. There were few friends she considered close enough to be burdened with the whole dreary story. In fact, if it hadn't been for the brutal shock of the way she'd parted with Peter, Margaret probably wouldn't have confided so fully in Linda Peterson.

  For the moment, at least, Margaret was left alone to gaze out at the shabby London suburbs, duller than ever in the gloom of rapidly-gathering dusk, as Phyllis drove them into town. Ralph was interested only in Phyllis's answers to his cross-questioning about what had happened in his absence.

  'We didn't go into bankruptcy,' Phyllis reassured him wryly, 'though there were one or two difficult moments; colourful to say the least—'

  'What happened?' Ralph asked anxiously, instantly attentive.

  Phyllis laughed. 'Calm down, Ralph, I'm only teasing! If I remember rightly, the very worst thing that happened was that a pair of newlyweds found themselves stranded in Sheerness on their wedding night when the only steamer doing the cross-channel night run went into drydock for repair.'

  'That's something new?' Ralph snorted. 'The damned boat's been in service since the last world war!'

  'Yes, Ralph,' Phyllis answered patiently. 'You know that, and I know it, but try explaining it to two kids who've made up their mind to celebrate their great occasion on the cheap and cheerful.

  Anyway, they had to wait until the following morning to cross on their continental honeymoon, and being out of season, the only bed and breakfast they could find was owned by a woman who might have stepped into a comic pantomime without:, much as changing her apron.'

  'What was wrong with her?' Ralph asked.

  'Oh, you know. The smell of cabbage in the corridors, and fifty thousand rules and regulations posted in the entrance, in her own cramped and spidery handwriting. You can't blame the couple for being offended when she insisted on seeing their lines before she agreed to rent them a double room…'

  'And they expected us to refund the price of it, when they got back,' Ralph finished for her.

  Phyllis smiled at his reflection in the rear-view mirror. 'It did seem to work out cheaper than to have them carrying on at the top of their voices in front of a queue of would-be customers.'

  'Quite right,' Ralph agreed, relaxing against the back seat.

  It went on like that, all of it shop-talk, and for once Margaret was grateful for its endless drone. It left her free to think her own thoughts, which were not pleasant. But in some curious way, she was grateful that she had come home to London at its worst. The rain and gloom and the sight of shivering pedestrians scuttling along the streets in search of light and warmth was a sudden contrast to the relentless glory of the climate she'd left behind her in Hong Kong. London seemed a fit place that evening for someone whose heart felt like a limp, faded teacloth. London was grim, and that was fine with Margaret. So was she.

  And then, at last, they were home. 'Come in for coffee?' Margaret offered when Phyllis pulled up in front of the house.

  'Thanks. But just one cup,' Phyllis answered. 'I left my old man pottering about in the kitchen, and I never know what to expect when I do that. He does so love to mess about with every pot and pan in the place. Incidentally, you're very welcome to come to us for supper if you like. It'll be pot-luck, nothing fancy, but we'd love to have you.'

  To Margaret's intense relief, Ralph declined for them both. She liked Bill Gunter, she always had done. But Bill would undoubtedly have lavished most of his attention on Margaret that evening, and he loved teasing her. Besides, he could be almost irritatingly cheerful at times.

  Cheer was absent from Margaret's heart for all the long days and weeks of that grey, wet, endless London autumn, though of course Ralph never knew that, nor did anyone else. She even began to take a kind of grim satisfaction in her ability to smile convincingly as she told people that yes, indeed, her three weeks in Hong Kong had been one gay, mad, merry round of fun. It was far less satisfying when she woke up sobbing from a dream, tears already soaking her pillow, so vivid had been the taste of Peter's kiss, the strong, gentle touch of his hand.

  Margaret knew from experience that time would heal the worst of grief, if enough time passed. Even the terrible depression which followed her mother's death had lessened finally, with time and effort. But the harsh finality of death made it necessary for a loved one's survivors to come to terms with it, to allow time to dull the keen edges of loss. Her grief over losing Peter was different from that. He was very much alive, and that meant there was hope for them, didn't it? Apparently, it did not. For many, many weeks Margaret jumped, electrified, every time the phone went, and she pounced eagerly on the post as it came thudding through their letter box before she left for work each morning. But there was no word, no sign, nothing. Linda wrote to her, and Margaret answered, and each was careful in her letters to avoid any mention of Peter's name. From Peter himself, there was nothing at all. Why should there be?

  At last, with the greatest effort of will she had yet been forced to in her life, Margaret faced the truth. What she and Peter had shared was nothing more than a casual holiday fling. She had been a willing — no, an eager — partner in the love-making which had come far too soon in their relationship. Why, she had all but seduced the man. He had said, hadn't he, 'I didn't mean this to happen'?

  It had happened, however. And it was that brief, intense morning of physical joy in his embrace which had made their abrupt parting doubly painful for her. For her to attempt to contact him was utterly out of the question. That would only cheapen her further. He'd been with Susanna the last time she'd ever seen him; no doubt he was with her still. Remembering that, Margaret recalled Susanna's simpering smile of victory when they'd met, that moonless night on the beach, and she felt one stiffening urge of fury at the pair of them: Susanna and Peter deserved each other, and she would leave them to it. She was damned if she was going to allow a couple of weeks of reckless infatuation to sour her life!

  There was plenty of work for Margaret, at least; plenty to learn from Phyllis. And when Phyllis announced, on Guy Fawkes' Day, that she planned to leave the agency shortly after Christmas, Margaret's work pace quickened.

  'You know what I've always told you, Ralph,' Phyllis reminded him with brisk cheer when she broke the news. 'When my Bill retires, I always said, I'll be off out like a shot to join him. Life's far too short for me to put work first, and anyway, Bill and I've looked forward to this for years, saved our money towards it too. What would you say to booking us on to a flight to Venice early in January?'

  If Ralph was shaken by this news, he did his heroic best to hide it. He rang through to the junior he'd left in charge of the Fulham branch to say he was closing down half an hour early at Oxford Street. Then he bundled Margaret and Phyllis off to the Royal Engineer around the corner, to stand Phyllis a celebratory drink.

  'To the happy days ahead of you!' Ralph toasted. 'Lord knows you've earned it. And besides, if I am losing the most capable charge-hand it's ever been my pleasure to work with, at least I'm gaining a couple of new customers. Or at least, I hope you'll book through us…'

  'You never thought we wouldn't.' Phyllis gasped, open-mouthed, sincerely shocked.

  'Well… no. But to make sure of your custom for the first trip at least, I'm going to make it your leaving gift…'

  Margaret was busier with every day that brought Christmas nearer. Once Phyllis left, there'd be no one to turn to with a snarled airline schedule or a botched hotel reservation or the inevitable chaos of a train strike except Ralph, and he'd have his hands quite full enough without that
.

  'You'll make mistakes, Margaret, of course you will. We all do,' Phyllis counselled calmly. 'When it happens, apologize, and try to make it good. The important thing to remember is that Ralph's chief business asset has always been his good reputation, and he's built on that by keeping clients satisfied over the years. Never forget that, and you'll be just fine.'

  Christmas came and went so quickly that Margaret nearly missed it, though it would be more accurate to say she wished she could. It was the anniversary of Dorothy's death, or nearly so, and it was tinged with so much sadness, for Ralph as well as for herself, that its celebration was inevitably bound up with the lingering traces of their grief.

  'I suppose we should do something special on the day,' Ralph said. 'Have dinner out somewhere the way we used to do, you know?' He didn't add, 'Unlike last year, when your mother worked so hard to make the thing so festive.' He didn't have to say it. Neither of them had forgotten Dorothy, or what they had lost.

  Somehow it seemed essential, though, to make some kind of effort. Ralph and Margaret exchanged gifts over tea on Christmas morning, and later they went out to eat a turkey dinner they didn't really want, quietly remembering that Dorothy wasn't sitting there with them, telling Ralph to forget his paunch for once and order a double portion of brandy butter to go with his steamed pudding.

  After Christmas, and especially after Phyllis and Bill Gunter's excited departure on the first leg of what they referred to as their 'grand tour', Margaret's daily life settled down into a new and very different pattern. She worked with Ralph, rather than for him, and her confidence in what she was doing increased daily. Her childish dream of joining him in the agency had come true after all, and she was glad.

  It was her social life that was Margaret's only major stumbling block to a happy life. She forced herself to go out in the evenings, much as she had done after Dorothy's death, and for much the same reason: to please Ralph.