She should have realised something like this would happen and regretted turning down Connor’s invitation. ‘It’s okay. I think a day of rest is called for anyway.’
‘How are the ribs?’
‘Bit sore. You?’
‘Not too bad. Looks worse than it feels. I’d better go, maybe see you later.’
Holly lay staring up at the ceiling. Great! Now what? Madame Liang maybe? No harm in trying her, though she might not agree to being interviewed at such short notice. Holly was thinking ahead. She could start with the Chinese-Mauritian angle and follow up with the French-Mauritian perspective on Sunday. That left the Indian and Creole population. Some of Connor’s relatives might come in handy and there was always that nice doctor who taped up her ribs. Nothing too in-depth, but Australians would be fascinated by the multicultural melting pot in Mauritius. Bit of history, some anecdotes. It would certainly add flavour to her piece about the island itself. Maybe even do something similar on Rodrigues. There were several magazines in Australia that would buy an article like that and there were always the Sundays to fall back on. Split the story between two islands. Two cheques instead of one. Perhaps she could slip down to Réunion and across to Madagascar once this assignment was finished. Do a four-piece thing on the Sea of Zanj.
The day was looking better already. But first the problem of ablutions had to be solved. A shower was out of the question, but using the base of it as a shallow bath might avoid getting the bandages too wet.
Twenty minutes later it was obvious that she might as well have showered. Holly doubted that the protective strapping would last. It was driving her mad already. Anyway, she’d read somewhere that these days, the medical profession in Australia preferred ribs to heal with no support. Something to do with pain being an essential element in not overdoing things, she supposed.
There was just enough complimentary instant coffee for one strong cup. Waiting for it to cool, Holly fished out the card Madame Liang had given her. The address was in Port Louis. She checked her watch before dialling. Eight twenty-five. Business hours ranged from anywhere between six in the morning and seven in the evening. She took a chance and dialled the number.
‘Liang and Associates.’ The telephonist sounded professional, well bred and bored.
Liang Song had told Holly to make the appointment with her secretary. To hell with that! ‘I’d like to speak to Madame Liang please.’
‘Which Madame Liang?’
‘Madame Liang Song.’
‘Who’s calling please?’
‘Holly Jones.’
‘Hold please.’
Piped music entertained her for nearly a minute.
‘Miss Jones.’ Holly didn’t know how she did it but Madame Liang’s voice was a reflection of her face – hard, sort of like setting cement.
‘You agreed to an interview.’ Holly wasted no time. ‘I’d like to set it up.’
‘When?’
‘Today.’
‘Today!’ Amusement crept into Madame Liang’s tone.
‘I know it’s short notice.’
Silence. Good sign. She was thinking about it. Then, ‘I have meetings this morning. If you’ll hold on a moment I’ll check with my secretary. We might be able to meet for lunch?’
Slapped wrist! Holly was reasonably certain that the Chinese woman would already know if she were free for lunch. She was being punished for the bypass.
After a lengthy wait, Liang Song came back on the line. ‘It is possible to reschedule one or two things. We can meet for lunch.’
Okay, now I know how important you are. ‘On one condition.’
‘Condition?’ She made no attempt to hide her disapproval. Conditions were things Madame Liang imposed on others, not the reverse.
‘Lunch is my shout.’ Holly grinned. In her experience, success with people like Liang Song was more likely if their control of people or situations was temporarily out of reach. For some reason, Holly didn’t quite know why, the more arrogant and commanding an individual, the more important it was to try to keep them off balance. Given the upper hand, some of them seemed to feel morally obliged to be uncooperative.
‘Shout?’ Puzzlement was clear in the Chinese woman’s voice. She had evidently never heard the expression.
‘An Australianism,’ Holly explained. ‘It means I’d like to buy you lunch.’
‘There’s no need.’ Liang Song didn’t like it. Power play was everything. Even something as small as being taken for lunch removed some of her authority.
‘Oh, but I insist,’ Holly said cheerfully. ‘Incidentally, I’ll be taping the conversation. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘I suppose it’s necessary?’
It was working. A small concession, yet you’d think Madame Liang had been asked to give away her personal fortune. ‘Would you care to suggest a restaurant?’ Give her back control.
This was more to the Chinese woman’s liking. ‘Labourdonnais Hotel. Meet me in the foyer. It’s on Caudan Waterfront.’
‘I assume that’s in Port Louis?’
‘Of course. Your taxi driver will know how to find it. I’ll book a table, you’d never get in. One o’clock.’
Holly said that would be just fine. Madame Liang hung up without further comment.
It took most of the morning to prepare her questions. At eleven thirty she caught a taxi to the capital.
The Caudan Waterfront was new, stretching around three sides of the harbour and separated from the frantic city centre of Port Louis by a pedestrian underpass. The boulevards were free of traffic and far from crowded. Large shopping centres housed boutiques, handicraft markets, art galleries, duty-free shops, hotels, restaurants and a cinema. Holly had plenty of time to enjoy playing the tourist before making her way to the impressive Labourdonnais Hotel. She chose a chair from which she could observe the entrance and settled down to wait.
Liang Song was only twenty minutes late. Holly had anticipated thirty. She made an entrance like a movie star in a bad mood – head up, coldly gracious to anyone crass enough to greet her, fixed smile and a look in her eyes that said, ‘I’m here, I’m performing, but don’t ask me to like it’.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ She wasn’t, her tone made that quite plain.
Two words competed for attention in Holly’s head. Regal was one. Bitch the other. The latter triumphed. ‘You have lipstick on your teeth.’
She didn’t, but Liang Song wasn’t to know that. In fact, she looked breathtaking in a sea green cheongsam of embossed satin, slit up one side to reveal a silky thigh. Glossy black hair hung, thick and perfectly in place, to her shoulders. Pale flawless skin glowed with health. Ruby-red lipstick, expertly applied, gleamed. Her shoes, which matched the dress, must have cost a small fortune. A white clutch bag completed the picture. Holly felt rumpled, dowdy and boring.
As good starts went, this one was not perfect. Holly’s opening words hit home and the game was on. Madame Liang blinked and scrubbed a forefinger across her teeth in a quick and furtive movement, uncertainty suddenly evident on her normally expressionless face. ‘Gone?’
Holly nodded, her conscience bothering her not at all. Composure returning, the Chinese woman, with a withering look at Holly’s linen trouser suit, asked with feigned concern, ‘Aren’t you hot in that jacket?’
Okay! ‘Not at all. I’m quite used to the heat.’ In point of fact, with the air-conditioning apparently having a bad day, Holly’s bandages were acting like a thermal vest. She was damned nearly expiring from the temperature but would rather die than admit it.
Abruptly, Liang Song turned and strode away leaving Holly to follow. The restaurant was extremely busy but somehow the Chinese woman had managed to get them a table.
In rapid French, she ordered for both of them. Holly said nothing. The maître d’hôtel, who materialised the moment they had been seated, was doing his impression of obsequious with all the fervour of a squirming puppy. Madame Liang Song was probably his idea of royalty. He was star
-struck, turning himself inside out to cater for her every whim. Either that, Holly thought nastily, or a visit from the family thugs is something he’d rather avoid. Her guest brought the performance to its conclusion with the wave of a hand and the man melted into thin air. She turned and stared expectantly at Holly.
Holly decided to be brisk. The tape recorder lay on the table between them. Holly turned it on. ‘How old are you?’
Madame Liang looked surprised, not expecting such a blunt personal question, but she answered with no hesitation. ‘Twenty-eight.’
‘Young to be a company director.’
‘It’s a family business.’
‘So I gather. What exactly do you import?’
The Chinese woman flipped one hand back and forth. ‘Specialist foods from around the world. Furniture. White goods. Cars. Building products. Agricultural machinery. Alcohol – wine mainly. Textiles.’ She broke off. ‘Just about anything.’
‘Would you say you are the biggest importer in Mauritius?’
‘No.’
Holly raised her eyebrows. ‘One of the biggest then?’
Madame Liang smiled slightly. ‘If you like.’
Holly changed tack. ‘How did your family come to Mauritius?’
With no sign of rancour, the response came back. ‘Indentured labour, as with most of the Chinese here.’
‘Does that make you resentful?’
‘Why should it?’
Holly wasn’t going to be led. ‘Are all Sino-Mauritians practising Christians?’
‘No. But most of us are.’
‘You’re a Christian?’
‘Yes. Roman Catholic.’
A waiter brought Madame Liang the fragrant tea she ordered.
Holly leaned forward on her elbows. ‘What do you do when you’re not working?’
A surprised blink. ‘Go to the cinema. There are many parties. See my friends.’
‘Are these questions too personal for you?’
‘No.’ The answer was slow in coming.
‘But you’re having a problem with one or two of them,’ Holly probed. ‘Why?’
‘I thought you wanted general material on Chinese Mauritians.’ Madame Liang’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t see the relevance of my age or what I do privately.’
‘Allow me to be the judge of that,’ Holly said in a cold voice. ‘You pointed out to me yesterday that Sino-Mauritians are different from Westerners. This is an article for Australians. I think I’m qualified to know what they like to read.’
Madame Liang didn’t like that much but merely inclined her head.
Holly went on, knowing the Chinese woman would not expect, and most probably hate, the next question.
‘Do you have a boyfriend?’
‘No.’
She didn’t hesitate, Holly had to give her that. She pushed further. ‘Have you ever had one?’
‘No.’
‘Why is that?’
‘My husband wouldn’t like it.’
Holly was about to laugh but killed it when she saw that Liang Song was not trying to be funny. Her eyes dropped to the Chinese woman’s hands. Ringless.
Madame Liang noted the brief inspection. ‘Surely,’ she said coldly, ‘your French is good enough to know the difference between madame and mademoiselle.’
‘You don’t wear a wedding ring,’ Holly defended herself.
‘I will when the time is right.’
It didn’t make sense. ‘What do you mean?’
Liang Song looked uncomfortable. Eventually she said, ‘It is difficult for a Westerner to understand. My family is of a certain class. It’s impossible for me to marry beneath it. On Mauritius there are few families considered to be suitable. The Liangs are one. My husband will be the sole beneficiary of their not inconsiderable interests. It’s business. He is young. We do not yet live as man and wife.’
‘How long have you been married?’
‘Nearly two years.’
‘How old is he?’ Holly thought he might be in his early twenties.
‘This really can’t be of interest.’
‘I assure you, it is.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s totally alien to the Australian way of life.’
Madame Liang speared Holly with a defiant look and answered the question. ‘Sixteen.’
It was Holly’s turn to blink. That’s all she did. She knew when to stop pushing. But her thoughts were a different matter. Sixteen! The poor little bastard had been saddled with this cold creature since he was only fourteen. Jesus! There must be a law against it.
Madame Liang sipped her tea, waiting for the next question.
Very deliberately, Holly changed tack. ‘Why do you want me to warn Connor Maguire to stay away from you?’
With no change of expression, the ice maiden again showed her mettle. ‘I thought we’d covered that last night. In any event, it has nothing to do with your article.’
‘Okay. Answer this. Why do the Chinese community stick so closely together?’
‘We’re no different from any other group. A segregated society has developed on Mauritius and no-one sees any reason to change it. The Chinese are very clannish.’
‘Surely every now and then someone from outside breaks through? It must happen.’
Madame Liang gave an elaborate shrug. ‘Sometimes. Not often.’
‘What would be the consequences? Let me put to you a hypothetical scenario. A beautiful Chinese girl, such as yourself, meets and falls in love with a French-Mauritian man. What’s the outcome?’
‘As I said,’ Madame Liang answered tersely, ‘it can happen. She would probably be ostracised by her own family.’
‘And the French?’
‘She’d be accepted but only after a fashion.’
‘What if she were French and the man Chinese?’
‘Then neither side would accept them.’
‘Why not?’
The Chinese face was unreadable. ‘It’s hard to explain. Each of the ethnic groups has its own customs. If someone from mine, male or female, went outside of it they would be shunned. That is our way. The French?’ Another expressive shrug. ‘Their men’s word is law. They get away with murder. But women must be at least seen to conform.’
Holly nodded, then referred back to her notes. ‘What is the inflation rate in Mauritius?’
The answer came so quickly that Holly wondered if Liang Song had just looked it up. ‘Under seven per cent.’
‘You mentioned the class system. Is there much poverty?’
‘Some, but we also enjoy high rates of employment.’
‘What does Mauritius export?’
Again, the answer was self-assured and immediate. ‘Sugar, mainly. Tea, tobacco, fruit and vegetables. We can compete against Europe because of the seasonal differences.’
‘I’ve seen some big name clothing labels that have apparently been manufactured here. How does that work?’
‘The government offers tax incentives for companies to set up here. Wages are low and our people work hard. The textile and wool industries have been particularly successful. It’s mainly for export but tourists buy a lot also.’
‘South Africa has invested heavily in the tourist industry.’
Madame Liang nodded. ‘So have others, although we get most of our visitors from the African mainland. Many of the big hotels are South African owned.’
‘GDP?’
Madame Liang’s brow wrinkled. ‘I’m not sure. The Reserve Bank would give you up-to-date economic indicators.’
‘Okay. So, would you say that Mauritius is booming?’
Madame Liang came close to a genuine smile. ‘Very much so. We all work hard to make it so.’
Their first course arrived and Holly switched off the tape. ‘Thank you. After lunch, time permitting, I’d like to ask just a few more questions.’
Madame Liang’s look gave nothing away. ‘Certainly.’
Holly turned her attention to the food. Madame L
iang had ordered Filets de Sole Marguery for them both – fillet of sole ringed by mussels and shrimp and then covered with a white wine sauce. It was delicious. Their main course was Selle d’Agneau Armenonville – roast saddle of lamb with green beans, cocotte potatoes and artichoke hearts stuffed with tomato. A bottle of petit Chablis rather let the side down. It was five years old and well past its prime. Madame Liang seemed not to notice but then, she barely touched her glass, preferring the tea which the waiter kept topping up.
‘Dessert?’
‘Not for me.’
‘As you wish.’ Crêpes Suzette made its way down Madame Liang’s throat. Holly wondered how she kept her figure.
The interview resumed. Holly asked about the effects of tourism, whether Mauritians were concerned about global warming and the ozone layer, what was being done to protect the indigenous flora and fauna, wildlife reserves, the crime rate and finally, was there a drug problem. To all but the last question, Madame Liang answered patiently and directly.
‘There’s no drug problem here,’ she said sharply.
‘I’m told they are freely available. Whatever you want.’
‘Isolated incident. We can’t keep them out altogether. Every now and then you’ll see a piece in the newspaper about someone caught carrying drugs into Mauritius. It is generally believed that we are used as a halfway house where drugs can be held before being moved on to Europe. I think you’ll find, Miss Jones, if it’s a drug angle you’re after, that Mauritius is fairly clean.’
‘I’m not set on any specific angle, Madame Liang. I’m looking for one.’
Liang Song’s face remained expressionless.
Holly returned to Chinese-related specifics. After a further fifteen minutes, Madame Liang checked her watch. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go.’
Holly turned off the tape. ‘Thank you for your time.’
‘Will you be speaking to other Chinese from here?’
‘If time permits. The article must be informative for potential tourists. This is largely background material.’
‘In your country, do you have many Chinese people?’
The Forgotten Sea Page 13
