‘It’s just a short walk away from here,’ Mr Lee tells me. ‘If you turn right and walk up the hill, you’ll see it right in front of you. It looks just the same now as in your photograph.’
On hearing this news, I stutter my thanks with tears brimming in my eyes, my chin wobbling with excitement, anticipation and great relief. I’m so delighted that I kiss Mr Lee on his cheek. He laughs and blushes with embarrassment, but he also seems delighted.
‘I should warn you, Miss Thomas, that we are currently in the process of packing up and moving our exhibits and memorabilia into a newer and larger purpose-built museum at the racecourse. I hope it doesn’t bother you too much to see the place in some disarray while you look around. The building will soon be empty.’
‘Empty?’ I repeated. ‘Do you mean … vacant? Is the house … for sale?’
A million synapses seem to pop in my head at the idea of this house being on the market.
Oh, my goodness. What if I bought it? What if I could actually live here?
Every fantasy I’ve ever had about buying this house flashes through my mind.
I dare to wonder if I had cosmically ordered this. Was that even possible?
No. Of course not. That’s not how it works. Hadn’t Guru J said that wishes had to be noble and not about possessions or material things? Besides, hadn’t I seen in my research that even the smallest apartments on Stubbs Road were selling for a million dollars? It was highly likely that this house would be worth zillions of dollars in today’s market. Zillions of dollars I certainly didn’t have.
Besides, Hong Kong was now part of China and the immigration rules were likely complex. I don’t know if being born here means I would be allowed to live here for any length of time.
I sigh with resignation at the lovely idea of it but buying the house isn’t realistic, practical, or indeed possible.
‘Oh, no. It’s not for sale,’ Mr Lee tells me adamantly.
I sigh with anxious relief. Thank goodness. Because if it’s not for sale then I don’t have to torment myself over an impossible dream.
If it’s not for sale, then I don’t have to be upset over not being able to afford it and having to see someone else with incredible amounts of money coming along and snapping it up. Problem solved.
‘We’ve had lots of enquires, of course. Historic houses like this one are highly sought after these days. But this house has been owned by the racecourse for the last thirty years, and I’m told they have no intention of selling it.’
‘I understand. Well, thank you again, Mr Lee. I appreciate you giving me this information and, as I haven’t seen this house since I was five, I’d really love the opportunity to take a look around. I’m so excited it’s still here and looks the same. Seeing all the new high-rises along this road, I had started to think it might have been pulled down a long time ago, and well … I have so many happy memories of this beautiful house!’
Mr Lee gives me a look of delight but also sympathy and his genuine interest makes me want to continue to explain my reasons for being here, revisiting this house.
‘You see, I grew up in the UK but I’ve always wondered what it might be like to come back here and find it. It might sound a little crazy, but I’ve always imagined myself actually living here again.’ I realise I’m rambling and gushing and therefore embarrassing myself. This man certainly didn’t want or need to know my private thoughts and secret longings.
‘How wonderful and how very interesting!’ Mr Lee exclaims joyfully.
‘So, I go out of here and turn right up the hill?’ I clarify.
‘Yes. That’s right. You can’t miss it.’ Mr Lee insists.
I walk quickly up the steep hill, despite the escalating heat of the late-morning sun shining down on the street and on my head, until in great excitement I see and recognise both the wrought-iron gate in the photograph and the pink house of my dreams.
I stand in front of it and look through the gate into the garden. It really does look the same, except perhaps for the large bay windows on either side of the front door. They had clearly been replaced with newer and modern versions but in the same design. The garden looks more mature as well, the saplings that had lined the driveway now tall, mature trees.
I can hardly contain my excitement as I take some photos with my phone and then swing open the creaky gate and start up the path feeling like I’m walking on air and in some kind of dream world. The front door is open so I just walk inside to find the grand hallway lined with photos of horses and jockeys.
I look through into the reception rooms on both sides of the staircase and see they too are still full of racing memorabilia – saddles and riding clothes, whips and riding caps. In the middle of the hallway, on the strangely familiar black and white tiled floor, are lots of cardboard boxes. As I am taking it all in, a middle-aged man appears from a door beside the grand central staircase, greeting me with a curious hello and an explanation about the move to a new location.
I explain my reasons for the visit and my conversation with Mr Lee and he too encourages me to take a good look around. ‘Take your time. If you need anything just give me a shout. I’ll be in the back rooms.’
I thank him and wander slowly around the rooms. I’m the only visitor and being alone in these rooms makes this feel even more surreal. I feel as though I’ve been whizzed back in time. I imagine my mother standing at the table by the window arranging her roses in a vase. In my mind’s eye I see my father sitting in his armchair reading the newspaper. I breathe in the smell of the place and let my eyes soak in the view of the side garden and the same expansive view across the familiar square of green clipped lawn where I remember playing as a child. Then I wander towards the rear of the house to gain access to the back garden and find the caretaker busily packing up exhibits into boxes.
‘Do you know if the rose garden still exists?’ I enquire tentatively.
He helpfully escorts me to the patio doors, and I step out onto the patio and walk across the lawn, following the scent of damask roses on the warm breeze.
With every step, my subconscious memories are being stirred and awakened and this all seems increasingly familiar territory to me. When I reach the rose garden, I see it’s now past its best but there are still some late blooms flowering. I bend over to smell a pale pink rose and feel its soft velvety petals tickle my nose. I inhale its sweet musky rose scent and close my eyes to allow myself to be transported through time and space to my childhood. Just then, I hear a voice call my name.
I turn to see Mr Lee from The Jockey Club. He seems hurried and a little breathless as he approaches. ‘Miss Thomas!’
‘Yes. What is it Mr Lee?’
‘Miss Thomas, I was so struck by what you told me about this house and how you were born here and lived here as a child. I was really touched by you saying how you’d always hoped to come back and how you’ve imagined living here again. It is such a lovely, very touching story. And, well, it struck me that you might like to rent this house?’
‘R-r-rent it?’ I stutter.
‘Yes. You see, it will soon become available to rent. You can take it on a six-monthly renewable lease. I’ll need to check with our head office and confirm to you the rental price. But, if you want it, I could offer it to you. Your visit is so timely that I can’t help but think the hand of fate is at work here. Do you believe in fate, Ms Thomas?’
I’m stunned. This is so totally unexpected that it makes my head feel dizzy.
Timely? Coincidence? Chance? Fate?
‘I’ve been looking at rental applications all morning, but I feel you would be by far the most deserving candidate.’ Mr Lee assures me with a congratulatory smile. ‘It can also be taken fully furnished as we still have all the original furnishings for the house in our storage facility.’
Oh my goodness … did my wish just come true?
Did I order this up from the cosmos?
‘Mr Lee, thank you! I really don’t know what to say. I’m completely taken by surprise and y
ou are very kind but I need a few days to think this through.’
Mr Lee looks at me with his brow furrowed as though he thought I was being a tad ungrateful.
‘Okay. I can hold it for you over the weekend. But only until Monday morning.’
I know that on Monday morning, having spent the weekend in Singapore, I am supposed to be flying to Kuala Lumpur and then on to Penang in Malaysia before heading back to London.
‘Thank you, Mr Lee. I’m sure you can understand this is a really big and important decision.’
I search the bottom of my handbag for a scrap of paper, my hand catching on a yellow Post-it note.
I see it’s the one with Tai Chi written on it.
I scribble my email address onto the back of it for Mr Lee.
‘Please email me all the details of the lease and I promise I’ll get back to you by Monday.’
I leave the house in a bit of a daze, my brain racing through all possibilities and scenarios.
Could I live here in Hong Kong for six months?
Well, actually, the arrival stamp in my passport says I can.
And I currently have nowhere to live back in the UK. So, why not stay here for a while? I’m retired now. Why not finally live my dream? Six months in Hong Kong in this beautiful house of nostalgia would be wonderful. And I’d have Henri Chen as my Tai Chi Master.
What would Pia say? I think she’d say: why not try it? What do you have to lose?
I’d miss her and the family of course. But I’d have plenty of room for them all to come for a holiday!
I’d also miss my friends in the choir and my ex-colleagues from the bank. But in truth, they are always so incredibly busy, and they are all married anyway so I can’t expect they’ll miss me too much in return. Besides, we can all stay in touch on Facebook and Instagram.
This could be a fresh start. I could still hold Jon in my heart but live a whole new life. This could be my chance to move forward and my reason to start to live again. My divine wish!
Perhaps, before I get too excited, I should wait until I find out how much the rent costs each month. I’ve no idea what rents are in this area and it might simply be too much.
I walk back down the hill to the bus stop and silently argue with myself about jumping into a hasty and regretful decision. Just because I have the proceeds of my house sale in my bank account right now and my investments and redundancy money tucked away, doesn’t mean I should fritter it all away on paying rent. I’ve always been a believer in buying and investing in property and not renting it. I’m also still ten years away from being able to draw my private pension and that’s a scary thought. Scary because, at fifty years old, I’m hardly highly employable anymore.
I’m not just retired, I’m also redundant. No one wants a middle-aged woman greeting clients and advising them on their investments when they can have fresh young faces straight out of university instead. Not to mention the economics of paying them a fraction of what I was earning as a senior account manager. No. The sensible thing would be to go back to the UK to settle down, buy myself a small house and appreciate what I’ve built for myself as a nest egg over the years. A safe situation.
I have to be realistic and realise that all this talk about moving to Hong Kong is nothing but a pipe dream.
Chapter 16
I catch the bus going back into the Old Town and head straight to a café for lunch. I drink lots of chai and eat dim sum again while flicking through my phone. Despite having convinced myself that living in Hong Kong and renting anywhere is a bad idea, I still can’t hold back my curiosity or my compulsion to browse real estate rentals in Hong Kong online.
I want to get a proper idea of what kind of prices the big old beautiful houses in The Gap rented for these days. There weren’t many examples but, of course, the ones I did see advertised were so ridiculously expensive that it only confirmed to me it’s best to put this whole crazy idea that Mr Lee had put in my head to rest once and for all.
I decide that I need to do a bit of what my sister Pia calls ‘retail therapy’ instead.
I need to go shopping anyway because if I am going into a casino tonight with Henri then I need to look the part. I’ve never been to a casino before, but I’ve seen lots of movies featuring casinos and I particularly remember a James Bond movie in which he went to a casino in Macau. All the women looked incredibly glamorous, wearing what my mother would have called ‘glad rags’ and I know I have nothing even remotely like that in my backpack. So I amble down a few side streets until I spot a small boutique tucked away in an alley. On a mannequin in the window I see a fabulous, glamorous, close-fitting, calf-length, black silk gown with a high neck and a low-cut back. It catches my eye because it has a fine lace layer overdress that looks almost translucent against the black shift underdress. I stare at it and wonder what it might feel like to wear such an exotic gown.
I decide to go inside and when I try it on I feel like I’m wearing a slinky black gossamer cobweb. To be quite honest, I can hardly believe it’s my own reflection in the mirror.
I’ve lost weight over the past couple of weeks and for the first time in over a decade, I can see a more sculpted face looking back at me.
As I smooth the dress down over my hips, I wonder who this strangely self-assured and mythical creature in the mirror is. The sales assistant tells me it’s absolutely perfect for a casino and I couldn’t agree more.
* * *
Back in my hotel suite, I still have a couple of hours to get ready so I take a fragrant bath.
While the water is running, I practice yoga in order to calm my nerves about this evening. I’m feeling both excited and terribly anxious about all that has happened here in Hong Kong.
The excitement of seeing all the sights that Jon had wanted me to experience here – meeting Henri – rediscovering my childhood home and then hearing the unexpected offer and the possibility, and of course the impossibility, of renting it. It’s a lot to process over just a couple of days and strangely, my time in India seems like it happened many months ago now. My tragic wedding day seems not mere weeks, but years ago.
It’s as though time and distance and my understanding of it all has become distorted.
This magical mystery tour is definitely turning out to be the adventure Jon promised!
I feel like Jon had planned for me to meet Henri. How could it be any other way? It certainly hadn’t been by chance or coincidence. In fact, every Post-it note in Jon’s wallet had seemingly led me straight to Henri.
And now, with Jon in my heart, I’m about to go out and experience and recreate with Henri what was, and will be again, a night of thrills gambling in a casino. How very exciting!
After my yoga practice and a quiet time of calming meditation followed by a decadent bath, it’s finally time for me to get dressed, my mind now focussed very much on the task at hand.
I tease and smooth my hair back into a tight sleek chignon that I’ve rolled at the nape of my neck and secured with a black ribbon. Then I slip into my racy and lacy and, dare I say it, sexy, new black dress, and slide into my new high-heel shoes before applying a slick of glossy red lipstick. Only then does a frisson of nerves and another episode of terrible guilt consume me.
I quickly rub the lipstick off my lips. I decide it looks garish and too much.
What on earth am I doing? This isn’t a bloody date!
And what if this isn’t how women dress in casinos in Macau? Or indeed anywhere else? What if I’m underdressed or in fact horribly overdressed? What if I’ve made a big mistake?
Is this dress too young for me? What was it my mother used to say … mutton dressed as lamb?
What if Henri thought I’d gone totally overboard? That would be so embarrassing!
Maybe I should wear something less showy and more practical?
I eye up my comfortable ashram clothes in the wardrobe and groan in despair.
Then I take a deep breath and suddenly remember, to my horror, that I’d forgot
ten we would be travelling to Macau by boat. Henri had said that Macau was ‘just an hour away by boat’. A whole hour at sea! Oh dear. What if I get horribly seasick on the way over there?
Henri had said all his race crew were all staying on board the Super Typhoon tonight ahead of the race tomorrow. Maybe that means we’ll be taking the public ferry over to Macau. That might take even longer than an hour!
I really should have thought to buy some seasickness pills today when I’d had the chance.
I pick up my phone to check how long the Hong Kong ferry takes to travel to Macau and it’s then I see there’s an amber alert been given for high winds and the possibility of high swells on the open sea tonight. I feel my stomach roll over with nerves once again. Oh, my goodness!
I’m supposed to be meeting Henri down at the marina at 6.30pm. What if I chicken out and don’t go? I could feign an illness and simply call it off?
Except I don’t have Henri’s phone number and I can’t bring myself to just not turn up. That would be terribly rude and very bad mannered.
Besides, thanks to the hotel’s signature Rolls Royce, he knew exactly where I was staying.
I check the mirror again and see the reflection of the mystical woman who isn’t afraid. The woman who insisted on travelling alone so soon after losing the love of her life. The woman who managed to travel solo across Northern India having never travelled outside of the UK before. Who had happily broken all the rules of the ashram and then risked immersing herself in the holy river Ganges. The woman who was strong and determined and who wouldn’t let anything, or anyone, stand in her way of completing this important mission, this mighty pilgrimage, this loyal quest in Jon’s memory. I grab my clutch bag and leave the room before I can change my mind again.
I ask the concierge to call me a car to take me down to the marina and I also ask her if she knows how I might get hold of a couple of seasickness tablets. I’m asked to wait a moment.
She soon returns with a packet of pills. ‘We recommend taking two, madam.’
‘Then I’ll take two right now as I’m heading out on the ferry shortly. Thank you.’
The Backpacking Bride (The Backpacking Housewife, Book 3) Page 17
