by Peter Tonkin
She munched on her last piece of toast and sipped her last cup of tea. Thanked Ann Chu for the meal and asked where she could find pen and paper. She wrote a short thank-you note and grabbed her cases.
It was an easy walk down the Stephensons’ forecourt, across the top of the little road and over to the side of the British racing green Aston Martin Vantage, but it took her longer than it should have to achieve. The reason was a combination of the weather and the view. Last night’s neartyphoon was gone as though it had never been, except for a litter of leaves and rubbish strewn across the ground. The air was limpid and the sky high and clear. This thrust of the precipitous hill overlooked the bay uninterruptedly over Tin Hau’s temple across to Lamma Island nearly three miles away and then beyond to the curve of the world. The water between the sharp, green-flanked, high-sided juts of land was calm and achingly blue. The breeze brought scents and spices to her nose and a gentle rustle of greenery from the nearby trees and bushes. The sun was coming up towards the meridian and its rays smote down upon her hair with almost as much force as the rain had done last night.
She put her bags down beside the fat front tyre of the brutal car and turned until she could lean her back gently against its warm side, then she looked away until her eyes ached, beyond the island, into the still, haze-veiled distances in the quiet heart of the South China Sea.
When he said, ‘The Mandarin first, then?’ from immediately beside her, she jumped with surprise. She hadn’t heard him approach at all.
*
The staff at the Mandarin were quietly courteous and gently concerned in the way for which they were famous. Andrew, watching how they swept Robin into their bosom, began to suspect that he could, in fact, have got away with carrying her in here last night. He looked idly round the decor of the reception area as she went through the checkin procedures, impressed by the understated luxury of the black marble walls and the tasteful gilt statues. This was not a place with which he was overly familiar, though he had eaten in the Mandarin Grill like most of his acquaintance, but he could see exactly why Robin had asked him to book her in here. It was almost as welcoming an institution as was Dottie Stephenson’s. ‘Grazie, Giuseppe,’ said Robin quietly to the solicitous concierge. ‘Please just send the weekend case up. I’ll take the briefcase myself. We’ll be out for most of the day.’
The tall, distinguished Italian bowed over her with an almost paternal air and spoke in respectful whispers.
‘No,’ she answered patiently, ‘I don’t think I’ll be doing much business this time. I see no probability of eating in the grill or the major public rooms. Any meals I cannot have in my suite, I will take in Man Wah. We will discuss it in more detail later. Thank you again.’
Outside, it was coming up to lunchtime on a bright early summer Sunday. All the warm and quiet air in Hong Kong seemed to smell of dim sum as the amahs took their days off and sat around in social groups eating the food they had purchased from kerbside hawkers. Robin could not bring herself to get back into the Aston Martin, and there was no need. The Heritage Mariner offices were less than one hundred yards from the Mandarin, across Connaught Road and down towards the Star Ferry Pier.
They lingered for a moment at the corner of the square, brown building while the entire Hong Kong Filipino community seemed to be bustling in Statue Park behind them. ‘Do you want to split up?’ Andrew asked. ‘You go up to your office — I expect you’ve some phoning round and reporting in to do — and I’ll go down to the police headquarters. I can get more accomplished there than you could on your own in any case. We could meet in the Supreme Court building if you’d like. The only place I know where you can pick up a good bargain and a life sentence under the one roof.’
‘No, I don’t think so, Andrew. I’d prefer to stick together — to begin with, at any rate. I’m not going to be doing anything you can’t know about, and I want to be there when you talk to the authorities. There is something going on here which I don’t understand, and it’s not just something to do with my husband or our company. It’s something to do with shipping and with ships. You don’t know about that side of it. Except for Captain Huuk, nobody I’ve met so far knows anything about it. But I do. And I want to be there for every second that this is all discussed. There may be nothing there, but then again … You never know, do you? You just never know. Let’s go.’ Five minutes later, side by side they swung in through the bustle on the concourse outside the tall, pale building with its distinctive round windows. ‘The House of a Thousand Orifices’ the Chinese call it, though they do not always use the word ‘orifices’. After a few moments more, they were striding between the sloping supports and up to the glass doors of the main entrance. Even on Sunday, the reception area of Jardine House was staffed and security guards were well in evidence. Robin crossed to the lift doors and punched the UP button.
The Heritage Mariner offices were at the front of the building, just far enough up to look over the top of the General Post Office building, over what little was left of the old Blake Pier and away across the harbour towards Kowloon. The view through those concrete-sided portholes was breathtaking. As they entered the main office, they discovered a slight Oriental man in a well-pressed grey suit, enjoying the view in solitude. Beside him stood a desk piled high with files and papers. A chair behind the desk stood with its back to the view and on the seat of the chair lay a folded pile of Sunday newspapers. Hearing the door open, he turned and the effulgent light etched the fine lines of his face. His eyebrows rose and, seeing them, he turned so that he was behind the desk — obviously his accustomed position. Robin strode over towards him with her hand held out. ‘John Shaw?’ she said. ‘My name is Robin Mariner. You called me on the telephone yesterday morning, and I’m so very grateful.’
He took her hand. ‘Yes, Captain Mariner, I am John Shaw,’ he said. ‘I am so very sorry. Have you more news of your husband please?’
‘Not at the moment, no. This is Andrew Atherton Balfour of Balfour Stephenson, our solicitors. May we be seated, please?’
John Shaw bowed and gestured. Robin waited until the young man had moved the newspapers from his own chair and then they all sat together. Andrew was reminded forcefully of the way in which she switched so easily into Italian. She understood the language of Oriental courtesy and face also, it seemed.
She waited until John Shaw was seated and then she asked, ‘Now, Mr Shaw, have you any more news of our ship?’
John Shaw was an office clerk and very much lower in the order of existence than the people sitting opposite him, except that he was of the Middle Kingdom and they were gweilos. But, he thought, as had Andrew, the woman understood courtesy better than any other barbarian he had met. Therefore he would be happy to help her. The Sulu Queen is moored off Stonecutter’s Island at the moment,’ he said with quiet courtesy and a certain amount of pride that he was in possession of the information she required. The bodies have been removed, I believe, and whatever papers that could be found. The various authorities are aboard now, I expect, going over it from stem to stem.’
‘Thank you, Mr Shaw. I’ll need to get aboard as soon as possible myself, Andrew.’
‘That may be difficult to arrange,’ warned Andrew.
‘It may be, but it will be vital. Now, Mr Shaw, do I need to see Mr Feng in order to get into the private office?’
‘No, Captain. Mr Feng was in yesterday afternoon and will be in again later today. He, like myself, has been extremely busy on your behalf in this matter.’
‘I am impressed and grateful for your dedication. I hope the regrettable incident has not caused you or Mr Feng any undue concern or embarrassment.’
‘I regret to say that we have much work to do, for the authorities say they will impound the cargo as well as the ship. We have a lot of customers to contact, a lot of explaining and apologising. This is bad joss, Captain Mariner. It will hurt our face and do our business much harm.’
‘This cannot continue, Mr Shaw. We must save face at
all costs. Andrew, add that one to the list. We have to get the cargo out of bond at least. Mr Shaw, I hope you will stop apologising for a moment and see if you can get us another ship and crew.’
‘People will not like to take —’
‘I know, Mr Shaw, so it will cost us more. But if we pay them enough then someone will do it. And we, who caused it to happen, will gain face and be seen to have good joss after all, perhaps.’
The Chinese nodded once, decisively. The meaning between her words was not lost on him: he would be arranging the replacement ship and he would be spending the extra money. He would be seen to be a man of great face and power. If his employer kept dealing with matters through this office in this decisive manner, it would do untold good to the reputations of himself and Mr Feng, whom he admired and respected. He was so pleased that he almost forgot that the employer in question was a gweilo woman.
‘Where is Seram Queen, Mr Shaw?’ she asked, calling him back to himself.
Mr Shaw rose, crossing to a large chart on the wall. At once Robin was also on her feet, just behind the young man, apparently eager to see what he was desirous of showing her. ‘Seram Queen is currently in T’ai-pei,’ he said, gesturing up to the northern point of Taiwan. ‘She has just discharged a full cargo of electrical parts, circuit boards and computer sections from Japan. She is due to start loading a cargo of completed computers, video machines, televisions and other electrical equipment which has been awaiting her arrival.’ His hand began to move across the Luzon Strait, following the course that the ship would take, and his voice lost a little of its formal businesslike edge. ‘Within the next few days she will set sail for Manila. Her cruising time on that part of the route is about ninety-six hours, so, depending on turnaround, she should be ready to leave Manila with a full load of clothing and household goods bound for Mindanao in about a week. We have a regular run around the edge of the South China Sea, as I am sure you know. From port to port, depending on the cargoes, it takes each ship two months to complete the circuit.’
‘Thank you, Mr Shaw, that is very clear to me now.’
Robin spent half an hour in Mr Feng’s office while John Shaw started ringing round for a replacement ship and crew. Fortunately Andrew had thought to bring his personal phone out of the Aston Martin so he was not left hanging at a loose end either: he started ringing round everyone he could think of who might give him some idea of how soon he could get Sulu Queen’s cargo out and onto another ship. He found it increasingly hard to concentrate, for as lunchtime loomed, it only served to emphasise the fact that he had not had breakfast this morning or, indeed, dinner last night. But he had underestimated his employer yet again, for after that half-hour, she popped her head out of Mr Feng’s office and said, ‘There’ll be a knock on the door in a moment. I’ve ordered up lunch from the Chiu Chow Garden. Mr Shaw, I thought we might need a working lunch so I took the liberty of ordering sufficient for three. I hope you are not offended. Please start without me.’ She vanished again, and Andrew’s eyes met John Shaw’s. The communication between them was eloquent, if silent. Not offended, either of them; awed, both of them.
*
‘That was one of the best meals I’ve ever had,’ said Andrew an hour later as they walked briskly towards police headquarters. ‘That tea is incredibly powerful, though. What do you think?’
‘That’s why they call it Chiu Chow, because of the tea,’ she said, preoccupied.
There was no end to the stuff Andrew Atherton Balfour was learning today.
But it was his turn to take the lead as they entered the police headquarters. Both of them knew that, although he was aware it would cost Robin quite a lot to keep quiet and let him work. The longer she had been on the phone in Feng’s office, the unhappier had sounded the tones of her voice coming wordlessly through the door. It seemed to him that this was not the only place where she was meeting stone walls. But he didn’t ask for any details when she came out and picked moodily at the feast the restaurant had sent them and he knew better than to ask for any now. She would tell him what he needed to know. And, oddly — for he did not often trust his clients absolutely — he knew in his heart that she would tell him everything he needed to know the moment he needed to know it.
Police headquarters was a building given over to the policing of the whole Crown Colony and New Territories. In its upper levels it contained security sections, intelligence sections, anti-terrorist sections, anti-drug sections, and organised crime sections, but inside the main door at street level it was just like any other police station. Side by side they walked through the little reception area under the silent eye of the security camera, approached the desk with its security screen and waited while Andrew buzzed for attention.
The sergeant who answered his summons was even leaner than John Shaw. His face had a darker colour and his eyes were long, black and disturbingly intelligent. ‘Yes please?’ he said.
‘This lady is Captain Robin Mariner. You are holding her husband Richard on a warrant for murder.’
‘And you are, sir?’
‘I am Captain Mariner’s solicitor. My name is Balfour.’
‘You are solicitor for Captain Robin Mariner or for Captain Richard Mariner?’
‘Both. I’m the solicitor for both of them.’
‘I see. Please wait here, Mr Balfour. Captain.’
They eyed each other as they waited. ‘Well,’ she said grudgingly, ‘it’s a start, I suppose.’
‘We’ll get there,’ he promised.
‘This afternoon. I have to see him today.’
‘I can’t promise, Robin.’
‘I know you can’t, Andrew. But … Oh God …’
A door nearby was opened and the thin sergeant said, ‘Please come this way.’
He led them into a corridor with doors all along one side. At the third door he stopped, then he opened it and showed them into a small interview room. There was a table and a selection of wooden chairs. ‘Would you like tea?’ he asked gently.
He brought them tea himself, hardly keeping them waiting at all. It came thick and dark in big porcelain mugs. The sergeant put the mugs on the table, arranged some milk and sugar, and left.
‘One extreme to the other,’ said Andrew, thinking of the thimbles the Chiu Chow tea had come in. Robin said nothing. Her control was so obvious and so clearly costing her so much to maintain that she could almost have been screaming at the top of her voice. When he looked at her, Andrew thought that she seemed to be shaking and he remembered the way she had shaken last night after the incident in the Queen Elizabeth Hospital. She is really absolutely extraordinary, he thought to himself. I wonder what this chap Richard Mariner is like? He must be quite something to have a wife like this one. And he found to his surprise that he felt a little jealous of his client.
The door opened again and the sergeant was back. This time he was carrying a pile of paper. ‘If you don’t mind,’ he said quietly, sitting down, ‘I have a few questions I must ask you.’
‘Is this necessary, Sergeant?’ demanded Andrew, tempted far beyond his normal boundaries by his empathy with Robin.
The sergeant looked across at the solicitor with an absolutely expressionless face as his hands arranged the papers neatly and then reached up to his pocket for a pen. ‘It is the procedure,’ he said quietly. ‘You know that Mr Balfour.’
He unscrewed the top of the fountain pen and then turned slightly towards Robin. ‘May I have your full name, please, Captain Mariner?’
They were partway through the third form when the door opened and a round, Buddha-plump man in full blue uniform with commander’s insignia and a side arm stepped into the room. Andrew looked up and hoped that his face betrayed nothing. But there was no concealing the mutual recognition. This was Commander Victor Lee and he was a very important officer indeed. ‘That will be all, Sergeant Ho,’ said the commander and the sergeant came to attention at once, turned and left the room without even putting the top back on his pen.
&n
bsp; The commander replaced the sergeant and looked at the uncompleted forms. He seemed to be arranging his thoughts, or the words in which he was going to couch them. But Robin had run out of patience. ‘When can I see my husband?’ she asked.
Lee’s long eyes flicked from one Western face to another.
‘Whenever you like, of course,’ he said.
‘Now!’ She leaned forward, almost incandescent. ‘I want to see him at once.’
‘Naturally. I think we can arrange an interview in almost no time at all. Of course you will want your solicitor there and, at the first meeting, we will also want observers both from the Royal Hong Kong Police and the coastguard authorities and the hospital, if that is acceptable.’
‘Now wait a moment, please,’ said Andrew. ‘That is most unusual. What is going on here, Commander?’
‘One step at a time, Mr Balfour. Has Captain Mariner any objections?’
‘What if I have?’
‘Then this interview is at an end and I look forward to dealing with your fully completed forms when they reach my desk in due course. Next Wednesday, let us say, or Thursday.’
Andrew actually gasped. This was blackmail! The commander must be desperate about something if he was willing to run the risk of holding this conversation in front of a solicitor.
But Lee had underestimated his opponent. ‘You have accused my husband of murder,’ she said.
‘I have. I did so thirty-six hours ago.’
‘There is a strictly limited time before you are required to allow him to see a solicitor. You will certainly have to allow him to see a solicitor long before the middle of the week.’
‘Captain Mariner has not asked to see a solicitor.’
‘What?’
‘Nor has he asked to see you, Mrs Mariner. He has shown no desire to see you at all, and has signified in due form that he does not require legal representation.’
