Love and the Art of War

by Dinah Lee Küng

  Winston started to raise his hand, but Baldwin cut him off, ‘Bear with me, young Chu. The ancient sources mean we flaunt strength or potential we don’t possess and thus delay the enemy’s attack. I might splash water on the ground to freeze into ice under the feet of enemy troops. Or train monkeys to surprise the opponent’s camp. Or a personal favourite, make ghosts appear or people vanish.’

  ‘Make people vanish,’ Winston dutifully noted. ‘No problem.’

  ‘Through the use of artifice or disguise, make something of no value appear valuable.’ Baldwin smiled down at Jane. ‘Make something of no use seem useful or someone of no threat appear dangerous.’

  Nigel ventured, ‘Like those fellows who invite potential clients to expensive restaurants they’ve already checked out. They’ve learned the waiters’ names or met the chef ahead of time so they can impress gullible clients.’

  ‘Yes, Nigel! That’s the idea!’

  Kevin joined in, ‘Oh, this bloke I know claims to be all matey with Jamie Oliver . . . ’

  Jane doodled the bare branches of a wintry tree on her notebook. She added little flowers, one by one. She felt sheltered by Dan’s energy. Overall, she felt better because of Dan. She even felt slimmer. Nonetheless, this fling might be a fake flower only useful to wave under Joe’s nose. Once Gilbert the informer had helped Dan to save the unwitting New Jersey Javed and round up the bookstore’s hapless band, Dan’s time in London might be up.

  He would be gentle about it, but sooner or later, Dan would go home.

  What if he asked her to go with him?

  Baldwin’s brow shone with the tale of a besieged city during the Warring States Period: ‘Tian Dan distributed the last food to his troops and prepared for the final showdown.’

  ‘The final showdown? That bloke’s premiums just shot up,’ Keith quipped.

  ‘Oh, Tian Dan wasn’t waiting for any insurance adjustors, Keith. He rounded up all the bulls inside the city walls and ordered them draped in purple silk and fastened daggers to their horns. The troops painted the bulls’ faces fantastic colours and bound oil-soaked reeds to their tails. Then they waited for night to fall. When the complacent men of Yan were fast asleep in their camp, Tian Dan gave the command to set fire to the reeds. Tails aflame, the bulls panicked as one wild beast, thundering and roaring through breaches cut through the city walls. The maddened herd ran towards the enemy—’

  Kevin chortled: ‘Who laughed to see a bunch of cows in Guy Fawkes gear running towards them?’

  ‘No, Mr Filgrove,’ Baldwin corrected him dryly, ‘On one of the blackest nights in fourth century BC China, the troops of Yan woke up to a deafening roar breaking through the walls of Jimo, a city they had pulled to its knees, the last holdout of the state of Qi. Victory had been in sight. Soon, they’d be going home. And what did they see now, beyond the smouldering embers of their campfire? An army of flying dragons with livid faces in five colours, their hideous raiment from the underworld whipping around their red-hot blades. The people of Jimo had recruited an army of vengeful demons exploding out of their besieged city to trample the sleeping men of Yan. Which is exactly what happened.’

  ‘Blimey!’ Kevin shook his head.

  Nigel scoffed, ‘You don’t actually believe these fairy tales, do you, Professor Baldwin? They’re just folk myths, like Excalibur or the Round Table, aren’t they?’

  Baldwin scowled. ‘I’m not teaching theology or mythology. These are the accounts found in the Record of the Warring States, a history compiled early in the Han Dynasty.’ Baldwin’s tone implied that the events that fiery night in Jimo were as precise and no less painful than his last dental appointment.

  Nigel wasn’t backing down: ‘That makes them reliable?’

  Baldwin’s usual patience gave way. ‘Yes, Nigel. We don’t have time in this course to cover the whole range of Chinese strategic writing. In addition to Sun Tzu’s Art of War, there is also Jiang Ziya’s Six Secret Teachings, The Methods of the Ssu-ma, Wu Qi’s Wu-Tzu, Wei Liaozi, The Three Strategies of Huang Shigong, and The Questions and Replies of Tang Taizong and Li Weikung, the last being written more or less eight centuries after the end of the Warring States. More than twenty-three hundred titles of military writing from ancient China have survived. Perhaps you’d like to dismiss them all as fairy tales, Mr Deloitte?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Dan and Jane sneaked off at the break. They cut the rest of Baldwin’s class to have dinner together, happy truants celebrating the eve of her birthday. She knew, even if he didn’t, that an appearance at Odette’s was more than a healthy step, it was a statement. This romantic spot, with its mirrored walls was not only a popular haunt for illicit lovers, but also Joe’s favourite neighbourhood eatery. A very satisfying fuss was made at her appearance in the dining room. The waiter who served her Grand Marnier soufflé lit up with a lilac birthday candle treated Dan like a Primrose Hill regular.

  One diner stared, mouth agape, across the room like a beet-faced puffer fish. An awkward wave of a pale hand revealed it to be Bella’s PA Rachel Murty, enjoying a date, if she could enjoy anything at all in her current condition. She was suffering from a sunburn that left two white sunglass shapes around her washed-out grey eyes.

  Jane resolved that Rachel would not cramp her evening. Dan and she were going public. If that public included a direct hot line to Joe and Bella, so be it. She hadn’t spoken to Rachel since their Greek lunch last November.

  Jane reached across the table, took Dan’s large hand in her own, lifted her chin, and smiled adoration. It was easier than she thought and the meal proceeded like one of those dream dates Sammie talked of having any day now. Champagne, chèvre chaud, turbot in white wine sauce, and white chocolate soufflé.

  Rachel stared and stared. Clearly, Puffer Fish Murty wasn’t going to let it rest. While Dan settled the bill, Jane headed off to the ladies’. She heard Rachel’s clopping footsteps dogging her down the wooden stairs.

  ‘Jane, is that you?’ She pressed her nose against a toilet door hinge and peered right into Jane’s cubicle. ‘Who’s the hunk?’

  ‘Rachel, you must be drunk. May I please pee in peace?’

  ‘Jane! Do me a favour? I’m having an awful evening. Can you two join us? You know how they say they’re either married or gay? Well, I’m stuck with one who turns out to be married and gay. He wants me to take him dancing at the Trojka.’

  ‘So, go. Ring me next week.’

  ‘Please, Jane.’

  Jane emerged from the cubicle, and stared at Rachel’s feet.

  ‘What are those?’

  ‘Shoots. Half boots, half shoes. They don’t fit.’

  ‘What have you done to your face? Haven’t you heard of sunscreen?’

  ‘They took my fifty off me at Luton security. Tossed it in the bin. My only week off in six months and after one afternoon, I ended up in Emergency. Take it from me, Jane, there are certain resorts in this world where you should avoid Emergency. I saw things that still haunt me in the dead of night. Next time, I’ll say, no thank you, I prefer to die right here from my third-degree sunburn with Room Service.’

  ‘Well, get well.’ Jane brushed Rachel’s burning cheek and made for the door, but Rachel grabbed her arm.

  ‘Is that the guy Sammie told Bella about? And Bella told Joe? The antiterrorist expert?’

  Jane slowed. ‘What were they saying?’

  ‘You really want to hear?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Well, they had a flaming row in Editing. Bella told Joe to calm down, why should it worry him? She was getting shirty that he was so fussed about it. Aren’t men unbelievable? Masters of the Double Standard. I didn’t hear the rest of the fight ‘cause they went off to lunch still going at each other, but judging by their conversation, Joe’s knickers were in a twist. Bella came back all red-eyed from crying.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Well, no, not about, well, yes, that too, but Joe was mostly afraid you might run off to the State
s with this guy. Move away. Take Sammie with you. Have this American’s baby.’

  ‘Sammie?’

  ‘No, you, of course. Joe was thinking you might want more family.’

  Was he indeed?’

  ‘Of course, Bella told him bollocks. You couldn’t be serious. Not with Lorraine and Sammie to take care of.’ Her boiled-egg eyeballs widened. ‘Is it serious?’

  Jane knew it wasn’t. Of course she wouldn’t. Jane hadn’t even thought about having another baby, ever. She wasn’t even sure she could. She was probably like those bare wintry trees in Chalkwood Square just scraping for a little happiness against a dusky sky.

  Of course, it was the last thing she would admit to Rachel, teetering with one unsteady hand on the washbasin.

  ‘My plans are nobody’s business,’ Jane said with dignity. Of course, the solicitor Higgins’s letter was vague, but not opaque. Joe had no formal custody responsibilities, but enjoyed no rights, either. Jane could take Sammie away from England forever. With these racing thoughts, Jane fixed a gaudy silk blossom to a branch of her barren reality, then added another, and yet another. Maybe there was still time to have another child. A whole football team. Let that image gum up the works of Bella’s ticking biological clock!

  Within seconds, she’d fashioned a whole arbour of ridiculous possibilities to her future. She had no intention of letting Rachel know it was just a feint.

  Rachel lurched against the mirror, hoping for yet more juicy news. Jane steadied the girl, and beamed a smile of fertile potentiality. Two glasses of birthday bubbly fizzed through her imagination and within seconds, Jane mustered a girlish blush.

  ‘Who’s to say? Sammie would love a little brother. According to Yogi Berra, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over.’ She shrugged. ‘I am tired of London, it’s true. As for Lorraine, she misses New York so much, Rachel.’

  Rachel clung to the cubicle door, whether dizzy from sunburn, booze or Jane’s astonishing manner, who could tell?

  ‘You know, just chatting to Dan brings back all those happy times when my mother was playing off-Broadway.’ Why tell Rachel those were the unhappiest years of Jane’s life?

  ‘Guh-awd,’ Rachel said. ‘So Bella’s wrong?’ She stuttered, ‘I mean, oh, Jane, you aren’t preggers already, are you?’

  Jane feigned embarrassment. ‘Oh, no. At least I don’t think so. Sorry, we can’t join you, darling. Skip the Trojka and go home to bed. Try some aloe vera on that burn.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Rachel gasped. ‘Joe’s gonna freak.’ She sank down to the cool moist tiles and collapsed against the wall, stared up at Jane. ‘If Joe freaks, Bella will panic. If Bella panics, my life is going to be one fresh hell, for weeks and weeks.’

  ‘You don’t have to tell Joe anything that isn’t true,’ Jane said, salving her own conscience and lifting Rachel to her feet.

  ‘It’s no good asking me to keep secrets,’ Rachel moaned. ‘Bella will just put my feet to the fire if she hears I bumped into you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Rachel. Bella and I are having lunch soon. And I’ll tell her all about it.’

  She left Rachel wobbling her way back from the ladies room and watched to make sure she didn’t tumble over and break her neck. Rachel was already fumbling in her handbag and pulling out her mobile.

  Was it the magic of Strategy Twenty-nine or just humdrum human nature? Whatever it was, Baldwin was right yet again. You could dress up a barren tree with silk flowers, especially if your target was too sozzled to see straight. At long last, Jane suddenly felt she herself stood on higher ground, even though the view of the valley below had misted over.

  Chapter Thirty, Fan Ke Wei Zhu

  (Reverse the Positions of Host and Guest)

  Despite everything, Bella’s plea ‘to chat’ had meant that their traditional birthday lunch date stuck to Jane’s calendar—rather like a blob of stew frozen for months to the innards of the fridge. Harvey Nichols’ fifth-floor dining room remained the appointed field of engagement.

  Reassuring Bella by e-mail that there was no reason whatsoever to cancel their biannual fête, Jane insisted she was looking forward to it.

  Bella parried with a warning she was coming down with Brisbane flu but Jane persisted; she even had a favour to ask. She booked the table herself for a duel waged over lettuce leaves, sun-dried tomatoes, and fat-free desserts.

  Dan fortified the start of her birthday with a coffee served bedside. She hadn’t felt so physically spoiled in ages. There was a great deal for Jane to catch up on, sexually speaking. Perhaps if Dan stayed in her bed more, she’d miss Joe less. Not that Dan lacked for enthusiasm or interesting little ways, but still, even washed-out and washed-up, Joe remained her sexual habit. Was she hard-wired to Joe for life? For the moment, it came down to the difference between a new partner and beloved missing mate.

  Sipping the frothy brew, she was tempted to stay home and give the sexual purging of Joe more of a concentrated effort. Really put her back into it, so to speak. She glanced at the time. She could still ring and leave Bella a get-well message, (after all, cordiality could be cruel, Jane thought, mindful of Caroline Darcy’s icy pen) to the effect that she was tied up with library headaches. Theoretically, Jane could cancel Bella for lunch again and again—if not for life. Would dodging their encounter signal cringing defeat or victorious indifference?

  Her telephone interrupted this strategic meditation. ‘Happy Birthday, Jane. I hope I’m the first to remember.’

  If Rachel had gabbed, Joe probably suspected Dan was on birthday duty ahead of him. News about Dan crossed London faster than the Eurostar ploughing into St Pancras. There really was no underestimating the toxic uses of ‘well-intentioned’ onlookers.

  ‘Oh, no, I’m well into forty-three already.’ Dan was half-listening, circling the bed, his electric shaver mowing up and down his jaw.

  ‘Oh. Is that James Bond I hear in the background? Listen, I just wanted to offer my happy wishes for the day.’

  ‘Thanks. You know I’m enjoying a midday meal with Bella?’

  Joe protested, ‘She promised me that was off! I told you already, there’s no need to expose yourself.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re not going to claw like cats.’

  ‘I’m hardly worth fighting over.’

  ‘And I’m not afraid of her.’

  ‘No, it’s just I wouldn’t want to see her try to—I mean, she can be pretty—I mean, I just don’t want to see you—’

  ‘Joe. I know Bella and I’m no saint. For Sammie’s sake, I’m determined to make the best of this situation.’

  Joe’s voice lowered. ‘I’m sure you are, Jane, and I’m grateful, but Bella’s a little high-strung since the street fair, you know, Sammie and her explosions. I’m caught in the middle—day and night. The Travelling Kitchen set is hell. The flat is hell.’

  Jane gave a cold chuckle, indifferent to updates from Hades. ‘Well, everything’s fine at this end. How are things going with your own work?’

  ‘The budget’s cut, again, all the money is going to digital for Poland, France, Germany. Sorry, I shouldn’t bore you, not on your birthday. ’

  ‘And high definition for Japan, South Korea, Mars and Venus . . . ’

  ‘How do you know all that?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard? I’m Camille Harper’s researcher now. She bent my ear off about it last Wednesday.’ Jane struggled to keep her tone breezy.

  ‘Well, I have no right to expect you to make this easier by meeting Bella and I am really grateful. I hope you’ve got something nice on for this evening.’

  ‘Just Lorraine and Sammie. At forty-three, why not?’

  Joe turned a little indignant. ‘Why not? Because Lorraine hasn’t remembered your birthday in the last ten years. Sammie’s idea of a present is some White Stripes CD. It was always me who reminded them. Why not? Because you’ve spent the last six months planning Lorraine’s Big Eighty party? Have the final invitations gone out?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Lots of acce
ptances.’

  ‘Sir Brian?’

  ‘Still working on him.’ In fact, Sir Brian MacKelling’s people had never come back to Jane’s people. Ever since Lorraine had scribbled Sir Brian with that childish longing in her eyes, Jane had pestered production companies, agents, and personal assistants and finally schlepped to Sir Brian’s fabled Limehouse hideaway. She left an invitation, one of Winston’s gold-edged stiff cards, already wilting in the murky fog of the river when Sir Brian’s neighbour leaned out of a window and told her, ‘He’s on a shoot. Won’t be back for donkey’s years.’

  Dan had finished shaving and was giving her a shoulder massage. She wished Joe could view that in close-up. ‘Of course, Bella’s catering is no longer required.’

  ‘I think she guessed that. Uh, I didn’t get an invitation. I assume that means I’m also scratched off the list.’

  ‘It’s Lorraine’s party. She’ll have you if Sammie insists.’

  ‘Um, Jane, I got a letter from a solicitor—does this mean I won’t see Lorraine any longer?’

  ‘Well, you could take her out. She always loved your walks up the hill.’

  ‘I miss those walks.’

  ‘I was never sure how much walking you two managed. Lorraine never gave me details on how much time you spent braving the elements, and how much in the pub.’

  ‘I miss the Queen’s.’

  There was a very long silence.

  Through that heavy space, Joe expressed more than he had in months. Physically brave and always talented when working with visuals, Joe’s clumsiness with words had trained Jane to listen hard to his pauses.

  Finally she said, ‘I have to go to work, now, Joe. Thanks for calling.’

  She’d expected to feel more anger inside and hear more defensiveness from Joe. There were provocative things in that Higgins parchment, like the cold suggestion he needed to formally adopt Sammie. Even from Bella’s, he’d stayed as caring a father as he’d been in the square.