Inside is colonial and charming, though the white concrete, curved exterior isn’t what you’d imagine housing a hundred-year-old sailing club. It’s designed a bit like a cruise ship, which I suppose gives it a nautical theme. Josh tells us it was built in the thirties but the club was around from the eighteen hundreds. ‘The former headquarters is in Central now,’ he explains.
‘They moved the building?’ Stacy asks incredulously.
‘No,’ he replies, laughing. ‘They moved the land, which sounds even more incredible, doesn’t it? The club was on the harbor front when it was first established of course. But the British decided they’d quite like more colony in their colony, so they simply expanded it. There was once water on the other side of Connaught Road, you know, where the Mandarin Hotel is?’
‘I do know the Mandarin, great bar!’ Stacy says. ‘Do you remember when that was waterfront?’
‘Stacy, I’m not that old. The planners filled it at the end of the nineteenth century. But I was around for the more recent projects. At the rate they’re going, soon we’ll be able to walk to Kowloon.’
The bar we enter is as yachty as I imagined it would be, with a dark wood-paneled ceiling and walls, and trophy cases displaying silver cups won in races around the world by the members. The long bar has been thoughtfully padded with leather at its edges, to keep the boatmen from bruising in their post-race enthusiasm. The top of the bar has at least a million layers of varnish on it, and looks like it’s polished nightly by a cabin boy. Carved wooden seahorses grace the wall behind the bar. A ship’s bell hangs from the wall, reminding me of the last orders bells in London’s bars. Over the door hangs a lifeguard ring donated, it says, by the sailors on the HMS Vengeance. Plaques full of tiny flags, boats’ insignias I think, cover one wall.
I’ve always loved the idea of sailing. It’s one of those sexy skills that bring to mind safety and security, immense level-headedness, coordination and athleticism. None of which describes me, and is probably why I don’t sail.
‘Shall we take our drinks on to the veranda?’ Josh proposes.
I don’t object, since he’s our host, but within thirty seconds I’m shiny. I can feel my thighs sweating. I should have asked for a frozen drink. I could have clasped it between my knees. ‘Josh, how do you keep from melting in the heat?’
‘It just takes getting used to. I was born here so I’ve had my whole life to acclimatize. My advice would be to stay in the air con as much as possible in the summer.’
‘Easier said than done when we’ve got to get to our offices,’ Stacy points out. ‘I get sweaty just riding the escalator. I’m going to start wearing workout gear into work and changing when I’m there. I’m spending a fortune on dry cleaning.’
‘Ah, speaking of which, you shouldn’t keep things in the plastic bags when you get them back. They’ll mildew. If you haven’t got dehumidifiers for your flat, you might want to get some. Otherwise your shoes and handbags will go furry…’ He grins. ‘Isn’t Hong Kong delightful?’
I roll my eyes, but I do still think it’s delightful. Even with the whole Sam situation, I’m very glad I’m here.
‘I’m guessing your family have been members here since the old days?’ Stacy asks Josh. ‘Are you a big sailing family?’
He nods. ‘My grandfather came to Hong Kong when he was young and started the business just after the war. Grandmother was furious – life wasn’t easy in London then, what with the rationing and everything, but she preferred bombsites and food shortages to a colonial outpost away from friends and family. Grandfather was determined though. He saw no way of making a success of himself in post-war Britain, so he put his foot down. Today she’d probably have stayed in London and let him chase his dreams here. They’d have just Skyped. But in those days a wife willingly staying behind, without children as an excuse, was unconventional. They were still Victorian enough to mind about those things. Besides, I think she loved Grandfather, and was grateful to have him back from the war. She didn’t want to be separated from him again. So she packed up the house and moved them here. I remember her as a rather mean woman actually, but then I was only a child when she died… What was I talking about? Oh yes, the club. Grandfather joined when my father was a boy. My father sailed his whole life, so I grew up sailing too. You must be a sailor or rower to become a member. Goodness, I’m going on aren’t I? Are you hungry?’
We shake our heads.
‘I have a proposition then. Why don’t I call Winnie now and see if she’s ready? We can start the trip early and I’ll have some food stocked in case we’d like to eat later. That way we can enjoy the day.’ He gestures to the hazy scene before us. The harbor is choppy and full of ferries and boats. It reminds me of New York Harbor, a bit dirty and gritty. We’re about to see what the rest of the island looks like from the water.
The ‘junk’ isn’t what I expected at all. It’s supposed to be an old-fashioned sailing boat, made of burnished dark wood. With sails. Instead, we’re boarding a powerboat that would look more at home in Miami. I can see Stacy is thinking the same thing.
‘Is this yours?’ She says diplomatically, eyeing the cabin boys scurrying around as the captain barks orders. It’s a rather big boat.
‘No, they’re very expensive to keep. Besides, I’ve got my sailboat. We hire them when we want. That way there’s no fuss and we don’t have to do any of the work.’
He hired a boat for us. That’s impressive. Is it meant to be impressive? And who is he trying to impress? If it’s me, this is very bad. Quite aside from the fact that I’m seeing Sam, Josh is my boss. I cannot have a fling with my boss again, not after London. And I don’t want to. As nice as he is, and as smart and funny and I suppose all-right looking from some angles, I’m not attracted to him like that. I hope we’ll be compatible colleagues for many years to come, but I’ve got no interest in being sexually compatible with him. Of course, maybe I’m just being paranoid. It does seem to be a common theme. I need a debrief with Stacy but I can’t very well have a heart to heart while the subject for discussion is pouring us drinks.
‘Sorry! Sorry I’m late!’ Winnie hurries down the pier trying to hold on to her giant floppy hat while keeping her kitten heels from catching between the boards. Despite her rush she looks icebox-cool, and her floaty little dress is perfect for boating. Now I feel sweaty and underdressed in my T-shirt, white capris and ballet shoes. But I suppose Winnie always makes me feel like a fashion mutant. It may be a cultural difference that I’ll have to get used to. Chinese women here are always meticulously turned out, and there’s no such thing as too many labels. If Estée Lauder ever figures out how to get its moisturizer to spell its name out on a woman’s forehead, I expect Winnie will be branded the next day.
I’m glad to see her, and not just because it makes Josh’s generous rental seem less inappropriate. She’s becoming my friend even though we usually only go out for lunch together. She hasn’t invited me for drinks since the night after Missus Reese’s sabotage (I’m convinced that’s what it was). It makes me wonder about the cultural divide here – Chinese and expats don’t seem to mix very much socially. Maybe it’s a language barrier, though Winnie corrects my English often enough to make me suspect it’s not that. I guess she’s got her own life outside of work, with her own friends.
‘You look great!’ I tell her. ‘Beautiful shoes! I mean beautiful hai!’
Winnie’s hand flies to her mouth. ‘Hannah, you mean haii. Like a long hi. At least I hope so.’
‘That’s what I said. Hai.’
‘Stop saying that! It means… it’s a very bad word. ’
‘I mean shoes. How bad?’
‘The worst,’ she confirms, pointing to her crotch. I’ve just complimented her vagina. No wonder she doesn’t introduce me to her friends. ‘Promise you won’t say it around clients, okay?’ she pleads. ‘English is fine. Your haii are nice too. But that’s – that’s not your new dress…’
‘No.’ I sigh. ‘Nothing’s read
y yet. I’ll go back next week.’ Despite Mr. Chan’s rather gruff assertions that my ill-fitting clothes were the result of my indulgence rather than his tailoring, my clothes still didn’t fit when I went back on Thursday. He knew better than to blame this on any weakness of mine, but it still means he’s holding half my wardrobe hostage to his needle for another week. This time, he promised, we’d get it right. I hope so. I’m getting tired of letting him feel my inseam.
The harbor is crowded with other junks, and the captain negotiates the choppy water slowly. Then, a different Hong Kong starts to unfold. It’s not that the skyscrapers are gone. All along the shoreline, clusters of buildings perch close to the water, as if bullied from behind by the imposing dark green mountains. But instead of housing law firms and banks as they do in Central, they house Hong Kongers, stacked on top of each other for fifty stories or more. Balconies on every apartment make the buildings look like upended air filters. It’s a vision of contrasts. All I have to do is look over the opposite rail and I see steep, foliage-carpeted islands jutting from the water, and boats bobbing on whitecaps. As we motor further from the harbor, the high-rises peter out. A nature reserve, and then a wide beach.
‘This is wonderful!’ I say, with some feeling.
‘I’m glad you like it!’ Josh shouts back above the wind. ‘Shall we stop for a swim?’
‘I didn’t bring a swimsuit.’ And I certainly don’t plan to bare my thighs to my boss.
‘Oh, okay, another time then. We can continue round to Repulse Bay. It’s a big beach and quite built up. After that we’ll come to Stanley. There’re a few nice restaurants at an old colonial building on the waterfront there… What is it? Is something wrong?’
My face has given me away. ‘Well, I just wondered. Is all of Hong Kong so Western? I mean, I expected it to be more Chinese.’ I shoot a glance at Winnie. ‘No offence. I don’t mean that you’re not Western. I mean–’
‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘I know what you mean. Gweilos are always surprised that it isn’t an old colony and we don’t all run around with rice paper hats and chopsticks.’
‘I didn’t mean to offend you,’ I say quietly.
‘No, I’m not offended! I’m just not saying it right. What I mean is that most white people think we’re hiding the “real” Hong Kong, that our traditional houses are all hidden away from Westerners. But Chinese want modern things. We don’t like old buildings or old ways.’
‘That’s why it’s so hard to be a conservationist in China,’ Josh affirms. ‘I know what you mean, Hannah. You expected to see some of the traditional Hong Kong here. It is there… it’s just tucked away. Behind a façade.’ He elbows Winnie. ‘Shall we show her, Winnie?’
‘You’re the boss.’ She smiles.
‘You don’t have to be anywhere soon, do you?’ Josh wonders.
‘Erm…’ Stacy looks sheepish. ‘I’ve got plans at six.’
‘What plans?’ I ask.
Her sheepishness deepens. ‘I’m meeting Pete.’
‘Why? Does he have some puppies he’d like you to help him kick? Planning to knock a few old ladies over in the street?’
‘It sounds like you really like Pete,’ Josh teases.
‘He’s Sam’s friend,’ Stacy explains. ‘And he’s very nice. He and Hannah just got off on the wrong foot, that’s all. It was a misunderstanding.’
Somehow I still doubt that.
Josh doesn’t say another word about where we’re going. He goes to speak to the captain and a few minutes later the boat turns back towards Central.
‘What is this place?’ Stacy asks an hour later as we pass several battered fishing boats anchored in the mouth of what looks like a river.
‘Tai O,’ Winnie says. ‘Here’s your traditional Hong Kong. Though even back in the old days most people didn’t live like this.’
‘It’s an isolated community,’ Josh explains. ‘They’re called Tanka and the village has been here for centuries. The people have always lived in these houses on stilts. They feel safer living on the water.’
We’re motoring slowly through the somewhat narrow waterway, between rows of mostly single-story buildings raised at least six feet from the water on stilts. They’re a motley collection, and colorful in their extreme decay. Corrugated iron roofs have drawn rusty stains down the outside walls, some of which were painted once, now faded. Almost all have covered porches, although some are boarded up with a ragtag assortment of weather-beaten plywood and tarpaulin. The owners’ boats are tied to rickety ladders leading from the brownish-yellow water to the porches. Yellow or blue flags flutter atop many of the houses, and nets and other fishing accoutrements hang from the porch’s edge.
‘Is this more your idea of Hong Kong?’ Winnie asks.
‘Definitely. But surely not everyone was as poor and isolated as this. Were they?’
‘Of course not,’ Winnie says. ‘But until the last few decades most people lived in places you’d consider poor. The housing starts to look old very quickly here, because of the heat and rainy season, and crowding. It’s a crowded city. There isn’t enough money for everyone to be rich. But we’d all like to be!’ She grins. ‘And who knows? It’s a new China now!’
It’s nearing sunset when we motor back to the marina. Stacy shrugs when I point out that she’ll be late for Pete. ‘This is worth it,’ she says, hugging my shoulder. ‘We’re so lucky.’
‘I know. Josh is–’
‘I don’t mean this, today. I mean we’re lucky to be here. Han, think of everything that brought us here. You getting fired, seeing that billboard, deciding to move to London, getting the job there, meeting Sam, finding Josh’s company. You’re very lucky. We’re very lucky.’
Squeezing my friend back, I think about my fortune cookie. Following your heart will pay off in the near future. I suppose maybe it will.
Chapter 13.
It’s not every Friday night that a girl gets to snub her boss and a table full of important clients. So it must be my unlucky night. I don’t know how tardiness is viewed in Hong Kong but judging by their looks I’m guessing that when it’s combined with my favorite clubbing outfit, it’s not favorable.
‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ I say again to Josh. ‘I thought we were meeting at eight-thirty.’ Because that’s what Missus Reese told me. I don’t even have a jacket to put over my shoulders. I feel like a Christmas ornament.
‘I’m glad nothing happened to you, I was getting worried when you didn’t answer your phone.’
I note that he hasn’t said ‘that’s okay’. Because clearly it isn’t. Everyone smiles as we are introduced, but I know I’ve screwed up.
When Josh asked me to this dinner, he went to great lengths to emphasize that it was an important one. Twice a year he hosts his best suppliers by flying them to Hong Kong to wine and dine. And dance. Or so I was told. To be specific, Missus Reese explained that these were hospitality events and that the men invited (because there are only men around the table with me now) see the trip as one almighty boondoggle. I was led to believe that dinner was merely a vehicle to line the stomach before we hit the town for a night of dancing and debauchery. Hence my outfit.
But we’re in a very staid, very Chinese, very covered-up restaurant. Nobody looks like they’re going dancing. Some don’t even look like they walked in here without assistance. The few women at other tables are all wearing suits or dresses with demure jackets. Hermès scarves protect necklines. No knees dare show themselves. And then there’s me. Pewter sequined tank top with contrasting black strappy bra that stubbornly makes an appearance every time I lean forward. Black skinny jeans and my favorite taxi shoes – five-inch platforms that make my toes go numb but are so worth it. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper again to Josh, unhelpfully punctuating my apology by flashing my bra.
That work permit isn’t getting any more likely.
At least the waiters quickly descend to fill the awkward silence with dumplings. Thanks to Stacy, now I know, mostly, how to e
at. I don’t stick my chopsticks in my rice (it means death) or cross them (bad luck), never take the last morsel, or eat the last bit on my plate (sorry Mom, I know, all the starving people in China… well, it’s their rule so I follow it), and always use serving chopsticks instead of my own when taking more. Her bank signed her up for a cultural course, so she doesn’t mortally offend anyone accidentally. In her line of work, mortal offence should only be done on purpose.
Over the delicious dumplings I watch Josh working the table, trying to make amends for me. Like those buskers who spin plates on sticks, he manages to keep everyone chatting. Some people have such a knack for putting others at ease and making them think they’re the center of attention. It comes so naturally to him that he probably doesn’t even know he does it… which makes me realize that I’ve been stupid. And paranoid. He’s just a nice man. That’s why he bought me the ugly shoe key chain, and invited Stacy and me on the boat. I couldn’t be fuller of myself. Not everyone wants to sleep with me.
Josh’s attention turns to me while I’m chasing a dumpling around my plate. ‘A lot of our buying choices were down to Hannah this year, gentlemen. She’s got quite a knack for spotting future trends. She nailed the restraint that women are showing in their fashion decisions. We’ve had record orders from the shops for next season.’ I blush at his compliment.
‘Yes, we were very happy with your orders from us,’ says the man across the table. ‘Tell me, Hannah, what’s in store for the future then? What will women want after the next season?’
Suddenly the table is quiet, waiting for me to answer. How am I supposed to know? I can’t say the same thing I said to Josh about next season. But I’d better say something. ‘Well. Erm.’ Think, think. What have I seen lately? Only too-tiny clothes that I can’t wear, which is no help. And it’s not like Mr. Chan has come through for me. Gosh, it’s been a long time since I’ve had anything new to wear. Wait a minute. Wait. A. Minute. I think Chloe is the answer.
The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) Page 17
