The Orchid Tree (23 page)

Sofia opened her eyes; there was blood everywhere. Blood covered her face, her arms and her chest.

Holy Mary, Mother of God!

James lay slumped to the side, a gurgling sound coming from him.

Sweet Jesus!

A glass shard stuck out of his neck. Blood spurted from the wound.

Please God, let him be all right!

Hands shaking, she pulled off her blouse and clasped it around the glass. Must stem the flow. Her fingers were cold... so, so cold. James’ eyes were closed and his face had gone white. She looked around for help. The rioters had already run off.

Cowards!

Smoke billowed from the looms. The factory girls were still cowering with their arms over their heads. The sound of sirens, and her teeth chattered uncontrollably.

Four policemen burst through the door - a European and three Chinese. The
gwailo
came up and lifted James’ wrist, then shook his head slowly. Sofia sat back and let out a keening wail.

‘No no no!’

The policeman barked orders to his men to help the girls leave the factory. He handed Sofia his jacket, then lifted James. She glanced down; she was only wearing her bra. She quickly covered herself.

‘We have to leave the building,’ the policeman said. ‘The fire’s taking hold, but we’ve radioed for assistance. Where’s the cotton stored? That stuff is extremely flammable.’

The policeman’s words seemed to be coming from the end of a long tunnel. What was he asking her? She couldn’t think . . .

Outside, a crowd had gathered and the policemen were setting up a safety cordon. Sofia staggered to the pavement.

Where was James?

More sirens. An ambulance and two fire engines pulled up. Sofia stared around. She couldn’t see James. ‘Where’s my husband?’ she cried out, clutching at her blood-stained skirt.

A nurse draped a blanket around her shoulders, led her to the ambulance, and sat her down. Then she went to a water boiler and came back to Sofia with a cup of hot sweet tea. Sofia swallowed the warm liquid and her tears, frozen until then, gushed freely. She cried for the brave man who’d died saving her and their child. She cried for a life cut short in its prime. She cried for her baby who wouldn’t know its father. And she cried for herself.

The nurse spoke to her in Cantonese and patted her back. Sofia sobbed until she had no tears left. Lifting her chin, she could see the stretcher at the side of the ambulance holding a body wrapped in a sheet. James.

‘We’ll take you to Kowloon Hospital,’ the nurse said. ‘When the doctor has examined you, you’ll need somewhere to rest and someone to look after you. Do you have anyone who can take care of you while you get over the shock?’

Sofia thought for a moment. Uncle? She would phone him from the hospital, but she wouldn’t go to his flat. He’d installed his mistress there and she wouldn’t be welcome. And some of this was Uncle’s fault. If James hadn’t got involved with him, he’d still be alive. Guilt flooded through her; James had died because he loved her, not because of Uncle.

There was only one person Sofia could call on. A most unlikely person, but something told her that person would comfort her and make her feel safe.

***

It was early evening by the time she rang the bell at Kate’s home. She’d gone back to the hotel to change and had cried again when she’d caught sight of James’ comb by the side of the basin, with a few of his hairs still in it. She’d lain on his side of the bed and had hugged his pillow, which still had the scent of
Old Spice
. If she’d stayed there she’d have gone mad.

A servant opened the gate and ushered her into the Wolseleys’ sitting room. Within minutes, Kate was by her side. ‘I’m so relieved to see you,’ Kate said, leading her to the sofa and sitting her down. ‘I heard the news on the radio and I’ve been trying to find out how to locate you. Please stay here. My father and I rattle around in this big old place. I’m so sorry, Sofia. I can’t begin to imagine what you must be going through.’

‘What about your father? Won’t he mind?’

‘Leave him to me. He’s out tonight at a dinner party, so it’s just the two of us. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. Oh dear, I didn’t mean to make you cry. Here, have my handkerchief . . .’

Sofia described the assault on the factory, and Kate listened quietly. Then she told Kate about the hospital. Kate asked about the baby, and she said her child wasn’t in any danger. She was grateful Kate didn’t question her about her future plans. She needed time to think. In the meantime, she was secure in this sumptuous mansion. Leo wouldn’t be able to get at her here.

***

Two days later Sofia stood in the visitation room of the funeral parlour. James was laid out in front of her. Had he known, at that last moment of consciousness, he was going to die? One life given for two saved. James wouldn’t have thought twice.

Tears streaming, she shivered in the air-conditioned atmosphere. It was freezing, of course; it needed to be. No stinking corpses in this sanitary place. She took her gloves from her handbag, but they made little difference.

James was covered in a white silk sheet that had been pulled up to his ears, to hide his mortal wound and the signs of an autopsy carried out under police orders. His fine-looking face was almost unscathed, just a small cut above the left eye. The glass shard from the Molotov cocktail had shattered on his chin and had severed the jugular vein in his neck. She reached down and touched his icy cheek, kissed him on the forehead, and whispered, ‘Goodbye, my one and only love.’

It was hard to shake off the feeling of unreality. How could this be James lying there? James had been so full of life, so wonderful and so, so gallant. How could fate have dealt him such a blow? It wasn’t fair. He was in his mid-twenties - far too young to die.

The Wolseleys’ driver took her to the Victoria business district. The Daimler meandered through the usual motley collection of trams, cars and rickshaws and pulled up outside Alexandra House. She got out and rode up to the fifth floor in the lift, then strode down the hallway. The receptionist showed her to a meeting room where Charles Pearce, James’ recently appointed solicitor, was waiting for her.

‘It’s really quite simple,’ Charles said. ‘James has left you his stake in Leung’s Textiles and all his chattels. He has also willed you his yacht,
Jade Princess
.’

Everything was exactly as he’d said it would be when Uncle had handed over his shares in the business. Could it only have been last month? All had been done according to the book; she would have security for herself and the child.

‘I’ve started the insurance claim,’ Charles said. ‘Thankfully, the fire brigade managed to save the building. It’s just the looms that need replacing.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Did you see the newspapers this morning? The Government is launching a full investigation.’ He picked up the paper and read, ‘
It is clear that the tragedy isn’t attributable primarily to the crowd excitement which might have been engendered by the Double Tenth celebrations. The attack was clearly fomented by criminals.
’

‘My half-brother is linked to the Triads, you know. I strongly suspect him of being behind James’ death, but I won’t be able to prove it.’

‘The police will find out something that can be proved, surely?’

‘I wouldn’t count on it. Leo is very clever. He’ll have covered his tracks.’

‘You know him better than anyone, of course.’

‘And I hope I’ll be able to live in peace from him.’

***

James’ funeral was held the next day at St John’s Cathedral; the church was almost full. Dressed in black with a veil over her face, she sat next to Uncle and Kate. James’ catafalque appeared, covered in white orchids, with Tony Chambers, Arnaud de Montreuil, Charles Pearce and Henry Wolseley walking alongside. Everyone got to their feet and the men placed James’ coffin before the altar.

Sofia stood as straight as a reed, her head upright, keeping a tight rein on her emotions. She wouldn’t let her grief show; if she did, she wouldn’t be able to control herself. She could feel James’ spirit watching her; he would know how she felt as he lingered between this world and the next. She wanted him to be proud of her.

It was cool in the church, the air stirred by fans attached to long poles hanging from the ceiling. Their whirring almost drowned out the sound of the traffic, changing gear to climb the steep road outside. She looked up at the stained glass windows that had replaced those removed by the Japanese during the war. The window in the east showed Christ on the cross with his mother and Mary gazing up at him, placed there as a memorial to those who had suffered during the occupation and to those who had given their lives.

Everyone got to their feet and she picked up her hymn book.
The Lord’s my shepherd, I’ll not want
; she joined in, clasping the back of the pew in front of her. The singing finished. Sofia kneeled and prayed. She was out of practice and could only think of the Lord’s Prayer. The service continued, and she went through the mechanical responses she’d practised in her childhood; they came back to her like an often-repeated rhyme, the Anglican Service remarkably like the Roman Catholic, although the latter had usually been in Latin.

The dean said a prayer of farewell, entrusting James to God. ‘We will now proceed in cortege to Happy Valley.’

An hour later, Sofia stood in front of the group of people gathered around the open grave. She’d deliberately distanced herself from Kate and Charles. This was her cross to bear and she’d do so with dignity. James’ spirit was fading into the next world now; she could sense it.

The dean’s cassock swayed gently in the breeze. ‘We therefore commit James’ body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.’

Sofia stuffed the corner of her handkerchief into her mouth to stop herself from wailing.

***

The next day, she visited the factory and surveyed the destruction. Her workforce was sweeping up the mess made by the damaged looms. The girls came up and commiserated with her.

In the office she sat in front of her desk and determination surged through her. She would build the business up again as a memorial to James. Leo would have to hand over her inheritance next week, and she would use some of it to buy a flat. She couldn’t presume on the Wolseleys any longer, nor did she want to; she valued her independence.

Kate had battled her father to let her stay with them, reminding him she was James’ wife and he couldn’t turn his back on her. Mr Wolseley had been stiff and resistant at first, but he’d mellowed as the days had gone by and now it seemed he couldn’t do enough for her. As for Kate, Sofia had come to realise the Englishwoman had an inner strength that would help her overcome the obstacles to her happiness. It was obvious Kate and Charles belonged together, and the sooner Henry Wolseley got used to the idea the better.

I hugged Sofia. ‘I’ll miss you terribly,’ I said. And I would. I’d grown really fond of her. ‘Make sure you keep in touch.’

‘I will.’ Sofia got into her taxi. ‘You must come and visit soon.’ Through her uncle’s connections, Sofia had managed to find a flat in the mid-levels. She’d told me that she would apply for a British passport as soon as possible. Her marriage to James meant that she could claim nationality. She wanted to sever all ties with her family in Macau.

As I stepped into the hall, the telephone shrilled. I picked up the receiver.

‘How do you fancy a spin out to Stanley?’ Charles said. ‘It’s a beautiful day.’

I still hadn’t visited the cemetery; I’d told Charles at James’ funeral that I hadn’t been able to face it, and he’d squeezed my hand in sympathy. ‘I don’t know if I’m ready to go back there yet.’

‘I think it’s time. Come on, darling. It will do you good.’

I changed into a pair of navy slacks and a white linen blouse, then went to tell Papa where I was going. He looked up at me as I stepped into his study. ‘Charles is driving me to Stanley,’ I said. ‘I’ll take some flowers for Mama’s grave.’

‘Would you, my dear? The ones I put there last week will need replacing, and it will save me having to do it tomorrow. Your young man is turning out to be a pleasant surprise, I must say. A very pleasant surprise.’

‘So he’s a proper chap after all, is he?’

Papa had the grace to look flustered. ‘His handling of Jimmy’s debacle and the way he brought you home after the typhoon certainly impressed me. And I apologised to him about the letters, didn’t I?’

Papa had invited Charles for dinner last week, just the two of them. I wished I could have been a fly on the wall. Neither of them had told me much about what they’d said, other than the fact that Papa had agreed that I could see Charles openly.

‘Thank you for that, and for making Sofia so welcome in the end. I don’t know what she would have done otherwise.’

Papa cleared his throat. ‘Nonsense! I like Sofia. She’ll go far, mark my words!’

***

The nearer we drove to Stanley, the more my nerves jangled. Charles was right, though, I had to do this; I’d bottled it up too long.

‘I know what you’re thinking, my love,’ Charles said. ‘You’re strong enough. Believe me.’

He parked in front of a small temple on the other side of the village.

‘What are we doing here?’ I asked, surprised.

Charles led me up a small flight of steps to the portal. Inside, it was cool and dark. Incense perfumed the air and, in the dull light of myriad joss sticks, a glass pane shimmered on the far wall. ‘Come closer!’

‘How bizarre!’ Behind the glass was a tiger skin. I read the notice fixed to the left,
‘This tiger weighed two hundred and forty pounds and was seventy-three inches long and three feet high. It was shot by an Indian policeman in front of Stanley police station in the year of nineteen forty-two.

‘I wonder why it’s here . . .’

Charles held me close. ‘Well, I think this is a fitting resting place, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do.’ I glanced at the blackened face of the statue of Tin Hau, in an alcove behind offerings of fruit. There were fresh flowers on an altar in the centre of the temple. It had been good to come here. The tiger had brought me closer to Charles in Stanley. And the beast was working its enchantment on me even now. ‘I’m ready. Let’s go to the cemetery!’

Charles drove through the village, past the police station and the school, and parked below the path leading up to the graveyard.

I reached for the bouquet of purple orchids and my rucksack on the back seat. We went up a flight of newly-built steps with grassy slopes on either side. Mama’s grave was at the top. The roughly-hewn headstone had been replaced by a proper marble plinth.

Kneeling, I removed the dried-out chrysanthemums from the vase at the base, then filled it with water from the bottle I’d stashed in my bag. I put my hand on the cool stone and whispered, ‘I’m here. I haven’t forgotten you. I’m so sorry I haven’t come before now.’ I looked up and caught Charles watching me, love in his eyes. Getting to my feet, I dusted down my slacks. ‘Let’s pay our respects to Bob.’

A line of headstones with the names of those whose final resting place was unknown had been placed here after the war. Beyond, we found Bob’s grave and bowed our heads. I remembered the last time I’d seen him. There was a question I’d been meaning to ask Charles.

‘Did the Japanese torture you when you were in the prison?’

‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘But I heard screams. Those poor policemen . . .’

I took his hand. ‘Thank you for bringing me here, my darling. It hasn’t been as bad as I thought.’

‘They say we should always confront our fears, don’t they? Look! There’s our orchid tree. It’s still here. Shall we sit for a bit?’

We sat side by side. Charles put his arms around me, and I lifted my face to receive his kiss. The rich, heady fragrance of the Bauhinia flowers filled my nostrils. I plucked a heart-shaped leaf and crushed it between my fingers.

‘I love you so much, Kate,’ he said, looking into my eyes. ‘What happened to James has made me realise we have to take every chance of happiness we’re given. Who knows how much time we have left?’

I studied the headstones and nodded. Then I gazed at his face. His hair was in his eyes. I reached up and brushed it back. ‘When we’re married. And only if you agree, of course, I’d like us to adopt Mei ing. Oh, and I want Ah Ho to come and work for us.’

‘Is that a proposal, Kate?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then, I accept.’ He stroked my cheek, his fingers warm against my skin.

He kissed me again, more possessively this time, and I met his passion with my own. It had always been Charles. Ever him. Since the first moment I saw him. I thought about James and Sofia. Charles was right, we had to take every chance of happiness we were given, but also pay it back tenfold. ‘And Mei Ling?’

‘She can be the first of our children.’

‘How many shall we have?’

‘That’s entirely up to you. As many as you like, and of course Ah Ho can be their amah.’

The leaves of the orchid tree sighed in the breeze. I rested my head on his shoulder, twirled my jade bangle, and contemplated the sampans at anchor in the bay below.

###

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