Queen Anne silver spoon. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that I’d never been so thrilled to see a romantic all- concealing twilight fall. Because two ladies rich enough to have the Tiger Balm Gardens closed to the public for the purpose of serving chilled champagne to their lovers among all those crazy statues is bound to attract attention. As it had, paparazzi and all. And the Rolls ensured an admiring entourage wherever we went. Money being god, every extravagant purchase swelled our crowd more. And by teatime Lorna and Mame were gleefully trying to outspend each other. By then I’d given up trying to look inconspicuous.
If Janie spotted me, the whole game was up.
“So this Egyptian lady who’d mislaid her husband blamed me!” Steerforth was pealing laughter, one of his tales. I laughed along.
Dr. Chao had been unmoved when I told him that a lady I’d known back home was in Hong Kong. “And that nerk in the Macao races,” I added. “If either guesses I’m here, the game’s up.”
“Are you questioning my orders?” Dr. Chao asked gently.
“Me? No, no, Doc. But—”
“That word ‘but’ implies only a conditional acceptance of our orders, Lovejoy.” He went on over my fervent denials, “You will leave at midnight, and remain in exile until after the auction.”
“And the Brookers Gelman women?”
A pleased smile. “Your, ah, clients? It is vital that you… perform as normal, or suspicions will be aroused. Their husbands arrive from Manila tomorrow. Pretend you have to return to East Anglia—an ailing uncle, perhaps.”
“Penny for your thoughts, darling?” Lorna was pouring us more wine. The yacht rocked gently as amahs brought a fresh course. One thing, my prison lacked nothing. But it felt prison.
“No deal,” I said. “They’re worth twopence.”
Lies again. My thoughts were worth me.
Later, when the women made their way to the cabins, I maneuvered one last look at the sequined shore lights and so caught Steerforth. Cautiously I looked about but the amahs were noisily clearing up. “Steerforth. Look. You sober?”
“A little merry, Lovejoy.” He was reeling, sloshed.
“Listen. Do me a favor? You’re the only one I can trust, mate.”
“No, Lovejoy.” He sobered somewhat. “You’re trouble. A favor to you might mean zappo to me.”
“It’s a message, that’s all. To Fatty.”
“What is it?” He was guarded.
“Just this. Tell him it’s ready, same place, but he’s got to let Marilyn go. Got it?”
“It’s ready, same place,” he repeated. “No risk?”
“Honest,” I said. “I obeyed his orders to the letter.”
“It’s ready, same place, and he’s to let Marilyn go? Just that? No need to say where, Lovejoy?”
“Gawd, I’ve only been in one place for weeks. He’ll know where.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “Thanks, mate. I owe you. And soon I’ll be able to pay.”
Lorna called me down then. Needless to add, I obeyed.
At midnight a small launch came for me, Leung and Ong in it with a liveried foki to lend legitimacy. I was roused from romantic slumber, and a tearful farewell was had by all—
Lorna, Mame, but especially me.
“Promise to fly back the instant he’s better, Lovejoy.”
“Eh?” Oh, my sick uncle. “Sure, love.”
She stood waving by the starboard light, called, “I’ve a wonderful surprise when you return, darling. Come soon!”
I called, “Good night, doowerlink. Night, Mame.” Then I added, “Good night and good luck, Steerforth, old chap.”
Aye, I thought, settling wearily in the launch. Great stuff, surprise.
36
« ^ »
EXILE’S sometimes not, if you follow. Sometimes it’s sanity. I learned this at Tai O.
The village is straight out of a poem. This thought only came to me on the tenth day of exile, during my morning ritual. It was only a walk in my round coolie hat, to the high-stilted tin shacks, then as far as the ferry, turn round at the coffin maker’s, back past the chemist’s shop. I mean, a huddle of Chinese houses (one mine), a temple with ski-lift corners, a sandy strand, the shallowest cleanest river trickling all silvery into the blue sea, green scrubby hills rising high behind. Quiet. No cot-hopping for Lovejoy in Tai O.
For two days I didn’t even know where I was. Leung and Ong simply dumped me in this little house at night and vanished. Later I asked an English tourist from a bus and he showed me his map. “I came from Silvermine Bay,” he said, “and it took forty-five minutes…” Tai O, on Lantau Island. A big island, maybe twenty miles long. And of course I was at the wrong end. A walk to the northern tip would put me in sight of the New Territories north of Kowloon, but the two-mile swim would be beyond me.
I got in the habit of going to watch the Hong Kong ferry sail, at twenty to one and evening at seven. It frightened me badly by not sticking to schedule and only arriving once, my third day of exile, but I guessed that was Sunday.
