“The war of independence. The Irish war. Rebellion, to you. Now, I’m the worst kind of coach . . .”
“Were you and Michael Collins friends?”
Granger looked at him, as if weighing him up. “Yes.”
“How did you end up here if you were fighting the English?”
“New York for guns, then a girl.”
“Your wife?”
Granger smiled. “No.”
“They say the commissioner is about to retire.”
“Within the month.”
“Do you think . . .”
“If it’s Macleod, we’re all finished.”
“But the Municipal Council must favor you overwhelmingly.”
“Don’t be so sure.” They had stopped outside the Cathay Hotel, and Granger was looking at him steadily, his hand on the door handle. “I’ve a meeting.”
“I’ll get out here as well.”
“I’ll get the driver to—”
“No, it’s fine. I said I’d meet Caprisi at the library.” Granger narrowed his eyes. Field shook his head. “Nothing important.”
They got out of the car. Granger adjusted his clothes. Field wondered when his light suit would be ready.
“Don’t make the mistake of underestimating Macleod, Field. He may not mix with the council socially, but he’s been on a private sales job for years.” Granger lit a cigarette. “I’m sure he’s given you one of his little chats . . .”
“Yes.”
“Policemen shouldn’t act like missionaries, and I get tired of him lecturing us all like joyless schoolboys.”
Field hesitated. “He seems sincere in what he believes.”
“You think so?” Granger frowned. “So you bought the speech?”
Field shook his head. “No, I just said I thought he was sincere in what he said.”
Granger looked agitated. He dropped his cigarette and stubbed it out with his foot. “I don’t like Macleod. If he becomes commissioner, it will be a disaster for the force, the city, and me personally. We’ll be forced into a head-on confrontation we cannot yet win. Think about it. Look around you. Containing Lu, trying to keep his influence at bay in the Settlement. Maybe. Eradicating organized crime? Forget it.” Granger shook his head. “This is China. We have to accept that building some kind of civilization here is going to take longer than people would like. And I’m tired of being made to feel like a criminal for not signing up to the whole puritan sermon. It’s a time for knowing who your friends are.”
Field thought about his confrontation with Lu last night, recalling the discomfort and unease he’d felt during the meeting itself and the anger that had returned shortly afterward. “Loyalty is one of my few qualities.”
“I like that, Field.” Granger put an arm around his shoulder. “You’re a good man. You’ve got plenty of qualities, believe me.” He turned toward the hotel. “We can go far if we work together.”
As he watched a doorman jump forward, Field wondered again what it must be like to be rich enough to arrive in Shanghai and climb into the liveried cream Cathay Hotel Chevrolet that he’d seen waiting on the quayside when his own liner had docked. He imagined the rooms as a more modern version of the Shanghai Club, full of leather and glass. It was said that the taps were gold-plated. It was common knowledge you could get almost any drug from room service.
He looked up at the narrow, conical roof and the balcony that surrounded it. He could see some guests leaning over, gazing out toward the river. Another sedan pulled up behind Granger’s and a woman in a cream skirt made her way toward the entrance, her chauffeur following with a hatbox.
Field nodded at the doorman, half expecting to be refused entry, not yet used to the idea of belonging in such surroundings. Inside, it was cooler, the white marble floor spotlessly clean. He walked slowly down the long corridor between rows of potted plants, then turned into the reception area.
It was as fashionable as he’d imagined, an iron-framed balcony above the swinging doors giving way to a gilt- edged ceiling. There were new designer clocks all along the wall behind the reception desk with the local times in different cities.
Field’s eyes were drawn to an attractive blond-haired woman sitting in the tea lounge. She had an infectious laugh and reminded him of Lena Orlov. Then he noticed that her companion—the man she was laughing with—was Granger.
“Can I help you, sir?” One of the bellboys smiled at him.
“Er . . .” Field took two swift paces backward, so that he was out of view. “No. Just looking for someone, not here. Thanks.”
He turned around.
“Would you like to leave a message?”
“No . . . no thanks.”
Outside, Field crossed the road and walked in front of the Customs House.
