Brother Fish (110 page)

Most importantly of all, she didn't know where her daughter was – or even if she was alive. If still living she would have been seventeen years old when the communists took over. Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan could never return to pre-communist China, as technically she was still an escaped drug smuggler. The communist victory wouldn't have helped her, either. If she had somehow managed to get to Shanghai before the bamboo curtain came down and westerners could no longer enter China, she would have fared no better. The communist government, who understandably saw opium as the root of all evil, would be almost certain to find her guilty. As she was a known associate of one of the two notorious dragonheads, they would not be overly concerned with the niceties of a proper trial. She would be summarily pronounced guilty by the people's court and executed, to become a scapegoat for the second time and for an entirely different purpose.

It was difficult to believe that she'd been caught up in so much suffering and despair – while on the island, she'd always been seen as the somewhat prim and immensely proper English music teacher, librarian and justice of the peace. Now it was 1954 and she was still bound by the same constraints as when she had escaped from Shanghai in 1932 and was unlikely ever to see her daughter or even know which of the two men had fathered her. Somewhere in China, Hong Kong or Taiwan there existed a young woman who was the illegitimate daughter of a Russian countess and an English aristocrat, a man who belonged to one of the world's richest and most illustrious British families; or, alternatively, there existed the half-caste daughter of a consummately evil Chinese peasant and member of the Triads and Lily No Gin, the stateless White Russian refugee. To make matters worse, there was the terrible thought that Smallpox ‘Million Dollar' Yang, who had raped her, may have taken the place of Big Ears Du as dragonhead in Hong Kong.

There were only two possible reasons why Big Boss Yu would have abducted her child. The first was that he believed her presence in his life would bring him good fortune, as her mother's had done. The second possible explanation for the abduction was that he wished to demonstrate his infinite power over Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan by abducting and killing the result of her disloyalty to him. But she knew how the Chinese mind worked, and the second reason was the less likely. He would see a female child as worthless. By removing her he would not be punishing her mother. A daughter was ‘a waste of rice', and to leave her with her mother would be seen by him as a far more suitable revenge than abduction. Furthermore, he would have known about the rape, and probably instigated it. The presence of any child to have resulted from such retribution would be a reminder of the bitter experience every day of her life. The Countess concluded that her daughter could only have been kidnapped for superstitious reasons.

She was also aware that if the child had survived, her life would have been devoid of love. To a Chinese peasant, especially one who had become as rich and powerful as a dragonhead, any female – his own daughter included – would be seen as unworthy of affection. The child would serve only one purpose – to exist as his living talisman. He would see her in the same way as if she were simply an object. If a female child grew up to be plain-faced, she was condemned to a life of drudgery; if pretty, she became a commodity to be sold as a concubine or a prostitute in a sing-song house. If a half-caste, pretty or not, she would be despised and treated worse than a dog. Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan's daughter's only chance of survival depended on Big Boss Yu's profound and all-embracing superstition. If he believed the child to be the source of his good joss, then she would be safe. Which seemed to be what his message – ‘The good joss will return in one generation' – included in the persimmon dragon box suggested.

All these details of Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan's story came to me bit by bit, the result of my usual hunger for even the smallest facts. Whenever an opportunity arose to prise more information I would urge her to continue with the details of her life before she arrived on Queen Island. Sometimes she would simply answer a question and I'd have a sentence or two to store away. It was a bit like attempting to complete a jigsaw puzzle and finding another bit that fitted into the picture.

There were other occasions when she'd talk of her past to both Jimmy and me at length. Her escape from Hong Kong came to us when she invited us to lunch, ostensibly to discuss some aspect of our partnership. It was a lovely afternoon, and after lunch we sat in her garden looking out to sea, where several fishing boats were returning to the harbour. She casually mentioned how the junks of Victoria Harbour, between Hong Kong and Kowloon, had never ceased to fascinate her, and of course I immediately seized the opportunity. ‘You've never told us about the time you spent in Hong Kong.'

We must have caught her in exactly the right mood, because she said, laughing, ‘Oh, Jack, your wanting to know
every
detail can be quite irksome at times!'

‘Me also, Countess,' Jimmy added, to encourage her. ‘You in dat nursing home . . .' but he wasn't able to complete the sentence. The subject of her lost daughter always proved a delicate one. We knew she felt guilty that she'd made no effort to find her, even though it was obvious that there was nothing she could do. If she had gone back to Shanghai she would have had no chance of finding the child, and the attempt would almost certainly have cost her her life.

‘There's one thing that puzzles me – that Sister Bradshaw. She just doesn't make any sense,' I prompted.

‘You're quite right to be puzzled, Jack. There is an explanation, but some parts of it are decidedly open to conjecture. You'll understand it better if I begin right after Sister Bradshaw kidnapped my baby and the dragon box was returned to me.'

She sighed before beginning the next chapter of her tale. ‘I have spent the past twenty-two years agonising over my decision not to report the abduction of my child to the police. I made this decision for a number of reasons, which I'd prefer not to go into, except to say that I was confused and frightened and, I dare say, over the years in Manchuria and China I had been sufficiently indoctrinated in the way the Chinese think to know that the child would never be found. Or if she was found, would certainly be dead.

‘From the moment I was woken by the three female guards in Lunghua Prison I had no further say in what happened to me. When Sister Bradshaw appeared on the deck of the
Eastern Star
, I simply assumed that it was part of the plan to get me to Hong Kong. As you already know, I had no papers, so I wouldn't have been able to get past customs without questioning and possible detainment. I drew similar conclusions about my arrival at the nursing home – someone was taking care of me, and I was convinced it was John Roberston on behalf of Sir Victor.'

‘But why would they then kidnap your baby?' I asked.

‘Exactly – they would have done no such thing. You must remember that almost immediately after I awoke from the effects of the sleeping pill I was confronted by Dr Evinrude and the matron, told of the abduction and presented with the dragon box. I was in no fit state to respond other than in sheer terror to tell them not to call the police. I was given a strong sedative and it would have been at least a day later that my head was sufficiently clear to ask questions.

‘I asked to see the matron, and, while I don't think she lied to me, she wasn't able to resolve any of the questions I asked. Sister Bradshaw, I was told, was not on the nursing home's staff but was an independent midwife with whom they had a working agreement. She would often refer expectant mothers to the nursing home, where she would oversee the delivery of the baby herself. Her clients were usually well off, and Sister Bradshaw wanted to ensure that if there were any complications during the birth, she would have the help of a doctor.

‘I was not untypical of the clients she brought to the nursing home, and the permanent staff there thought nothing more of the matter when she booked me in. They were all suitably impressed when they were given my title, but not surprised when told I was unmarried. “You see, dear, you are not the first unmarried mother to have your baby with us or taken away for adoption. Sister Bradshaw always maintained that what the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't grieve over.” She then explained that adoption was a major part of Sister Bradshaw's business, and the hospital had never interfered with her arrangements. The expectant mother would always sign a declaration that she was giving the child up for adoption, with Sister Bradshaw attending to all the details and arrangements for her clients.

‘Sister Bradshaw had also impressed on them that under no circumstances was my name to be released or my presence revealed to anyone inquiring about me. This, I was led to believe, was also standard procedure. The matron explained that while the midwife could be a difficult woman to work with, and very possessive of her patients, she was very good at her job. “As long as things progressed normally, we all let her get on with it,” was how she put it. “She seemed to believe that only she could satisfactorily deliver a child,” she added, not without a touch of sarcasm. “She always took care of the payment to us and left the adoption papers with the office,” the matron explained, adding that these details were not her concern. “I dare say management is happy with the arrangement,” she concluded.

‘“But I haven't signed any adoption papers,” I protested.

‘“Yes, but I didn't know this until Dr Evinrude and I came on duty.” The matron's sense of self-righteous calm was beginning to annoy me. “The night sister and the nursing staff concluded that Sister Bradshaw had taken the newborn baby away with her – it had happened often enough before. She'd make a phone call and a taxi would arrive with a wet nurse in the back and she'd leave with the child. So when I came on duty and was informed your baby had been born and taken away by Sister Bradshaw, I wasn't unduly worried.”

‘She then explained that the night sister had mentioned that the midwife seemed in a great hurry so that none of them had seen the baby with the exception of Nurse Kwan, who reported that it had been born alive. Dr Evinrude arrived and checked the night register and asked to see the child. He was told what had happened, and only when he informed them that he hadn't signed or sighted any adoption papers had they become alarmed.'

It just didn't seem to add up, and I could see Jimmy was as perplexed as I felt. ‘What about the box? Surely the night sister would have found that unusual?' I asked.

‘I asked the matron that very same question myself. She told me the night sister had simply thought it was something Sister Bradshaw had left for me.

‘With the evidence of the dragon box I was forced to conclude that Big Boss Yu had arranged my escape from prison. The only plausible reason had to be that he wanted the child, and that attempting to obtain it after its birth from a Chinese prison posed too many risks.

‘But as it transpired, I was quite wrong. Moreover, I was in a great deal of trouble. The hospital informed me that my stay had been paid for up until two days after the birth and that unless I could make arrangements to stay longer I would have to leave. On the boat to Hong Kong I had discovered that the female guard who'd opened my handbag had not stolen my money. So I had sufficient money to get a taxi and find a cheap hotel and, of course, I had the key to the safety-deposit box Sir Victor had arranged for me at the Bank of China.

‘However, it suddenly struck me that I had no way of identifying myself. I carried a rather big and unfashionable handbag that I'd used for documents and the like, rather the way a man would use a briefcase. It was while scrambling through its contents looking for something that might identify me that I found John Robertson's business card. There was nothing unusual about this discovery, as he may well have given it to me on several past occasions when he'd visited me in prison. Fortunately I turned it over to find a handwritten note on the back.

All arrangements in place H.K.
Only in dire emergency call
Tel. 6271

‘The female guard must have dropped it into my handbag on the night of my escape from prison.'

‘But then how would that explain Sister Bradshaw and the dragon box?' I asked.

‘Yoh got yo'self a big, big mis-tery here, Countess,' Jimmy laughed. ‘Way I see it, dat card jus' got you out o' big, big trouble!'

‘I asked for a phone. A nurse assisted me down a long corridor, and I dialled the number on the card. The phone rang at the other end for some time, and I was just about to replace the receiver in despair when it was finally picked up and a voice said, “Earnshaw!”

‘“Mr Earnshaw, my name is Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan and . . .”

‘“Good God! Where are you?” the voice demanded. I explained that I was in a nursing home and how I'd arrived there. “You were kidnapped!” he announced, not as a question but simply a statement. “We had a man waiting to intercept you at customs but you never arrived. Give me your address, please, madam.” There was some small delay while I got the address from one of the nurses. “I'll have a taxi pick you up in an hour. Are you fit to leave?” His manner was brusque and formal and, well, I suppose, efficient.

‘“Yes.”

‘“Any remuneration, fees, et cetera?” he asked.

‘“No, but if I need money for the taxi I have no Hong Kong currency, Mr Earnshaw.”