Brother Fish (90 page)

‘I handed my note from Big Boss Yu to Commander Duncan, who sat in a large, overstuffed chair and somewhat gruffly invited me to do the same. He opened and read the note, then grunted as he put it aside. “Well, my dear, I am told that you are somewhat of a virtuoso?”

‘I wasn't quite sure how to answer him, or whether his information came from the note I had handed him or from a previous discussion with Big Boss Yu. “No, sir,” I said shyly, feeling immediately intimidated. “I can sing and play the piano and dance a little.”

‘He looked at me sternly. “Good Lord, girl – that simply won't do! Here at the Palace we have only the very best!”

‘I had no idea what the note contained, but from his reaction he was obviously referring to the hotel's entertainment, so I gave the only reply I could think of. “Perhaps there is a chorus line?”

‘ “Chorus line?
What
chorus line? What do you think this is – the Follies? The Brighton Music Hall? Eh?”

‘It was more than I could bear, and I was on the verge of tears. “I'm sorry. I appear to have wasted your time, commander,” I stammered.

‘ “Nonsense! We have to do
something
, but I'm damned if I know what. Not my kind of thing.” He seemed to be thinking, then suddenly reached over for the small bell that rested on the side table beside his chair and proceeded to ring it vigorously. Moments later, with the bell still tinkling away, a bellboy appeared. “Mrs Worthington,” the commander shouted above the ringing bell. Just the two words. The bellboy touched his cap and, turning smartly, left. The commander placed the bell down at last. “Well, at least we can teach you the King's English – though I must say, you seem to have made a half-decent start yourself.”

‘A tall, rather imperious-looking woman wearing a stern grey suit and gloves with a small straw hat perched on the side of her head entered and greeted the commander with a crisp, no-nonsense, “Good afternoon, commander.”'

I wanted to tell Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan that this Mrs Worthington character sounded a little like someone else I knew, but thought better of it and let her continue.

‘“Yes, yes, sit down, Mrs Worthington,” he replied impatiently, not returning her salutation. “You are to teach this girl correctly spoken English.” He paused for a moment, then gave the briefest of chuckles.

“That is to say, Shanghai guff – though she appears to me to pronounce her vowels perfectly well. You'd hardly take her for a foreigner.” He said this as though he was remarking on someone not present in the room.

‘“Very well, commander. As you wish,” Mrs Worthington said crisply. “I shall do my best – one can do no more.” She rose, clutching her black leather handbag to her waist with both hands. She turned to me, a thin smile flickering across her face. “Come along, girl.”

‘I glanced somewhat in terror at Commander Duncan, who dismissed me with a sweep of his hand. “Go on, off you go.” I followed Mrs Worthington and we were about to pass through the doorway when he called out, “About that other business – be here at two o'clock sharp, tomorrow!”

‘I had no idea what he meant by “that other business” and turned to ask, “Shall I ask for you, Commander Duncan?”

‘“Good God, no! Smithson – dreadful nancy boy!”

‘We turned into a small passage richly carpeted in dark blue with a yellow-and-red fat dragon motif that, considering its brash and overwhelming impact, I hadn't even noticed on my way in. “What is your name, girl?” Mrs Worthington asked.

‘“Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan, madam,” I replied.

‘“French?”

‘“No, madam. I'm a White Russian – my mother was French.”

‘“Euh!” she expostulated, as if she'd received a sharp thrust up the bottom. “Well then, I suppose we must do the best we can with the poor clay we have.” Then, carrying the analogy further, she said with a note of warning, “I do trust you will prove suitably pliable, Nicole?” I was mortified, and all I wanted to do was to run away from this perfectly horrid woman. “We will now sit in the main foyer and I shall instruct you,” Mrs Worthington informed me.

‘“What, teach me in the main foyer?” I asked, suddenly terrified.

‘“No, no, stupid girl! That will take place at my flat. I shall tell you about your lessons.”

‘Well, it seemed everything had been decided. I was to have English lessons every morning for two hours or, as Mrs Worthington would say, “You are to have lessons in correct pronunciation – that is, you must learn to correctly clip some words and others you shall round.” I was immediately reminded of dear Miss Rosen, and the hours and hours we'd spent together on vowels. “
The clown bounced on the trampoline and burst a boil on his bottom that caused him to become discombobulated.
”

‘The following day Ah Chow picked me up in time for my English lesson and returned me home afterwards, and then came back for my appointment at the Palace at two o'clock with, I presumed,
Mr
Smithson (which turned out to be the correct gender). Smithson, as I'd come to think of him, was a rather effete Englishman who, in the tradition of Noël Coward, called everyone “darling”. He greeted me in a cursory fashion that seemed to be the norm among the Europeans I'd met so far. “Come along,” he said, and led me down a side passage and through a door onto the stage of an enormous ballroom. A grand piano stood in the centre of the stage and three large leather club chairs had been placed on the ballroom floor below and directly in front of it. Thankfully, they were not occupied. “Show us what you've got, darling,” Smithson instructed, pointing at the grand piano.

‘I looked at him, confused. “What do you want me to do, sir?”

‘He brought his forefinger to the side of his mouth and struck a pose with his legs slightly apart, one forward with the toe of his shoe only just touching the surface of the stage like a male ballet dancer. Then he leaned back with his head tilted, his right eyebrow arched, observing me. “For a start, you will
not
call me ‘sir' or ‘mister' – I am to be addressed as Lawrence. If you get to know me well enough you may call me Poppy. Now, what do I want you to
do
? Would it be too, too presumptuous of me to ask you to entertain me? You
can
do that, can't you,
darling
?”

‘At that very moment three men entered the ballroom. I immediately recognised Big Boss Yu and Commander Duncan. The third man was rather tall, his dark hair slightly greying, and he was walking with a slight limp. Lawrence turned to face them as they prepared to occupy the club chairs. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he called down, smiling. Mr Yu and Commander Duncan ignored his greeting, but the third man said in a friendly voice, “Hello, Poppy. I hope you have a nice surprise for us!”

‘Lawrence shrugged and said tartly, “You may not be the only one to get a nice surprise, Sir Victor.” He turned to me and said in an urgent whisper, “For godsake, do something!”

‘I walked over to the grand piano where the stool was much too low for me, and started to wind the stool upwards, giving myself a chance to control the absolute terror I felt surging in my breast. I could feel my knees beginning to quake so I sat down hurriedly, the stool not quite right yet. But the moment I touched the keys I felt angry. I'd been humiliated by everyone I'd met from the moment I'd stood in front of the reception desk after being announced perhaps too pompously by the Russian doorman. My first English lesson that morning had been conducted with a condescension that was breathtaking, and my misery was now replaced with a cold anger I'd never felt before.

‘I played the introduction and then started to sing at the top of my voice, with all the correct words clipped and the vowels rounded.

“Poor little rich girl,
You're a bewitched girl,
Better beware!
Laughing at danger,
Virtual stranger,
Better take care!

The life you lead sets all your nerves a-jangle
Your love affairs are in a hopeless tangle,
Though you're a child, dear,
Your life's a wild typhoon.

In lives of leisure,
The craze for pleasure,
Steadily grows.
Cocktails and laughter
But what comes after?
Nobody knows . . .”

‘When I'd completed the new Noël Coward song, which had just come out, I turned trembling to face the three men and Lawrence Smithson, who had left the stage and was now standing behind their chairs. “Bravo!” Sir Victor called, rising from his seat and clapping furiously. The others followed, adding their applause. Big Boss Yu's lined “Ming the Merciless” face was beaming, and even Commander Duncan smiled. “Well, I'll be darned – that took courage!” Sir Victor said, then, half-turning in his chair, he addressed Lawrence. “What do you think, Poppy?”

‘Lawrence struck a similar pose to the one before, but this time without the arched eyebrow. “Good!” he pronounced through pursed lips.

‘“The eight o'clock?”

‘Lawrence thought for a moment. “She's better than a warm-up artist. Why not the ten o'clock, the opening to the cabaret? Of course, I'll need to know her repertoire – it may not be suitable.”

‘“Splendid, let's do that,” Sir Victor said. Then he turned back to me, smiling. ‘Wherever have you been hiding all that talent, young lady?”

‘“Thank you, sir,” I said, more relieved than pleased. Big Boss Yu and Commander Duncan turned to leave and the Chinese taipan lifted his hand to signal goodbye, while the commander grunted and then called, “Splendid vowels!”

‘Sir Victor mounted the steps to the stage and I noticed he limped in exactly the manner of my father. “Hello, I'm Victor Sassoon. Do forgive me for popping in – you see, I'm visiting from Hong Kong and, well, I have a share in this hotel and just happened to have an hour to spare. How very fortunate that we should meet, Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan. You're really terribly good, you know.” This charming man, who probably knew all the crowned heads of Europe, had taken the trouble to be nice to a sixteen-year-old of absolutely no importance whatsoever. I would always love him for that first meeting. He was the first person, other than Big Boss Yu, who had been half-decent to me since my arrival, and I promptly burst into tears.

‘I heard him call over to Lawrence in a calm voice, as if a young girl breaking into sobs when she met him was a perfectly normal occurrence. “Poppy, do ask a waiter to bring Nicole a strawberry milkshake?” Then, turning back to me, he said, “You really
must not
cry, my dear. You were perfectly splendid, and Poppy will want to hear your full repertoire – and so will I.'

‘“I've never tasted a milkshake!” I wailed, which I immediately knew was a perfectly ridiculous thing to say.

‘“Strawberry's the best,” Sir Victor declared, laughing. And sobbing as I was, I instantly fell head over heels in love with him.'

She had told the story of her audition so well I wanted to applaud myself, but there were things happening to my head that shouldn't. ‘A bit . . . like me ternight. With . . . cham-pagne . . . first time I've tast—' I said, slurring, unable to complete the sentence, my tongue too thick for my mouth. I was also having a great deal of trouble keeping my eyes open and the room around me was beginning to swim in an alarming manner, dipping and turning and spinning at a faster and faster rate. It happened just like that – one moment I was listening, absolutely intrigued and enchanted by her tale, and the next I was gone for all money. The last thing I remember was a cushion being placed behind my head and my feet being lifted onto the couch.

‘Sleep tight, Jack.' Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan's voice seemed to be coming from a great distance, as if carried by a fierce wind during a storm at sea with giant waves pitching the deck, tossing the fishing vessel every which way. I'd disgraced myself. Just when I thought I'd won an encounter with the dreaded justice of the peace or, at the very least, ended up even-stevens, it was the library floor all over again.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Shanghai Lil and All That Jazz

Talk about disgrace! I was not a kid any more, twenty-seven years old, a war veteran and would-be professional fisherman and I go and get myself drunk like a schoolboy. I awoke to the sun streaming through the window where the drapes had been pulled back and tied, with one of the cats resting on my chest. The parrot cage was missing. I staggered over to the window and looked out over the cliff face to the ocean. It was a calm day with white caps pushing steadily ashore – a perfect day for cray. Then, to my surprise, I discovered that my hangover wasn't too bad. In fact, relatively speaking it was quite mild – a couple of Gloria's Disprin and I should be okay.

My tongue feeling as if it needed a good rasp. ‘Anyone home?' I called out. From somewhere outside the cottage I heard, ‘I beg your pardon, would you mind repeating that please?' The bloody parrot again. I walked through the dining room to the kitchen and drank directly from the tap over the sink. Then, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I looked around. On the kitchen bench was a plate containing two eggcups, a spoon, a couple of uncooked eggs, two Disprin and half a loaf of shop bread, together with a note.