House of Trembling Leaves, The (11 page)

She gave them her answer. There was much nodding of heads all round.

Next, they talked about the current vogue for cubist painting and atonal music, wanted to know her views on Stalin, the Moscow show trials and the recent Japanese incursions in China. After this, they discussed college life and the syllabus and then Dr Coutts asked Lu See whether she was available to sit a special entrance examination in early September.

‘‘Yes, of course, I'd be honoured to.''

‘‘There'll be a general paper and one on comparative religions.'' As she stood up to leave Miss Watts-Thynne handed her a long reading list of theological texts as well as a card that allowed her the use of the Divinity School library. ‘‘Do your very best and we hope to see you here at the start of Michaelmas term in October.''

Moments later Lu See emerged from the dark study into the bright mid-morning sunlight. Before the interview she might as well have had lead weights clamped to her feet. Now her tread was much lighter, as though wings had been sewn to her ankles. Feeling as if she'd been dismantled and put back together again, she rode her bicycle down Huntington Road with her head abuzz with thoughts:
That went well, I think. I hope they liked me. A general paper and one on comparative religions. See you here Michaelmas term.
She stopped cycling after five minutes and retrieved the list of theological books from her basket. She counted sixty-eight titles and immediately broke into a prickly sweat.
Hell … ! Sixty-eight bloody textbooks! September's less than . .  She counted out April, May, June, July on her fingers. Less than six months away! That's almost twelve textbooks a month!

When she returned to Portugal Place, she saw red, and blue and white tea towels twitching in the breeze on a long pole; laundry aired from the first floor window, swaying in the wind high above like Tibetan prayer flags.

‘‘What's all this?'' she asked Sum Sum when she came to the door.

‘‘For luck and happiness. My way of appeasing the gods. Mrs Slackford not home yet, still at market. How was interview?'' Sum Sum's bloodshot eyes flickered up and down the cobbled street.

Lu See gasped hard when she saw Sum Sum's face. ‘‘What happened to you?''

Sum Sum touched the side of her nose lightly, wincing in anticipation of the lancing pain. ‘‘
Aiyoo!
I so stupid, lah. I was taking picture of one of the big colleges and climbed on to a bridge to get tip-top shot, but then my foot slip and I fall and hit head on floor. Camera smash on ground and then fall into river.''

‘‘Do you want me to take you to a doctor?''

‘‘No, lah!'' Sum Sum sounded offended. ‘‘Only small accident. I'm sorry for the camera.'' Just then a fat string of blood seeped from her nose and down her chin.

‘‘Never mind the camera. Take this tissue and keep your head up. Let me get you some ice to put on it.''

Sum Sum set her head back and blinked away the pain. She wouldn't be aware of her scraped hands and elbows until much later.

The following week, to celebrate Lu See's success, Adrian promised to take the girls to London as a treat.
A day at the zoo followed by a trip to the Natural History Museum!
– Lu See could hardly contain her excitement. ‘‘It'll be fun, don't you think, pumpkin-head? You might even see your Picalilli Circus. And while in London I can call on the organ maker, Conrad P. Hughes.'' Pietro decided to tag along too.

They lingered in the waiting room at Cambridge station before catching the 09.45 for King's Cross. The conductor, leaning from a carriage door, blew his whistle and a great gout of locomotive steam engulfed the railway.

Adrian wore a plaid, Windsor double-breasted suit and a Cagney-style homburg. He carried his overcoat draped over his arm. Lu See thought he must have dressed in a hurry that morning because his back collar stud was missing. ‘‘Love the outfit, Adie,'' mewed Pietro. ‘‘Do you like my hat? It's by Elsa Schiaparelli. It's a woman's hat, I know,'' he sighed, ‘‘but I simply had to have it.''

When Lu See watched Sum Sum settle into her compartment seat she noticed something she hadn't seen before – she looked morose. Sum Sum had always been feisty, sometimes touchy, but never ever morose.
It must be this grey weather and stodgy English food,
she decided.
All those pork pies! Still, that's no reason for her to be acting like a cursed princess in a fairy tale.

Ignoring the scrutiny, Sum Sum pretended to read a copy of
Modern Screen
magazine with a picture of Marlene Dietrich on its cover. Meanwhile, Adrian buried his nose in the
Manchester Guardian
. After a while he muttered something about German troops crossing into the west bank of the Rhine. ‘‘It's a flagrant violation of the Versailles Treaty,'' he said to nobody in particular, shaking his head. ‘‘Bloody fascists!''

Outside, beyond the window, a steady drizzle of rain hit the glass.

Pietro clapped his hands to cheer everyone up. ‘‘When we get back to Cambridge tonight you're all invited to supper at Christ's College Hall. I've asked chefy to prepare something gorgeous – I've even offered to lend him a hand.''

‘‘You? Cook? No, lah.'' Sum Sum proclaimed, momentarily sparked by the news.

Offended, Pietro removed his hat and patted his blond coiffure. ‘‘I'll have you know, Samson, the maternal side of my family is Italian. Cooking is part of my heritage. And speaking of heritage, are we museuming it as soon as we get to London?''

Adrian shook his head. ‘‘First stop will be Lu See's organ man. Then we'll head for the zoo.''

On arrival at King's Cross they pushed past the red-coated porters and jumped into a taxi. Sum Sum had a vague notion of where London was, but no idea where to find it on a map, or how big or small it was. As she stared out the taxi window she couldn't help but feel a little disappointed.
This
, she thought,
is the heart of the Empire?
‘‘Everything so grey and dirty. Nothing like pictures of Big Ben and Buck-and-Ham Palace.''

The taxi dropped them at a store front near the Angel tube station. There was a black Vitrolite fascia hung above the main entrance with the legend
Conrad P. Hughes – Pipe Organ Specialists
in crimson raised letters. Once inside, Lu See was greeted by a delicate, worried-looking man in a six-guinea suit and two-tone shoes.

‘‘Conrad P. Hughes at your service,'' he said. ‘‘Miss Teoh, is it? Yes, I received your letter last week.'' He looked at Adrian, Sum Sum and Pietro in turn. ‘‘A project you have in mind for Malaya, if memory serves correctly. Yes, we would be more than happy to take on the commission.'' He took a few moments to show them to a low-level glass-fronted display case with an array of miniature pipe organs. ‘‘All built to scale,'' he said. ‘‘Now if you'll come through here and take a seat …''

He spent the next few minutes presenting himself and his designs to the four who sat in judgement of his work.

‘‘How long have you been in this industry, Mr Hughes, if you don't mind me asking?''

‘‘Not at all, Miss Teoh,'' he replied, proudly fingering the lapel of his six-guinea suit. ‘‘All of sixteen years. We've had some ups and downs but overall the business has done me proud. Now, shall we move on to the mechanics of the beast?''

‘‘Please do.''

For almost half an hour he pieced together the many features, explaining how the sound was produced via the workings of the air reservoir, the reed and flue pipes and the stop-action sliders, and how each pipe equalled one pitch. ‘‘It's not like a flute or a clarinet which produces multiple pitches depending on the instrument keys. No, the organ pipe's pitch is determined by the pipe's length.''

‘‘How many pipes will we require?'' asked Lu See.

‘‘Typically, a church organ would have a keyboard span of five octaves, from C2 to C7. And each octave has twelve semitones, hence a rank of 61 pipes.''

‘‘That's a lot of pipe,'' said Pietro.

‘‘Our pipes are made from only the finest copper and aluminium. No cutting corners here. But what we'll require from your people in Malaya are specifics for the Great and Swell divisions. Here you are,'' he said, handing Lu See a tiny manual. ‘‘You'll find everything explained in this pamphlet. It's all to do with the range of sound you want. Once we have an idea, then we can get things rolling with some drawings and sketches.''

Much pleased, Lu See shook hands with Conrad P. Hughes and said her goodbyes.

 

With that over, they flagged down a cab and headed for Regent's Park Zoo.

‘‘In sum, a good meeting, wouldn't you say, goosey?''

‘‘Yes,'' replied Lu See, who was already drafting a letter to Second-aunty Doris in her head.

‘‘Lot of roads seem to be closed, guv,'' said the taxi driver.

The taxi turned into Eversholt Street and headed north. A few seconds later they were greeted by a mass of people gathered by Camden High Street.

‘‘Labour strikes,'' Adrian said in a subdued tone. Sum Sum clasped her throat.

Further along, they encountered a full-blown crush along the Oval Road. ‘
Jobless Men Keep Going!
' came the cry through a brass megaphone. ‘
Workers of the world unite!
' Demonstrators in scruffy trousers and long john tops held up banners and placards and marched up and down the street. Moving in shoals of six or seven, thrusting past women and children standing in the sidelines, they sang and whistled between chants. As Pietro pointed out ‘‘a ducky with deliciously muscular arms'', Lu See watched with wonder. Her instincts told her she was in no danger here; these people had no quarrel with anyone but the establishment. ‘‘In Malaya such a public show of dissent would see the army being called in,'' she heard herself say.

A little distance ahead there was a protest by the NUWM. ‘‘Hunger Rally,'' informed Adrian. ‘‘I wanted you to see this,'' he continued.

Marchers banged their drums and held out tin buckets for collections, picketers cried out to abolish the Means Test. ‘Sack the Unemployment Assistance Board!' they yelled. ‘Down with the National Government!' came the reply. Police constables on horseback rode next to the throng, keeping the peace.

Lu See looked at him. ‘‘Did you know there was going to be a protest?''

Adrian admitted as much. ‘‘I think it's vital you witness this first hand. To enhance your political education.''

‘‘If you're planning on turning me into a communist, don't bother. I believe in religion. I believe in capitalism.''

Immediately Lu See felt the atmosphere in the taxi crackle. It was often like this when the subject of politics came up. She stiffened in apprehension about what they would argue about next. ‘‘But then there's fascism,'' he continued. ‘‘And what about imperialism? Do you believe in that? Don't you want a free Malaya?''

‘‘Yes, but only when the country is ready for it.''

‘‘But who gets to decide when we are ready? Our colonial masters or the people of Malaya?''

Lu See grew irritated. ‘‘Look, what's happening here, are you trying to convert me, to radicalize me?''

‘‘No, I simply want you to see the world as it truly is. I don't think you should fear change. Haven't I taught you to confront your fears?''

‘‘How can you accuse me of fearing change? I left my family. I'm here, aren't I?''

‘‘I meant political change.''

Lu See shook her head and turned to look at Sum Sum.

Sum Sum raised an eyebrow and pretended to read her copy of
Modern Screen
magazine.

 

At the zoo they visited the Reptile House, the Aquarium and the monkey enclosure where Pietro scolded a male chimpanzee for masturbating. In the Mappin Terraces they saw polar bears and snow leopards and even got to feed the penguins. A light drizzle of rain fell. It suited the penguins more than the people. Adrian clung to his homburg.

Afterwards they went for lunch at a restaurant in Marylebone where a waitress with a frilly cap and a rustling black satin uniform served them lamb cutlets and boiled potatoes. They all ate heartily, except for Sum Sum, who merely picked at her food.

‘‘Are you feeling unwell, pumpkin-head?'' asked Lu See.

Sum Sum shrugged. ‘‘I'm okay, lah.''

‘‘Saving room for supper tonight,'' Pietro said, approvingly. ‘‘Sensible girl.'' He flicked ash from his slender cigarette holder into a brass smoking stand. ‘‘Naturally, it'll be a four-course meal; three-course meals are so awfully middle-class.''

Lu See noted how stylishly London ladies were dressed. Women here wore their pearls long and their hair short, in finger waves and soft curls. Some sported bell-shaped cloche hats; others donned velvet turbans worn at an angle. Their dresses were sleeker, more fitted, with wider shoulders compared to the styles worn in Cambridge.

With lunch over they tipped the hat-check girl and took a taxi to the Natural History Museum. As they drove down the Marylebone Road, Pietro and the girls tried not to gawk at the strings of men in oversized flat caps queuing up for jobs at Grimble's Vinegar Factory. In parts of the Edgware Road they saw tenants being evicted from their homes with their furniture laid out on the roadside. A little further on children with grimy knees kicked a ball made out of rolled-up newspapers, running beneath crumbling brick walls crazed with Communist Party posters and anti-Jewish slogans and bills promoting Fry's Pure Breakfast Cocoa (4½d per ¼lb).

They spent four hours at the museum. As early evening fell they hailed a cab. The taxi driver wound his window down as they approached. ‘‘Aw wite?''

‘‘King's Cross Station, please,'' instructed Adrian.