Oriental Hotel (51 page)

‘Indeed, indeed, you must be very proud of her.' The young man turned to Gordon, who was still disposing of gins at a remarkable rate. His face had become a little flushed; now, as he set down his glass, Elise noticed the familiar pouches gathering beneath his eyes.

‘That is a matter for conjecture.'

Something in his tone made her tense. That note of bitterness was usually reserved for when they were alone – or perhaps within Su Ming's hearing.

‘You don't mean that, Gordon.' Hugh was apparently also aware of Gordon's aggression and his own tone was determinedly light. ‘You're the most envied man in Hong Kong, don't you know that? A thriving business was not enough for Gordon, you know, Guy! He also has the most beautiful wife and the brightest son.'

‘Alex is a bright boy, certainly,' Gordon, acknowledged. ‘ We're starting him at school soon.'

‘Oh, where is he going?'

‘To a good kindergarten here for the moment. I haven't yet decided where he will go from there, but of course eventually I'm hoping he will go up to Oxford.'

‘Good plan! Good plan!'

‘I'd like him to go to Cambridge,' Elise said, needled by the way Gordon continually excluded her from decisions about her son's future.

‘Why Cambridge, Elise? We all went to Oxford,' Hugh said conversationally.

Elise was aware of Gordon glaring at her over his gin glass.

‘Oh, I've always liked Cambridge. When I was a child I always supported them in the Boat Race,' she said with determined lightness.

Around the table the temperature rose another degree.

‘That's no reason; it's pure idiocy,' Gordon snapped.

‘I don't see why,' Elise argued. ‘ I didn't go to Oxford. I have no allegiance to anyone.'

‘That, my dear, is well known.'

The implication was so obvious that it took her breath. Momentarily she froze, then her eyes flickered quickly towards Hugh and Guy. When Gordon pursued a line such as this at home it was unpleasant enough; here it was far, far worse. She shrank from having their differences aired in public and was embarrassed too for those unwittingly forced to listen to their arguments.

‘I mean …' she began, but Hugh interposed easily, ‘ Gordon, my friend, how is your capon? I always think the Peninsula have a way with capon that is quite unsurpassed.'

But it was Guy, apparently deaf to the more serious undertones of the contretemps, who inadvertently lit the tinder-dry fuse.

‘Never mind, Mr Sanderson. If you have two sons, one can go to Oxford and the other to Cambridge.'

In the total silence which followed, Gordon's face tightened and the pouches lowered like thunderclouds around his eyes.

‘I have only one son.'

‘Oh yes, I know that. But I thought that maybe it will not be too long before you have another …' Flustered, though totally unaware why his innocent remark had brought forth such a strong reaction, Guy waved a hand in Elise's direction. Unless, of course, you're hoping for a daughter …'

Gordon slammed down his glass.

‘Young man, it is immaterial to me whether my wife's baby is a boy or a girl. As far as I am concerned, it does not exist.'

‘Gordon!' All the tensions of the day exploded in Elise and she pushed aside her plate and thrust the rolled-up ball of her napkin on to the table. A crystal goblet overturned as the plate struck it and fine old wine soaked on to the crisp tablecloth, but Elise appeared unaware of it. With one convulsive movement she was on her feet, pushing back her chair and running between the tables where astonished diners stared in disbelief. A waiter stepped forward as if to stop her, then thought better of it and moved aside as she fled past. Along the corridor, down the richly carpeted stairs she ran, feeling nothing except that she could not endure staying one moment longer to be humiliated in this way.

Across the lobby she sped, heedless of where she would go or what she would do. Astounded boys opened the doors automatically and through a blur of tears she saw too late the steps in front of her. On the top step her ankle twisted and she pitched forward with a scream of surprise and alarm.

The rim of the first step dealt her a distinct, jarring blow; then the others followed in a tumbling, pummelling kaleidoscope and the ground came up to meet her, momentarily knocking her almost senseless. She lay there, awkwardly crumpled, painfully shaken, then there were hands on her arms and a blur of voices like the sea heard in a conch shell: ‘Madam, are you all right?' ‘Lie still – still!' ‘Get her head down, someone.' ‘No, don't move her!' ‘What the hell's going on here?'

And then Gordon's voice, Gordon's hands and Gordon's face coming into her line of vision – misting, clarifying, then misting again.

‘Elise, for God's sake …'

With all her remaining strength she pushed at him.

‘Leave me alone!'

‘Elise!' The shock had sobered him completely and with an arm under her shoulders he lifted her to a sitting position. ‘Are you all right? Darling …'

She twisted her head away from him and from the smell of the gin that she had come to hate. Blood ran from an open gash on her cheek in a hot sticky river down the side of her neck and dimly she was aware of something pressed to it, stemming the flow. Gordon's handkerchief. She twisted round again. She wanted him – and yet she did not want him. He was her tormentor – but he had always been her rock. Gordon – oh, Gordon …

The handkerchief pad slipped and her blood soaked his tuxedo. For a brief moment it seemed the only important thing in the world.

‘Gordon – your jacket! It's ruined …'

‘Never mind that.'

‘But Gordon …'

And then the pain began, wave upon wave emanating from the very core of her. Her eyes went wide and she sat bolt upright, hands spread across her stomach.

‘My baby! Oh no … my baby!'

‘Elise, take it easy.'

She was desperately trying to hold on because it seemed to her that only in that way could she save the life within her. She had to be conscious – had to be in possession of all her will-power, all her resources of strength. But the blackness that was closing in on her had nothing to do with the night, and try as she might she could not keep it at bay.

‘Please – don't let me lose my baby,' she whispered.

Then the darkness overcame her and Elise lost consciousness.

‘Elise – are you awake?'

Slowly, as if even that small movement was painful, Elise opened her eyes and a high cream ceiling with a wide frieze beneath it came into focus.

It was the ceiling of her own bedroom in their house in Kowloon.

She shifted her head slightly on the pillow and saw Gordon sitting beside the bed. He looked oddly uncomfortable, she thought, though for the moment she could not quite place the expression on his face.

He leaned forward. ‘How are you feeling?'

‘Awful!' She said it lightly, though it was in fact an understatement. Her head throbbed, her cheek burned and her whole body ached. Then memory returned and her hands flew to her stomach. ‘My baby …'

‘It's all right. Your baby is all right.'

But only feeling the bulge of her stomach would convince her and as she traced its rise, weak tears squeezed from the comers of her eyes.

‘I thought I was going to lose it.'

‘You almost did. It was a very close thing.'

‘Oh …'

‘But you didn't – the baby's fine. Now it's you we have to worry about.'

She tried to move, but every bone and muscle screamed a protest.

‘Oh, I'm sorry! Making an exhibition of myself like that, at the Peninsula of all places.'

‘I'm the one who should say I am sorry.' Gordon's hand covered hers on the quilt, but it was strangely tentative and suddenly she identified the expression which she had been unable to recognise on his face – it was guilt.

He shouldn't feel guilty! she thought. He was a thoroughly nice man – a good husband – and I drove him to behave like a monster.

‘I couldn't think of anything but you and him,' he said, his mouth twisting bitterly, and she turned her hand over so that her fingers curled around his.

‘Don't! Don't say anything more. I hurt you; how could I blame you for wanting to hurt me?'

‘But not that way … There was no excuse … I didn't stop to think what I was doing to you until I saw you lying there on the steps. It brought me to my senses, I suppose.'

‘That's all right, Gordon.' She didn't want to talk about it, even now. The last months had been so painful in too many ways.

‘Look – Elise – I know now is not the time for long discussions, but I wanted to tell you how sorry I am and ask if we can't make a fresh start? For Alex's sake, if not for our own. I'm willing to try if you are.'

She was silent for a moment. Then she looked up at him.

‘I still have the baby. How do you feel about that?'

She felt the tremor in his fingers.

‘If we are really trying to make a new beginning, perhaps I ought not to tell you. But put it this way: I will try to feel differently if you will promise me that Brittain is over and done with. Does that sound fair to you?'

Her eyes were far away. Fair? When her heart was still weeping for Brit? Fair? When she knew if he stood here now she would go to him in an instant, loving him, unable to help herself?

But he was not here and he would never be again. She had sent him away and he had gone, bitter and disillusioned. Her life was with Gordon now, as it always had been; and as he said, for the sake of the children if not for themselves, they must try to make things work out.

She would never love him as she loved Brit. But what was love? Something that brought a little pleasure and a great deal of pain.

‘I'll do my best, Gordon.'

It was the only thing she could say – the only hope of a future for any of them.

Her eyes were drooping again and as she slept, Gordon sat with his hand on hers. But as she drifted in the half-world between sleeping and waking, it seemed to her that the touch was someone else's and the longing that would never leave her whispered through her veins like a sigh.

‘Brit – oh Brit, my love.'

As the hot, steamy months of summer sweltered past, the strangely unreal atmosphere surrounding Hong Kong intensified.

Air raid wardens had been recruited and there were frequent blackout drills; petrol rationing was discussed and a Wartime Taxation Committee reconstituted.

Much to his disgust, Gordon had been mobilised into the Volunteer Defence Corps which Hugh had been so eager to join and which had now been extended to include all British subjects between the ages of eighteen and fifty-five; there were even simulated emergencies designed to test the ability of the Kowloon Civil Defence to deal with possible bombing raids.

But at the same time, social life was as gay and gracious as it had ever been. Horses still raced at the Happy Valley Racecourse, thousands flocked to see a China Products Exhibition; piano recitals and concerts were still well attended; dinner parties and supper dances still took place in the Rose Room and Roof Garden at the Peninsula and the lobby of the Hong Kong Hotel. And if the proceeds were sent more often than not to fighting funds, the implications were lost on the majority of those who attended these events.

Since the night of her fall, Elise had stopped trying to persuade Gordon to let her take Alex away. With life going on as it always had, it was easy to be lulled into a false sense of security and to believe, along with Gordon, that nothing was going to happen. And Elise knew instinctively that it would be a waste of her breath trying to convince him otherwise. Besides, although they were both making great efforts their marriage was very uncertain still; it took more than one day's goodwill and one moment's pledges to mend the bridges their months of antagonism had burned, and it would never survive a long separation, Elise thought. To leave now would certainly be the end and though they never discussed it, she was sure that Gordon must feel the same.

But towards the end of November Gordon's attitude began to change.

‘I've been making some enquiries to see whether perhaps you could take Alex to Singapore for a while,' he said over dinner on evening.

She looked at him in surprise and he went on, ‘De Gama has friends there with whom you could stay and there is a substantial British presence that makes it the safest place in Malaysia.'

She set down her fork. ‘ I thought you said that Hong Kong was safe. What has made you change your mind?'

‘I haven't changed my opinion. But I heard some rather disturbing news today. Apparently the Japanese manager of the barber's shop at the Hong Kong Hotel has tendered his resignation – supposedly due to ill-health. But what makes it rather odd is that all the other Japanese personnel are going too. It may mean nothing, of course. On the other hand, if you want to be pessimistic, you could give it a rather sinister interpretation.'

‘That an invasion is imminent, you mean?' she said.

‘Well, it is a possibility, isn't it? I must admit I have noticed ‘‘closed shop'' signs going up on Jap businesses for some weeks now. As I say, it may be a coincidence. And even if the Japs do decide to have a go at Hong Kong, I have every confidence in our defences. But all the same, it could be an unpleasant time.'

‘Would you come with us?'

‘Just long enough to see you settled in. I couldn't be away for too long.'

A chill gnawed suddenly at her stomach. Bad signs or no bad signs, it was disconcerting to have Gordon do an about-turn in this way. Did he know something she didn't – about Brit, perhaps?

That he would be no further threat even if they were separated – or on the other hand, that he was back in Hong Kong even?