The Son (13 page)

Meanwhile at the office things were happening. On Sunday Hao had gone back with Viv – they had become allies – and together they had repaired as much of the damage as they could. Apart from tossing everything upside down my assailants had done little lasting damage. By Monday things were almost back to normal. Vivien rang to reassure me and told me what they'd done. She regarded Hao with something like awe.

‘She's coming back later today. Would you mind if she helped with the interviewing? We're having a lot of responses to Saturday's ads.'

‘Has she done this sort of thing before?'

‘No, but she's very good, Paul. She's much more than a secretary. She runs the whole office for them, back in Leeds. I'm sure she'll be alright.'

‘Oh alright,' I grumbled. I was in no shape to argue.

Later Viv reported. ‘She did those interviews marvellously,' she enthused. ‘Much better than I could. She's a real treasure, Paul, I'll be sorry when she's gone.'

So will I, I thought, not wanting to think that far ahead.

On Wednesday Quang came back, without his friend the unlicensed doctor. Loc was due in the first week in May, and large-scale demonstrations were being organised in both Sydney and Canberra.

‘By the Mad Buffaloes?'

‘Not just them, the whole community. But they're involved alright, they're right in the thick of it. They really are barking up the wrong tree, you know. They should be supporting him, not attacking him. If anybody's got a chance of changing things in Vietnam it's him, and people like him. But they're blinded by their hatred and their resentment.'

‘You like him, don't you,' I said.

‘Well, he's such an unusual man, for a communist. Did I tell you that he lost most of his family in the war? He was badly wounded himself once, in a B-52 raid. But he bears no bitterness, he doesn't hate the Americans. He saw it as an inevitable part of the struggle. I remember him telling me, it's all history now, we won, that's what matters, now and the future. It's up to us to make it work. If he'd had his way there would have been far less of all this re-education.'

He was getting carried away again.

About the Mad Buffaloes there wasn't much to add. Vo Khanh was just what he appeared to be, an unreconstructed hot-head.

‘It's Ho Xuan Bach I'm worried about,' he said. ‘I'm pretty certain now that he's behind them. He's attended a couple of meetings, and one of his assistants is also involved, that man Binh I told you about. Have you heard anything from your young man?'

‘Not yet. I had a good talk with him, and he seemed to take it seriously, but he hasn't come back to me.'

‘Let me know when he does. I'd like to ask him some questions. Did you know that back in Vietnam Bach was doing good business with the communists, before he escaped? He got out in 1981, organised a large boat with all his family and friends, made it out to Pulau Bidong off the Malaysian coast, over two hundred and thirty in all. But before that he'd managed to stay in business, working with the army, it seems he even helped them prepare for the invasion of Cambodia in '79, he had a factory that made military equipment, tents and things like that. That's how business goes, deep down, they always follow the money. He must have managed to get a lot of money out, because as soon as he came to Australia he started up again in business, buying up real estate. He's very clever. But it's his role in the Mad Buffaloes I want to know more about. Let me know when you hear from the young man.'

That afternoon Eric rang me. Hao was out, we spoke freely.

‘I can't do it,' he said. ‘I know what they did was wrong, but I just can't.'

‘Have you said anything to them?'

‘Only that I'd come to see you. I said my aunt made me. I didn't tell them what we talked about, I just said they shouldn't have done it, they'd gone too far. They said they only wanted to frighten you, but you fought back and – things got out of hand. They said they didn't mean to hurt you like that.'

That wasn't the way it had felt.

‘They said they won't bother you again. But I can't betray them, Mr Quinn – Paul. I hope you understand.'

There was an unusual note of apology in his voice, as if he really felt sorry for what had happened.

‘Well, I hope you can still come round, at least while your aunt's here. My daughter's coming up, I'd like you to meet her.'

‘I'd like that.'

Soon after there was another phone call. This one was for Hao, from her office in Leeds. She was still out and I offered to take a message.

‘It's probably easier if I call again later.' A man's voice, English, managerial, a little bossy but otherwise pleasant, with that flat smooth tone which gives nothing away. ‘Are you the friend she's been looking after? I understand you've had an accident.'

‘That's right,' I said cautiously.

‘How are you now? Getting better?'

‘Improving slowly. Who shall I say called?'

A slight hesitation.

‘Tell her it's George. She'll understand.'

‘Will do. I'm Paul.'

‘Thank you Paul. I hope you get well soon.'

I passed Hao the message as soon as she returned. She didn't say anything, and when George rang again that evening, at my suggestion she took the call in the study. It lasted a good half hour. When she came out she looked troubled and a little angry.

‘Everything alright?' I asked.

‘Yes,' she said shortly. ‘It was just my office, They wanted to know when I'm getting back. I told them I didn't know yet.'

Going by her expression, I thought there must be more to it.

By chance Eric was there on the Friday when Rachel arrived, having caught an afternoon flight and a taxi from the airport. She gasped at the sight of my face, gave me a hug a little too tight for comfort, and looked enquiringly at Hao and Eric. I introduced them.

‘Hao's been kind enough to look after me since my incident. You don't mind using the study? I've given her the second bedroom. Eric's just visiting.'

They smiled politely at each other and made the right noises, and then Hao withdrew, taking Eric with her. And the questions began.

‘Who is she, Dad, and what's the connection? You've never mentioned her before.'

‘She's just a friend, to coin a phrase. Someone I met a long time ago in Vietnam. No, don't go fantasizing, she was never my girlfriend, and Eric isn't my natural son. Things are exactly what they seem.' Liar, liar! ‘She's visiting from Britain.'

She stared, clearly not believing me.

‘Are you sleeping with her?' she asked with all the tact of a sixteen-year-old.

‘In my condition? I have enough trouble sleeping on my own, thank you very much!'

‘Well … you know Mum's remarrying.'

‘You told me. Bernard, isn't it? What's he like?' She told me. Bear-like, balding, and kind. Should make a good stepfather.

‘What about you, Dad? Thinking of remarrying?'

‘You're the second person who's asked me that in a fortnight. Can't you women bear the sight of a man on his own?'

She saw through my bluff with the sharpness of a professional poker player.

‘She'd be good for you.'

‘Really? Maybe she has other ideas. And how would you cope with a Vietnamese step-mother?'

‘In this day and age? Come on, Dad. Just because you sent me to an expensive girls' school. We're not all racists in the stockbroker belt.'

That evening we had a companionable meal together, cooked by Hao, with several Vietnamese dishes which Rachel certainly enjoyed, and their wariness slowly dissipated as they talked while doing the dishes. I expected more caution with Eric, and they took their time sniffing each other out: the rough-looking lad with the suspicious eyes, the cool-eyed red-head with the imperious tilt to her chin. I foresaw clashes and was pleased when they sat and talked on the balcony.

‘Bit of alright, your daughter,' he muttered to me before she walked him to the bus stop.

‘He's yummy,' she confided when she came back. ‘Are you sure he's not my half-brother?'

‘You'd like that, wouldn't you!'

Before the weekend was out she and Hao were talking like old friends, and when it came for her to leave she spontaneously gave Hao a hug. ‘Thank you for looking after my Dad,' she said. ‘He does some silly things at times, but he's the only one I have and I wouldn't want to lose him.'

On Sunday the weather turned nasty, cold squalls from the south whipping up the harbour and rattling the windows. Eric came round again but we stayed indoors, until late afternoon when I drove Rachel to the airport. I wasn't sure why he had come, to see his aunt or Rachel, and there was a worried look about him. When I asked what was the matter he shook his head. He spent much time talking with Rachel.

‘He's nice,' she said again as she kissed me goodbye in the car. I was still too ugly to show my face in public. ‘They're both nice. I hope she stays.' So did I, but I didn't hold much hope.