To Be the Best (30 page)

Paula had laughed, had exclaimed, ‘Oh, I trust you all right, Emily. You had a sharp eye even as a child. I think that’s one of the reasons Grandy gave you Genret to run.’

In the course of several hectic days they did all of their Christmas shopping, buying important gifts as well as stocking-fillers and tree presents. They purchased pearls, jade jewellery, cufflinks for the men in the family, embroidered silks and brocades, Chinese evening jackets and cheongsams, beaded evening bags, unusual wooden toys, cloisonné, hand-embroidered linens, trinkets and knick-knacks.

Emily had suggested they pay a visit to Hollywood Road, just above Central, explaining that this was an imperative, and Paula quickly discovered that she was right. Many of the more important antique shops and art galleries were located here, and as they had gone on the rounds Paula had been enchanted by the artifacts on display. She had bagged an ancient nefrite vase for Jason, who collected Oriental art, and a beautiful antique jade necklace for her mother.

And in between the shopping expeditions and all manner of exotic meals in unique restaurants, Emily had arranged a few other fascinating excursions. She had taken Paula to Aberdeen Harbour, where thousands of Boat People lived and worked on junks and sampans; they had made a trip to the New Territories on Kowloon side; had driven up to the top of misty Victoria Peak to see the spectacular view; and visited various temples and shrines.

On the flight from Sydney, Paula’s travelling companion, Don Metcalfe, had said he would like to take her and Emily out to dinner before they left for New York. And this he had done the previous night. They had gone with him on the hydrofoil to Macau, the Portuguese enclave at the entrance to the Pearl River, just fifty minutes away, where they had dined in an elaborate restaurant before visiting some of the famous gambling casinos. It had been a memorable evening. They had enjoyed themselves tremendously with Don, who had kept them laughing and highly entertained; Emily, in particular, had been excited by the trip to Macau, where she had never been and had always wanted to go.

In the early hours of the morning, when Paula had finally fallen into bed exhausted, it struck her that they had packed in more in a few days than she had imagined possible. Every minute of her stay in Hong Kong had been enjoyable, and being alone with Emily had been an added bonus. It reminded her of the trips they had taken together as girls, and she felt young again, lighthearted, almost carefree.

Today was their last day in Hong Kong; they were taking the night flight to New York. Emily had been determined that she see the beautiful Regent hotel in Kowloon, and the unparalleled view of Hong Kong Island from this vantage point. And so they had gone there for lunch. She had had to get up very early to do her packing first, but it had been worth
making the effort. The lunch and the view would linger in her mind and memory for a long time.

Immediately after lunch, they had caught the Star Ferry back to Central. Emily had made for the hotel to finish her suitcases; Paula had returned to the jewellery shop where she had seen a pair of exquisite earrings, which she wanted to buy as a Christmas gift for Emily.

Once inside the shop, Paula had bargained in the way she had seen Emily doing it for the last few days. Much to her surprise and enormous delight, she had won the earrings at a far better price than she had expected. And now, as she walked the short distance to the hotel, she was filled with a great sense of satisfaction at this small success.

Hurrying across the lobby of the Mandarin, Paula realized she was twenty minutes late to meet her cousin for tea. And so she headed straight for their point of rendezvous, the Clipper Lounge, which floated like a gallery above the lobby on the mezzanine floor, and ran lightly up the steps.

Emily saw her, raised her hand in greeting.

Paula waved back.

A moment later she was sitting down in one of the comfortable chairs facing Emily.

‘Sorry I’m late. The last hour just flew by,’ Paula said with an apologetic smile.

‘It’s all right. I’ve not been here long, and you know I love this place. I feel as if I’m on a boat, what with the brass portholes and all this mahogany. Oh, and before I forget – ’ Emily opened her handbag, fished around, handed Paula two small envelopes, and finished, ‘These were in the suite waiting for you when I got back after lunch.’

‘Oh telexes! Thanks, darling.’ Paula took them, opened the first, scanned it quickly, then read the second. She pursed her lips, filling with disappointment. One was from Michael Kallinski in London, the other from Harvey Rawson in New York, and both effectively said the same
thing: Peale and Doone, the small chain of stores in the Midwest, had been sold right under their noses to another buyer. Too bad, she thought, the chain would have been a good beginning for my expansion programme. On the other hand, she had never been quite as enthusiastic as Michael about the locations of the shops. This thought consoled her a little.

Emily was watching Paula closely. She said, ‘Is something wrong at home?’

‘No, no, nothing like that,’ Paula responded quickly, reassuringly. ‘These are business telexes.’

‘Oh. Who from?’ Emily probed, as usual inquisitive.

‘One’s from Michael, the other from a Wall Street lawyer who was doing some work for me.’ Paula smiled faintly. ‘A deal we wanted didn’t come off. Now, let’s order. I think I’m going to have the mulberry tea again. I’ve grown rather partial to it.’

‘Yes, I’ll have the same.’ Emily swung her blonde head, caught the attention of the waiter, motioned to him.

Once she had given the order, she leaned across the table, levelled her shrewd green eyes at her cousin. ‘What kind of deal didn’t come off?’ When Paula did not immediately answer, Emily remarked, ‘It must have been something important to you. I noticed how put out you looked.’

Paula nodded. ‘Actually, I
was
disappointed, Emily. I was hoping to buy a small chain of stores in the States. Unfortunately, we missed getting them by a hair’s breadth.’

‘Why do you want to buy more stores?’ Emily was perplexed, and she frowned.

‘I’ve been wanting to expand Harte’s in America. Buying an existing chain seems to be the best way to go about it to me, Emily.’

‘One store in America was enough for Gran. Why would
you
want more?’

‘Times have changed radically. You know that as well as I
do. I must expand, darling, it’s the only way to survive as a retailer today.’

Emily said, in her blunt way, ‘I think you’re biting off more than you can chew, if you ask me.’

Paula laughed. ‘Now how many times did our grandmother tell us that everyone said
that
to her, and throughout her life, too, and
she
never paid a blind bit of notice.’

Ignoring this comment, Emily said strongly, ‘I bet Shane agrees with me. What does
he
think about this expansion idea of yours?’

‘Well, very frankly, Emily, I haven’t had a chance to tell him yet. This summer the south of France was so hectic, and there seemed no point in bringing it up until there was a chain available. And the week we were together, before I left for Australia, was so rushed, you know.’

‘I don’t think he’ll like it, Paula. You’ve enough to keep you pretty busy, what with Harte’s in London, Paris and Yorkshire, Sitex Oil, and the boutiques in the hotels.’

‘Grandy used to tell us that organization was the key to everything, and that an organized woman had the world by the balls.’

‘That’s true, she did say that. Nevertheless, Shane
won’t
be happy. And there’s something else, Paula. I don’t think Gran would approve of this idea of yours if she were alive.’

‘Nonsense! Of course she would! She’d see the wisdom behind my plans,’ Paula cried spiritedly, sounding confident. She drew closer to Emily, and began to outline her plans for the future of the Harte stores in the United States.

Emily listened attentively, nodding from time to time.

Both women were so absorbed in their conversation neither of them saw the man who was regarding them intently from the stairs leading up to the Clipper Lounge.

He was stunned at the sight of the two women, and was momentarily rooted to the spot. Recovering himself rapidly,
he pivoted, ran down the steps, sped across the lobby, and went out through the front door.

The blood rushed to the man’s head, and he filled with a fulminating rage as he raced back to Pedder Street, dodging in and out, pushing past people almost violently in his haste and anxiousness to put distance between himself and the Mandarin.

Exactly two minutes after leaving the hotel, he was standing in the elevator, riding up to the top floor of the skyscraper where his company, Janus and Janus Holdings Ltd, was housed. Avoiding the front entrance, and in so doing bypassing the large outer offices where his staff worked, he hurried down the long corridor, let himself in through the private door.

This opened into a foyer, handsomely furnished with Chinese antiques, which in turn led through double mahogany doors to his inner sanctum, luxuriously appointed, with a stunning view of Victoria Harbour visible through a wall of plate glass.

Going straight to the small mirrored bar, he poured himself a straight vodka. To his annoyance his hand shook as he lifted the glass to his mouth. He downed the drink, strode over to his desk, flipped on the intercom.

‘Yes, sir?’ his English secretary said.

‘Please have Lin Wu bring the Daimler around to the front, Peggy, I’m leaving early today. And I’ll sign my letters now.’

‘Yes, sir, I’ll be right in with them.’ He arranged a suitably inscrutable expression on his face, and sat down, willing his anger to subside.

His rage lingered.

He carried it with him in the Daimler on the drive up the Peak to his home. It was still with him now as he sat in the library of his elegant duplex apartment, going through his personal mail. The rage was of a kind he had not experienced for the longest time, and the fact that he had reacted so strongly when he had seen the two women had unnerved him. He seethed inside, and with good reason. However, he knew he must bring the anger under control. He dare not allow emotion to cloud his vision or flaw his judgement.

He put the half dozen or so social invitations, various thank-you notes, and personal letters to one side, pushed the carved rosewood chair away from the antique rosewood desk, went out into the gallery.

It was from this long and spacious hallway that the other rooms in the apartment flowed; a staircase at one end led up to the second floor. He crossed the flowing space, walking in the direction of the drawing room, thinking how restful the gallery was after the busy activity of his offices. It never failed to give him pleasure. The floor was stained ebony and highly polished, the walls white and hung with his collection of very fine Chinese paintings by past masters, dating from the fifteenth century to the present.

Drawing to a standstill in front of an ink-on-paper painting by Sun Kehong, dated 1582, he straightened it, then stood back, regarded it for a prolonged moment, smiling, nodding to himself in appreciation of its refinement, elegance and simple beauty.

Moving slowly, he continued along the gallery, admiring the art he had so lovingly assembled. The gallery was sparse,
the only piece of furniture a console table made of ebony upon which rested a carved celadon vase with a cover from the Qianlong period, balanced by two white nefrite rams carved in the Song spirit. At the far end, against a short wall, glass shelves suspended on brass chains from the ceiling appeared to float, held his prized collection of rare Ming bronzes.

Recessed ceiling spots, discreet, strategically placed, illuminated the art; these were the only lights and this area of the apartment was dim, shadowy, tranquil. He lingered, allowed the peacefulness to penetrate his bones, calm his turbulent spirit, in the way he had learned to do over these many years.

After a short while, he entered the drawing room, and his face changed, lit up, and so lost some of its tightness. He hovered in the doorway.

It was early evening, and the mist was rolling down the Peak. Outside the long wall of window, the sweeping view of Hong Kong, Victoria Harbour and Kowloon across the water was slightly obscured. Familiar images were smudged, indistinct, wrapped in a haze of greyed blues and whites, the colour combination reminding him of the faded glaze on a piece of ancient Chinese porcelain. Ah Qom, the Chinese amah who had looked after him and his home since the beginning, had turned on the silk-shaded carved jade lamps and lighted the fire, and this airy graceful room of perfect proportions was bathed in warm and mellow light. It welcomed him.

Huge overstuffed sofas and chairs, covered in pale blue and lavender and grey Thai silks by Jim Thompson, were balanced by Chinese cabinets, chests, and tables of varying sizes and shapes made of black or dark-red lacquered wood. Wherever he looked, his eyes rested on an object of rare beauty. His possessions were meaningful to him. They gave him great satisfaction, nourished him, helped to restore his mood when he was feeling out of sorts.

He felt this lightening now, and a return to normal, and he moved forward across the antique Chinese silk carpet, sat down on the sofa. He knew that in a moment, Ah Qom’s niece, Mee Seen, would bring his jasmine tea, as she usually did half an hour after he had been home, no matter what time he returned from the office. It was a ritual, as so many things were a ritual here.

This thought had no sooner passed through his head, when the pretty, delicately-formed Chinese girl in her black silk cheongsam came hurrying in with the tray.

Smiling and bowing, she placed it on the low table in front of him.

He thanked her graciously, inclining his head.

Smiling and bowing, she departed.

He poured the fragrant tea into the small, paper-thin porcelain bowl, drank it quickly, poured another, sipped this more slowly, let his mind relax and empty itself of all thoughts. After savouring a third bowl, he placed it on the dark-red lacquer tray, leaned his head against the sofa, and closed his eyes.