Jade Woman

38

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WHERE are you going, Lovejoy?” She was sitting upright in bed. I’d got halfway to the door.

“Oh. Hello, love. Trying not to wake you.” I smiled my sincerest, inventing. “Er, just down to the lobby shops.”

“You’re not going to that Digga Dig? Because those bitches are up against a real American woman right here, and—”

“Didn’t I promise?” I waxed indignant. “I’ve ordered a little present in reception for you, Lorna.”

“Oh, darling. How sweet you are.” She beckoned, clutched me. “From now on just you remember it’s us two, capeesh? Once I clinch the merger for Brookers Gelman, I’ll be here permanently.”

“Great, love.” We’d already gone through this tiresome tirade but she was still misty.

“And you’ll be advisory consultant, darling.”

“Great, darling.” I declutched and headed for the door.

“Lovejoy. Where is Steerforth? Only, Mame’s—”

“Dunno, love. I’ll ask if there’s a message.”

And escaped thankfully. Where do women get their determination?

The Digga Dig was warming up for the evening. This was the first time I’d called since the terrible business three days ago. Chok and the other waiters were pleased to see me. Fourteen letters, three cables, and six presents had arrived for me. Nobody mentioned Steerforth’s mail. He’d vanished, and Hong Kong determinedly took no notice. I opened the missives, forgot the presents. Sundry Carmens, Olgas, Lavinias, and Marias made impassioned offers. From dates given, some troublers were already here. And, most ominous of all, a speculative note from Janie, of all people, saying she’d had a private detective trace me to the Digga Dig. She was at the Hilton. Gulp.

One bird from America included an air ticket to New York. I cheered up. Maybe they’d cash it for me, a rebate? I borrowed some notepaper, and scribbled the same sad message to each of the women threatening arrival. I put, “Dearest, I’m so sorry that I can’t see you right now, only I’ve fallen on hard times and I’m too ashamed. Perhaps in another few weeks, if you are still around… ? Love and cheers, Lovejoy.” It sounded just right, because women never want a penniless bloke.

Avoiding the temptation to see what had happened at Steerforth’s flat, I crossed to the Hong Kong side and lazily caught the tram, walking left and up Cleverly Street to my studio.

It was like old times. The panel where I’d concealed my killer copy had been invisibly repaired. The studio would need a good going over before it could be used again as a faker’s studio, of course. I locked up and walked into the Mologai, up towards Hollywood Road, with Cat Street on my right. The message had said six o’clock, plenty of time, so I paused and had a bowl of rice and vegetables between the jade stall and the phony coinmonger. I didn’t know how long this meeting with the ultimate boss would take and I get famished easily. A silent foki followed me, but I’d crashed the terror barrier.

Sixish, I was sitting on the curb by the temple. Traffic was diminishing. The old opium smokers were emerging opposite for the evening cool, sucking on their gigantic bamboo stems.

Listening, I heard him coming, his little poles going clack-clack above that familiar trundle.

“Wotcher, Titch,” I said, sarcastic. “All right for money?”

“Evening, Lovejoy.”

He did his braking trick, sparks flying from the wheels. “Are you?”

“Don’t you ever get out of breath, getting about like that?” I was curious.

“Good heavens, no. Second nature. We lepers adapt.”

“Aye. You manage all right, Titch.” I hesitated. “One thing. No offense intended with the nickname—”

“Please. I like it. Local color’s the best protection.”

“That why you don’t go about in a specially adapted Rolls?”

“Something like that.” He gave me quite a shy glance. “Sorry about Steerforth, but when he tried lifting that extra painting, obviously for his own gain, he deserved punishment. Of course the place was watched.” He anticipated my question and gave a lopsided shrug. “I ordered Dr. Chao to promise him immunity from harm if he divulged your message. He was then ordered to execute you. He’d done that sort of thing before for us.”

“Immunity? But your people topped him.”

“We lied to him, Lovejoy,” Titch said calmly. “One small point: How did you know Fatty had exceeded his permitted squeeze?”

“He killed Johny Chen for a trivial purchase Johny made at my request.”

“Ah. He reported that it was because Chen withheld commission.” He gave his uneven grin. “You were lucky, Lovejoy. Did you really plan it all as it came out?”

“No. But I made an offering to Kuan Ti like you said.”

He was delighted and laughed so much he started rolling off the pavement and I had to stop him. He sobered. “You’ve placed a few strange orders yourself, Lovejoy.” So he’d heard; inevitable.

“Only one, really. At a paper shop I once passed, Kowloon side.”

He sniffed censoriously. “They’re very expensive, Lovejoy. Cheaper nearer Boundary Street. Sim’d have got you a special price.”

“Will it matter if I don’t know her parents’ names?”

“I’ll see you get their parents’ full written names. You’ve ordered it for tonight, I believe.”

“Yes.” I thought a second. “Their parents? Plural?”

“Marilyn and Ling Ling are half-sisters, of course.”

“The parents kept Marilyn?”

“Yes. But exposed the next girl baby on the hillside to die. It happened a lot in those days, Lovejoy. Still does, one form or another.”

“And you happened along.” I eyed him. “Good of you, seeing you have your own difficulties.”

“She was all I had,” Titch said simply. “I’d just learned I was a leper. I went up to the mountain to… to do I don’t know what. I was actually there, alone and freezing on the summit, when the flakes came. I must be the only indigenous to’ve been snowed on here.”

“Then you found Ling Ling?”

“She was one of two. I picked her up. She was perfect even then. Can you imagine? Me a leper, my corruption diagnosed that day probably at the exact time that perfect child was born? Like a sick joke. I only took her from, what, curiosity. Maybe to lessen my horror. I paid an amah to look after her. I became like her father. When she showed as she truly was, she was six years old. By then I was working for the Triad, one of a flock of messengers, street people. Naturally Ling Ling received everything from then on.

Genius, gifted, perfectly beautiful. She became full jade at fifteen, the earliest ever since ancient times. Her brilliance in commerce brought great luck to the Triad.”

“Clover ever after, eh? And you the boss?”

“One boss, Lovejoy.” He seemed to blush. “I went to school, a private pupil, late-evening classes on my own at one of the great schools. Kennedy Road. I’ve a degree now.”

“Why can’t you… ?”

“Become a superman?” He held out his arms in display. “Once it’s advanced, it’s basically a repair job. The leper island hospital at Hey Ling Chau did its best, but I am as I am. Did you know I’m not really infectious?” His bowl of food.

“No, but you’ve an honest face. Which brings me to Marilyn.”

He gave his grating laugh. “Marilyn? Once Ling Ling became influential in the Triad, I had them take on Marilyn. I’d found all the relatives by then. Ling Ling could never come to terms with being literally cast out—though her parents were bone poor.”

I’d guessed all that from the day at Stanley. “Where is she, Titch?”

“Didn’t you worm it out of Lorna, Lovejoy?” He was honestly surprised. “She’s temporarily with Brookers Gelman, New York.”

“Safe?”

“Certainly. She sends her love, Lovejoy.” He watched while I worked something out, then shook his head. “No. Sorry, but you can’t take up the Brookers Gelman offer of local rep.”

“I haven’t said anything of the kind!” I said indignantly, shifting my feet so a hawker’s barrow could get past.

“Of course not,” Titch said politely. “But you shall be the consultant for each Song Ping painting manufactured by us. You’ll authenticate it. Your pay will be freedom.”

“I can go?” Penniless, inevitably.

“You must, and soon. We’ll be in touch, Lovejoy. About once a year.”

I stood. These moments always embarrass.

“Here, Titch. How does it feel being a taipan, guv’nor of… well, practically everything?”

He said after a moment, “Second-best, Lovejoy. To any healthy layabout.”

Wish I hadn’t asked. “Give my love to Marilyn. And thanks.” Well, he’d vetoed the Triad’s decision to top me.

“It was nothing, Lovejoy.” He did his smile.

“Not much,” I said with feeling. “Tara, Titch.”

“Good-bye, Lovejoy. And don’t keep Ling Ling too long. She’s hostessing an international banking convention tonight.”

Chance’d be a fine thing. “I promise.” I walked off.

Go towards Pok Fu Lam on Hong Kong Island, and before you reach the big hospital, there’s a garden center. On the right is a road that circuits Mount Davis, with the cemetery occupying a scoop of terracing which falls towards Sandy Bay. Stonemasons work at the bottom under awnings during daylight. Now, it was all in dusk, pinned to a velvet backcloth with golden lantern points. I told the driver to wait, got the little scroll, and made my way into the graveyard. The stone seats and tables, the stone armchair graves still puzzled me. How on earth did they originate? I didn’t have to go far.

Three fokis were chatting and smoking. They had a number of lanterns and a torch. A full-scale meal was laid out on a marble grave table, lanterns and cutlery and heated trays. It would have fed a regiment, let alone a couple of hungry ghosts. “Splendid,” I said, to delight the fokis.

I had barely finished paying them when Ling Ling’s footsteps spun us round, the fokis exclaiming in awed admiration. Leung and Ong were with her, and one woman. It wasn’t Marilyn. Ong reached across to give me an airline ticket. “Midnight,” he said. “Be there.” Four other goons moved shadowly on the road above us.

“Thanks for coming, love,” I said to Ling Ling. She stood silently looking at the paper house on the path. I coughed. “Maybe it’s a rotten idea. Blame me.”

She gave a quiet command. The rest left, Ling Ling’s people noisily asking the paper men how much it had cost. She was motionless until the sounds had receded.

“Who is this for, Lovejoy?”

“These.” I gave her the scroll. I’d paid a fortune to have a calligrapher transcribe the two names Titch had sent me onto genuine silk. Slowly she sank on a stone seat, looking round at the graves.

“I’ve never seen my parents’ names written, Lovejoy.” She was a picture in the lantern light, the trees behind her, the stone sculpted all about in fantasy compositions. “I’ve forbidden people to speak their names aloud.”

Oh, hell. Another Lovejoy winner. How do I think up these perennial losers? She gestured to the lantern. I took it up. By its light she slowly inspected the paper house, nodded imperceptible approval at its paper garden, its wealth of paper clothes laid in its bedrooms, its piles of hell money adorning the paper gateways. It took her a few minutes. Then her hand made a slight movement.

For a second I hesitated—were ritual words in order? Also, local gods went big on incense, and like a fool I’d not brought any—then knelt, lit a hell banknote off the lantern and touched the flame to the paper house. It fired with a whoosh. For a second I glimpsed Ling Ling’s face shining tears in the firelight, then it was simply hot dusk while Ling Ling’s handbag softly went click! on the scroll.

We traveled through Kennedy Town, at my request. Ling Ling had had me fetched into her magnificent Rolls. Her attendant amah sat looking out at the lights and traffic. The sight of all the folk stopping to give that delighted exclamation, “Waaaaiiieeeh!”

unnerved me. I felt in a moving greenhouse. Plus Ling Ling was silent. Angry? I knew I’d put my foot in it, as always.

I’d asked to be dropped outside the Capital Triple-A Bar in Wan Chai, thinking to escape the tourists and have a drink, so when Ling Ling commanded me to remain seated I drew breath to expostulate, but stayed quiet. I could catch a tram back.

We stopped at a splendid hotel. I alighted, turning to wave her off, but the Rolls stayed and Ling Ling descended.

“One hour’s delay,” she told her driver, and glided regally in. I dithered, followed with apologetic glances at the umpteen doormen.

“Er, Ling Ling. Titch said I wasn’t to delay you…”

Her woman shepherded me to the lift. Ling Ling made an imperial progress, people standing aside, even applauding, undermanagers scrambling ahead, reaching doors in the nick of time. I tried to look stern, a hood in her pay or something worthy.

Except I found myself inside her royal suite with the doors closing behind me and two amahs coming at me to take off my jacket and pulling me gently towards the private steam room.

“Ling Ling!” I yelped, fending them off. Women seem to be all fingers sometimes.

“Let them prepare you, Lovejoy.” Her serene voice floated from the bedroom. It was full of hidden smiles. “You’re safe with me.”

An hour later she had gone. I was dozing, half-seeing my reflection in the ceiling mirrors.

The end. Soon I’d be on the peat white bird winging homeward. Ong’s envelope contained a bundle of dollars, some pounds, my one-way air ticket. Ling Ling had been magic, perfect. The bliss moment, ecstasy and paradise in one. Aren’t women great?

She’d been so good to me: loving on that beach, agreeing with Titch to spare my life, and now giving me a woman’s most beautiful farewell. And I was alive. Something warmed my chest. I padded over to her dressing table. A pendant of genuine Han orange-peel jade leapt into my hand from a drawer. Honest, I didn’t search. It was suddenly there, its clever electrum mount gleaming. I’d promised one of these to Phyllis Surton. I strove to replace it—only a blackguard would steal from Ling Ling after all she’d done for me, right?

The phone rang. “Carmen who?” I said. “No, sorry. Nobody called Lovejoy here. Sorry.”

And got an earful of high-pitched splutter. I cut the line, dressed quicker than I’d intended.

It rang again. Like a fool I answered, thinking it might be Ling Ling.

“Lovejoy? Lorna. Where on earth have you been? Mame saw you in the foyer—”

Good old Mame. “Thank heaven you’ve phoned, love! A friend of mine has been taken seriously ill. Er, thrombophlebitis of the, er, liver bronchi.” I jiggled the receiver and made a scraping noise, cut the line. I froze as somebody knocked on the door.

“Lovejoy?”

Hellfire. Janie? Here? I ran about, frantic for escape. Bedroom, bathrooms, opened cupboards, flung the curtains aside.

“Lovejoy. Open—this—door! I know you’re in there.”

Fire exit? A notice in English and Chinese: “Fire Exit to Next Floor.” I tugged at the window. It opened on a steep iron staircase, miles above planet Earth.

“Lovejoy! I’ve had you followed…” Thump-thump-thump.

God, but fire escapes are scary. I clung to the windowsill.

“I’ve found out about you and those women, Lovejoy—”

Nothing for it. I crawled out of the window and down to the next floor. Lifting the window I found myself in a corridor below the royal suite. I hurried along and fled down the staircase, flight after bloody flight. The foyer loomed. I flung myself through.

“Lovejoy!” somebody called from a crowd. “Dwoorlink!”

A taxi was pulling out by the fountains. I ran after it, gasping, wrenched the door open, bawling, “Quick, quick!”

We shot off, tires squealing. I fell into the seat.

“Where?” the driver said, enjoying my panic.

Yes, where? I had two airline tickets on me. Ong’s one to London, plus one to America.

Titch had only said to leave Hong Kong, not where to. And home meant Big John Sheehan’s unrighteous anger. I fumbled in my pocket. Astonishingly, there was Ling Ling’s lovely jade pendant, the sort I’d promised Phyllis. How on earth had it got there?

Not so penniless after all.

Tough luck, Phyllis.

“America,” I told the driver. “Fast as you like.”

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