The Inscrutable Charlie Muffin

7

Their Formica-topped table had been separated from others in the restaurant by wheel-mounted plastic screens trundled squeakily across the bare-boarded floors and they had sat upon canvas-backed chairs. But the food had been magnificent. It was, decided Charlie, a Chinese restaurant for discerning Chinese.

‘It was good?’ enquired Jenny Lin Lee anxiously.

‘Superb,’ said Charlie honestly, smiling at her.

She hesitated, then smiled back. A man trained to see through the veil that people erect at first encounters, he was intrigued by the girl. Her frailty was practically waif-like, yet he felt none of the protectiveness that would have been a natural response. Instead, he was suspicious of it, imagining a barrier created with more guile than most people were capable of. A professionalism, in fact. But at what could she be professional? Her hair, obviously very long, was coiled thickly but demurely in a bun at the back of her head. She wore hardly any make-up, just a touch of colour to her lips, and looked more like Nelson’s daughter than his mistress. Certainly the broker behaved protectively towards her. But there was another attitude, too. A discomfort, decided Charlie. Definitely a discomfort.

Charlie was aware that he had held back because of his uncertainty, contributing to the awkwardness of the meal.

‘Would have tasted better with this,’ insisted Nelson thickly, raising his minute drinking thimble. Charlie had refused the Mao Tai, preferring beer. Jenny had chosen tea, so the insurance broker had consumed nearly all the bottle.

‘Nothing like whisky, though,’ said Nelson, as if the qualification were necessary. ‘That’s what they call it, you know. Chinese whisky.’

‘Yes,’ said Charlie.

‘There’s no better restaurant in the colony for Peking Duck,’ said Jenny quickly.

She’d realised Nelson’s increasing drunkenness and moved hurriedly to take attention from the man. They seemed equally protective towards one another, thought Charlie. It appeared an odd relationship. But then, who was he to judge? He’d never managed a proper relationship in his life. And now he would never have the chance.

‘It really was very good,’ he said.

‘It’s cooked over charcoal… and basted in honey,’ she said.

‘Australia are 160 for 5, by the way,’ said Nelson, adding to his thimble. He looked over the table, grinning apologetically.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Forgot you’re not a cricket fan.’

‘What are you interested in?’ asked Jenny.

Another rescue attempt, thought Charlie.

‘Hardly anything,’ he shrugged.

‘There must be something,’ persisted the girl.

Should have been, thought Charlie. Edith’s complaint too. The one he thought he could solve with the appropriated money.

‘ Enjoy ourselves now, Edith… my money, not yours… nothing we can’t do. ’

Except stay alive. And he’d killed her. By being bloody stupid. He’d killed her as surely as if he’d pressed the trigger. And he wouldn’t forget it, he knew. Not for a single minute of a single day.

‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘Nothing.’

New discomfort grew up between them at the collapse of the conversation, covered within minutes by the arrival of a waiter, clearing dishes and the rotating table centre upon which they had been arranged.

Jenny waited until fresh tea and more cups had been set out and then excused herself, pushing through the screen.

Very little to stay for, thought Charlie.

‘Jenny’s a very lovely girl,’ he said dutifully.

‘Of course she is,’ said Nelson.

Charlie frowned, both at the choice of words and the truculence. Nelson was quite drunk.

‘Now we’ve learned about the 12 per cent I know I’ll be dismissed for this damned policy,’ declared the broker obstinately. He was gazing down into his cup, talking more to himself than to Charlie.

‘I’ve told you…’ Charlie started, but Nelson talked on, unheeding.

‘And then they’ll laugh. My God, how they’ll laugh.’

‘Who?’ demanded Charlie.

‘People,’ said Nelson, looking at him for the first time. ‘All the people. That’s who’ll laugh.’

‘At what, for Christ’s sake!’

‘Jenny and me… but to my face, then. Not like now… behind my back.’

‘But why?’

‘Because they consider Robert has strayed outside a well-ordered system.’

Charlie turned at the girl’s voice. She was standing just inside the screen. She must have realised they had been discussing her, yet she was quite composed.

‘Sorry,’ mumbled Nelson. ‘Very sorry. Just talking…’

‘I think it’s time we left,’ she said, to Nelson. The tenderness in her expression was the first unguarded feeling she had permitted herself all evening.

‘Yes,’ agreed Nelson, realising he had created an embarrassment. ‘Time to go home.’

He tried to get his wallet from his pocket, but Jenny took it easily from him, settling the bill. She seemed practised in looking after him.

Nelson walked unsteadily between them out into Gloucester Road. There was a taxi at the kerbside and the broker slumped into it, sitting with his head thrown back, eyes closed.

‘He doesn’t usually drink this much,’ apologised the girl.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Charlie.

‘Oh, it does,’ she said urgently. ‘You mustn’t think he’s like this all the time. He’s not, normally. It’s because he’s worried about dismissal.’

‘I know. I’ve tried to make him understand, but he won’t listen.’

‘It would mean the end of everything for him, to be fired.’

She didn’t appear to believe him either, thought Charlie. What the hell did he have to do to convince them?

‘He tried to explain to me, back in the restaurant. But it was difficult for him.’

She seemed to consider the remark. Then she said, speaking more to herself than to Charlie, ‘Yes, sometimes it’s difficult for him.’

‘Thank you for the meal,’ said Charlie, as she started to enter the car. ‘It was a splendid evening.’

She turned at the door, frowning.

‘No it wasn’t,’ she said. ‘It was awful.’

On the Kowloon side of the harbour Harvey Jones stared around his room at the Peninsula Hotel, his body tight with excitement. Specially chosen, the deputy director had said. To prove himself. And by Christ, he was going to do just that.

Sure of the security of his locked room, the American took from his briefcase the documents identifying him as an official of the United States Maritime Authority, transferring them to his wallet. A perfect cover for the circumstances, he decided.

It was going to be difficult to sleep, despite the jet-lag. But he had to rest, if he were to perform properly. Carefully he tapped out a Seconal capsule, swilling it down with water from the bedside jug.

He hoped the fire wasn’t as straightforward as it appeared. He wanted there to be a startling explanation. Something that would surprise everyone. Impress them, too, when he revealed it.