Хеннинг Манкелль - The Man from Beijing

Why had Ho spent so much time in the public gallery of Birgitta’s courtroom? She didn’t understand Swedish. Or perhaps she did? And then she had suddenly had to rush back to London. What if Ho had only been there in order to keep an eye on Birgitta? Perhaps Ho had an accomplice who had spent hours rummaging through Birgitta’s home while the judge was sitting in court?

Right now I need somebody to talk to, she thought. Not Karin Wiman, she wouldn’t understand. Staffan or my children. But they are out at sea and unreachable.

Birgitta was just about to leave the cafe when she saw the door on the other side of the street open. Out came Ho, who started walking towards Leicester Square. It seemed to Birgitta that Ho was on her guard. Birgitta hesitated before emerging into the street and following her. When they came to the square, Ho entered the little park, then turned off towards the Strand. Birgitta kept expecting Ho to turn round to check if anybody was following her. She finally did just before they came to Zimbabwe House. Birgitta had time to lower her umbrella to hide her face but almost lost Ho until she caught sight of her yellow raincoat again. As they approached the Savoy Hotel, Ho opened the heavy door to a big office block. Birgitta waited for a few minutes before going up to read on the well-polished brass nameplate that it was the English-Chinese chamber of commerce.

She retraced her steps and selected a cafe in Regent Street just off Piccadilly. Sitting down with a cup of coffee she dialled one of the numbers on Ho’s business card. An answering machine invited her to leave a message. She hung up, prepared what she wanted to say in English, then dialled the number again.

‘I did as you said. I came to London because I think I’m being pursued. Right now I’m sitting in Simon’s, a cafe next to Rawson’s fashion house on Regent Street, just off Piccadilly. It’s now ten o’clock. I’ll stay for an hour. If you haven’t been in touch by then, I’ll call you again later.’

Ho arrived forty minutes later. Her garish yellow raincoat stood out among the dark clothes most people were wearing. Birgitta had the feeling that even this was of some significance.

‘What’s happened?’

A waitress took Ho’s order for tea before Birgitta could answer. She explained in detail about the man who had turned up at the hotel in Hudiksvall, that it was the same man she’d told her about before, and that the hotel owner had been killed.

‘Are you sure about this?’

‘I haven’t come all the way to London to tell you about something I’m not sure of. I’ve come here because this all really happened, and I’m scared. This man asked specifically about me. He was given my address, the house where I live. Now I’m here. I’m doing what Ma Li or actually Hong Qiu said to you and you said to me. I’m scared, but I’m also angry because I suspect that neither you nor Hong Qiu has been telling the truth.’

‘Why should I lie? You’ve come a long way to London, but don’t forget that my journey to visit you was just as long.’

‘I’m not being told everything that’s going on. I’m not hearing any explanations, although I’m convinced they exist.’

‘You’re right,’ said Ho. ‘But you’re forgetting that it’s possible neither Hong Qiu nor Ma Li knew any more than they said.’

‘I didn’t see it clearly when you came to Sweden to visit me,’ said Birgitta, ‘but I do now. Hong Qiu was worried that somebody would try to kill me. That’s what she said to Ma Li. And the message was passed on to you, three women in succession to warn a fourth that she was in danger. But not just any old danger. Death. Nothing less than that. Without realising it, I’ve put myself at risk, the extent of which I’m only now beginning to comprehend. Am I right?’

‘That’s why I went to see you.’

Birgitta leaned forward and took Ho by the hand. ‘Help me to understand. Answer my questions.’

‘If I can.’

‘You can. It wasn’t the case that you had somebody with you when you came to Helsingborg, was it? It’s not the case that at this very moment there’s somebody keeping an eye on us, is it? You could have called somebody before coming here.’

‘Why would I have done that?’

‘That’s not an answer, it’s a new question. I want answers.’

‘I didn’t have anybody with me when I went to Helsingborg.’

‘Why did you sit in my courtroom for two whole days? You couldn’t understand a word of what was said, after all.’

‘No.’

Birgitta changed over into Swedish. Ho frowned and shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Are you sure? Or do you actually understand Swedish very well?’

‘If that were the case, surely I’d have spoken to you in Swedish.’

‘You must realise that I’m very unsure. You might find it advantageous to pretend that you don’t understand my language. I even wonder if you’re wearing a yellow raincoat to make it easier for somebody to see you.’

‘Why should I?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t know anything at all at the moment. Most important of course is that Hong Qiu wanted to warn me. But why should I turn to you for help? What can you do?’

‘Let me start with your last question,’ said Ho. ‘Chinatown is a world of its own. Even though thousands of English people and tourists wander around our streets — Gerrard Street, Lisle Street, Wardour Street, all the alleys — we only allow you to see the surface. Concealed behind your Chinatown is my Chinatown. It’s possible to hide away there, change identity, survive for months and even years without being discovered. Even if most of the people living here are Chinese who have become naturalised English citizens, the bottom line is that we all feel that we are in our own world. I can help you by giving you entry into my Chinatown, a place you would otherwise never be allowed into.’

‘What exactly should I be scared of?’

‘Ma Li wasn’t at all clear when she wrote to me. But you mustn’t forget that Ma Li was also scared. She didn’t say as much, but I could sense it.’

‘Everybody’s scared. Are you scared?’

‘Not yet. But I can be.’

Her mobile phone rang. She checked the display and stood up. ‘Where are you staying?’ she asked. ‘Which hotel? I have to go back to work.’

‘Sanderson.’

‘I know where that is. What room?’

‘One thirty-five.’

‘Can we meet tomorrow?’

‘Why do we have to wait that long?’

‘I can’t get away from work before then. I have a meeting this evening that I can’t skip.’

‘Is that really true?’

Ho took hold of Birgitta Roslin’s hand. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘A Chinese delegation is going to talk business with the bosses of several big British companies. I have to be there.’

‘Right now you’re the only one I can turn to.’

‘Call me tomorrow morning. I’ll try to get time off.’

Ho went out into the rain, her yellow coat fluttering as she walked. Birgitta Roslin stayed for quite some time, feeling incredibly weary, before walking back to her hotel, which of course was not the Sanderson. She still didn’t trust Ho, just as these days she mistrusted anyone vaguely Asian in appearance.

She ate in the hotel’s restaurant that evening. It had stopped raining by the time she finished dinner. She decided to go out to the park and sit for a while on the same bench that she and Staffan had sat on once upon a time.

She watched people coming and going. A young couple sat briefly on her bench, kissing and cuddling, followed by a man carrying yesterday’s paper, rescued from a rubbish bin.

She made another attempt to call Staffan on his sailing boat off Madeira, even though she knew it was a waste of time.