James Chase - A Coffin from Hong Kong

I broke water a few yards from the raft, and hoisted myself up onto it.

She was lying on her side, her breasts heavy in their slight support, her eyes looking directly into mine.

“Tell me if I’m spoiling a beautiful solitude,” I said, “and I’ll swim away.”

She studied me. Now I was at close quarters, I could see she was a woman who had had plenty of experience with men. She had that air about her. She had inquiring, probing eyes of a woman who is interested in men.

“I was rather hoping for company,” she said and smiled. Her voice had that husky sexy tone you sometimes hear, but not often. “Who are you? You’ve only just arrived, haven’t you?”

“My name is Nelson Ryan,” I told her. “I was named after the English Admiral. My father spent all his spare time reading English naval history. He was nuts about Nelson.”

She rolled over on her back and her hard pointed breasts thrust towards the sky.

“I’m Stella Enright,” she said. “I live here. It’s nice to meet a new face. Are you staying long?”

Just how lucky can a man be? I wondered. Here is the sister of the man who rents Lin Fan’s villa. Then I recalled the sparkling dots of the watching field glasses. Maybe it wasn’t luck. Maybe this meeting was a little more subtle than luck.

“I wish I was… a week perhaps.” I took from my waterproof pocket a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “You’re lucky to be able to live here. This place is pretty nice.”

I offered her a cigarette and we lit up.

“It’s all right… now is the best season, but the summer is bad.” She blew a thin cloud of smoke into the still air. “My brother is writing a book on Hong Kong. I run the house.” She lifted her head to look at me. “Are you staying at the hotel?”

“Yes. You have a house?”

“We have rented a villa. It belongs to a Chinese gambler.”

“Lin Fan?”

Her eyes showed surprise.

“That’s right. How would you know?”

“I heard.” I hesitated, then decided to push it as far as it would go. “I thought Herman Jefferson rented that place.”

She lifted golden eyebrows in what seemed to me genuine astonishment.

“Herman Jefferson? Do you know him?”

“He happens to come from my home town. Do you?”

“He’s dead… killed in a car accident.”

“I heard that. Did you know him?”

“Harry-that’s my brother-knew him. I met him once or twice. So you know him? Harry will be interested. It was an awful thing the way he died… awful for his Chinese wife.”

“You knew her?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve seen her… a lovely little thing.” She flicked ash off her cigarette. “Some Chinese women are really attractive. She was. I could understand Herman falling for her. She was very intriguing.” She said it the way most women talk about a woman who is attractive to men: a bitter-sweet touch I didn’t miss. “She took his body back to America. I suppose she will stay there. After all, Herman’s father is a millionaire. I guess he’ll look after her.”

I resisted the temptation to tell her Jo-An was dead.

“Someone told me Herman came into money, left her and rented your villa.”

She half sat up, frowning.

“What an extraordinary story! Who told you that?”

“Oh, someone,” I said casually. “It isn’t true?”

“Why no… of course not!” She suddenly relaxed, smiling at me. “It’s too ridiculous. Herman was…” She paused, then shrugged her naked shoulders. “Well, frankly, Herman was a no-gooder. I didn’t like him very much, but he amused Harry. He just wasn’t any good. He went native. He never had any money. There were rumours he lived on this Chinese girl. He could never have afforded to rent Lin Fan’s villa. The very idea is ridiculous. Whoever told you that?”

The sound of a fast-moving motor-boat made both of us look out to sea. Coming towards us was a speedboat, cleaving through the sea and throwing up a white spray.

“Here’s Harry now,” Stella said and rising to her feet, balancing herself on the rocking raft, she waved.

The boat slowed and then the engines cut. It drifted close to the raft. A tall, sun-burned man, wearing a blue and white sweat shirt and white shorts grinned amiably at Stella. His handsome face was a trifle fleshy from good living and there was a network of fine veins, well disguised by his heavy tan that told me he liked the extra drink.

“I thought I’d pick you up. It’s lunch-time.” He looked inquiringly at me. “Who’s your boy friend?”

“This is Nelson Ryan. He knew Herman Jefferson,” Stella said and looked at me. “This is my brother, Harry.”

We nodded to each other.

“You knew Herman?” Harry said, “Well, what do you know? You here for some time?”

“Not more than a week, worse luck,” I said.

“Look, if you have nothing better to do tonight, why not come over to our place and have dinner with us? I’ll pick you up in the boat… it’s the only way to get to the place. Will you do that?”

“Why, sure I’d be glad to, but I don’t want to trouble you to pick me up.”

“That’s nothing. Be down on the beach at eight o’clock. I’ll be there, and after dinner we’ll take the boat out. It’s wonderful at night in this tub.” He looked at Stella. “Are you coming?”

“Take me back to the beach first. I’ve left my hat.” She climbed into the boat. I couldn’t take my eyes off her slim, sun-tanned back as she got into the boat. She looked suddenly over her shoulder, catching me staring and she smiled as if she knew what was going on in my mind. “I’ll see you tonight,” she said, and with a wave of her hand she settled herself beside her brother. He nodded to me and the boat roared away across the bay towards the beach.

I lit a cigarette and dangled my feet in the water, my mind busy. I sat there for the next half hour, my body soaking in the sun, then feeling hungry, I slid into the water and swam to the shore.

I was down on the beach at eight o’clock, and after a few minutes’ wait, I saw the speedboat come out of the darkness. The driver was a powerfully-built Chinese who assisted me on board as if I were a cripple with abrupt little bows and a steely grip on my arm. Mr. Enright, he explained in guttural English, had been unable to come, and he presented his excuses.

The boat was fast, and within five minutes, we arrived at the little harbour below Lin Fan’s villa.

I toiled up the steps and reached the terrace, slightly breathless.

Stella, wearing a white evening dress, cut low enough to reveal the tops of her breasts, was lying on a bamboo lounging chair, a highball in her hand, a cigarette between her lips. A young Chinese servant stood expectantly in the shadows. There was no sign of Harry Enright.

“There you are…” Stella said, waving the highball at me. “What will you drink?”

I said Scotch and soda and the Chinese servant quickly produced the drink.

“Harry will be here in a moment. Sit there where I can see you.”

I could see into the big lounge that led off the terrace. The room was richly furnished in Chinese style with heavy lacquer cabinets, red silk on the walls and a big black mother-of-pearl inlaid table set for dinner.

“Some place you have here,” I said.

“Yes… it’s nice. We were lucky to have got it. We’ve only been here a few weeks… before we had an apartment in Kowloon. We like this much better.”

“Who was here before you?” I asked.

“I don’t think anyone was. The owner only decided to let the villa recently. He’s now living in Macau.”

Just then Harry Enright came out onto the terrace. He shook hands with me and then sat down opposite me.