Литагент HarperCollins - The Piano Teacher

There was a large velvet divan in the sitting room, and several chairs, upholstered in red silk, along with two matching black lacquered tables. Claire sat down in an armchair that was far more slippery than it looked. She sank too deeply into it, then had to move forward in an ungainly manner until she was perched precariously on the edge. She steadied herself with her arms.

‘How are you finding Hong Kong?’ Mr Chen said. His wife had gone into the kitchen to ask the amah to bring them drinks.

‘Quite well,’ she said. ‘It’s certainly different from England, but it’s an adventure.’ She smiled at him. He was a well-groomed man, in his well-pressed suit and red and black silk tie. Above him, there was an oil of a Chinese man dressed in robes and a black skull cap. ‘What an interesting painting,’ she remarked.

He looked up. ‘Oh, that,’ he said. ‘That’s Melody’s grandfather, who had a large dye factory in Shanghai. He was quite famous.’

‘Dyes?’ she said. ‘How fascinating.’

‘Yes, and her father started the First Bank of Shanghai, and did very well indeed.’ He smiled. ‘Melody comes from a family of entrepreneurs. Her family was all educated in the West, England and America.’

Mrs Chen came back into the room. She had taken off her jacket to reveal a pearly blouse underneath. ‘Claire,’ she said. ‘What will you have?’

‘Just soda water for me, please.’

‘And I’ll have a sherry,’ Mr Chen said.

‘I know!’ Mrs Chen said. She left again.

‘And your husband,’ he said. ‘He’s at a bank?’

‘He’s at the Department of Water Services,’ she said. ‘Working on the new reservoir.’ She paused. ‘He’s heading it up.’

‘Oh, very good,’ Mr Chen said carelessly. ‘Water’s certainly important. And the English do a fair job of making sure it’s in the taps when we need it.’ He sat back and crossed one leg over the other. ‘I miss England,’ he said suddenly.

‘Oh, did you spend time there?’ Claire asked politely.

‘I was at Oxford – Balliol,’ he said, flapping his tie at her. Claire felt as if he had been waiting to tell her this fact. ‘And Melody went to Wellesley, so we’re a product of two different systems. I defend England, and Melody just loves the United States.’

‘Indeed,’ Claire murmured.

Mrs Chen came back into the room and sat down next to her husband. The amah appeared next and offered Claire a napkin. It had blue cornflowers on it.

‘These are lovely,’ she said, inspecting the embroidered linen.

‘They’re from Ireland,’ Mrs Chen said. ‘I just got them!’

‘I just bought some lovely Chinese tablecloths at the China Emporium,’ Claire said. ‘Beautiful lace cut work.’

‘You can’t compare them with the Irish ones, though,’ Mrs Chen said. ‘Very crude.’

Mr Chen viewed his wife with amusement. ‘Women!’ he said to Claire.

The amah brought in a tray of drinks.

Claire sipped at her drink and felt the gassy bubbles in her mouth. Mr Chen looked at her expectantly.

‘The Communists are a great threat,’ she said. This is what she had heard again and again at gatherings.

Mr Chen laughed. ‘Of course! And what will you and Melody do about them?’

‘Shut up, darling. Don’t tease,’ said his wife. She took a sip of her drink. Mr Chen was watching her. ‘What’s that you’re drinking, love?’

‘A little cocktail,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a long day.’ She sounded defensive.

There was a pause.

‘Locket is a good student,’ Claire said, ‘but she needs to practise more.’

‘It’s not her fault,’ Mrs Chen said breezily. ‘I’m not here to oversee her practice enough.’

Mr Chen laughed. ‘Oh, she’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.’

Claire nodded. Parents were all the same. When she had children, she would be sure not to indulge them. She set her drink down. ‘I should be going,’ she said. ‘It’s harder to get a seat on the bus after five.’

‘Are you sure?’ Mrs Chen said. ‘Pai was getting us some biscuits.’

‘Oh, no, thank you,’ she demurred. ‘I really should be leaving.’

‘We’ll have Truesdale drive you home,’ Mr Chen offered.

‘Oh, no,’ Claire said. ‘I couldn’t put you out.’

‘Do you know him?’ Mr Chen asked. ‘He’s English.’

‘I haven’t had the pleasure,’ Claire said.

‘Hong Kong is very small,’ Mr Chen said. ‘It’s tiresome that way.’

‘It’s no trouble at all for Truesdale,’ Mrs Chen said. ‘He’ll be going home anyway. Where do you live?’

‘Happy Valley,’ answered Claire, feeling put on the spot.

‘Oh, that’s near where he lives!’ Mrs Chen cried, delighted at the coincidence. ‘So, it’s settled.’ She called for Pai in Cantonese and told her to call the driver.

‘Chinese is such an intriguing language,’ Claire said. ‘I hope to pick some up during our time here.’

Mr Chen raised an eyebrow. ‘ Cantonese ,’ he said, ‘is very difficult. There are some nine different tones for one sound. It’s much more difficult than English. I picked up rudimentary English in a year, but I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to learn Cantonese or Mandarin or Shanghainese in twice that.’

‘Well,’ she said brightly, ‘one always hopes.’

Pai walked in and spoke. Mrs Chen nodded. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ she said, ‘but the driver seems to have left already.’

‘I’ll catch the bus,’ Claire said.

Mr Chen stood up as she picked up her bag. ‘It was very nice to meet you,’ he said.

‘And you,’ she said, and walked out, feeling their eyes on her back.

When she got home, Martin was already there. ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘You’re late today.’ He was in a vest and his weekend trousers, which were stained and shiny at the knees. He had a drink in his hand.

She took off her jacket and put on a pot of water to boil. ‘I was at the Chens’ house today,’ she said. ‘Locket’s parents asked me to stay for a drink.’

‘Victor Chen, is it?’ he asked, impressed. ‘He’s rather a big deal here.’

‘I gathered,’ she said. ‘He was quite something. Not at all like a Chinaman.’

‘You shouldn’t use that word, Claire,’ Martin said. ‘It’s very old-fashioned and a bit insulting.’

Claire coloured. ‘I’ve just never …’ She trailed off. ‘I’ve never seen Chinese people like the Chens.’

‘You are in Hong Kong,’ Martin said, not unkindly. ‘There are all types of Chinese.’

‘Where is the amah?’ she asked, wanting to change the subject.

Yu Ling came from the back when Claire called. ‘Can you help with dinner?’ Claire said. ‘I bought some meat at the market.’

Yu Ling looked at her impassively. She had a way of making Claire feel uncomfortable, but she couldn’t bring herself to sack her. She wondered how the other wives did it – they appeared to handle their servants with an easy aplomb that seemed unfamiliar and unattainable to Claire. Some even joked with them and treated them like family members, but she’d heard that was more the American influence. Her friend Cecilia had her amah brush her hair for her before she went to bed, while she sat at her dressing-table and put on cold cream.

Claire handed Yu Ling the meat she had bought on the way home. Then she went to lie down on the bed with a cold compress over her eyes. How had she got here, to this small flat on the other side of the world? She remembered her quiet childhood in Croydon, an only child sitting at her mother’s side while she mended clothes, listening to her talk. Her mother had been bitter at what life had given her, a hand-to-mouth existence, especially after the war, and her father drank too much, perhaps because of it. Claire had never imagined life being much more than that. But marrying Martin had changed it all.