Литагент HarperCollins - The Piano Teacher

Little secrets begin to spill out of Trudy. A temple fortune-teller told her the mole on her forehead signifies death to a future husband. She’s been engaged before, but it ended mysteriously. She tells him these secrets, then refuses to elaborate, saying he’ll leave her. She seems serious.

Trudy has two amahs. They have ‘tied their hair up together’, she explains. Two women decide not to marry and put a notice in the newspaper, like vows, declaring they will live together for ever. Ah Lok and Mei Sing are old now, almost sixty, but they live together in a small room with twin beds (‘So get that out of your mind right now,’ Trudy says lazily, ‘although we Chinese are very blasé about that sort of thing and who cares, really?’), a happy couple, except that they are both women. ‘It’s the best thing,’ Trudy says. ‘Lots of women know they’ll never get married so this is just as good. So civilized, don’t you think? All you need is a companion. That sex thing gets in the way after a while. A sisterhood thing. I’m thinking about doing it myself.’ She pays them each twenty-five cents a week and they will do anything for her. Once, he came into the living room to find Mei Sing massaging lotion on to Trudy’s hands while she was asleep on the sofa.

He never grows used to them. They completely ignore him, always talking to Trudy about him when he’s there. They tell her he has a big nose, that he smells funny, that his hands and feet are grotesque. He is beginning to understand a little of what they say, but their disapproving intonation needs no translation. Ah Lok cooks – salty, oily dishes he finds unhealthy and unappealing. Trudy eats them with relish – it’s the food she grew up with. She claims Mei Sing cleans, but he finds dust everywhere. The old woman also collects rubbish – used beer bottles, empty cold-cream jars, discarded toothbrushes – and stores it underneath her bed in anticipation of some apocalyptic event. All three women are messy. Trudy has the utter disregard for her surroundings that belongs to those who have been waited on since birth. She never cleans up, never lifts a finger, but neither do the amahs. They have picked up her habits – a peculiar symbiosis. Trudy defends them with the ferocity of a child defending her parents. ‘They’re old,’ she says. ‘Leave them alone. I can’t bear people who poke at their servants.’

She pokes at them, though. She argues with them when the flower man comes and Ah Lok wants to give him fifty cents and Trudy says to give him what he asks. The flower man is called Fa Wong, king of flowers, and he comes round the neighbourhood once a week, giant woven baskets slung from his brown, wiry shoulders, filled with masses of flowers. He calls, ‘ Fa yuen, fa yuen ,’ in a low monotonous pitch, and people wave him up to their flats. He and the amahs love to spar and they go at it for ages, until Trudy comes to break it up and give the man his money. Then Ah Lok gets angry and scolds her for giving in too easily. The old lady and the lovely young woman, their arms filled with flowers, go into the kitchen, where the blooms will be distributed into vases and scattered around the house. He watches them from his chair, his book spread over his lap, his eyes hooded as if in sleep – he watches her.

He is almost never alone, these days, always with her. It is something different for him. He used to like solitude, but now he craves her presence all the time. He’s gone without this drug for so long, he’s forgotten how compelling it is. When he is at the office, pecking away at the typewriter, he thinks of her laughing, drinking tea, smoking, the rings puffing up in front of her face. ‘Why do you work?’ she asks. ‘It’s so dreary.’

Discipline, he thinks. Don’t fall down that rabbit hole. But it’s useless. She’s always there, ringing him on the phone, ready with plans for the evening. When he looks at her, he feels weak and happy. Is that so bad?

They are eating brunch at the Repulse Bay, and reading the Sunday paper when Trudy looks up.

‘Why do they let these awful companies have advertisements?’ she asks. ‘Listen to this one – “Why suffer from agonizing piles?” Is there a need for that? Can’t they be a little bit more oblique?’ She shakes the newspaper at him. ‘There’s an illustration of a man suffering from piles! Is that really necessary?’

‘My heart,’ he says, ‘I don’t know. I just don’t know.’ A displaced Russian in a dinner jacket plays the piano behind him.

‘Oh,’ she says, as if an afterthought. ‘My father wants to meet you. He wants to meet the man I’ve been spending so much time with.’ She is nonchalant, too much so. ‘Are you free tonight?’

‘Of course,’ he says.

They go for dinner at the Gloucester, where Trudy tells him the story of her parents’ meeting while they’re waiting at the bar. She is drinking brandy, unusual for her, which makes him think she might be more nervous than she is letting on. She swirls it, takes a delicate whiff, sips.

‘My mother was a great Portuguese beauty – her family had been in Macau for ages. They met there. My father was not as successful then, although he came from a well-to-do family. He had just started up a business selling widgets or something. He’s very clever, my father. Don’t know why I turned out to be such a dim bulb.’ Her face lights up. ‘Here he is!’ She leaps off the stool and rushes over to give her father a kiss. Will had expected a big, confident man with the aura of power. Instead, Mr Liang is small and diffident, with an ill-cut suit and an air of sweetness. He seems to be overwhelmed by the vitality of his daughter. He lets Trudy wash over him, like a force of nature, much as everyone else in Hong Kong does, Will thinks. The head waiter seats them with much hovering and solicitous hand-waving, which neither Trudy nor her father seems to notice. They speak to each other in Cantonese, which makes her seem like a different person entirely.

Their food is brought to them, as if preordained. ‘Should we order?’ he ventures, and their faces are astonished.

‘You only eat certain dishes here,’ they say.

Trudy calls for champagne. ‘This is a momentous occasion,’ she declares. ‘My father’s not met many of my beaux. You’re over the first hurdle.’

Wan Kee Liang does not ask Will about his life or his work. Instead, they exchange pleasantries, talk about the horse races and the war. When Trudy excuses herself to go to the powder room, her father motions for Will to come closer.

‘You are not a rich man,’ he says.

‘Not like you, but I do all right.’ How odd to assume.

‘Trudy is very spoiled girl, and want many things.’ The man’s face betrays nothing.

‘Yes,’ Will says.

‘Not good for woman to pay for anything.’

Trudy’s father hands him an envelope. ‘Here is money for you to take Trudy out. Will cover expenses for a long time. Not good for Trudy to be paying all time.’

Will is taken aback. ‘I can’t take that,’ he says. ‘I’ve never let Trudy pay for a meal.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ the man waves his hand. ‘Good for your relationship.’

Will refuses and puts the envelope on the table, where it sits until they see Trudy approaching. Trudy’s father puts it back in his suit jacket. ‘Not meant to be insult,’ he says. ‘I want best for Trudy. So best for her means best for you. This means little to me, but might make difference for you two.’

‘I appreciate the thought,’ Will says. ‘But I can’t.’ He lets it go at that.

The next week, Will receives letters in the post from restaurants and clubs around town informing him that his accounts have been opened and are ready for use. One has scribbled a note in the margin, ‘Just come in. You won’t even need to sign. We look forward to seeing you.’ The tone: apologetic to a good customer, but deferring to the wishes of their best.