John Davis - The Year of Dangerous Loving

Olga sighed. ‘But then I look at all the new business going on, the new skyscrapers going up –’

‘That’s called optimism , Olga. That’s called sang-froid, which has always been a characteristic of the China coast. That’s called dollar-signs in the eyes of businessmen who know that a thousand million customers are wonderful – the businessmen will roll with the dirty punches and smile as long as they make their dollars, they don’t care if democracy and human rights are trampled underfoot. Even though Hong Kong will go to the dogs they’ll get their money back before it does.’ He held up his hands. ‘Oh, there may be a sort of honeymoon period while China tries to find its feet, but after that the bamboo guillotine will come down. And chop the heads off anybody who disagrees with the Communist Party.’

Olga shook her head solemnly. ‘Communism is dead.’

‘Yes, and long live the Communist Party of China – where it is alive and well. Not necessarily as a Marxist economic philosophy any more, because it is a proven failure which even China can understand, but as a diehard, tyrannical regime that has been in power for fifty years and doesn’t intend to let go – like Russia did with such attendant chaos.’

Olga sighed. ‘Do you know Martin Lee, the big Chinese politician in Hong Kong? He says the same as you.’

Of course, everybody knew Martin Lee, but Hargreave was impressed with her general knowledge. ‘Martin Lee is a good friend of mine. Excellent man, and an excellent lawyer. Yes, he says the same as me – we must have democracy, so we can stand up to China and insist on the rule of law. Or rather, I say the same as him. I’m just a civil servant who can’t say anything publicly; he’s the courageous politician who is standing up to China as the leader of the United Democratic Party.’ He added: ‘He’s going to win the elections, but he’s going to lose his freedom in 1997.’

‘Will he get his head chopped off?’

Hargreave snorted. ‘Martin is probably too high-profile internationally for China to dare shoot him. But he’s a sitting duck for being thrown in jail as a subversive – along with Jake McAdam and the likes.’

‘And you, darling?’ Olga said anxiously. ‘What would they do to you?’

Hargreave sighed, weary of the question he and his fellow lawyers were asking themselves.

‘I’m not a politician; I’m just a government servant whose job is to administer justice. However, if the new government wants me to pervert justice, to bend the Rule of Law, to prosecute people who are innocent, or if new laws are made which violate the Joint Declaration or the Basic Law, or if the new powers-that-be insist I do not prosecute somebody who is guilty I will have to speak out, refuse to cooperate, I will have to set an example – and that will doubtless land me in jail, yes.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to practise law under conditions like that. So I want to quit in 1997, yes. But,’ he sighed, ‘I’ve got to think carefully about the financial aspects. Divorce is a costly business. So? At this moment I’m not sure.’

Olga grinned: ‘We’ll find out. Finish your wine and I’ll take you to my favourite fortune-teller!’

Hargreave didn’t go a whole bundle on fortune-tellers – he didn’t like messing with mumbo-jumbo and preferred not to know the future. Olga thought that was hilarious – ‘My fortune-teller is beautiful!’ Hargreave was reassured to find that the soothsayer was a little old Chinese man squatting on a corner and his paraphernalia consisted of a canary and a deck of little cards. Hargreave paid ten patacas and Olga squatted to observe the ritual closely. The man opened the cage door; out hopped the canary, picked a card out of the pack with its beak, presented it to the fortune-teller, was given a pinch of birdseed as a reward, and hopped back into his cage cheerfully. Olga was delighted. ‘Isn’t that clever!’

The fortune-teller gravely presented the card to Hargreave. Chinese writing was on one side, the translation in English and Portuguese on the other. He read aloud: ‘You must work hard because you will have many sons.’

Olga thought that was very funny. ‘So you’ll have to be a lawyer, darling! Many sons!’ She stood up and hugged him. ‘And maybe I better get a job too?’

That Sunday night, as they lay in each other’s arms, she said, ‘Will I see you next Friday?’

‘Yes.’ Oh yes, he had to see her next weekend. But how much longer could he afford to keep doing this? It was as if she had read his mind, for she said:

‘But what about all this crazy money you are spending? Crazy money. I will speak to Vladimir about a special price. Why don’t I come to you, in Hong Kong? We save the hotel bill and all the dinners – I will cook for you, darling!’

Hargreave smiled. The China moonlight was streaming through the French windows, dusting her naked goldenness in silver. He loved her for her concern about his money; that showed she wasn’t a whore at heart. But he hesitated: he wasn’t sure about her coming to Hong Kong yet – he didn’t care what people thought, or guessed, her alibi as a singer was good enough for Al Hargreave as an individual – but was it good enough for the Director of Public Prosecutions? And even if it was – which it was , for Christ’s sake, plenty of Hong Kong bigwigs were known to have mistresses, and a good few were known homosexuals – even assuming he could get away with her alibi, was he ready to make that kind of commitment? Wasn’t it quite a step, from a discreet hotel in Macao to taking her home to his apartment for all his neighbours to see? And even if that was okay, was it a wise thing to do when Elizabeth was suing him for divorce? And even if that didn’t matter – which it didn’t, because the marriage was over, whether he was shacked up with half a dozen girls or none – was it quite fair on Liz to have it known that her husband had a Russian girlfriend in residence? And most importantly, was it fair on Olga to take her into his A-grade government apartment and start the mental process that she was going to become the mistress of it? Was he ready for that yet? And was she, this Russian girl who had never had a real love, who had been forced into prostitution – was she ready for the heady business of being taken into his privileged life, even if only for a weekend? What would she expect the following weekend, and the next? Oh, Hargreave knew what he wanted, he wanted her every weekend, but how would she feel when he simply couldn’t afford her any longer – which was surely going to happen sooner rather than later. All these questions flashed through Hargreave’s mind, then he said:

‘Yes, come to Hong Kong. We’ll go out on my boat for a few days.’ The boat was the answer.

She sat up. ‘You have a boat?’

‘In fact we’ll go sailing for a week,’ he said. ‘Next Monday is a public holiday, so I’ll take leave from Tuesday to Friday; we’ll have eight or nine days on the boat.’

‘Oh how lovely!’ Olga cried. Then she frowned anxiously. ‘But supposing they won’t let me in with my new identity card – the immigration man may remember, me.’

Hargreave had forgotten that detail. ‘Then I’ll bring the boat to Macao to fetch you. I’ll check you through Hong Kong immigration formalities at the Marine Department as crew.’

‘Oh, wonderful , darling! And I will tell Vladimir to go to hell, he must drop his price!’

Hargreave smiled. Yes, it would be very nice to get Vladimir down. ‘And what will he say to that?’

‘He will finally do it – he knows he is getting a bargain because you are a good customer. And for me you don’t pay, ever again, I will give you back my share!’