Jon Cleary - The Phoenix Tree

Sergeant Masuda, who had got where he was by being obsequious, almost contorted himself in his deference to the man he brought to the gate of Natasha’s villa. ‘Major Nagata is from Tokyo, a very important man. We are honoured that he should visit us.’

Nagata, who wrote bad poetry, saw all this as snow falling on Mount Fuji: praise, if taken with proper grace, can only make a man look better. He smiled at Natasha as if to make her feel she was properly honoured by his arrival. ‘Mrs Cairns, forgive my manners. I should have warned you I was coming. But, unfortunately, in my profession warnings are often misunderstood. Or taken advantage of.’

‘What is your profession, Major Nagata?’

‘He is from the kempei ,’ said Sergeant Masuda, rolling his eyes as if he were introducing one of the Kuni-Tsu-Kami, the gods of the earth.

‘It is difficult for the secret police to be secret when one is accompanied by a Greek chorus,’ said Nagata. ‘Go and arrest someone, sergeant. Leave me alone with Mrs Cairns.’

Masuda backed off with a bow that bent him double, then went lolloping down the path with his peculiar loose-kneed gait. Nagata looked after him, then turned back to Natasha and Yuri.

‘You may dismiss your servant.’

Yuri snorted, showing what she thought of the police, secret or otherwise, then, without a bow, she turned and marched up into the house. Nagata looked after her too.

‘Does she give you any trouble?’

‘If she does, I tolerate it.’ Natasha felt far less comfortable than she sounded. ‘What do you want, major?’

It suddenly struck her that, for all his fawning towards Nagata, Sergeant Masuda had taken a grave risk in identifying the secret policeman. The kempei was never spoken of openly; certainly not between an official and a woman like Natasha. The sergeant owed her nothing and she wondered why he had put himself at risk by warning her who Nagata was. Did he know about the radio set in the secret cellar?

‘Do you have a pass to leave Nayora, Mrs Cairns?’

‘Yes, a twelve-hour one, once a week. I report to Sergeant Masuda before I leave and when I return.’

‘Where do you go to?’

‘To Tokyo.’

‘What do you do there?’

‘Go shopping, mostly.’

‘On the black market?’ He smiled, to show he did not think it was a major crime. Though his teeth were not coated, they had a yellow tint, like an old man’s.

‘Of course.’ She also smiled.

‘Do you visit anyone? Friends?’

She thought of only Professor Kambe as a friend; the others had been friends of Keith’s and still tolerated her, mainly because the men amongst them admired her beauty and some of them, she knew, had dreams that some day she might be their mistress. Her vanity was very clear-sighted, enabling her to see others’ weaknesses as well as her own assets.

‘Some people at the university.’

‘Some who work for the government and the military?’

‘They may.’ She knew exactly who did; but she was certain that Nagata also knew them. She had the sudden feeling that he knew all about her, that his questions were designed not to give him information but to trip her up. ‘But you know, major, that men never discuss their work with women, especially women who are not their wives.’

‘Did Professor Cairns ever discuss his work with you?’

‘Never. He was Scottish – they are as bad as the Japanese. Do you discuss your work with your wife?’ She was uneasy, but she had always believed that attack was the best form of defence. Especially if it was accompanied by what Keith used to call her whore’s smile. In his cruel moments he could be as loving as a rugby forward, which he had once been.

‘Hardly,’ said Nagata, with a policeman’s smile. Then, still showing his yellow teeth, like a bamboo blade, he said, ‘Do you ever visit a woman called Eastern Pearl?’

Natasha frowned, wondering where this question was supposed to lead. ‘Eastern Pearl? Is she a geisha or some sort of entertainer?’

‘You might call her an entertainer. She is the mistress of one of our military leaders, General Imamaru. I thought you must have heard of her. People gossip about her.’

Natasha had indeed heard of the woman, but had paid no heed to the talk; Tokyo, she guessed, was like all capitals in wartime, full of mistresses. They were part of the fortunes, or misfortunes, of war, a compensation, for those who could afford them, for rationing and other inconveniences.

‘I’ve heard of her vaguely. But my friends in Tokyo are not the sort who gossip.’

‘Oh? I thought gossip was a major discipline amongst university people.’

‘You never went to university, major?’ Natasha had been well coached by Keith: she recognized the prejudice.

‘Just once,’ said Nagata. ‘In Mukden. To arrest one of the professors.’

‘I hope you got a good pass.’ She knew she was being impolite, keeping this policeman out in the cold waste of the garden, but she could not bring herself to invite him into the house.

‘I think so. The professor was executed.’ Nagata was enjoying the company of this young woman, though he wished she would invite him into her house. He did not like standing out in the open; he suffered from agoraphobia, the disease endemic to secret policemen. ‘I believe you have Swedish papers, Mrs Cairns.’

The change of tack was too abrupt. Natasha felt that her eyes must have squinted, as if she had been slapped. ‘Ye-es …’

‘Your father was Swedish?’

Three months after he had brought her to Tokyo, Keith had come home one day with the papers. She had had none up till then other than a badly forged British passport given her by one of her benefactors in Hong Kong. She had queried Keith where he had got the papers and why she should be Swedish.

‘Because before very long Japan is going to be in the war and if you and I are separated it will be best if you are a neutral.’

‘But why should we be separated? If they send you back to England, why won’t you take me with you?’ For the first time she had wondered if England was like Hong Kong, where driftwood, no matter how beautiful, was not displayed in the best houses.

‘I’ll take you with me, darling heart – if they send me back—’ It was another year before she had learned of his espionage work. ‘In the meantime you had a Swedish father – a ship’s captain—’

‘Swedish? But I have black hair and brown eyes—’

Physical features Major Nagata now remarked upon: ‘You don’t look Swedish, Mrs Cairns.’

‘My father came from the far north, Lapland.’ Keith had told her to say that; she had no idea whether Laplanders were blond or brunette. ‘Or so my mother said. I never knew him.’

‘No, of course not.’ Nagata was accustomed to liars; the secret police could be reduced by half if everyone told the truth. He did not resent the lying: he did not want to be put out of a job. He sighed contentedly, assured of a continuing supply of liars, including this charming one. ‘Mrs Cairns, we have made a few enquiries about Eastern Pearl. At one time she was married to an Englishman named Henry Greenway. We also have a file on you, courtesy of the Hong Kong police. They left so many things unattended to when we took over from them.’ He made it sound as if the conquest and rape of Hong Kong had been a business merger. ‘The file shows that your father was not a Swede. He was Henry Greenway and you were born in Shanghai, which was where Eastern Pearl married Mr Greenway and then left him.’

Natasha felt as if she were about to shatter into small pieces. She turned slowly, afraid that her legs would buckle under her, and went up the short wide steps to the verandah of the house. Beneath the steps she imagined she could see the small hole in the stone foundations through which she ran the aerial cable when she was broadcasting; everything was suddenly enlarged in her mind’s eye, the hole a gaping tunnel into which Major Nagata was about to push her. She led Nagata into the house and into the drawing-room. She sat down, waited for Nagata to take off his overcoat and seat himself opposite her. It struck her, oddly, as if her mind were seeking distraction, that he was the first man to sit in that particular chair since Keith died.