Janice Lee - The Piano Teacher

“Yes? ” Miss Storch prompted.

“A friend was here as well. But I’ve just realized how stupid that must sound. There must be thousands of people who went through that experience. I’m sorry.” Claire ducked, a sort of apologetic curtsy, and left abruptly. Marmaduke trailed behind her hopefully, then went off to find better prospects. Her heart was beating so hard, it felt as if it might burst through her chest. She walked in a daze until she came to a chair and sat down heavily. She had no idea what had come over her, what strange combination of the heat, Miss Storch’s intent gaze, and her own preoccupation with Will had conspired to make this moment into something that felt so momentous.

She got up to get a fan from one of the place settings and fanned herself. When she peeked over, Miss Storch was busy with someone else and didn’t look at all put out by Claire’s strange reaction.

She sat and cooled off. Gradually she started to take in her surroundings. It was lovely out here. There was a large, graceful oak tree and an expansive lawn rolling down to a view of the mountains.

“Doesn’t feel like Hong Kong, does it?” said a voice behind her. Claire jumped.

“So sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” She turned around to see a little woman with spectacles hung around her neck. “Mary Winkle.”

“Yes, of course. I’m Claire Pendleton. Thank you for having me today.”

“It’s our pleasure. We like to see people so we try to entice them out with a good meal.”

A small Chinese woman came by and waited expectantly.

“Would you like a drink? You can tell Ah Chau what you’d like.”

“Some of that lemonade would be lovely.”

“Lemonade, please,” Miss Winkle said loudly. Ah Chau nodded and left.

“She’s a bit deaf since the war. The Japanese knocked her about a bit.”

“So sad,” Claire said. “Very good of you to keep her on.”

“She’s like family. When I was at Stanley, she came with provisions every single week, and I know her own family didn’t have enough to eat. And she stayed with Edwina, who was on the outside.”

“All these stories I keep hearing about. It’s extraordinary.”

“Well, it wasn’t comfortable back in England either, I’d imagine.”

“We were quite sheltered. The food was a bit short but otherwise, not too bad. I remember the air sirens and running to the shelter with my mum.”

“Of course. And the dropping feeling in your stomach when you heard them.”

“Yes. Like a bad dream, as they say.”

A bell tinkled.

“It looks like it’s time to eat.”

They walked over to the tent.

At lunch, Claire watched as Edwina Storch took one of the tomatoes that were piled in the center of the table like a centerpiece. She was sitting on her right. The woman ate it as if it were an apple, with utter disregard for the red, staining juice as it dribbled onto her white linen blouse.

Miss Storch noticed Claire’s stare.

“Delicious, child. Have one. They’re as sweet as sugar, grown in my garden. We made the soup with them too, to get the last of them.”

“No, thank you,” she said. “But how wonderful to think you can grow your own vegetables in Hong Kong.”

“Oh, I couldn’t live anywhere else. I’ve been utterly spoiled. If I went back to England, they’d say I’d gone native, and they’d be absolutely right.”

“Do you think you will never return?” There was something about the older lady that invited intimacy.

“I don’t know what I’d return to. I haven’t any real family anymore, and the family I’ve made is here.”

Claire sipped the cold tomato soup. She grew bold.

“Can I ask you something impertinent?”

“If I can choose not to answer it,” Miss Storch said.

“How do you decide who to invite to your luncheons? We’ve never met before, and although I was so pleased to come, I don’t know how you even knew who I was to extend the invitation.”

Miss Storch laughed, pleased.

“A good hostess always thinks of the whole. What a bore to see the same people over and over again. You need a mix of nationalities, professions, personalities. As you know, Hong Kong grows very tiresome as the community is so small. And one must amuse oneself as one gets old, don’t you think?”

A Chinese woman with an American accent spoke to Miss Storch.

“I’ve heard you have a museum-quality collection of Song porcelain from Shanxi. Do you ever show people?”

“Sometimes,” Miss Storch said with a smile. The Chinese woman waited expectantly. Miss Storch’s smile grew wider.

The red-haired woman on the left of Miss Storch spoke up in the pause. She had been speaking importantly on women’s suffrage and rights and immigrants’ plights throughout the lunch.

“Have you heard? The government is forming a commission to rout out all the Japanese sympathizers once and for all. They’re sick of those scoundrels trying to blend in and pretend they weren’t part of the evil.”

“Well,” said Miss Storch. “That’s a strong word. There were certainly those who were opportunistic. But most were people simply trying to find any sort of work and get some food on the table. I think the ones who most need to be prosecuted are those who had no such worries but simply wanted to profit enormously and didn’t care about who they hurt along the way. Greed and dishonesty are always around, whether there is war or not.”

“They’ll have to answer to a higher authority,” said the redhead, with a certain pleasure.

“It’s difficult to prove anything, what with the lack of documentation during that time,” said another woman, plumpish. “They never did find out what happened to the Crown Collection.”

“I suppose they will rely on witnesses and first-person accounts,” Miss Storch said.

“Why now?” Claire asked. “It’s been ages since the surrender.”

“Well, it’s not anything official, but there have been a few events that make this particularly timely. The obvious people, Sakai, the Japanese commander-in-chief, and Colonel Tanaka, have been executed or imprisoned, but I think there’s an emphasis on finding the local civilians who were a little too enthusiastic in befriending their new masters and who are pretending that nothing of the sort happened. I do think old grudges are being dredged up.”

“So you’ve heard of this?” said the red-haired woman.

“I have been told that something like this may come along, as I may be of some help to those in charge.” Miss Storch stood up. “Who wants to come and see my new Crosley?” she said. “They delivered it last week. It doesn’t spoil the butter and defrosts automatically.” It was clear the conversation was over.

Women were lingering over lemon tea and Tcachenko’s cold cream cake when Miss Winkle was suddenly standing over Claire’s shoulder.

“Claire, would you do us the honor of playing some music. We’ve heard what a talented pianist you are.”

She flushed. “Hardly talented,” she demurred. “I teach, but rarely play for myself anymore.”

“You are teaching Locket Chen, are you not?”

“Yes, she’s been studying with me for a few months.”

“How do you like it? And her parents, Victor and Melody?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure of getting to know them more intimately as they’re rarely home when I go to teach.”

“Yes, they’re busy, I’d imagine.”

“You know them?” Claire asked.

“Know them?” Miss Winkle said with an odd cast in her voice. “Yes, I should say we know them. And Edwina knows Mr. Chen very well indeed.”

“Well,” Claire said. “I’ll give them your regards if you wish.” She sipped her tea. Thankfully, the idea of her playing for the party was not resurrected. Miss Winkle was called away on some issue with the biscuits and she was free to gather up her scarf and pocketbook and say her farewells.