Jane Gardam - The Man in the Wooden Hat

Elisabeth thought: And it is just one hour too late.

“Come and meet—” Edward was steering her away. “You must meet my clerk and — I don’t see Ross anywhere yet. I hope you’re going to like him. I’ll tell you — oh, hello! Hello! Tony, Desmond. Safe here, all of us. This is—”

But Elisabeth had slid away. Through some glass doors on to an airy balcony she had spotted a glitter of dishes. Her holiday money she’d used up in Australia, and for the past week she and Lizzie had been eating nothing much except noodles and deep-fried prawns off the market stalls. At the end of this frugal day of celebration (when she’d thought there’d be a feast, looking out over the sunset harbour), she was ravenous and — with a percipience she would keep and be thankful for throughout her coming life — she’d noticed that Edward hadn’t mentioned dinner. And she knew that after the party he would find urgent work to do for the next day.

Belshazzar’s feast was laid out on white cloths on the balcony, a row of robotic waiters standing behind.

“I’m your first customer,” she said, and with faint disapproval one of them handed her a plate and she passed down the buffet alone, helping herself hugely to crab and lobster mayonnaise. Oh, glory!

She sat down alone at an empty side table with a long white cloth to the floor, stretched her sandy feet beneath it and touched something that squeaked.

Putting her chopsticks neatly down, she lifted a corner of the tablecloth and saw a boy cross-legged on the marble, crunching a lobster. He had black Chinese hair that stood up spikily in an un-Oriental way. His eyes were blue.

“Good evening,” said Elisabeth. “Do you usually eat underneath tables?”

“Sometimes they let me in ahead of time. I get hungry at my father’s parties, too.”

“Oh, I’m always hungry,” she said. “But I’ll stay in the open tonight. Who are you? I’m Betty Macintosh.”

“Like a raincoat?” He licked each finger thoroughly before holding out his hand. “I’m Harry Veneering. I’m an only child. My father is a very famous barrister. He works out here a lot of the time but I’m at school in England. I’m flying back to school tonight.”

“Is the lobster then altogether wise? Do you think?”

“Oh, yes, thanks. I’m never sick. I can eat anything. I’m like my father. My mother eats just about nothing, ever.”

“Where are you at school in England?”

“Near London. It’s a prep school. For Eton, of course. My father being who he is.”

“Is he the one in the shorts?”

“Yes. He says if you are anybody you can wear what you like anywhere. Some lord or duke told him. Or maybe it was a prime minister. He’s a terrible, terrible inside-out snob, my dad, and he’s very, very funny.”

“Ought you to discuss your father with a stranger?”

“Oh, yes. He’s fun. He’s just a joke. And very, very brilliant.”

“I’ve seen him. Yellow hair?”

“Yes. It’s gross. But it’s not dyed. I’ve got my mother’s hair. She’s the one with the long earrings.”

“You have your father’s eyes.”

“Yes.” He looked at her from across the small table where he was now attacking the crabmeat. “He’s a hypnotist. That’s why he wins absolutely every one of his Cases.”

“ Oh , no,” she said, “ Oh , no. I am about to be married to another barrister and he wins Cases too and some of them against your father. And he never boasts. And he wasn’t at Eton. And he’s not a snob of any kind, ever. How old are you and why are you arguing about matters beyond your understanding?”

“I’m nine. I’m small, but I expect to grow. My dad says boys grow to their feet and my feet — look at them — they’re vast. I suppose you’re going to marry Mr. Feathers. Did you know he’s called Old Filth? It’s because he’s so clean and so clever. Well, of course he is fairly clever.”

“You don’t need to tell me about my future husband. It’s pert. Now then, come over here and bring that big table napkin with you. I’ll clean you up. And remember you are talking to the new Mrs. Edward Feathers.”

“‘Mrs. Feathers’ sounds like a hen.” And the child came over and shut his eyes, presenting his silky Chinese face to her as she dipped the dinner napkin in cold water and mopped up the mayonnaise from round his mouth. He opened his blue eyes and said, “I know, I absolutely know I’ve seen you before. I didn’t mean to be rude. I love hens.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”

“If you’re ever back in England,” he said, “would you like to come to my school sports days? I’m very good. I win everything and there’s never anybody to see me because my parents are always somewhere else. Such as out here.”

“I should have to ask their permission.”

“Oh, it’ll be all right. The school won’t mind. I could say you’re my nanny.”

She looked at him.

“What’s the matter? You’d look exactly right. My mother’s supposed to be the most beautiful woman in Hong Kong, you know.”

“That must be very difficult for her,” said Elisabeth.

The languid Chinese woman of the chaise longue was all at once standing behind them, holding a champagne glass round its rim in the tips of her fingers. The fingers of her other hand balanced her against the wall.

People were now crowding in for the buffet and the waiters were coming to life. Behind Elsie Veneering stood Veneering. Veneering was looking at Elisabeth’s unlined face, his wife at Elisabeth’s unpainted sandy toenails.

“Harry,” said Elsie. “It’s time to go. Introduce me to your friend.”

“She’s Miss Macintosh, she belongs to Mr. Feathers. She’s going to marry him. This is my mother.”

“ Marrying ?” Elsie’s eyes were black and still. “What secrets! We all rather suspected. . How kind of you to talk to Harry. Have you children already? Grandchildren?”

“Oh yes,” said Elisabeth. “I have twenty-seven grandchildren and I’m only twenty-eight years old.”

Elsie looked out of her depth but Harry laughed and fell on Elisabeth like a puppy. “You will come, won’t you? Come to my school? On sports day?”

“Only if your mother and father will let me.”

“There’ll be no sports days at all if you don’t tuck your shirt in your shorts and get smartened up. We’ve not finished your packing yet and the plane goes at midnight. Your mother needs a rest.” Veneering’s voice was all right. O.K. Just a trace of elocution lessons, maybe?

“Aren’t you taking me? Dad? You always take me to the airport.” The boy who had looked as if he could outface a battalion crumpled into a baby and began to cry.

“Can’t this time,” said Veneering, “Work to be done for tomorrow. Sorry, guv’nor.”

“Why didn’t you do the bloody work instead of coming to this awful party?” And biffing everyone out of his way, the child kicked out at his yellow-headed father and ran from the Judge’s apartment.

Veneering stood looking at Elisabeth and Elsie drifted away.

“He must learn to travel alone,” said Veneering. “Hundreds of them still do. Hardens them up. It’s in the British genes.”

“What rubbish you talk,” said Elisabeth.

“They travel first class. Well looked-after. Met at the other end. We take a lot of trouble. Not like in your old man’s time.”

“It’s a fourteen-hour flight. And there’s a change of plane in India.”

“He’s a self-reliant little beast. He’s done it before.”

“If you ever need anyone to meet him we’ll probably be living in London at first. I should like to. Please.”

“I hear you’re marrying Old Filth. It’s the sensation of the party. “Who is she, my dear?” No — he’d never let you have anything to do with a son of mine. We don’t get on. He thinks I’m common. So when did he get rid of his stammer and manage to ask you?”