Summer of the Three Pagodas Page 2

  Rowena smiled into the mouthpiece as she closed the door to her daughter’s bedroom behind her. The first thing she’d done since coming up here to her penthouse on the top floor was to look in on her daughter. Luli, her maid and all-purpose servant, had put Dawn to bed. Tomorrow she would do the job. Tonight a kiss on the forehead of the sleeping child had sufficed.

  ‘I’m off duty tomorrow night but was planning to soak in the bath and do my hair. I’m free the night after that.’

  ‘Think of me when you’re lying naked in that bath. Pretend you’re soaking in a tropical sea.’

  ‘Your imagination is working overtime. I’ll think about sending you a postcard and already know what I’ll write on it.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be “wish you were here”, would it?’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  The great thing about Connor was that he didn’t try and convince her to change her mind. He knew how tired she could get, how great the responsibility.

  Their goodnights were whispered and heartfelt.

  A light supper, another drink, one more glance at the panorama of Hong Kong harbour and she was ready for bed. Not for an instant did she envy Barbara out there enjoying herself with the new man in her life.

  Strange, she thought, that Barbara had told her so little about this man. Usually the buxom nurse was more than willing to share the details of her latest beau, but not today. A sneaking suspicion entered her mind. There was one reason above all others for Barbara not to be forthcoming with details. Whoever the man was, he was married.

  *

  Days later and the people of Hong Kong dusted themselves off, rebuilt their battered homes, cleared the debris from the streets and repaired the broken hulls of sampans that were businesses as well as being homes. The weather had improved, though it didn’t mean another typhoon wouldn’t follow the previous one. The air was fresh and the water that had seeped beneath the entrance doors had been swept away. Life went on and in Victoria House another baby had been born.

  The newborn lying tightly against his mother’s chest had the glossiest black hair she had ever seen, especially considering he had only been born just over an hour ago. Already the woman was trying to rise from her bed and join the rest of her family, though through pride rather than having any thought of abandoning the child. It helped that it was a boy. As yet the small family, recently arrived from mainland China, had no permanent residence but had been allowed to build a shambolic hovel of corrugated iron and flimsy pieces of wood in the garden of Victoria House.

  Satisfied that mother and baby had come through the ordeal of childbirth with flying colours, she made her way back to what passed as her office. The linen screen gave little privacy and the wooden swivel chair wasn’t the most comfortable, but she needed to close her eyes, take a breather, and force herself to look forward to having some time off.

  The moment of respite was short-lived. Barbara’s cheery face appeared from behind the screen. So far she’d said very little about her recent date except to say when asked that she’d had a great time. The furtive look in her eyes said that something else had happened, but whatever it was she was keeping it to herself.

  ‘There’s a man here to see you.’

  ‘By the look on your face, he’s worth seeing. Do you know what he wants?’

  ‘He said it’s personal. I can send him away if you want.’

  Rowena looked up at her, surprised by the sudden edginess in Barbara’s voice. ‘On the contrary. I’m intrigued. Send him in.’

  Young and wholesome-looking, the corporal saluted sharply. ‘Corporal Samuel Cohen, Dr Rossiter. Colonel Warrington’s compliments—’

  ‘Wait.’ Rowena held up her hand to stop him going any further.

  She looked past him to where Barbara’s shadow fell onto the linen screen.

  ‘That will be all, Sister Kelly.’

  She frowned. Never before had she known her to eavesdrop.

  The shadow dissolved. She and her unexpected visitor were as alone as they were ever likely to be bearing in mind the fragile division between her office space and the corridor beyond.

  She folded her hands in her lap and eyed the young man with undisguised curiosity. ‘Right. Tell me what this is all about, Corporal.’

  The young man saluted again, his body held stiffly, his eyes looking straight ahead as though he was standing in front of an officer – or was merely on official business, she said to herself.

  ‘Colonel Warrington’s compliments, he asked if you could join him in his office at fifteen hundred hours, ma’am.’

  ‘Doctor.’

  ‘Doctor.’

  ‘At three o’clock this afternoon.’

  ‘That’s right, Dr Rossiter. At fifteen hundred hours.’

  She fingered her diary, picked up a pen then struck a thoughtful pose.

  ‘Who is Colonel Warrington?’

  The young man blinked. ‘Well, he’s Colonel Warrington. US Army Intelligence attached to the United Nations peacekeeping mission.’

  ‘Intelligence and peace. Odd bedfellows.’

  The young man looked confused. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am…?’

  ‘Never mind. An uncalled for quip. Can you tell me what this is about?’

  He saluted again and stood so stiffly to attention she thought him in danger of breaking in two. ‘I’m sorry. The colonel did not impart to me any further details. He just asked me to approach and schedule you into his diary.’

  Her eyebrows arched quizzically. ‘Did he now? Well I think I need more information than that. I have a very busy schedule.’

  Corporal Cohen’s straight ahead stare fell to her face. He was definitely unnerved. ‘He did say it was a matter of national security.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly comment, Dr Rossiter.’

  ‘You mean you don’t know.’

  She knew she was right when his cheeks turned pink.

  ‘Ma’am…’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘He did say it might be to your advantage.’

  She raised her eyes. He flinched in response and seemed to have trouble meeting her direct look. One thing she knew above all else was that she no intention of presenting herself at this colonel’s office without knowing who he was.

  ‘Would you wait outside please?’

  He looked as though he was about to refuse, but then thought better of it, saluted and did as requested.

  ‘And stop saluting,’ she called out after him. ‘You’re giving me a headache.’

  Her first inclination was to phone Connor. Running a bar where military and colonial administrators and others gathered meant he was privy to much information.

  She got as far as picking up the phone but changed her mind. Corporal Cohen had specifically stated the man was a member of the US army attached to the United Nations. She interpreted that as meaning that he’d been brought in to help sift true refugees from Communist insurgents suspected of being planted in Hong Kong to stoke up civil unrest. She might just as well hear it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak. She spoke to Roger Quigley, a senior UN administrator who sometimes sat in on refugee centre committee meetings.

  Her strategy proved successful. A few questions over the telephone and she had confirmation.

  ‘You’ve just about got it right that he’s with some branch of the US army attached to the United Nations. Don’t ask me exactly what he does, but I fancy he’s more army than UN. Any particular reason for asking?’

  ‘He’s asked to meet me. I presume it’s in my field.’

  ‘My guess is that it’s to do with the refugee part of your field not the medical side.’

  She smiled to herself. ‘He wouldn’t be needing my medical advice anyway; not unless he’s in need of an obstetrician.’

  She was curious. Now what would the United Nations want with me? she asked herself as she replaced the phone in its cradle. Whatever it was, she couldn’t help being intrigued. She found Corpor
al Cohen and duly informed him that she would meet with his colonel that afternoon.

  *

  She was directed to a two-storey brick building that had survived the war and was now spruced up and stuffed with UN and American personnel.

  Corporal Cohen appeared and took her to an office on the ground floor at the far end of what seemed a never-ending corridor. He rapped on the door before affirmative permission was received from within, opened the door and stood to attention as she crossed the threshold.

  Colonel Warrington had the whitest teeth and pale blue eyes that at first seemed to fill his face before she became used to his forthright stare. His hair was sandy and thinning, which was probably the reason he kept sliding his hand over it, flattening it against his skull as if to help it stick there. All the same, he had presence.

  ‘I knew you would come.’

  His manner was brusque. No welcome or thank you and he didn’t offer to shake her hand. He waved at the chair on the other side of his desk.

  ‘I was in two minds whether to come.’

  He carried on with what he was doing. ‘You couldn’t help yourself. You’re a woman. You were curious.’

  She stiffened. If there was one thing she really hated it was being prejudged.

  ‘So, what is this about?’

  ‘A mission.’

  ‘Corporal Cohen suggested it was a matter of national security.’

  ‘International security. That’s what I prefer to call it.’

  ‘What’s it got to do with me?’

  ‘Everything. We’ve all got a duty to maintain the peace after fighting a war.’

  ‘I’m not a soldier.’

  ‘I hear you’re a damned good doctor.’

  ‘I was unaware that my fame was so widespread.’

  He shot a quick glance at the file in front of him, before redirecting it to her.

  ‘Wasted here. You’re experienced. Been through tough times. Know what it’s like in war. No place for pussies.’

  A prickle of fear induced by bad memories turned her blood to ice.

  The colonel’s head bowed once more over the file, flicking backwards and forwards through its contents. He said nothing. The clacking of typewriters outside in the general office overrode the whirring of the overhead fan, the buzzing of a fly beating its wings against the window. With one incisive glance she’d seen the make-up of the general office, clerks in the pay of the US and the UN, pimply-faced youths half hidden behind piles of paperwork spilling from filing trays.

  At last he spoke.

  ‘We need a doctor at a hospital near Seoul in Korea. An obstetrician would fit the bill.’

  ‘Excuse me, but I’m not available…’

  His eyes shot up from studying the file.

  ‘That’s not quite true. Things are changing in Hong Kong. It’s rumoured that your present contract is coming to an end.’

  So that was it. He’d been speaking to the trustees currently in charge of Victoria House. It was from them that she received her funding. Her blood that had been frozen now boiled.

  ‘Nothing has been decided.’

  ‘I’m given to understand otherwise.’

  ‘I’ll wait for them to tell me. Until then, I’m not available.’

  She half rose from the chair.

  ‘Now wait. No need to take offence.’ His look was intense, almost as though he was trying to glue her to the chair just by looking at her. ‘I may be jumping the gun, but you’re here so might just as well hear me out. Would you like coffee?’

  Although she was still bristling with anger, she did realise that he was trying to make amends, even though it was only now he made the promise of coffee, which was bound to be American and very good.

  She nodded.

  ‘Coffee,’ he shouted at the door, so loudly that he made her jump. A shadow passed across the reeded glass of the door just seconds before it opened and the corporal appeared with a tray holding two cups, sugar and cream.

  Without being asked, the corporal poured, asked if she wanted cream and sugar. She said yes to both.

  It was as good as she’d expected and perhaps the reason why she reined in her initial dislike of this man. Coffee as a calming influence; it was a new one on her.

  ‘What sort of appointment is this?’

  ‘A promotion. It’s a new hospital attached to some kind of convent. All those nuns. It makes sense to use a woman doctor. They asked for a woman. I for one thought it a tough call. Until Dr Grelane mentioned you.’

  Her eyes blinked rapidly. Dr Simeon Grelane, a French physician in the pay of the United Nations. Well that wasn’t much of a surprise. He wanted her out of the way, leaving him in complete control of Victoria House, the refugee hospital she’d set up of her own volition. Her own home was the penthouse at the top of the building. She wondered when these two had met. She certainly had no knowledge of them meeting, but who could know for sure in the melting pot that was post-war Hong Kong.

  ‘Colonel, I’m very flattered that you’ve considered me for this post, but I do have a life here in Hong Kong – and a daughter.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He reached forward and reopened the buff-coloured file in front of him, flicking papers through his fingers before closing it again. She could well imagine what the papers in the file might say. Memories best forgotten erupted in her mind like long dormant volcanoes.

  ‘You were imprisoned by the Japanese.’

  ‘Yes. I was.’

  He looked at her over the top of his steepled fingers in a way that made her fold her arms across her front so that her breasts were squeezed together and less noticeable.

  In the blink of an eye, his gaze darted to her face.

  ‘You must hate them. For what they did.’

  She kept her cool, gritted her teeth. ‘It was back in the war and there’s nothing I can do to change anything. Anyway, I was also at Hiroshima in the aftermath of the war and saw what was done to them.’

  ‘They had it coming. And you were kept prisoner by this guy, Pheloung. I’m surprised you’re still living in the Orient.’

  ‘Circumstances.’

  ‘Your daughter?’

  ‘What about my daughter?’

  ‘You didn’t go back to England.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘I thought she’d be better here.’

  She winced when he leaned forward, making her feel like a bug beneath the lens of a microscope.

  His look was direct and too probing. ‘You mean she might not be accepted back home. Isn’t that right?’

  This was a subject she had gone over in her mind on numerous occasions. At first she had yearned to go home, to catch up with her brother, see the nephew and niece she’d never met. The truth was there just below the surface. The colonel was winkling it out, had surmised how she’d suspected Dawn would be treated. Despite friendly wartime occupation by the soldiers of many countries, there could still be hostility towards anyone who was different. Britain wouldn’t have changed that much. The offspring of an enemy, her little girl, would be bullied for something she had no control over, for simply being of mixed blood. Enemy blood.

  ‘I thought about it and decided it wouldn’t be a picnic.’

  ‘Only to be expected. This won’t be a picnic either. You’ll be roughing it. That’s why it has to be a woman doctor who’s experienced war. A male doctor wouldn’t do. The nuns wouldn’t like that. It has to be a female doctor who knows what it’s like to go without the ribbons and bows.’

  ‘Please don’t patronise me. I am not at all like the little woman you’ve left at home.’

  He held his hands up as though in surrender.

  ‘I’m saying it as it is. It wouldn’t suit a woman who paints her nails or slaps on the lipstick.’

  It hinted at insult. ‘I think I should point out that I do occasionally paint my nails and apply lipstick.’

  ‘I’m sure you do, Doctor.’

  ‘Do I have ti
me to think this over?’

  ‘Of course you do. Ever been there?’

  ‘Korea? No. Have you?’

  His jaw tensed as though he suddenly found himself chewing on iron filings.

  ‘Yes. I served there as a military attaché for a while. Korea would be a fine country if it wasn’t for the Koreans.’

  She fancied he’d been about to laugh at his own joke. It came out as though his voice was cracked and the laughter begrudging.

  Not appearing to notice her disdainful expression, the colonel continued.

  ‘Seoul is a fine city. Peaceful too. We, meaning the United Nations, want it to stay that way. We don’t want more ruined cities like Hiroshima and Nagasaki. No more piles of rubble.’

  His statement brought the past vividly to life in her mind; piles of rubble and people suffering the aftermath of the atomic explosions. Back at the end of the war she’d served with the Red Cross close to where the atomic bombs had destroyed thousands of lives. The likes of Colonel Warrington tended to refer to Hiroshima and Nagasaki in terms of the destruction of cities. She would always refer to the subject in terms of the lives lost at the time of the bombing and the horrors that followed: those who had not been close to the blast but suffered radiation sickness and condemned to a slow, lingering death.

  ‘You would be doing us a favour. Doing the Koreans a favour too.’

  She shook her head. ‘I have a daughter to think of.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be a problem. I understand she’s in boarding school.’

  ‘Yes.’ He’d done his research, but to what end?

  ‘You’re saying it could be an impediment that would prevent you going.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How about you take her with you?’

  ‘I’m not saying I would go.’

  ‘The compound and the convent are well protected. The money’s good.’

  ‘I’m not worried about money.’

  ‘Is there nothing that could persuade you to leave Hong Kong?’

  ‘Not at this moment in time. Anyway, the nuns might be of an order that doesn’t allow children inside its hallowed precincts.’