Brother Fish (111 page)

‘“Leave it to me, madam.”

‘“Shall I be coming to see you?” I asked.

‘“Those are not my instructions, madam. Taxi in one hour.” He placed the receiver down and I realised he hadn't even asked about the baby.

‘The taxi driver came to the door of the nursing home and waited for me. I was still a bit weak from the birth, so one of the nurses helped me to the taxi while the driver carried my things. Once in the taxi he handed me an envelope and, opening it, I discovered 300 Hong Kong dollars. We drove for some time up to what is known as the Peak, where many of the more wealthy Hong Kong citizens live. We stopped outside a rather posh-looking apartment block, where the smiling Chinese doorman hurried over to open the taxi door and seemed to be expecting me. The rice sack used in the prison to store my few possessions had been replaced at the nursing home with a small canvas bag, which the doorman carried to the lift. I was taken to the ninth floor. I forget the number of the apartment – I only remember the number of the floor, because nine is generally thought by the Chinese to be lucky.

‘I was met at the door by an
amah
and shown into a small but well-appointed flat. She led me into a bedroom where a child's wicker bassinette had been prepared beside the bed. She had obviously gone to some trouble to prepare the basket for a baby she'd anticipated would be a boy, and had decorated it in gaudy Chinese red and gold to celebrate the advent of a male child. “Your baby,
tai-tai
, it is not yet with you?” she asked, giving me the respectful title reserved for a married woman.

‘Of course she had not been told about the abduction. In the nursing home, after the visit from Dr Evinrude and the matron and my subsequent discussion with the matron, the subject of my child had not come up. It was as if the birth had never happened and I'd entered the nursing home for a rest cure. The young Chinese nurse who, shortly after the birth, had given me a glass of water and a sleeping pill had laughingly told me I had a “velly pretty baby” and later confessed she had only said this in an attempt to comfort me. She admitted she had not seen its face, as Sister Bradshaw had not allowed any of the nurses near as she swaddled the baby and took her out to wash, so she couldn't confirm whether it was of Asian or Caucasian appearance. After this the staff had simply carried on as if nothing had happened to me.

‘The question by the
amah
in the flat was the first time the existence of my baby had been mentioned since, and I could no longer contain my grief and began to weep. “My baby girl is gone,” I wailed in Cantonese, in such a way that I must have given her the impression that it had been stillborn. A stillborn child, particularly a girl, is not the tragedy to the Chinese it would be to a western mother. This
amah
would not think to touch me, and made no attempt to comfort me. Quite sensibly, she simply allowed me to cry for my lost child while she made me a bowl of green tea. After I'd calmed down she brought me a plain envelope with my name typed on the outside. Inside was a letter sent from Shanghai by John Roberston. Either the original mailed envelope had been removed, or the letter had been hand-delivered by someone coming to Hong Kong. According to the
amah
, a messenger boy had delivered it the previous day.

‘The letter was dated a week earlier and, while I can't remember the precise contents, it informed me that arrangements had been made for me to visit the British colonial administration's passport office. John Robertson had contacted them on my behalf and gave me the name of the appropriate British Government official to call and make an appointment. The official was a friend of his named Rob Henderson, and his telephone number was included. I recall the sentence in John Robertson's letter that said, “I anticipate the outcome will be positive and suitable travel papers will be provided for you to travel to Australia.” I confess Australia had never entered my head as a possible destination. All I knew about it was that in the state of Victoria they grew golden raisins, and that a famous cricketer named Don Bradman was an Australian. There had been several Australians in Shanghai, of which John Robertson was one, and they had seemed to be a likeable and unpretentious bunch who didn't often mix with the crowd that formed the social circles I had been obliged to attend with Big Boss Yu.

‘John Robertson's letter also said that he would soon send me the papers I would need as a stateless person applying to immigrate to Australia. In the main this would be a certificate that indicated the Chinese Republic had consented for me to remain in China as a refugee until I was accepted by a second country. No doubt the documents from the Chinese Government had required another fairly heavy bribe. “You will also need a reference assuring the Australian Government that you are a person of good repute. A reference from myself and one from my client will be included,” the letter said. It went on to say that an amount of money equivalent to, “what my client believes you lost investing in shares has been placed in your Bank of China account, together with the sum agreed to in your contract. The receipt is included.” Finally the letter assured me that the flat,
amah
and all my living expenses would be paid for as long as I remained in Hong Kong, and if and when permission came for me to enter Australia the financial arrangements to get me there would be taken care of. Lastly, it suggested that while things were being sorted out I should keep a low profile among the European community.'

‘How did you feel about, you know, Sir Victor Sassoon?' I asked her warily.

Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. ‘I confess that at the time, and while in jail in Shanghai, I was very upset. I felt he had abandoned me completely. He was deeply involved in real-estate development on the Bund, building the massive Metropole Hotel, and the publicity I was generating while awaiting trial was potentially harmful to him. Even after my escape I told myself that the money he'd spent to bring it about was, by his standards, peanuts. More and more I grew to resent the contract he'd forced me to sign, thinking that he cared nothing for me and simply wanted me and the child out of his life.' She looked at me, her expression softening. ‘Over the years I have come to quite a different conclusion. Sir Victor may not have wanted to be openly acknowledged as the father of my child, nor to have any future responsibility for it, but in every other respect he acted appropriately. He was twice my age and could well have abandoned me, and I dare say the whole affair would soon have been forgotten – a bit of a fling with a nice young thing, and no more. Shanghai was the sort of place where the great taipans could get away with anything. An affair with a White Russian refugee who had acquired an English upper-class accent to hide her identity was, in the end, hardly a serious matter. To this day I remain grateful to him. While Big Boss Yu gained considerably from our association, Sir Victor received nothing tangible, and I'm sure I wasn't the first woman to fall in love with him.'

She paused again momentarily, then added, ‘One can only speculate how things might have turned out if Sir Victor hadn't come to my aid. With the influence the two dragonheads would undoubtedly have been able to exert over the Chinese Government of Chiang Kai-shek, I would probably have been found guilty and left to rot or die in prison. They were not to know until too late why John Robertson had worked so hard to get me legally placed under Chinese jurisdiction. He knew the Chinese prison officials could be bribed to make possible my escape before my trial ever came up. The expenses involved in achieving this outcome would have been well beyond my own resources.'

‘But what if you'd remained under the British justice system? Surely, in the end, you would have been vindicated?' Like other Australians of my era, I had been brought up to believe that British justice always triumphed.

But she shook her head. ‘Again, how would one know? Had I not come under Chinese law, bear in mind that the British and American justice systems can only work on available evidence. In this instance, witnesses able to testify that I had not been involved with the Red Dragon China and Crockery Company for the past four years would have been essential to the case.' She paused. ‘But think for a moment. The American customs officials had no way of knowing how long the opium smuggling had been going on. The judge hearing my case would have known of my association with Big Boss Yu, and his association with Big Ears Du. It was essentially unimportant who owned the crockery factory. I had started it and it had now been returned to me. Who was to say that the opium smuggling hadn't commenced from the very first shipment to America, when I most certainly had been responsible for the business? I had no way of proving the smuggling operation had not been instigated by me.

‘The fear of reprisals from the two Triad bosses would have had every one of the factory workers without exception indicting me in the witness stand, swearing on the graves of their ancestors that I'd owned the factory from the beginning up until the time I was arrested. There were no European witnesses to testify that I no longer ran the business. The factory wasn't large, and it was built on Chinese soil – foreign settlers would never have seen it. It had been four years since I may even have mentioned its existence in conversation with a European, if indeed I ever had. Big Boss Yu did not like to talk about his business affairs in public, and I followed his example. This reluctance to talk about the crockery factory and export business could easily have been construed as my desire to keep quiet about the business for “obvious” reasons.' She smiled widely. ‘To use one of your favourite expressions, Jack, I was “caught between a rock and a hard place”.'

‘Dat foh sure, Countess,' Jimmy agreed, shaking his head.

‘I dare say the English judge would have seen through the conspiracy soon enough, but this still wouldn't have proved me innocent. The Americans were demanding a result to satisfy Washington. They certainly weren't going to be able to bring Big Ears Du or his white paper fan, Smallpox “Million Dollar” Yang, to trial. So the judge would probably have given me the minimum sentence for drug smuggling, which at the time was five years. Of course if this had eventuated my reputation would have been destroyed and, as a convicted felon, there would have been no possibility of my obtaining employment following my release from prison, and even less of being accepted as a refugee by another country in order to leave Shanghai permanently.'

She looked up at me, eager to clarify. ‘Jack, this was happening in Shanghai – at the time the most corrupt city in the world, and with a totally venal government in office. If I hadn't been a stateless person but instead a citizen of a Concession nation, some sort of justice may have prevailed. As a White Russian who lived among the Chinese I was of no importance, and once I had lost the support of Big Boss Yu I was just another second-class refugee.

‘Sir Victor and John Robertson had conspired to do the best they could under the circumstances, and it had worked. They'd got me out of prison and away from Shanghai. Moreover, they'd been able, with another heavy bribe I'm sure, to get me the correct refugee-status papers to present to the passport office in Hong Kong. It was something I could never possibly have achieved on my own, and I'm sure I owe Sir Victor Sassoon my life.

‘Anyway, a week after receiving John Robertson's letter a large packet was delivered containing all the necessary papers and the two references. The reference from Sir Victor, on his personal letterhead, simply read:

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

I have known Countess Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan for a period of ten years. I am aware of her present refugee status and her wish to leave China. I would consider any country willing to accept her as a citizen as being most fortunate. She is of a high moral character and brings with her excellent business skills.

Yours faithfully,
Victor Sassoon

‘If Sir Victor's reference was somewhat formal, and certainly didn't wax lyrical, it was to prove immensely valuable. I made the call to John Robertson's friend Rob Henderson at the British colonial administration's passport office and he confirmed an appointment for the following day.

‘Rob Henderson proved to be a most accommodating and delightful chap. He and John Robertson had become friends when he'd been with the British Consulate in Shanghai and they'd played cricket together and, according to Rob Henderson, had “frequently imbibed far too much ale”. He also claimed to have met me on one occasion, though I was forced to confess I didn't recall this. He had received, he said, a long letter from John Robertson explaining my situation and so there was no need to go over it again.

‘“Did he explain to you that I was due to have a child?” I asked.

‘“Yes, indeed!” He glanced quickly at me. “Obviously that task is now completed – are congratulations in order?”

‘“Unfortunately not. I can only hope God might grant me another child at some other time,” I replied in a whisper. It was not quite lying, but I knew to tell him the truth was quite impossible. He would be obliged to call the Hong Kong police and the story of the abduction would reach Shanghai and implicate Big Boss Yu. I knew I wouldn't remain alive to be a witness at the inquiry that would follow.

‘“Oh, I am so sorry,” he said, looking distressed and half rising in his chair. “Shall I get you a glass of water?”

‘“No, thank you. I apologise for bringing the matter up – it is just—”