Counterfeit Love (6 page)

Charlotte gave her a smile. ‘I know you can do it.’ She spooned a serving of eggs onto a plate for Lucy and one for herself and then added some toast. She sat heavily in her chair. ‘Ah, my feet.’

Lucy laughed. ‘It was your idea.’

Charlotte moaned again. ‘You were the one who wouldn’t stop dancing.’

‘You’re the one who wouldn’t stop chatting up weirdos.’

They both laughed as they picked over the highlights of their night – a regular Saturday morning activity that was sometimes more entertaining than the night itself. Charlotte regretted giving Kite Man her number, and they both cursed themselves for deciding to walk home at the end of the night. Their heels were ruined, and so were their feet.

Lucy dragged herself away from the table after breakfast to limp off to the markets. It was another Saturday morning ritual that they did together whenever Lucy’s shifts and Charlotte’s demanding clients allowed, but Lucy had to go alone this morning because Charlotte had to prepare for the boat trip. Lucy might have made an excuse to abandon the job altogether, but she was hanging out for a giant fruit salad with everything in it and the rockmelon-and-grape parfait on offer at the local faux cafe wasn’t going to cut it. She also needed a job to do so she wasn’t hanging around waiting to hear from Byron.

The humidity hit Lucy as soon as she walked out of her apartment. It was so sticky that water was trickling down the walls of the landing, and a pair of shoes that Lucy had left outside the door a few days ago had gone green. At this time of year, with the humidity hovering around one hundred per cent, mould wasn’t so much a problem as a constant companion.

The climate certainly wasn’t the city’s most endearing feature. Not that it was its worst feature, either; pollution got that distinction, particularly when the wind was blowing from mainland China and the smog from the factories of Guangdong smothered the city. Lucy pitied anyone who suffered from asthma on those days.

As Lucy walked down the street towards the market she noticed it was actually quite a clear day by Hong Kong standards, and not a bad day to be out on the harbour. A boat trip would be the perfect antidote to her insane week in the newsroom. Of course, she’d rather be spending the day with Byron … She pulled her phone out of her bag to check her messages once again, but there was still nothing from him.

She brushed her disappointment aside, glad to have plans to spend the day with Charlotte’s cast of colleagues and wealthy eccentrics. Besides, Byron had said he had an early start. He probably had work this morning. Maybe he’d call later in the day, when he’d freshened up.

A vision of Byron stepping out of the shower popped into Lucy’s mind, a towel wrapped around his waist and his fit body reflected in the bathroom mirror. She could almost smell the steam coming off his body, a subtle aroma of sandalwood. She could almost sense it in the air, which was strange because she was walking past a fermented-tofu hawker, and normally nothing could overpower the stink of that stuff.

She realised it was happening again: she was allowing her mind to dawdle over Byron. She had to get a grip. She took a deep breath in, letting the stink of deep-fried fermented bean curd fill her nostrils.

‘Ugh,’ she groaned.
How do people eat that stuff?
It smelled foul, but it did the trick. Lucy completely forgot the smell of Byron, so she could get on with the business of haggling in the wet market, which required complete concentration.

The fruit and vegetable hawkers could tell she wasn’t a local – even though she spoke fluent Cantonese. They tested her bartering skills everywhere she went. Lucy knew it would be easier to just buy fruit from a supermarket, but she was in Hong Kong for the cultural experience as well as the professional. She wasn’t going to avoid an experience just because it was a little bit tricky.

Lucy left the market with four bags full of fruit, and a dull stress headache. She’d become carried away when she saw the price of the mangoes and bought a dozen when she really only needed one, and that had required another round of bargaining. But the most difficult part of the outing was still ahead of her: the trek home, straight up the lower slopes of Victoria Peak. She eyed a taxi going past, but by the time she’d put her hand out it had whizzed past to collect another customer.

Lucy looked at the hill ahead of her and took a deep breath – unfortunately she sucked in another lungful of stinky bean curd, which made her cough. Another taxi drove past. She looked at it longingly, regretting her decision to buy a whole watermelon along with the mangoes. Just as she put her bags down and looked around for a taxi, her phone buzzed.

It was a text from a number she didn’t recognise. She clicked through to read it.

Hey Lucy. How about a drink tonight? Vue at 8 p.m.?

Byron.

Lucy had a strange feeling in her stomach. She wanted to blame it on the tofu hawker, but she knew that wasn’t the problem this time. It was the prospect of seeing Byron.

Hi Byron. Sure thing. See you at 8. Lucy xoxo

A reply came straight back.

Great. XX

Lucy smiled at the kisses on the end of the message and put her phone away, wondering if their drink tonight would end with real kisses. She collected her fruit from the footpath and took off up the hill, her bags suddenly feeling like they were filled with marshmallows. She’d either got a whole lot stronger in the last two minutes, or her brief exchange with Byron had numbed the pain in her feet and the ache in her arms.

There were no prizes for guessing which one it was.

‘The problem with the Chinese here is they can’t really cook Chinese food,’ Durban, the expert on everything, said to Lucy as the Desire company junk cruised into a small bay on one of Hong Kong’s outlying islands. Lucy longingly eyed a small stretch of sand between two rocky headlands.

There were many things that Lucy knew about Hong Kong, even before she’d arrived in the city. She had a good grasp of its history, from its days as a pirate hideout to its colonial period under the British flag and its return to China in 1997. She knew its reputation as a financial hub and the names of the
hongs
, or trading companies, that dominated business in the city.

Lucy was also well aware of how busy the city was. The district of Mong Kok, literally meaning ‘busy corner’, held the record for the most crowded place on earth, not a title to be taken lightly. But what she hadn’t realised was the number of secret pockets of solitude tucked into this frenetic, crowded place.

It was one of those lovely little pieces of tranquillity that Lucy was gazing at as she stood on the deck of the junk. She checked that the ties on her bikini were secure and wondered if swimming there was a viable option for getting away from Durban, the guy who, for the past hour, had been in her ear about how great he was. He’d been in Hong Kong for about five minutes and he thought he knew it all – the answer to pollution, the housing problems and food safety issues. He even had a few ideas for how to improve the restaurants in Hong Kong.

‘Really, I think it’s time to return to basics.’

Lucy was tempted to kill him. It was widely accepted that Hong Kong was an epicurean epicentre, and for this guy to suggest that the food here was
shit
was provocative at best, and at worst, just plain rude. He was an estate agent from Wellington, for god’s sake. What would he know about Chinese food? And had he not noticed that
she
was Chinese
,
as were most of the other people on the boat, including the chef? Lucy looked at the inky sea below them, wondering how well the Expert could swim. He was so close to the side of the boat. Just a little push would be enough to send him in and end her misery.

‘You know, I’d be a pretty good guest on TVi,’ Durban said. ‘How about I come in on Monday? What do you say to that,
Lucy
Yang reporting
?’ He thrust a glass of champagne at Lucy’s mouth, as though he was holding a microphone.

‘It’s not up to me who appears on the news, but I’ll suggest your name,’ she lied.

Is this guy for real?
Had he actually been invited along, or had he stowed away and popped out of the anchor hatch with a glass of champagne in his hand just after they cleared Aberdeen? It looked like there were plenty of interesting people on board – Lucy recognised a few of them – and she would have been happy to talk to any of them, but it seemed that Durban wasn’t going to let that happen. He had her totally cornered.

At least she was keeping her side of the bargain with Charlotte: she hadn’t bothered any of her guests with interview requests. She hadn’t had a chance! It was almost as if Charlotte had invited Durban along for that very reason.

Wait. She wouldn’t, would she?
Lucy watched Charlotte as she mingled her way from one side of the boat to the other, chatting here, topping up champagne glasses there – the perfect hostess. She floated past Lucy and Durban and then disappeared into the cabin.

‘I think I’ll go and help Charlotte. It looks like lunch is about to be served,’ Lucy said, desperate to escape.

‘Good idea, I’ll come, too. Many hands make light work.’

‘Ah, but too many cooks spoil the broth,’ Lucy replied, even though it was obvious that none of them would be involved in any cooking or work of any kind – they had staff for that. ‘You go. I’ll stay here.’

Durban decided not to go either. ‘The water looks so inviting. What do you say we go for a swim?’

Any other time, Lucy might have been up for it. The water was pretty clean where they were. But the idea of splashing around with Durban made her flesh crawl.

‘Maybe after lunch,’ Lucy said.

Durban shrugged. He peeled off his clothes and leapt into the water with a great Tarzan roar.
What a poser
, Lucy thought. Everyone on the junk turned to watch him, which Lucy guessed was exactly what he had hoped for.

‘Come in!’ he shouted to Lucy. She shook her head as Durban started doing some kind of aqua aerobics display. Lucy backed away and slipped off to talk to some other guests. She was just starting to enjoy herself when Durban reappeared in a towel, his hair still wet.

‘It was beautiful in there,’ he smiled. ‘You should have come in.’

Lucy sighed. There was just no escaping this guy.

For the rest of the afternoon Lucy managed to snatch snippets of conversation with other guests on the junk, but every time she got away Durban tracked her down. She even tried to talk to the boat’s captain to escape, but Durban was right there behind her, fluent in Cantonese, to her complete dismay.

‘I think that’s a storm coming,’ Lucy commented to the captain.

‘No. It’s smog,’ Durban said, without even looking at the sky.

The captain nodded. ‘Smog.’

Lucy silently groaned, while Durban beamed. ‘I thought so,’ he said, following Lucy out of the wheelhouse and onto the top deck. ‘You know, it’s not easy being right all the time. My ex-wife told me it was actually really annoying.’

Lucy cringed. She didn’t like the way the conversation was going. Any mention of an ex-wife was often a precursor to an invitation to dinner that was guaranteed to end badly. Lucy wondered if Durban’s wife had left him before or after his personality bypass. Lucy was relieved when she finally saw the harbour at Aberdeen – the floating city confirming that her ordeal with Durban was almost at an end.

‘So, I was thinking,’ the Expert began.
Here it comes
, Lucy thought, trying to turn her wince into a pleasant smile. He was Charlotte’s client, after all. ‘I’ve got this cocktail thing on tonight, and if you’re not busy, maybe you want to come along.’

There it is
, Lucy thought.
Right on cue.

‘I mean, you’ve probably got something on, but it’d be fun if you could make it,’ Durban continued.

Lucy sighed. ‘Wow, I’m sure it’d be really fun, but I’m busy tonight. Sorry, any other time, I’d love to.’

Durban looked crestfallen for the first time all day. ‘Oh, that’s a shame. It’s going to be pretty special. It’s a China Holdings do.’

Lucy’s jaw almost dropped. China Holdings was one of Yu’s companies. ‘Oh! Tell me more.’