Heart of Lies (16 page)

“Leo, look, there’s something strange going on there—”

He did not hear her, having just located the teahouse. “There it is, just across from the lantern shop—”

“Leo, look.”

This time Martha’s voice caused Leo to spin quickly on his heel. As he turned he heard a shout, full of youthful defiance. He knew enough of the language to understand the words.

“Long live the revolution!”

A burst of gunfire followed. The small group scattered in five different directions. The young man lay on the ground, blood pouring from the wound where a portion of his skull had been blown away. Bits of his brain stuck to the pavement. His legs still quivered.

Martha screamed. Leo grabbed her shoulders and spun her around, pressing her head to his shoulder.

“Don’t look, Martha. Let’s get out of here.” Her screams turned into whimpers.

Leo heard a whistle blow. Within minutes the sidewalk could be swarming with French police. He had no desire to serve as a witness. He had no useful facts to share, and did not want his own background investigated.

“Come on.” He grabbed Martha’s hand and pulled her along behind him. They walked quickly away from the scene without encountering anyone. No one at all. When they reached the Avenue Joffre Leo hailed a cab. They did not leave the house for five days.

All around the city, the massacre continued. Day after day, night after night, the Shanghailanders closed their doors and averted their eyes while mercenary thugs controlled by the nationalists slaughtered the communists within their ranks. After all, the foreign residents told themselves, there was no reason for the Europeans to get involved; this was a Chinese political problem, and the Chinese had a different notion regarding the sanctity of life. Perhaps because there were so many of them.

And so with guns, knives, and treachery, Chiang Kai-shek consolidated his power. He was supported this time not by the Russians, but by the wealthy Chinese without whom he could not rule the country.
Wealthy men who wanted a unified China, but did not want their property nationalized by the communists. Men who owned banks, ships, and factories, and the souls of other men. Men like Liu Tue-Sheng.

The remaining communist members of the liberation army soon fled the city. The general then left Shanghai to establish a nationalist government at Nanking. On his arm was his new bride, Maylong Soong, sister of Mr. T. V. Soong, the new government’s Minister of Finance and one of the wealthiest men in China.

The Concessions remained inviolate. The wire fences came down. The soldiers came into town to drink and purchase the favors of women, and merchant ships returned to the harbor. Life resumed its normal frenetic pace. A short memory was a handy attribute if one wanted to live at ease in Shanghai.

Leo was not so sanguine. The sight of the factories burning across the river lingered in his mind. Just as the Derkovits family had linked their fortune to the fate of Hungary, he had linked his fortune to Shanghai’s future. He’d invested in several businesses operating in the war-damaged industrial zone. He owned rental property in the Chinese districts and undeveloped real estate outside the French Concession. Luckily, this time his losses had been minor, but the next time, if there was a next time, he could face a major financial setback.

War was a risky business, and there was no guarantee that the political situation in China would not adversely affect Shanghai’s economy in the future. Without another country that would take him in, he was not free to leave Shanghai, but his money could travel. Money could not be so easily seized or burned or destroyed by revolution. At least, not money that was invested in the safest, strongest country in the world: the United States of America.

By the end of the summer Leo had sold everything. With the help of a broker he invested his entire fortune in the stocks of American companies. He could not go to America, but his money could. It could grow there. And keep Martha safe.

In the interest of continued economic cooperation between the International Settlements and the new government of China, Sir Elly Kadoorie, one of Shanghai’s wealthiest men, decided to host a gala honoring Chiang Kai-shek and his new bride. He invited the elite of Shanghai society, Western and Asian, to a dance at his home, Marble Hall, named for the tons of Italian marble he’d imported to build the mansion’s massive stone fireplaces.

On the night of the party, Leo surprised Martha with an early Christmas present.

“My darling, it’s so beautiful,” Martha exclaimed as she lifted an emerald and diamond necklace from the velvet box he’d just handed her.

“Not as beautiful as your eyes.”

She batted her lashes at him. “Thank you, kind sir. Could you help me put it on?”

They moved to stand in front of the mirror in the foyer so Martha could admire her new gift as Leo placed it around her neck. “Well, now there’s a good-looking couple,” Leo quipped as he closed the clasp.

The light faded from Martha’s eyes. “They should have beautiful children, don’t you think? But that doesn’t seem to be in the cards, does it?”

Leo planted a few kisses on the back of her neck, just below the edge of her bobbed hair. “Darling, the doctor keeps telling us there’s no rea
son why we can’t have children. We just have to keep trying. If you like, I’ll take you back upstairs and we can try again right now.”

A smile replaced Martha’s wistful expression. “And miss a chance to dance in Marble Hall? Not likely.”

“Well, I won’t allow you to dance with anyone else tonight, that’s certain. I couldn’t stand it. You’re irresistible in that dress.” Despite the trend toward heavily beaded, calf-length chemises for evening wear, Martha wore a long gown of emerald-green satin. In back, the fabric draped in a long cowl to her waist, exposing the creamy skin of her back and shoulders to maximum advantage.

She turned to face him. “I promise not to test you. Just one dance with old Silas Hardoon.”

“The old man’s ticker couldn’t possibly take it.”

“Don’t underestimate him. I heard he bought his wife in a Chinese brothel.”

“And to think I was lucky enough to find you in a pastry shop. Saved all that money.”

Martha playfully clubbed her husband on the head with her small velvet bag, and they made their way to Marble Hall.

It was the party of the decade in a city whose population lived for fine parties. Bejeweled revelers danced under the radiant light of thirty-six hundred electric bulbs, clustered on massive Bohemian crystal chandeliers that swayed from the sixty-foot ceiling. Towering champagne fountains poured gallons of bubbly wine into crystal glasses, and banquet tables offered up delicacies from every nationality represented in Shanghai: Chinese dumplings shaped like swans and stuffed with shrimp, French cheeses, Italian pasta and bread, blintzes
stuffed with caviar, beef tenderloin medallions, and desserts of every kind.

By midnight, the heat of the many electric bulbs caused the crowded ballroom to become uncomfortably warm. When Martha excused herself to go powder her nose, Leo decided to step out onto the balcony on the lower terrace to cool off.

To his dismay he was not alone. Also on the balcony, enjoying the fresh but frigid night air, were none other than Chiang Kai-shek himself, along with his wife. And Liu Tue-Sheng.

There was no way for Leo to back away and return to the ballroom without being rude, for all three people had turned to look directly at him. Nonetheless, he tried.

“Excuse me. I didn’t mean to interrupt what must be a private conversation. Good evening.”

No luck. “Mr. Hoffman, please, let me introduce you.” The awkward cadence of Liu’s speech rang in Leo’s ears like a warning, but how could he turn down the honor of meeting the general, the man who might one day rule all of China, without insulting everyone present? He stepped forward.

“Good evening, Mr. Liu. It’s been some time since we last met.”

“Yes. I trust life in Shanghai has treated you well?”

“I have no complaints, thank you.”

“Nor have I. General, please allow me to present Mr. Leopold Hoffman, a successful Shanghai businessman.”

“It is an honor, General Chiang.” Leo knew better than to shake hands. He acknowledged the general’s bow by responding in a similar fashion, making sure that his own head descended a noticeable distance lower, to show his respect.

“And, Madame Chiang, Mr. Hoffman.”

Here Leo was free to display his Hungarian courtesy. He bent low over the dimpled hand that the general’s wife offered him from beneath her sable wrap, bringing his heels together smartly as he did so, and pressed his lips to the back of her palm for a fraction of an instant.

Then he committed an unforgivable breach of etiquette. He did not let go of her hand. He held it, staring at the ring she wore: a five-carat, emerald-cut diamond, winking up at him like an old menace.

An uncomfortable cough from the woman whose hand he clutched brought Leo back to his senses. He released Madame Chiang’s hand. His head jerked up with a snap and he met Liu’s eyes.

The man was smiling.

Leo managed to regain his composure. “It’s an honor to meet you both, and may I offer my sincere congratulations on your marriage. Now, if you will please excuse me, I must meet my wife before she is lost in this crowd.”

“Of course,” Liu replied. “One must not leave such a beautiful woman alone too long.”

Leo did not like the thought that Liu even knew of Martha’s existence. Without another word, he turned and left the terrace.

Within a few minutes Martha rejoined him, but Leo’s encounter with Liu had taken the pleasure out of the evening. He saw only the diamond on Madame Chiang’s hand. Liu had given the Cartier diamonds to the general to help finance his war, of that Leo was certain. Had those stones helped pay for the guns that Chiang used to massacre his communist brethren, once the general decided he’d toss his lot in with the likes of Liu rather than rely on the Russians?

Leo felt like a pawn on a chessboard, the size and scope of which he could not ascertain. He did not like the feeling. He wanted to leave, to get away from Liu and the general and the crowd of people celebrating the survival of a city that had no right to exist, yet continued to do so.

Martha looked up at him. “Leo, do you feel unwell?”

“Fine, just tired. I don’t know that I’ll last much longer.”

She acquiesced immediately when he suggested they leave; she could tell he was no longer enjoying the evening. They’d reached the entrance to the ballroom when Martha hesitated, listening.

“A waltz. They’re playing a waltz. No one plays waltzes anymore. Could we please dance one more time?”

He could never refuse her. “Of course, my darling.”

The waltz, which had been the scandal of their grandparents’ generation because it called for such close physical contact between the sexes, was now viewed as hopelessly old-fashioned by the emancipated libertines of the roaring twenties. However, Leo was a child of the land of the waltz, and to the offspring of the Austrian-Hungarian Empire, the waltz was a romantic ritual, not a mere dance that could fall out of favor as quickly as yesterday’s hemline. Leo could waltz more gracefully than most men could breathe.

He took Martha’s hand in his and led her back to the all but empty dance floor. They paused for an instant to catch the rhythm of the music. Then with one quick step backward, Leo and Martha floated into the dance. They moved in effortless unison, gliding in swift circles around the room, stepping and turning as though the music emanated from them, as if their dance granted the spectators permission to share, for a moment, the magic of their special union.

Leo could sense every eye upon them, and his heart filled with emo
tion as he looked at Martha. He was dancing a waltz with his beautiful wife, his most beloved treasure, making love to her through the music, and he knew he was the envy of every man in the room.

“By God, you’re worth a revolution,” he whispered in the air above her ear. She did not catch his words, but heard the love with which he uttered them, and turning slightly to face him, she smiled.

SHANGHAI, 1929

“Missus sick again today, Mistah Leo. She no come down.”

Leo took a last sip of his coffee and put down the newspaper he’d been reading. “I think it’s time to take her to see the doctor, Wei. Yesterday she was too tired to move, and it’s not like her to skip breakfast.” As modern as Shanghai was, they were nonetheless exposed to a myriad of tropical diseases, from malaria carried by the voracious mosquitoes to dysentery spread by vegetables washed with tainted water. Martha was not running a fever, but there was no easy explanation for her illness. He did not want to take any chances.

When they left the house to take Martha to her doctor’s appointment, it was just before nine o’clock on a cold and dreary Tuesday morning. Fog horns boomed loudly across the water as boats tried to navigate their way through the thick haze blanketing the river. The whole city seemed subdued.

The doctor’s office was located a few blocks off the Bund. The nurse admitted Martha quickly, leaving Leo to wait uneasily in the sitting
room. He told himself that there was probably nothing seriously wrong with his wife, but where Martha was concerned, he was not a patient man. He tried to occupy his mind by rereading yesterday’s edition of the
North China Daily News
, but the stale stories did nothing to curb his agitation. It occurred to him that he could run up the street to his broker’s office, and ask him about the status of his latest investment: shares in a coal mining company in the American state called Pennsylvania. Leo tapped on the glass that separated the waiting area from the nurse’s station.

“Excuse me. Do you have any idea how long my wife will be?”

“I’m sure it will be at least an hour, if not more. With all that nausea the doctor will want to run some tests. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks, but I may run out for a moment. Please tell her I’ll leave the car and driver for her, but that I’ll be right back.”

“Of course, sir.” The nurse shut her glass barrier with an indulgent smile. Feeling a touch of guilt and a hint of relief, Leo left.

He quickly covered the few short blocks to the Bund and stopped at the Ewo building, where the offices of Jardine, Matheson and Company, the largest trading company in the Orient, were located. Leo’s securities broker leased an office on the third floor.

Leo’s investment advisor was a man by the name of Burton Damion. He was American, New York born, Harvard educated, and well-respected for his ability to make money for his clients, and himself. A rumor traveled around Shanghai that an investment scandal in New York was responsible for Burton’s relocation to the city, but one never knew the truth behind the story of anyone’s decision to come to Shanghai. His references were good, and with his hands-on experience as a
trader in New York, his presence allowed some of the wealthy Shanghailanders to tap into the New York stock exchange with relative ease. Leo liked him. In the two years since he decided to put his money into the American stock market, he’d made an excellent return following Burton’s advice. Lately, encouraged by his success, he’d started engaging in margin trades: he could diversify his portfolio by using part of it as collateral for loans to buy more shares. So far the strategy had worked quite well.

Leo tapped on the door to Burton’s office. He didn’t want to leave Martha for long; he did not want her to be alone if she received some distressing news about her health. If Burton was free, he’d be back at the doctor’s office in ten minutes, and it would be ten minutes he did not have to spend sitting, worried and restive.

Hearing no answer, he stepped inside. He saw no sign of Burton’s secretary, but the door to his private office was closed. Leo thought he heard the sound of someone sobbing. Without thinking he opened the inner door.

The secretary was there. So was a policeman, and so was Burton, or rather, the remains of Burton. The back of his head was plastered all over the window, a red and brown patch of gore, blotting out the gray view of the Bund.

“What in God’s name has happened?”

At the sound of Leo’s voice the woman looked up. Her eyes were swollen from crying.

“And who might you be?” the policeman asked, blustering with British efficiency.

“Leo Hoffman. I’m a client.”

“Well, Mr. Damion won’t be keepin’ any more appointments, sir.
He’s checked himself out. The gun’s still right there on the floor, right where it ought to be, so there ain’t no doubt about what’s happened. This poor lady heard the shot.”

Leo stared, dumbfounded. “Burton? Killed himself?”

“I’d say so. Didn’t take any chances, on missin’, did he? Awful business.” He made a notation in his notebook, and continued to talk.

“He must’ve had quite a hot wire to the States. The word is just now gettin’ across the water. ‘Black Monday,’ they’re callin’ it. Didn’t have much money in the stock market stateside, yourself, did ya sir?”

The bottom fell out of Leo’s stomach. He swallowed, then bit his lower lip. “A bit,” was all he managed to say.

“Well, that bit’s probably gone up in smoke, sir. The New York stock market crashed. I heard there’s stock brokers poppin’ out of windows like champagne corks in Manhattan. Pitiful blokes. It’s only money, after all. Well, you better go now, sir. I’ll see to this poor lady. What a mess. Poor bastard.” Clucking and muttering, the man turned his attention back to the corpse.

Out on the street, Leo noticed a small cluster of men gathering on the steps of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation. The impressive entrance to the city’s most prestigious bank was flanked by two enormous bronze lions, whose paws were kept shiny by innumerable Chinese who did not pass by without rubbing them for good luck. Leo felt tempted to go and rub one now. He went to join the group on the stairs, under the massive white dome that symbolized the wealth and power of the men who owned Shanghai.

As he approached, he caught bits of conversation: some highly agitated, some curious, some smug. Leo stepped up to listen.

“No, there’s no doubt about it. The whole market’s been wiped out,
and the world financial markets are already following Wall Street’s lead. This is a disaster of unprecedented proportion.”

“Wonder how many chaps will be busted flat. We surely don’t need another bunch of well-to-do beggars. That White Russian business was enough.”

“I can’t believe it could happen so quickly. How could it all collapse so quickly?”

“Surely it will pick up again.”

“You will need a miracle the likes of which has not been seen since Jesus walked the earth to salvage anything out of this mess.”

“I wonder who’ll feel the worst of it. Thank God I wasn’t in.”

Leo could stand no more. It was true. He was ruined. He’d put all of his faith in the American stock market, to share part of the wealth of a great nation he knew he’d never see. And now he was left with nothing.

He staggered backward and came close to tripping down the stairs. A friendly arm reached out to steady him.

“I say there, are you quite all right?” Leo shrugged off the helpful stranger’s assistance.

How am I going to be able to tell Martha?

He stumbled back to the doctor’s office in a daze. Martha was standing in the waiting room.

“Leo, how troubled you look. You’re so pale. But everything is fine, darling. It’s better than fine; everything is wonderful.” Tears filled her eyes; her voice caught in her throat, but she was still smiling.

“We’re going to have a baby. The doctor says I have to be careful, but if I follow this special diet and don’t tax myself too much, there shouldn’t be any problems. Oh Leo, darling, we’re going to have a baby.” She threw her arms around his neck.

Leo held her tightly. He’d held Erzsebet, and Martha, and other women whose tears mattered much less, as they cried in sorrow, and in joy. But the tears confronting him now were his own. Tears of jubilation, and tears of anguish.

Once again, within the space of a few short hours, his life had been radically altered. Somehow, he must find a way to start over again. He crushed his beloved Martha to him, and thought about the new life inside her, a life for whom he was responsible. A life so much more important than his own.

He couldn’t tell Martha about his financial losses; he couldn’t stand to bring her any grief or anxiety now. Nor did he want to have to admit to her how badly he’d failed. He would have to keep up appearances, somehow, pretending that nothing had changed, at least until the baby came.

Later that night Leo sat alone in his library, sorting out his options. According to the financial information he’d been able to scrape together, they were not completely destitute, but close to it. He could mortgage the house to buy time. But he had to produce some income. He’d have to get a job.

He needed a position that would allow them to continue their current lifestyle. He could not bear to ask Martha to abandon the life of luxury he’d created for her. And he wanted no less for his child.

He was fluent in five European languages, and could now also speak and understand a good deal of Mandarin, and some Cantonese. He was able to get along well with people from diverse backgrounds. He possessed a modicum of financial knowledge. Given the economy of Shanghai, it all pointed in one direction: a bank.

But how to go about getting a position? He couldn’t just wander up to the door and drop off a resume. He wouldn’t be hired at any of the city’s truly prestigious institutions if the word got out that he really needed a job. No one wanted to pay top dollar for a “well-to-do beggar.” Not in Shanghai.

He would have to conduct his search by word of mouth, in the most informal settings.
I’m interested in carving out a place for myself in the business community. Want to put down some roots, now that a baby is on the way. Might be amusing to learn something about the banking business.
He’d put the word out casually, at the country club, on the golf course, and over a glass of brandy at the Astor House. At least, he could start his search that way.

To his delight, his plan worked. Within a few weeks he received a telephone call from Maximillian Berbier, a vice president of the Commerce Bank of China.

“Mr. Hoffman, I’m pleased to find you at home,” the Frenchman began. His English was heavily accented, but more than acceptable. “I don’t believe that we’ve actually met before, but I know that we have many mutual acquaintances, especially among the members of
Le Cercle Sportif
. I know that I’ve seen you and your lovely wife there on many occasions.”

“How kind of you to remember us.”

“Well, it’s not kindness at all that motivates my call to you today, but good business sense. I understand from some conversations with colleagues at the club that you might be interested in a position with a financial institution.”

Leo kept his tone nonchalant. “Why, yes, actually. Funny you should hear about that. What a little fishbowl we live in.”

“Yes, no doubt. Well, we’ve been looking for some time for someone to help us in the area of business development. Would something of that nature interest you?”

“I’d be happy to discuss it.”

“Could you come in tomorrow? That is, if you have no other pressing engagements?”

“I think I could find time to slip in during the morning.”

“Excellent. Shall we say, ten o’clock?”

“Yes, that should work out nicely.”

“Good. And I’m sure you know the address—”

“Certainly. On the Bund, next to the
North China Daily News
office.”

“Exactement.
I’m looking forward to meeting with you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

Berbier turned out to be a small, fidgety man, whose thinning hair and full mustache made him look older than his forty-five years. He’d been in China since 1910, he told Leo. It was a difficult place to leave, once you got used to the small inconveniences of malaria-laden mosquitoes and civil war,
n’est-ce pas?
One could live so well in Shanghai.

Leo listened attentively to Berbier’s routine description of the bank’s history, its growth, and current assets with growing impatience. He finally interrupted.

“And how do you think I may be of service to this prestigious institution?”

“Ah, yes. Well, in fact, I believe that one of the members of our board of directors would like to discuss that with you. He is waiting in the president’s office. I will show you in.”

Curious, Leo followed the small man up the grand mahogany staircase leading away from the main banking floor to the office suites lo
cated on the second story. Why would a board member be interviewing him? Why not the president of the bank? Well, he didn’t really know that much about the banking business. He had a lot to learn.

Berbier crossed the second floor lobby. Leo could not help but notice the presence of several armed guards. Here was a bank that took security seriously.

The Frenchman led Leo through a set of double doors, intricately carved with scenes from Chinese history. These doors opened into a small outer office: an executive secretary’s work station. No one sat at the desk.

Berbier knocked on the door to the president’s office. Leo heard a muffled response. Berbier did not open the door. Instead, he walked away, saying as he did so, “I will leave you now. You may go in.”

Startled that he was expected to make his own introduction, Leo conjured up all of his self-confidence, opened the door of the inner office, and walked in.

There was a tall man, an Asian man, seated at the elaborate
bureau plat
that served as a desk. He was gazing out of a large picture window that presented a panoramic view of the Bund, with his back facing the door. Leo did not have to see his face to know who he was.

Liu Tue-Sheng swung his chair around slowly, almost regally. Leo stood in front of his desk, saying nothing, feeling as if his life in Shanghai had somehow come full circle.

“Mr. Hoffman. Good morning. I do apologize for this subterfuge, but I was not…altogether sure that you would accept my invitation for another…business meeting. Please, sit down.”