Part 16 (1/2)
”Completely.”
”You know no one else in Shanghai?”
The way he put it quite upset me, bringing the cold reality down on me as it did. Why, I was barely acquainted with the hotel neighborhood, to say nothing of the city of Shanghai. I patted a hand over my heart to calm myself. ”Not a soul. And it seems such a forbidding place.”
”I can remedy that,” he said, with a decisive dip of his head. ”Will you permit me to show you around? Shanghai has such sights to see.”
I swallowed some of the cool water the waiter had placed in front of me. The flush of my skin and quivering of my nervous limbs subsided. I summoned my most grateful smile. ”I feel better already.”
Three days later, on a sunny June Sat.u.r.day, Mr. Carlyle hired a mule-drawn carriage and toured me around Shanghai. First we wove our way through the shopping district and took in the wares displayed in their wide windows-intricate ivory carvings, elegant water paintings, fine cloisonne, and lovely silk carpets. Well-dressed foreigners strolled the streets, mingling with Chinese women in colorful silk robes and men in muted and flowing wide-sleeved garb. The sight of all these exotic scenes and goods and the singsong cacophony of Chinese voices filled me with childlike wonderment.
”Can we stop, please?” I asked Mr. Carlyle. ”So I can explore that shop?”
”Of course,” he said, grinning so broadly I wondered if the delight he took in my enthusiasm exceeded even my own pleasure.
We sauntered through the aisles of a curio shop filled with jade and ivory carvings and stone chops of milky gray, burnt orange, and endless other variations on earthy tones. When a miniature horse statue-a proud, muscular stallion with a mane of thick, swirling coils-caught my eye, Mr. Carlyle indulged me with its purchase.
Next we traveled to the Jing'an Temple and strolled the perimeter of its interior court. Before the steps to one of the temple buildings, a Chinese man paused and crouched. An old stooped woman-his mother, I surmised-leaned over his backside; he circled his arms around her legs, lifted her onto his back, and carried her up the stairs.
”Why, I've never seen anything like that,” I remarked, taking Mr. Carlyle's arm. How amazing it all was. Here I was in China, worlds away from my own family. I imagined recounting this scene to Maman and Gene and watching their eyes sparkle with awe. My older brother, Paul, with his misguided notions of familial duty, would probably have scoffed at this, or, for that matter, any of my stories.
”Yes,” said Mr. Carlyle. ”The Chinese are quite devoted to their elders. They're a very honorable people.”
”They are, aren't they? I've never felt a bit afraid among them. Not even in large crowds.”
After we'd covered the temple grounds and buildings, Mr. Carlyle asked, ”Shall we tour the business district?”
On the drive through Shanghai's busy streets, I could think of little other than the harmony and closeness among these people and my devotion to my own family. And whenever my thoughts turned to family, I remembered my dear papa. How intrigued he would have been by China. Papa, who had dreamed of sailing all the way up the St. Lawrence Seaway and across the ocean to France, would have relished tales of my Shanghai adventure.
”Look here,” said Mr. Carlyle from the open-air seat of our carriage. ”We're coming into the International Settlement. You'll find some American interests here.”
”But mostly British, of course,” I said, nodding in the direction of the Royal Bank of London.
”The French keep to themselves in a concession just south of here. You know those French-haughty to the end.”
”The trade must be lucrative for everybody involved.”
”Oh, yes. Someday this business district will rival even London's.” Turning to me, he asked, ”Have you ever been to London?”
”No, though I should love to see it.”
He patted my hand. ”Then you must let me take you someday.”
My friends.h.i.+p with Mr. Carlyle was obviously blossoming, and I truly appreciated his taking me under his wing. He was a delightful and considerate companion, and I was beginning to think I might entrust myself to his care, at least for the time being. After all, he navigated Shanghai with great ease and demonstrated agility managing the Chinese.
We returned to the hotel, and he invited me, as he had done the previous two evenings, to join him for dinner. It was over our dessert of hasty pudding that he announced, ”I've business in Hong Kong next week.”
I truly regretted the prospect of parting with Mr. Carlyle, but I had no claim on him. I'd a.s.sumed that the owner of a British mining interest would be bound to move on sooner or later. ”Oh, and will you be gone long?”
”It's hard to say. Several executives from other businesses are gathering, and I'm required to be at their disposal.”
”I shall miss your company.”
Mr. Carlyle ma.s.saged his chin with his fingertips. ”The thing is, I hate to leave you here on your own.”
I bowed my head. Though I had met other men in my few weeks in Shanghai, I felt safest with Mr. Carlyle. When I looked up, he was studying me.
Steepling his fingers, he asked, ”Would you care to join me?”
In truth, from my first sight of the Shanghai Harbor bustling with rickshaws, dockworkers, and hunched-over Chinamen speeding along on errands, I'd fallen in love with the Orient. Having heard that Hong Kong also offered wonderful shopping and that its port was among the most beautiful in the world, I beamed at Mr. Carlyle. ”I should like that very much.”
Just as I began to put my faith in Mr. Carlyle, I made a most disconcerting discovery-and quite by happenstance. Upon our arrival in Hong Kong, he installed us in the Lu-Chou Hotel, which he explained was sufficiently removed from the one at which his fellow business executives had gathered to spare me ”boorish blokes spouting about metals and mining morning, noon, and night.”
The day after our arrival, Mr. Carlyle begged my indulgence. ”I've an important meeting today, and it's quite possible I'll need to spend a few days away on business. I'll send word later.”
Of course I was disappointed. He'd dragged me all the way to a strange city and then abandoned me. To amuse and occupy myself, I strolled the area surrounding our hotel. June is quite hot and humid in Hong Kong, worse even than Chicago at its muggiest, so I stopped for a respite at a nearby hotel, the grand-looking Olympia, which obviously catered to an English-speaking clientele. Although Mr. Carlyle hadn't named the hotel of his business compatriots, I wondered if this might be it. The ample ceiling fans cooling its lobby, as well as curiosity, drove me to explore the hotel shop, corridors, and dining room.
To my great surprise and consternation, there, in the open-air dining room at the heart of the hotel, I spotted Mr. Carlyle lunching with a woman and three children. They sat near the middle of the room, on tightly woven rattan chairs, partially s.h.i.+elded by one of the room's many potted palms. A few minutes of observation revealed that Mr. Carlyle was on quite familiar terms with the foursome, for the two girls and one boy dangled their legs impatiently, and both Mr. Carlyle and the woman I presumed to be his missus alternately chided the youngsters and exchanged the most casual of conversation.
I'd had a late breakfast, but, overcome with befuddlement, I decided to calm myself with a spot of lunch and requested a table on the other side of the dining area. As I strolled past the little family, I offered Mr. Carlyle the slightest dip of my head. His eyes blinked rapidly and he s.h.i.+fted in his chair, as if to warn me against engaging him, which I had not the least intention of doing.
Witnessing Mr. Carlyle with his family distressed me a great deal, and after lunch I hired a sedan to take me to the harbor. There, from the shelter of my covered chair, I spent a long hour watching junks and sampans crisscross the choppy waters while I contemplated my plight. The scents of onion cakes and boiling oil wafted my way from a nearby lane thick with open-air food shops, but they only stirred nausea in me. I could not have felt more alone and dejected, on my own now a world away from all that was familiar to me. First Sue Marie had deserted me, and now it appeared that Mr. Carlyle, whom I had grown quite fond of, had deceived me.
When I returned to the Lu-Chou Hotel late that afternoon, I found Mr. Carlyle nursing a drink in our suite. He'd drawn the curtains on the room's southern windows, leaving the room darkened but unavoidably overheated.
He jumped to his feet. ”Where have you been?”
I opened my eyes wide and blinked to adjust to the room's darkness. ”I've been wandering aimlessly, worrying about what's to become of me.”
Despite the room's warmth I noticed his collar remained b.u.t.toned to the top. He plopped his drink down on the side table. ”Did you enjoy your lunch at the Olympia?”
I untied my hat ribbon and cast the hat on the sandalwood dresser. ”How could I, distressed as I was?”
”It was altogether annoying, you sitting there, spying on me across the room.”
Ripping my gloves off, I gripped them taut in my hands. ”I in no way disturbed you or your lunch companions.”
He leaned back on his heels and softened his tone. ”Yes, well, my sister and her children surprised me with a visit.”
”Your sister?” I asked. ”Where is she visiting from?”
”Liverpool.”
”Then she's very far from home herself.” Did he truly expect me to believe he was this upset about being discovered with his sister? ”Perhaps I can keep her and the youngsters company while you attend to your business.”