A Spoonful of Murder Read online

  ‘Are you all right?’ I asked. The woman didn’t respond. She looked at me, her face calm, and then she suddenly seized my elbow and jerked her arm, so I was pulled close to her, her lips by my ear.

  ‘Beware, Miss Wong,’ she whispered – and then she stood up and ran away, into the press of the crowd.

  I stared after her, my heart beating. Ping rushed over and began to pat me down. ‘Are you hurt?’ she cried. ‘Do you know that woman?’

  ‘No,’ I said. I saw Ping and Wo – and Daisy – all looking at me, and I got a funny feeling in my stomach. I did not know her – so how had she known me?

  10

  It hurt that I had missed my grandfather’s funeral. He was already buried high in the Chinese Cemetery, out by Happy Valley. But I was there for the reading of his will, which took place on Sunday, the day after our zoo trip.

  My father sat in the largest chair in the big main hall to receive the lawyer, with his secretary Maxwell at his side. It gave me a strange feeling, for the chair, lacquered black and gold, and padded with a fat red pillow, had always been my grandfather’s before. He had sat there in his silk jacket and wide trousers, knees far apart and one heavy hand pressed down on each. But now here was my father, in his neat three-piece suit, with a look of concentration on his face and his legs crossed at the knee.

  The rest of the family (Daisy was in our room) stood in a carefully arranged semi-circle behind him. My father nodded up at the lawyer, once, to instruct him to begin.

  ‘My honoured family,’ began the lawyer.

  The doors to the garden stood open, and warm spring air breathed in. Flowering orange trees had been brought into the pots in the hall, and their sweet, delicate scent floated around our heads. I let the lawyer’s voice wash over me – until something he was saying pulled me back to reality.

  ‘And, to my honoured family, I say this: remember that it is important to be united. Do not waste time in argument, but cherish each other. My son, love your wives and your children. And, my son’s wives, obey your husband.

  ‘My granddaughters, I give to you each a token of my love – a jade pin, carved especially for you. Wear them and remember me.

  ‘And to my grandson. It has been one of the joys of my old age to see you come into this world. My son, I thought this day would not arrive, and I was sorrowful. But now I am proud of you, and of my grandson. I bequeath a portion of my wealth to be held in trust for him when he becomes a man. All else is yours, my son, to use to care for your family – I only ask that you deal thoughtfully, choose your partners wisely and remember that the good name of the family is sometimes worth more than money.’

  My breath caught. I had loved my grandfather for years. And I had been given a pin. But Teddy – even though he was only a baby, who Grandfather had known for only a few months – had been given far more than Rose, or May, or me. I looked over at my father, and saw him beaming at Teddy, who was, as usual, nestled in Su Li’s arms.

  She was cuddling him, letting him suck on her fingers, dangling his silver rattle above his head to make him smile. She was smiling too, so proudly – just the way she used to smile at me. I remembered how she would boast to the other maids that I was reading more, thinking more cleverly than their little girls were. But what if she had only been proud because I was Mr Wong’s eldest daughter, the most important child? What if she was proud of Teddy now, not because he was growing fatter and happier every day, but because he was my grandfather’s heir, my father’s long-awaited son?

  Su Li had still not really spoken to me, apart from polite, empty pleasantries, since I had come home. She seemed afraid to look at me, and her face, when she did so, was always stiff and correct. It made me feel as though I hardly mattered, as though she hadn’t missed me at all, whereas I had missed her far more than I had my own mother.

  I shook my head and looked away, at my mother, who was standing up very straight, although I knew her feet would be hurting her. Her lips were pursed.

  ‘It is good to hear Ah Yeh honouring Teddy,’ said my father, blinking rapidly.

  ‘Hmm,’ said my mother icily.

  ‘He was so kind,’ said Jie Jie, smiling. ‘We must honour him, for the good of our children.’

  ‘Yes,’ said my mother, no less coldly. ‘Our children. Indeed.’

  Teddy suddenly made a whimpering noise, and wriggled in Su Li’s arms. We all turned to look at him.

  ‘He’s hungry,’ said Jie Jie.

  ‘I shall have him fed, and give him his tonic,’ said Su Li. ‘He needs to keep his strength up!’

  ‘Take him away, Su Li,’ said my mother, sighing. ‘Do whatever you have to.’

  ‘Yes, madam,’ said Su Li, and she walked out with Teddy nestled in her arms.

  Jie Jie let out a long breath. My mother rolled her eyes. ‘That baby is always needing something,’ she said.

  ‘Teddy is a good baby,’ said Jie Jie stubbornly. And I saw the way my mother glared at her.

  11

  I ought to have been thinking like a detective. I ought to have been watching everything. But all I cared about was that my father and Su Li seemed to be moving further away from me all the time.

  That is why I was excited when I heard that, according to my father, I was finally old enough to go to grown-up parties with him. We had been invited to one that evening at the Svenssons’ house. I had a vague memory of Mr Svensson – a large, cheerful Swedish man with whom my father sometimes did business – as one of many grown-ups who used to pass above me on their way to drinks parties in the Library. It was very odd to think that I was now someone who was old enough to be noticed properly. Growing up, I thought, seemed to be something that mostly happened when you weren’t looking.

  I was also pleased about the party because it meant that I would have my father all to myself for an evening. It’s funny to remember that now, when I know that what I should have been feeling was absolute dread.

  We went in a large black Rolls-Royce, my father, my mother, Daisy and I. Jie Jie stayed at home with Rose, May and Teddy. When my father goes out to Western homes, or invites Westerners to visit, my mother is shown to them as his only wife, and tonight we would be as close to a Western family as we could be.

  We drove through the scented streets, the darkness heavy and thick, trees electric with the noise of insects. Daisy leaned against my arm, staring out at the houses rolling by, their windows glowing. Up a gravel drive we purred, to an open door lit up inside like a torch, with servants on the steps bowing to greet us. This was the Svenssons’ house.

  It was new – so new that it smelled freshly painted. It looked almost comically like an English country house, one that had been picked up and dropped down in the middle of the Hong Kong jungle. Music floated out of the open front door, as did grown-ups’ laughter, and the bright pop of champagne corks.

  Daisy, who was wearing a gorgeous pale blue dress, her hair in a most grown-up twist with a glittering diamond clip, smiled at me.

  ‘Come on, Hazel,’ she whispered in my ear. ‘You look awfully pretty.’

  I had on a white silk cheongsam, and my hair was up too, held in place with the pin my grandfather had given me. Its jade head was in the shape of a rooster for my birth year. Despite my feelings when I heard I had inherited it, I loved it. All in all, I did feel quite pretty – perhaps because, for once, I wasn’t wearing a dress that looked like Daisy’s only less interesting.

  My father led the way down the hallway, and my mother followed him gracefully, taking tiny steps. We came out into a wide, well-lit room, and a short woman with round, flushed cheeks, curling blonde hair and a purple dress came sweeping towards us.

  ‘Vincent!’ she cried. ‘June! Welcome!’

  My mother’s name is actually Ka Yan – but to Westerners it is June.

  ‘Mrs Svensson,’ said my mother, bowing.

  ‘Oh, do call me Kendra, June, I keep on telling you!’ cried Mrs Svensson. I saw a flash of annoyance in my mother’s eyes, but she
nodded politely.

  ‘This is my daughter, Hazel!’ said my father. ‘You might remember her? And her friend, Miss Daisy Wells.’

  ‘Daisy, Hazel, you must call me Kendra too. I’m Mrs Svensson now, Kendra Gilbertson before I married Sven,’ said Mrs Svensson. She spoke with an English accent, and her little, snub-nosed face was slightly freckled by the sun. She smelled purple too, a light, summery, lavender scent wafting off her. ‘And how is your baby?’ she asked my mother and father. ‘My Roald is doing very well. Six months next week!’

  ‘Oh, Teddy is very well too,’ said my father, beaming. ‘Very healthy indeed, since he began to take his tonic. A spoonful a day, doctor’s orders. We were worried at first, you’ll remember, but he’s become such a bright little fellow. He has his monthly appointment with Dr Aurelius tomorrow, at noon, but I’m sure he’ll find nothing wrong.’

  ‘Marvellous! Now, Daisy Wells, I know that name. Didn’t your father—’

  ‘And I’m sure I know the name Gilbertson!’ said Daisy, very fast. Her nose was wrinkled up, and there were two red spots high on her cheeks. Daisy hates any mention of her parents, or Fallingford, of course. ‘Was your father the mathematician Professor Peter Gilbertson, at Cambridge? My great-aunt speaks very highly of him!’

  ‘Why, yes!’ said Mrs Svensson, clearly delighted. And she and Daisy began to talk genealogies, in the odd, involved way that wealthy British people always seem able to.

  I turned and smiled at my father. I thought that this, at last, might be the moment when he noticed me. We could go back to being as close as we’d been before. But his eyes were still far away, and he had a soft, fond look on his face. And I realized that, even here, he could think of nothing but Teddy.

  I turned away, hollow with disappointment.

  ‘Mrs Svensson, please excuse me,’ said Daisy smoothly. ‘I do believe— Why, isn’t that Lord Pallister? Hazel, come along …’

  Before I could even draw breath, she had pulled me away from my parents, and we were halfway across the patterned parquet floor.

  ‘Father—’ I said, gulping.

  ‘I know,’ said Daisy briskly. ‘But you must just stop expecting things to be the way they were. Forget about your silly family for a moment. Sit down in this chair next to me’ – she lowered me into one of a bank of plush red chairs – ‘and let us hone our detective skills by observing the room. Now, I do believe that this Hong Kong party essentially follows the rules of an English one. For instance, that lady there outranks that one, but the other won’t acknowledge it. They’re both quite furious.’

  I gave her a rather wobbly smile, and looked where she was pointing. There were two women, one in a blue sari and the other in a pink Western dress, smiling and raising their glasses to their lips.

  ‘But they’re talking!’ I said.

  ‘Of course they are,’ said Daisy, beaming. ‘They’re being very secret about how much they loathe each other. Oh, it is nice to remember that, wherever you go, people don’t really change!’

  ‘But they do!’ I said. ‘Or at least the little things about them do. You only think they don’t because here everyone Chinese is pretending to be Western. My father’s pretending he’s only got one wife, for a start, and my mother’s pretending that Teddy is hers. That could never happen in England.’

  ‘Well, of course, customs are different,’ said Daisy, waving one dainty hand. ‘Traditions are. But people are the same. They may behave differently, but they have the same feelings.’

  I did not quite agree with her. There are some things that cannot be translated.

  I was trying very hard not to look at my father, but my eyes were drawn across the room to where he was standing. He was with a tall blond man, who had broad shoulders and piercing blue eyes. They knew each other well: I could tell from the way their bodies were angled towards each other. But the expressions on their faces told me that they were not exactly friends. My father was frowning and shaking his head, his feet set apart on the floor, and the tall blond man was gesturing excitedly with his hands, his eyes flashing and his face twisted with passion.

  I watched my father. He’s very good at staying calm, even when he really isn’t. I could tell that this was one of those times.

  ‘Who is that man?’ asked Daisy. I could feel her sharp curiosity. ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said slowly. ‘That’s Mr Svensson.’

  ‘Tonight’s host?’ asked Daisy. ‘Goodness! He oughtn’t to be rude to his guests! That’s a terrible faux pas.’

  ‘Oh bother,’ said Mrs Svensson, coming up to us and sighing. Her purple dress drifted around her becomingly. ‘They’re at it again. I do wish they wouldn’t talk business at a party.’

  ‘What are they discussing?’ asked Daisy.

  ‘It’s the same old thing,’ said Mrs Svensson, rolling her eyes. ‘Sven wants Mr Wong to invest in his latest venture, but Vincent won’t do it. Honestly, men are so dull. They can never have fun. Now, girls, please do take some canapés.’

  She pointed at a plate that was being carried by a Chinese waiter, looking rather uncomfortable in tails and shiny Western leather shoes. I was doubtful – but then I peered down and saw what he was carrying.

  They were tiny, dainty little fish balls, just like the ones Su Li used to buy me from street vendors in Central, only done up for a party. I reached out for one, beaming, and nudged Daisy. ‘Try it!’ I said. ‘Go on.’

  I could see that Daisy was unsure – but of course she is nothing if not polite. She reached out and put one into her mouth.

  I watched her, and saw her face change from confusion to delight. The canapé was warm and rich and spicy, English on the outside, but perfectly Chinese inside, and I smiled at it, and at Daisy.

  ‘They are rather good, aren’t they? Cook is clever,’ said Mrs Svensson. ‘Daisy, how are you enjoying Hong Kong?’

  ‘Oh, it’s simply splendid!’ said Daisy. I beamed even more to hear her say that. It mattered that Daisy loved my home.

  ‘Yes, so it is!’ cried Mrs Svensson enthusiastically. ‘It has its own odd set of rules, of course, most of which I ignore. I’m quite a trial to my servants. I’m always rushing off on my own with Roald – I can never bother to wait for the maid. I think it’s far more fun to do things for oneself. That’s the boarding-school girl in me, I suppose. I came here three years ago, when I married Sven, and I was quite trepidatious when I arrived – the heat, you know, and the people – but I think it’s marvellous now, especially since the new house is finished (only ten months behind schedule and double the budget, like everything dear Sven manages), and we don’t have to live in the Peninsula Hotel any more. It was lovely, of course, but not very homelike. Now, do excuse me. I must go and be a hostess,’ and she rushed away again. She always seemed to be on the move.

  ‘I like her,’ I said to Daisy.

  ‘Oh, so do I!’ said Daisy. ‘She’s right about Hong Kong, you know. It’s lovely, even if it is fearfully foreign.’

  ‘Hong Kong is no more foreign to me than England is to you!’ I pointed out.

  ‘Goodness,’ said Daisy, blinking. ‘What an odd, Alice-in-Wonderland thought that is! I suppose you’re right. This isn’t foreign at all to you. I always forget that.’

  12

  We watched as Mrs Svensson swooped down on my father and Mr Svensson, standing on tiptoe and kissing her husband. He laughed and put his arm round her, and whatever the mood had been vanished. But it had been there – and I could tell that Daisy was as curious about it as I was. But, of course, the grown-up thing to do was to pretend we didn’t care. It was terribly annoying.

  ‘Come on,’ Daisy said. ‘Let’s tail two of the guests and see if they notice.’

  ‘No!’ I said. ‘We can’t, Daisy. We’re at a party!’

  ‘Of course we can!’ said Daisy. Then she stopped and stared at another woman who was making her way across the floor to my father. She was an older Chinese lady with a broad, determined face and clipp
ed, short hair, wearing a silver cheongsam. I knew her too – this was Mrs Fu, a businesswoman whose father and husband had been very important, and who now owned our family’s favourite teahouse, the Luk Man. I knew that my grandfather had been her investor, in memory of her father. She began to speak to Father – and her expression changed, to become just as unexpected as Mr Svensson’s had been. She looked upset, almost pleading – and my father, replying to her, set his jaw all over again into his calmest annoyed expression.

  ‘Whatever is going on now?’ hissed Daisy. ‘Who is that?’

  ‘That’s Mrs Fu,’ I said. ‘She’s – well, she runs a restaurant now. I thought that she and my father were friends …’

  I was a little unnerved. I had known Mrs Fu for years. She was kind, if rather fierce, and I liked that she was a woman who did business with the men. I couldn’t understand why she should look at Father like that – I had never seen her even the slightest bit cowed. She held up her head no matter who she was talking to.

  ‘I can’t read their lips!’ said Daisy, frustrated.

  ‘That’s because they’re speaking Cantonese,’ I said. ‘Hold on – let me try.’

  My lip-reading is not as good as Daisy’s, but I managed to pick up a few words. ‘Can’t help!’ said my father.

  ‘… ridiculous,’ said Mrs Fu. ‘Remember Father.’

  ‘Business!’ snapped my father. ‘Things have to change now!’ Then he turned away from her, towards my mother, who was talking to Mrs Svensson, and looking unhappy about it.

  ‘Miss Wong!’ said a voice. I turned and saw Mr Wa Fan walking towards us. He had been one of my grandfather’s oldest friends, a fellow member of the Tung Wah, the Chinese local government organization that my grandfather had been part of for years. They had their headquarters in the temple my grandfather visited, Man Mo Temple, and they seemed to organize every part of Chinese life. Seeing him now, without my grandfather by his side, gave me a pain in my chest. He was wearing gorgeous robes, a silk cap with a peacock feather on his head, and his white beard was as long and luxurious as ever, but somehow he seemed smaller than I remembered, more wrinkled, half lost in his outfit.