“Of course it is! It’s me! Don’t you see? This man’s being so beastly to me . . .”
“But Miss Hemmings, my dear young lady, there’s no need to upset yourself like this. Come, let’s go over here a moment . . .”
“No! No! You won’t turn me away! I won’t have it! I tell you I must, I absolutely must go in! I’ve dreamt of it for so long . . .”
“Surely, something can be done for the young lady,” a man’s voice said from among the bystanders. “Why be so petty? If she’s taken the trouble to come here, why can’t she be allowed in?”
This produced a general murmur of assent, though I noticed too some faces set in disapproval. The bearded man hesitated, then appeared to decide that his priority was to bring the scene to an end.
“Well perhaps, in this particular case . . .” Then turning to the frosty-faced man behind the desk, he went on: “I’m sure we can find a way to accommodate Miss Hemmings, don’t you think, Mr. Edwards?”
I would have lingered further, but throughout this exchange I had been seized by the fear that, at any stage, Miss Hemmings might notice me and draw me into this unseemly spectacle with an accusation. In fact, just as I began to retreat, she did for one second gaze straight at me. But she did nothing, and the next moment her anguished eyes were back on the bearded man. I took the opportunity to hurry away.
For the next twenty minutes or so, I confined myself to those areas of the ballroom furthest from the doorway. A surprising number of those present appeared needlessly overawed by the occasion, so much so that most of the conversations—those I could hear around me as well as those I took part in—consisted almost entirely of mutual compliments. Once the compliments had been exhausted, people would resort to eulogising the guest of honour. At one stage, after one such speech listing exhaustively Sir Cecil Medhurst’s achievements, I said to the elderly man who had just made it:
“I wonder if Sir Cecil has arrived yet?”
My companion indicated with his glass, and I saw a little way across the room the tall figure of the great statesman stooped in conversation with two middle-aged ladies. Then, just as I was looking over at him, I saw Sarah Hemmings emerge through the crowd, making straight for him.
There was now no trace left of the pitiful creature from the anteroom. She looked positively radiant. As I watched, she strode up to Sir Cecil with not a hint of hesitation and laid a hand on his arm.
The elderly man began to introduce me to someone, so that I was obliged for the moment to turn away. When I next looked towards Sir Cecil, I saw that the two middle-aged ladies were standing to one side, looking on with awkward smiles, and that Miss Hemmings had succeeded in engaging his complete attention. Even as I watched, Sir Cecil leant back his head to laugh loudly at something she was saying.
In time we were ushered into the banqueting hall and seated around a vast, long table under bright chandeliers. I was relieved to find that Miss Hemmings had been seated some way away from me, and for a while, I did rather enjoy the occasion. I chatted in turn to the ladies sitting on either side of me—both of whom, in their different ways, were quite charming—and the food was pleasantly sumptuous. But as the meal went on, I found myself leaning forward time and again to catch sight of Miss Hemmings further down the table, and I began yet again to rehearse in my head all the reasons why I had been entitled to behave as I had.
It is perhaps owing to such preoccupations that I cannot now remember much more concerning the dinner itself. Somewhere towards the end there were speeches; various personages stood up to heap praise on Sir Cecil for his contribution to world affairs, and in particular, for his role in building the League of Nations. Then finally, Sir Cecil himself rose to his feet.
His speech, as I recall it, was self-deprecating and optimistic. In his view, mankind had learnt from its mistakes, the structures were now firmly in place to ensure we would never again see on this globe a calamity on the scale of the Great War. The war, ghastly as it was, represented no more than “an awkward window in Man’s evolution” when for a few years our technical progress had run ahead of our organisational capacities. We had all surprised ourselves with the rapid development of our engineering might, and the consequent ability to wage war with modern weaponry, but now we had made good the gap. Having been reminded of the horrors that could be let loose among us, the forces of civilisation had prevailed and legislated. His speech was along some such lines, and we all applauded it heartily.
After dinner, the ladies did not leave us, but instead we were all asked to proceed through into the ballroom. There we found a string quartet playing, and waiters moving about with trays of liqueurs, cigars, and coffee. The guests began immediately to circulate, and the atmosphere was far more relaxed than before dinner. At one point, I happened to catch Miss Hemmings’s eye across the room, and was surprised to see her smile at me. My initial thought was that this was the smile of an enemy plotting some awful revenge; but then I continued to observe her as the evening went on, and decided I was wrong about this. I realised that Sarah Hemmings was utterly happy. After months, perhaps years of planning, she had succeeded in being at this place at this time, and having achieved her goal, she had—much like, so we are told, a woman who has just given birth—consigned to oblivion all memories of the pain she had endured along the way. I watched her drifting from group to group, chatting amiably. It occurred to me I should go over and make my peace with her while her mood lasted, but then the possibility of her suddenly turning and creating another scene kept me a good distance from her.
It was perhaps half an hour into this portion of the evening when I was finally introduced to Sir Cecil Medhurst. I had been making no special efforts to meet him, but I suppose I might have been a little disappointed had I left the occasion without having exchanged any words at all with the illustrious statesman. As it was, it was he who was led up to me—by Lady Adams, whom I had met several months ago during an investigation. Sir Cecil grasped my hand warmly, saying: “Ah, my young friend! So here you are!”
For a few minutes, we were left alone together in the middle of the room. All around us, by this time, there was a very lively hubbub, and when we exchanged the usual pleasantries, we were obliged to lean towards one another and raise our voices. At one point, he nudged me and said:
“All of that I was saying earlier at dinner. About this world being made a safer, more civilised place. I do believe it, you know. At least”—here he grasped my hand and gave me a droll look—“at least, I’d like to believe it. Oh yes, I’d dearly love to believe it. But I don’t know, my young friend. I don’t know if in the end we’ll be able to hold the line. We’ll do what we can. Organise, confer. Get the greatest men from the greatest nations to put their heads together and talk. But there’ll always be evil lurking around the corner for us. Oh yes! They’re busy, even now, even as we speak, busy conspiring to put civilisation to the torch. And they’re clever, oh, devilishly clever. Good men and women can do what they can, devote their lives to keeping them at bay, but I fear it won’t be enough, my friend. I fear it won’t be enough. The evil ones are much too cunning for your ordinary decent citizen. They’ll run rings around him, corrupt him, turn him against his fellows. I see it, I see it all the time now and it will grow worse. That’s why we’ll need to rely more than ever on the likes of you, my young friend. The few on our side every bit as clever as they are. Who’ll spot their game quickly, destroy the fungus before it takes hold and spreads.”
Possibly he was more than a little drunk; possibly the occasion had overwhelmed him. In any case, he went on in this vein for some time, clasping my arm emotionally as he spoke. And perhaps simply because this distinguished man was being so effusive—or perhaps it was that I had had it in my mind all evening to ask him some such thing—when at last he came to a halt, I said to him:
“Sir Cecil, I believe you’ve spent time recently in Shanghai.”
“Shanghai? Certainly, my friend. Been back and forth. What happens in China
is crucial. We can no longer look just at Europe, you see. If we wish to contain chaos in Europe, we now have to look further afield.”
“I ask, sir, because I was born in Shanghai.”
“Is that so? Well, well.”
“I did just wonder, sir, if you came across an old friend of mine there. Of course, there’s no real reason why you would have done. But his name is Yamashita. Akira Yamashita.”
“Yamashita? Hmm. Japanese, I take it. A lot of Japanese in Shanghai, of course. They have more influence there by the day. Yamashita, you say.”
“Akira Yamashita.”
“Can’t say I came across him. Diplomatist or something?”
“Actually, sir, I wouldn’t know. He was a childhood friend.”
“Oh, I see. In that case, do you know for sure he’s still in Shanghai? Perhaps your man’s left and gone back to Japan.”
“Oh no, I’m sure he’s still there. Akira was very fond of Shanghai. Besides, he was determined never to return to Japan. No, I’m sure he’ll still be there.”
“Well, I didn’t come across him. Saw quite a lot of that chap Saito. And a few of the military fellows. But no one by that name.”
“Well . . .” I gave a laugh to cover my disappointment. “It was always unlikely. But I did just wonder.”
Just at this moment, somewhat to my alarm, I realised that Sarah Hemmings was standing beside me.
“So you’ve finally cornered the great detective, Sir Cecil,” she said cheerily.
“Indeed, my dear,” the old gentleman replied, beaming at her. “I was just telling him how we’ll all have to depend on him in the years to come.”
Sarah Hemmings smiled at me. “I have to say, Sir Cecil, I haven’t always found Mr. Banks to be utterly dependable. But perhaps he’s the best we can do.”
I decided at this juncture that I should leave as quickly as possible, and pretending to notice someone across the room, I made my apologies and moved away.
I DID NOT SET EYES on Miss Hemmings again until some time later. By then, many of the guests had started to leave and the ballroom was less stuffy. Moreover, the waiters had opened a number of doors on to the balconies, so that a refreshing night breeze was blowing across the room. For all that, the evening had remained warm, and wishing for a little air, I drifted over to one of the balconies. I had all but stepped out on to it before I realised that Sarah Hemmings was already standing there, her back to the room, a cigarette in her holder, gazing out at the night sky. I started back, but then something told me, despite her not having stirred, that she had become aware of my presence. I thus made my way on to the balcony and said:
“So, Miss Hemmings. You’ve had your evening after all.”
“It’s been the most marvellous evening,” she said without turning. She gave a contented sigh, drew on her cigarette, then gave me one quick smile over her shoulder before turning her gaze back to the night sky. “It’s exactly as I imagined it would be. All these marvellous people. Everywhere you care to glance. Marvellous people. And Sir Cecil, he’s such a darling, don’t you think? I had the most wonderful talk with Eric Mitchell about his exhibition. He’s going to invite me to the private view next month.”
I said nothing to this, and for a few moments we continued simply to stand there side by side against the balcony rail. Curiously—perhaps it was to do with the string quartet, whose gentle waltz was drifting out to us—the silence was not as uncomfortable as one might have expected. Eventually she said:
“I suppose you’re surprised at me.”
“Surprised?”
“At how determined I was. To get in here tonight.”
“I was surprised, yes.” Then I said: “Why do you suppose it is, Miss Hemmings? That you should find it so imperative to seek out company such as this, tonight.”
“Imperative? You believe I find it imperative?”
“I would say so. And what I witnessed at the door earlier on might tend to support that view.”
Rather to my surprise, she responded with a light laugh, then gave me a smile. “But why shouldn’t I, Christopher? Why shouldn’t I wish to be in company like this. Isn’t it simply . . . heaven?”
When I remained silent, her smile faded.
“I suppose you rather disapprove of me,” she said, in a quite different voice.
“I merely remarked . . .”
“It’s all right. You’ve every right. You find all of that, earlier on, you find it embarrassing, and you disapprove. But what else am I to do? I don’t wish to look back at my life when I’m old and see something empty. I want to see something I can be proud of. You see, Christopher, I’m ambitious.”
“I’m not sure I quite understand you. You’re under the impression you’ll lead a more worthwhile life if you consort with famous people?”
“Is that really how you see me?”
She turned away, perhaps genuinely hurt, and drew again on her cigarette. I watched her staring down at the deserted street below, and at the white stucco-fronted buildings opposite. Then she said quietly:
“I can see it might look that way. At least to someone observing me with a cynical eye.”
“I hope I don’t observe you in that way. It would upset me to think I did so.”
“Then you should try to be more understanding.” She turned to me with an intent expression, before looking away again. “If my parents were alive today,” she said, “they’d be telling me it’s high time I was married. And perhaps it is. But I won’t do what I’ve seen so many girls do. I won’t waste all my love, all my energy, all my intellect—modest as that is—on some useless man who devotes himself to golf or to selling bonds in the City. When I marry, it will be to someone who’ll really contribute. I mean to humanity, to a better world. Is that such an awful ambition? I don’t come to places like this in search of famous men, Christopher. I come in search of distinguished ones. What do I care about a little embarrassment here and there?”—she waved towards the room—“But I won’t accept it’s my fate to waste my life on some pleasant, polite, morally worthless man.”
“When you put it like that,” I said, “I can see how you might see yourself as, well, almost a zealot.”
“In a way, Christopher, I do. Oh, what’s that piece they’re playing now? It’s something I know. Is it Mozart?”
“I believe it’s Haydn.”
“Oh yes, you’re right. Yes, Haydn.” For several seconds, she looked at the sky and appeared to be listening.
“Miss Hemmings,” I said, eventually, “I’m not proud of the way I behaved towards you earlier. In fact, I now very much regret it. I’m sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
She went on looking out into the night, stroking her cheek lightly with her cigarette holder. “That’s very decent of you, Christopher,” she said quietly. “But I should be the one to apologise. I was just trying to use you, after all. Of course I was. I’m sure I made myself look dreadful earlier on, but I don’t care about that. I do care, though, I treated you badly. You perhaps won’t believe me, but it’s true.”
I laughed. “Well, then, let’s both try and forgive each other.”
“Yes, let’s.” She turned to me and her face suddenly broke into a smile that was almost childlike in its glee. Then a weariness fell over it once more and she turned back to the night. “I often treat people badly,” she said. “I suppose that comes with being ambitious. And not having so much time left.”
“Did you lose your parents long ago?” I asked.
“It seems like for ever. But in another way, they’re always with me.”
“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed the evening, after all. I can only say again I’m sorry for my own part in it.”
“Oh look, everyone’s leaving. What a pity! And I wanted to talk to you about all kinds of things. About your friend, for instance.”
“My friend?”
“The one you were asking Sir Cecil about. The one in Shanghai.”
“Akira? He was just a childhood
friend.”
“But I could tell he was someone very important to you.”
I straightened and looked behind us. “You’re right. Everyone is leaving.”
“Then I suppose I should leave too,” she said. “Otherwise my departure will be as much noticed as my entrance.”
But she made no move to go and in the end it was I who excused myself and went back into the room. At one point, when I glanced back, I thought she cut a lonely figure there on the balcony, smoking her cigarette into the night air, the room behind her fast emptying. It even ran through my mind I should go back and offer to escort her out of the proceedings. But then her mentioning Akira had slightly alarmed me, and I decided I had done sufficient for one evening towards improving relations between myself and Sarah Hemmings.
PART TWO
LONDON, 15TH MAY 1931
CHAPTER 4
AT THE REAR of our garden in Shanghai, there was a grass mound with a single maple tree rising out of its summit. From the time Akira and I were around six years old, we enjoyed playing on and around that mound, and whenever I now think of my boyhood companion, I tend to remember the two of us running up and down its slopes, sometimes jumping right off where the sides were at their steepest.
From time to time, when we had worn ourselves out, we would sit panting at the top of the mound with our backs against the trunk of the maple tree. From this vantage point, we had a clear view over my garden and of the big white house standing at the end of it. If I close my eyes a moment, I am able to bring back that picture very vividly: the carefully tended “English” lawn, the afternoon shadows cast by the row of elms separating my garden and Akira’s; and the house itself, a huge white edifice with numerous wings and trellised balconies. I suspect this memory of the house is very much a child’s vision, and that in reality, it was nothing so grand. Certainly, even at the time, I was conscious that it hardly matched the splendour of the residences round the corner in Bubbling Well Road. But the house was certainly more than adequate for a household comprising simply my parents, myself, Mei Li, and our servants.