62
The funeral was a ghastly affair. Theo almost
didn’t go but knew he had to face it. He could have used his
injuries as an excuse. Not deep injuries. But showy. Cuts and
bruises on his face, a broken wrist in plaster. A strip of flesh
missing from one ear. But he went. If it hadn’t been for him, there
would be no need of a funeral and he was going to have to learn to
live with that fact. He honestly couldn’t understand why Alfred and
the Russian girl didn’t whip him out of the church. But they
didn’t. Both wore severe black. And faces as grey as the earth that
would soon swallow up Valentina. Theo took a place in the back pew,
and beside him Li Mei sat with curious eyes and the white flower of
mourning in her hair.
‘Dear friends, let us give thanks for the life of
Valentina Parker, who was a joy to us all.’ Standing in the pulpit
with a wide smile was the old missionary, the one who was at the
wedding, with hair as white as Abraham’s. ‘She was one of our dear
Lord’s bright lights that sparkle in this world. And He gave her
the gift of music to delight us.’
Theo had no stomach to listen. He disliked
churches. He didn’t like the intimidation woven so skilfully into
their magnificent architecture, all designed to make you feel a
worthless sinner. But if Valentina was really one of this awesome
God’s bright lights, why extinguish her so brutally? Why make
Alfred, who was one of God’s most devoted servants, suffer this
agony? It made nonsense of the concept of a loving God. No, the
Chinese knew better. Bad things happen because the spirits are
angry. It made sense. You have to appease them, which was why Theo
had decided to follow Chang’s advice and build a shrine in his
house to the spirits of his father, his mother, and his brother. He
would give them no excuse to harm his Li Mei the way they’d harmed
Valentina. This was China. Different rules applied.
The Chinese boat woman with her grenade knew that.
She had blamed him for the execution of her husband and for the
suicide of her daughter in Feng Tu Hong’s bed, and ended by blowing
herself up with a second grenade. But that didn’t mean she was no
longer a threat. Theo had made Li Mei promise to speak kindly to
the cat Yeewai in future, just in case. Spirits were
unpredictable.
When the congregation rose to sing ‘Onward
Christian Soldiers,’ Theo remained seated and closed his eyes. His
hand held Li Mei’s tight.
The funeral reception was worse. But Theo was
pleased to see Polly standing firmly beside Lydia the whole time,
caring for her friend, warding off well-wishers. Alfred held
himself together too well. It was heartbreaking to watch.
‘If I can help out in any way, Alfred . . .’
‘Thank you, Theo, but no.’
‘Dinner one evening?’
‘That’s kind. Not yet. Maybe later.’
‘Of course.’
‘Theo.’
‘Yes?’
‘I’m thinking of applying for a transfer. Can’t
stay here. Not now.’
‘Understandable, my dear fellow. Where would you
go?’
‘Home.’
‘England?’
‘That’s right. I’m not cut out for these heathen
places.’
‘I’ll miss you. And our games of chess.’
‘You must come and visit.’
‘But what about the girl? What will you do with
Lydia?’
‘I’ll take her with me. To England. Give her a good
education. It’s what Valentina wanted.’
‘That’s quite a responsibility to shoulder. She
knows nothing of England, don’t forget. And you can’t say she’s . .
. well . . . tame enough. To fit in, I mean.’
Alfred removed his spectacles and polished them
assiduously. ‘She’s my daughter now.’
Theo wondered whether the girl would see it like
that.
‘I’m sorry, Alfred,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I can’t
tell you how bad I feel that the hand grenade was meant for me. Not
for Valentina.’
Alfred’s mouth went awry. ‘No, it’s not your fault,
Theo, don’t blame yourself. It’s this damn country.’
But Theo did blame himself. He couldn’t help it.
He chose to walk home instead of hopping into one of the rickshaws
that clattered through the streets, though it would certainly have
eased the aches in his legs. But he needed to walk. Had to stride
out. To drive the demon of guilt from his soul.
He was in no doubt that it would return time and
again for years to come, and he would have to learn to find room
for it in his heart. But in his clearer moments of mind he knew
Alfred was right. It was this country. China had a history of
thousands of years of violence, and even now its exquisite beauty
was again being trampled underfoot in the stampede for power. They
called it justice. A fight for equality and a basic wage. But
really it was just another name for the same yoke around the necks
of the people of China. They deserved better. It seemed to Theo
that even the boat woman who threw the grenade deserved better.
What kind of justice system served up freedom in exchange for your
daughter’s young body in bed? Or sold children into slavery?
‘Willbee, you will put the other arm in plaster if
you do not take more care.’
Theo jerked back from the road where a flurry of
wheels was speeding past, a noisy never-ending stream of motorcars
and bicycles, rickshaws and wheelbarrows. Even a boy on a scooter
hooted a klaxon at him.
‘Good day to you, Feng Tu Hong.’
The black Rolls-Royce was murmuring at the kerbside
with the rear window down, but the man inside was not the one who
had radiated so much strength and power only days before. One look
at Feng Tu Hong’s face and Theo saw the bewildered eyes of a father
who has lost his son. He was wearing a white headband.
‘I have been searching for you, Willbee. Please,
honour me with a moment of your time. A brief ride in my worthless
motorcar might ease the burden of the wounds you bear.’
‘Thank you, Feng. I accept.’
They rode in silence at first, each man too full of
his own thoughts to find the words to form a bridge. The streets
were thronged with people going about their business in the bright
winter sunshine, but the car attracted attention as it passed and
several Chinese men lowered their foreheads to the pavement. Feng
did not even notice.
‘Feng, I offer you sympathy for your loss. I am
sorry I was not able to help the situation, but the farmhouse was
already empty when I arrived.’
‘So I learned.’
‘Your daughter also sends her father sympathy for
his sorrow.’
‘A dutiful daughter would be at my side.’
‘A dutiful father would not threaten his daughter
so savagely.’
Feng refused to look at Theo but stared straight
ahead in his own black world, his broad chest expanding as he took
a deep breath to hold hard on his temper. It suddenly dawned on
Theo that this man wanted something. It was not hard to guess
what.
‘Feng Tu Hong, you and I have a history of discord
and it saddens me that we cannot put aside our differences for the
sake of your daughter whom we both love. At a time like this when
you are overflowing with grief for your last son . . . ,’ he
lingered on those final two words, ‘ . . . I invite you to my
home.’
He heard the big man’s sharp intake of
breath.
‘Your daughter will be honoured to serve you tea,
though what we offer is meagre compared to your own lavish table.
But at this moment of sadness, Feng, there must be no raised
voices.’
Feng turned slowly. His bull neck hunched
defensively. ‘I thank you, Willbee. It would please my heart to set
eyes once more on my daughter. She is my only child now and I wish
to cause her no distress.’
‘Then you are welcome.’
Feng leaned forward, pushed the glass partition
aside, and gave his driver new instructions. When he slid the glass
back into place, he shifted uneasily on the leather seat and gave a
deep cough in the back of his throat, preparing himself.
Theo waited. Wary.
‘Tiyo Willbee, I have no son.’
Theo nodded but remained silent.
‘I need a grandson.’
Theo smiled. So that was it. The old devil was
begging. It changed everything. Li Mei now held the power.
‘Come,’ Theo said courteously as the car pulled
into the Willoughby Academy’s courtyard. ‘Drink tea with us.’
It was a start.