The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) (19 page)

‘Stealing?!’ With an act like that to follow, it’s no wonder Josh was so understanding. At least my mix-up didn’t involve the police.

‘Yeah, that’s when she got fired. She took the petty cash from the office.’

‘You really think Mrs. Reese sabotaged her, and me? Why would she do that? I haven’t done anything to her.’ Maybe I haven’t always followed her tidying diktats, but that’s hardly a reason to ruin someone’s career.

‘I have a theory,’ says Winnie. ‘She’s old guard, one of the Hong Kong hands. They’re the gweilos whose families have been here for generations. I know she hates that the company started selling counterfeits, and that we stock cheaper lines now. She’s never been shy about making her views known to everyone. She doesn’t think Josh has honored his father’s wishes, even though it was the old man who originally made the change to knock-offs. She was absolutely devoted to him. In fact… everyone also knows that old Mr. Bolton had an affair with her for years, decades.’

‘You’re kidding! I mean, I never knew the man but I can’t imagine anyone having an affair with her. She’s vile. And if it is true, why would Josh employ her? He must hate her.’

‘Oh no, quite the opposite. She looked after his dad in the nineties, after his mum died. Though they never married. She was still legally married. Everyone knew about the affair, including her husband and Josh’s mum. It sounds like they accepted the situation. Mrs. Reese was sort of the other wife. I’m sure that’s why she still works with us. She sees herself as the overseer of Mr. Bolton’s business, and his avenging angel.’

‘So she doesn’t dislike me per se?’

‘Oh no, I’m sure she dislikes you.’ She shrugs. ‘Sorry. She probably wants Josh to rely on her, not you. Maybe she’s like the ghost that chases each set of new owners out of the house so she can live there like she’s always done, without interference. Just watch yourself. She can be sneaky.’

‘Thanks. I’ll be sure to say no if she asks me to carry any unmarked packages across the border next week.’ Josh is taking me to mainland China with him.

‘You’re going to love that trip! I went a few times. You’ll eat so well.’ She gets the faraway look she always does when contemplating food. Winnie loves to eat. She says it’s because of her culture. Chinese greet each other with the question:
Have you eaten yet?

‘I’m really excited. It’ll be my first time in proper China.’

‘As opposed to improper China?’

‘You know what I mean. Mainland China. I
know
Hong Kong is technically China too.’

‘That’s okay, we’re different from proper Chinese,’ she says, smirking.

‘So you keep telling me. I just wish the trip wasn’t next week. I was supposed to be with Sam in Ho Chi Minh for my birthday but I won’t get back here till Saturday night. I can’t exactly ask Josh to reschedule everyone, can I?’

‘That’s terrible luck! And no, after today, it’s probably best to be as accommodating as possible.’

Her comment brings me back down to earth with a bump. Although the result wasn’t catastrophic, it was still a major screw-up. So next Friday I go to China.

Chapter 11.

Mrs. Reese hasn’t asked me to carry anything across the border but I’m still nervous. Unsmiling officials always make me nervous, and Chinese immigration officers are at the top of the unsmiling pecking order. So here I am, clutching a sheaf of papers and my passport, waiting to convince the man at the podium to let me cross the border. I make it sound like I’m standing at a dusty roadside with chicken-laden trucks and refugees. Actually we’re in the airport, in a perfectly orderly line of other businesspeople and tourists. It’s not exactly Baghdad. Still, my lunch is threatening an appearance.

The man gestures me forward. He stares at my passport, then my papers. He barks something to the fellow at the next podium. The next thing I know Josh is beside me. ‘Don’t worry, Hannah, just a little confusion.’ He turns to the officer. ‘We’re guests of Mr. Chow at Fujian Apparel. See? Here.’ His voice is uncharacteristically gruff. ‘Miss Cumming is my employee. See? It’s right here. She’s been invited too. See? It’s right here.’ He keeps stabbing at the papers for emphasis.

‘What’s wrong?’ I ask Josh.

‘You’re American,’ he says. ‘Oh, it’s nothing personal. The rules on visas change all the time. Different nationalities go in and out of favor. You are, unfortunately, out at the moment. Don’t worry, we’ll get it sorted.’ He continues arguing with the officer, quietly now, while I wait to see whether I’ll have to sleep in the airport until our return flight. But after a fraught ten minutes the officer stamps my passport. They’re letting me loose in China!

Half an hour later and I wish I’d stayed in Hong Kong. Fujian is just a big, polluted city and we’re sitting in a traffic jam. Where are the coolies in Chairman Mao pajamas? Where are the rickshaws, and men in conical hats balancing baskets from long poles? Where’s the China I expect? It’s bad enough that Hong Kong isn’t the colonial outpost I’d imagined.
Et tu, Brute?
‘It’s a city,’ I say glumly to Josh.

‘Well, yes. What did you think it would be?’

It’s probably naïve to explain about the conical hats and the pajamas, so I say, ‘I thought it’d be more Chinese.’ Oh yes, Hannah, that’s much better.

He laughs. ‘I know what you mean. You thought it’d be more rural. My father used to take me on his trips when I was a child and that’s exactly what it was like. It was a mysterious country to us. We saw Chinese of course, in Hong Kong, but the mainlanders were a world apart. Even twenty years ago the country would have seemed more like your imagined China. But that’s all changed. They’ve torn down nearly everything from the past and put up skyscrapers. There’s virtually nothing left of old Peking, the city my father knew as a child. They’ve razed the hutongs. Those are the traditional neighborhoods, the narrow lanes that were several hundred years old. They’re wiping out their past. Though, ironically, what they do keep of their old architecture they renovate so that it looks new. You’d never recognize what’s truly historic here.’

He sounds like he harks back to the good old days. ‘Surely though, Josh, if the old buildings are falling down, it’s better to start again with places that people can live in. They did that in parts of New York, areas that were ghettos, and now they’re great, with loads of trendy shops, and restaurants and bars.’

He laughs. ‘I sound like an old stick-in-the-mud, don’t I? I’m not suggesting that progress is bad, just that it needs to be managed. Take New York. What happened to the people who lived in those ghettos?’

‘Well, they moved somewhere else I guess.’

‘Right. They probably went to another ghetto when they could no longer afford to live in their old neighborhood. So that destroyed a whole community and scattered the residents. The families that lived in the hutongs had been there for generations. Isn’t it sad to displace them in the name of progress?’

‘Why Josh, you sound like a conservationist.’

He looks shy. ‘I am, in fact. I sit on the board of the Heritage Conservation Society in Hong Kong. My father was always very concerned about preserving Hong Kong’s heritage… he meant its colonial heritage of course! Our projects are much wider than that now, and aren’t all about saving the beautiful buildings. Do you know about Nga Tsin Wai?’ He sighs deeply, shaking his head. ‘It’s a walled village in Kowloon, the oldest one remaining. Three families in the fourteenth century built it, originally near the harbor but development of the old airport meant that the residents lost their seaside view. It’s not much to look at. It’s a slum really, but it’s very important historically. Unfortunately developers have bought it up and are tearing it down to make way for flats.’

‘That’s awful!’ Suddenly I’m seized by the injustice. ‘Isn’t there anything we can do?’

He chuckles at my inclusion in his conservation work. ‘Unfortunately not. Not for this one. We fought the plans for several years but the Urban Renewal Authority has won. They say they’ll keep some of the more important buildings, like the gatehouse, the temple and ancestral hall, and incorporate them into a cultural park that they’re planning. We’ll see.’

I wonder what makes us want to hold on to our heritage and look backwards, when the Chinese want to look forward? Maybe it’s opportunity. ‘You really love Hong Kong, don’t you?’

He looks surprised. ‘Of course. It’s my home, my heritage.’

‘Yeah, I guess I think of you as English, because of your accent, and the fact that you’re not Chinese. I’m sorry, that’s probably obtuse of me.’

‘I know what you mean. But no, I’m a Honker through and through.’

‘An old Hong Kong hand?’ I say, thinking of Mrs. Reese’s ties to his family.

‘Exactly. Ah, here we are.’

The taxi has finally reached our hotel, a nondescript concrete bunker of a building. If this is what progress looks like, I’d like the old buildings back please.

‘We’ll meet Mr. Chow at six-thirty so feel free to have a look around the area if you’d like. Although you saw the highlights of the city just now.’ He chuckles. ‘If we have time tomorrow before the airport we’ll ask the driver to take us out to the countryside. There’s something there I think you’ll appreciate.’

‘That sounds intriguing.’ I smile. ‘I’ll just relax and read a bit, so I’ll meet you in the lobby later. Oh, and is it okay if I call my boyfriend from the room?’

‘Of course it is. I’ll see you at six in the lobby.’

Josh really is the best boss a girl could have. Not only is he footing the bill for my travels to exotic lands, he hasn’t held even the tiniest grudge for my having almost scuppered his business. We lost out on three of the orders, so I won’t expect a Christmas bonus, but in my history of career snafus, it wasn’t at the top. That honor remains with the first party I was allowed to plan in London. I don’t know what my boss expected when she neglected to tell me that my ‘death and rebirth’ theme for the hostess’s divorce party (still an excellent idea, circumstances notwithstanding) might not go down well considering that her ex-husband had cancer… and attended the party. Needless to say, the six-foot coffin cake wasn’t a hit. But you know what they say: fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. I will not be duped again. Well, not since the fax incident anyway. I’ve been watching Mrs. Reese closely this week. I’ll never prove that she gave me the wrong instructions but I’ll always suspect that she did. Of course I won’t say anything to her. It’s safer for her to think she’s getting away with it, and for me to know she can’t be trusted. I do believe I’m finally learning.

‘Bdllling!’

Hannah, Happy Birthday hony! Dad snd I hope you have a great day. We love you very much. Love mom and Dad

The first salutations of my twenty-eighth birthday. It’s a day early but I won’t hold Mom’s inability to calculate time differences against her. It’s the sentiment that counts, and it fills me with loving parental thoughts. I can imagine them at home, probably at the kitchen table while Mom taps resolutely on the mobile, reading out each word as she types. Dad’ll have the paper open, a cold cup of coffee at his elbow because he always gets too involved in what he’s reading to remember to drink it. Mom will pop it into the microwave every half hour and set it beside him where it will remain untouched. No wait, that’s the weekend routine. Today is Tuesday. Dad’s at work. Mom probably texted in the car at a red light, on her way to meet her friends for lunch. It doesn’t matter, the sentiment’s the same.

I miss them. Funny how filial ties can ambush you like this. I remember one afternoon at my first job, walking into the elevator just as a woman exited. She wore my mother’s perfume. It hit me with such force that I nearly followed her down the hall, sniffing in her wake. And Mom only lived twenty minutes up the road. It’s probably a stretch of Josh’s largesse to call the US, from a hotel room, at his company’s expense. Airwave love will have to do.

Thanks Mom and Dad, I’ll have a wonderful birthday! I’m in China now for work, so will celebrate here, then again in HK when I get back. I love you very much H

When I call Sam’s office, his phone rings and rings. Finally, ‘Hello, Sam’s phone.’

‘Uh, hi, this is Hannah. Is Sam there please?’

‘Oh. Hi Hannah. No, he’s not here. He’s left early today. Can I tell him you called?’

‘Yes please. Thanks.’ The line rings off.

I definitely told him I had to be here in China today and tomorrow. I know I told him. He can’t have flown to Hong Kong to surprise me for my birthday. Could he? That would be so romantic. But so
bad
! The idea that he’s there, when I’m here, makes me queasy. The enormity of the missed opportunity is swelling in my gut. It’s a heavy breathing, light-headed, panicky feeling. It’s almost dread. It can’t be healthy to feel such desperation for this man. What if he breaks up with me?

There, I said it. What if he breaks up with me? Because that’s what this feeling is really about, isn’t it? It’s the fear of things going wrong in the future, even if they’re right in the present. It’s the fear that I won’t be able to handle that.