Her Master's Voice by Jacqueline George Page B

fire door open and went in.
    They stood in a long room. In front of them a strip of worn carpet ran under frosted windows, into the distance, diving into a corridor and away. On their right the large room was filled with rows of desks, all facing the windows. At each desk sat a Chinese girl, working on papers, like a university examination room. Rows of black heads and white blouses, all looking at them.
    Ranji spoke to the nearest girl and she jumped up to lead them on. Sherry followed Ranji, aware of the whole room watching them. As they reached the corridor, she looked back. Expressionless Chinese faces stared at her. She hurried after Ranji. At the end of the corridor, the girl gestured for them to wait and went through the door marked ‘No Entry’, closing it behind her.
    “Those girls,” whispered Sherry, “they looked at us like dirt.”
    “Don’t worry about it. Most of them wish they could be like us. Which would you prefer, flute-playing or working in there?”
    The door opened again and the girl waved them in. “Mr. Yhee will see you now.”
    Inside a secretary sat in a small office, an older lady with curled hair. Beyond her an open door. Ranji led the way.
    The Irishman’s office looked huge. It filled the whole width of the building. On one side, a long conference table of solid rosewood sat on heavy carved pillars. On the other, Mr. Yhee had made himself an alcove from packed bookshelves. His desk was black and modern, decorated with telephones and a computer. A carved name block announced him as ‘Yhee Lu Pat’ in Roman characters, and presumably the additional Chinese characters said the same. This touch added to the impression that an office, no matter how grand, was not Mr. Yhee’s natural environment.
    Yhee was a small man seated in a big black chair behind his desk. At first sight he looked Chinese, but as Sherry looked closer his long nose and wavy hair made her uncertain. Mixed blood, perhaps. He watched them closely as they crossed the carpet and came to stand in front of his desk. He gestured them down into the armchairs facing each other in front of him. Sherry found herself sitting uncomfortably low, with Yhee’s desk above elbow level. She had to look up to talk to him.
    “So,” he said in a sing-song voice, “Miss Ranji and Miss Sherry. Very good. Very pretty. Now, speak to Bombar first.” He picked up a phone and dialed.
    “Mr. Bombar. Yes. The girls have arrived. Yes. Maybe, not bad in a cheap sort of way. Yes. I shall insist on it. Now I give you Ranji.” He thrust the phone at Ranji and Sherry listened to another half conversation.
    “Yes, Papi. No, she’s dressed very well. I shall, Papi. Don’t worry, Papi, we shall be good. Yes, Papi. See you soon,” and she handed the phone back to Yhee who hung up.
    He looked at them and chuckled. “Very beautiful. Now we shall have a very interesting time, no?” Sherry liked his smile and relaxed immediately.
    “First, what will you drink? Beer, whisky? No, no tea. I shall give you my very best cognac.” He opened a compartment in the bookshelves behind the desk and Ranji grimaced behind his back. They listened to the sound of ice and glasses. There was a click and soft Chinese music filled the room. He brought them two tumblers of ice and cognac, and went back to sit behind his desk.
    He raised his glass to them, and they sipped together. The cognac tasted strong and rich, almost making Sherry cough. “Now, ladies, what are you going to do for me?”
    Ranji smiled at him and said, “We are here to do anything you want, Mr. Yhee.”
    “Very good. Very, very good. In that case, I would like you to dance for me. Together. Just stand up and dance.”
    Sherry found herself holding Ranji and trying to find a rhythm in the Chinese music. “Mmmmmh, sexy Sherry,” whispered Ranji and reached around her with both arms to pull her closer. Over her shoulder, Sherry could see Yhee watching them closely. Ranji felt live and exciting in