Julia Paradise by Rod Jones Page A

Settlement.’
    The Chinese looked at him pleasantly. ‘Except in the International Settlement, of course.’ He bowed the concession and went on smoothly. ‘Nevertheless, the Sungchiang prefecture is not presently under the jurisdiction of the International Settlement. The Reverend Paradise has been detained in connection with a fire which occurred last night on Chinese property.’
    The policeman smiled.
    â€˜Are you seriously trying to suggest that Mr Paradise tried to burn down his own mission school?’
    â€˜If he burned his own mission it would be of no concern to us. But this mission is now Chinese property by forfeit under proclamation by the Supreme Commander General Chiang Kai-Shek that all foreign mission schools must have Chinese principals.’
    Ayres was silent. He looked at the policeman, then asked, ‘And how long will he be detained?’
    â€˜As long as it takes for the facts to come to light.’
    Julia said softly, ‘Willy will be staying for a few days, I think.’ She stood smiling stupidly, in her Sunday frock. Then she looked down and plucked at the fingers of her glove.
    Johnny Yang turned again to Ayres. ‘Are you staying here, Doctor, in any official capacity?’
    Ayres said slowly, afraid of letting his anger show, ‘I am staying here as a guest of the Reverend and Mrs Paradise.’
    The policeman seemed satisfied. ‘Well then.’ He turned towards his car. ‘Now you are staying as a guest of the Chinese people. I trust you will do your utmost to protect Chinese property from any further damage. By person or persons unknown.’ He put his bowler hat on his head and opened the door of the roadster. Then Julia moved forward and touched the shiny green fender.
    â€˜Does it go fast?’ she asked silkily, caressing the duco.
    â€˜Very fast,’ the man assured her, taking off his hat again and scrutinizing her face. ‘But I myself am a slow and careful driver.’ He smiled and gave a rather pretentious half bow forward, mocking the western image of the oriental manner, perhaps. ‘It was a present from my father. A wedding present,’ he grimaced slightly, showing straight white teeth.
    â€˜Your father must be very well off to shower such presents upon his children.’
    â€˜One gift. Hardly a shower.’ He looked to Ayres who was watching Julia. The colour had risen in her face and her little schoolmarm’s mouth was shut tight. She was staring into Johnny Yang’s face. No wonder he was embarrassed. He could not have returned such intense scrutiny politely. She was really inspecting him, as though he were a rarity, an oddity: his smooth dry sallow skin with the flattened-out nose, a face apparently without a seam or join in it anywhere, topped by the thick black neatly brilliantined hair.
    Julia said, then, ‘He didn’t do anything wrong, you know. He has no understanding of politics.’
    The policeman now understood. He said as he got into the car, ‘You mustn’t worry. We’ll be in touch. Tomorrow maybe.’
    â€˜Come to tea,’ Julia said flatly as he started the motor. Then the car moved off followed at a distance by the lorry, with Willy Paradise, a willing martyr, in his blackened collar still sitting up in dignified silence.
    As they rounded the bend in the drive, Ayres saw Gerthilde Platz in her trousers and man’s broad-crowned hat straighten up. She watched the roadster and the lorry until they were out of sight, then turned back to pruning the roses.
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    Julia had put on the old cardigan again and she was smoking cigarettes one after the other. Ayres heard music coming from somewhere in the house, upstairs, he thought, the sound of a gramophone playing the same American jazz tune over and over again. He thought it extremely unlikely that Gerthilde Platz would be playing that kind of music.
    Julia’s face was screwed up as she spoke. She did not