money.”
The two men pull at their drinks.
“I heard the governor’s told all the men in the Bachelors they were off their heads for wanting their wives back. His wife’s still in Malaysia, no?”
“Yes, but I don’t know that that’s any safer, do you?” Will says. “How is Amelia?”
“Fine, but she’s making noises about coming back. She’s just in China, you know, refused absolutely to go to Australia. So, she’s in Canton, and complaining mightily. I can hear the racket from here.” Angus looked gloomily at the dance floor. “Might let her come back just so I can get some peace.” He paused. “Though that seems rather counterintuitive, eh?”
“Everything to do with women seems counterintuitive.”
“Trudy not leaving? ” Angus asks.
“Refuses. Says there’s nowhere to go. Which is sort of the truth for her, I think.”
“Pity,” says Angus. “A lot of places could use her right now.”
“Yes, she could charm everyone,” Will says.
“A formidable weapon, indeed,” Angus says.
“Did you see the paper today? Roosevelt sent Hirohito a cable?”
“Yes. We’ll see how effective that is. What are they having you do at the office? ”
“They sent around a memorandum a few weeks ago saying that our Volunteer positions took precedence over company business, but we are supposed to register with them during fighting, if it breaks out. They’ve given us a number to call with our location. I don’t know that they know what they’re doing.”
They watch Trudy twirl around the dance floor, laughing, ivory-white arms draped over her partner’s shoulders. Afterward, breathless and happy, she tells Will that her partner was the “head of the whole thing. He’s very important, and he seemed to like me very much, telling me all about the situation we’re in. And it’s terribly ironic,” she says. “The dreariest of people are safe—the Germans, bless their stolid hearts, the Italians with their awful, funny ways. Hong Kong’s going to be so dull, no parties worth going to at all.”
“So you’re interested when he tells you about the war, are you?”
“Of course, darling. He knows what he’s talking about.”
The orchestra is playing “The Best Things in Life Are Free,” and Trudy is complaining. “He’s horrible,” she says about the accompanist. “I could get up right now and play better than that.” But she isn’t given a chance because a short man with a megaphone strides through the ballroom and gets up onstage. The orchestra grinds to a halt.
“All those men who are connected to the American Steamships Line are ordered to report aboard ship as soon as possible. I repeat, all those connected with American Steamships Line are required to report onboard right now.”
There is a long silence, then on the dance floor, couples uncouple, at the bar, men stand up from their bar stools and pull down their shirt fronts. A few start to make their uncertain way to the door.
“I hate American accents,” Trudy says. “They sound so stupid.” She seems to have forgotten her great love for Americans.
“Trudy,” Will says. “This is serious. Do you understand?”
“It’ll be fine, darling,” Trudy says. “Who would bother with our small pocket of the world? It’s just the alarmists.” She calls for more champagne.
Dominick comes by and whispers something in her ear. He stares at Will while he’s doing it.
“Good evening, Dominick,” he says.
“Hallo,” is the laconic reply. Dominick is one of those queer Chinese who are more English than the English, yet has no great love for them. Educated in the most precious way in England, he has come back to Hong Kong and is affronted by everything that is in the least bit crass, which is to say, everything—the swill on the streets, the expectorating, illiterate throngs of coolies and fishmongers. A hothouse flower, he thrives only in the rarest of society circles, around damask napkins and clear, ringing
The two men pull at their drinks.
“I heard the governor’s told all the men in the Bachelors they were off their heads for wanting their wives back. His wife’s still in Malaysia, no?”
“Yes, but I don’t know that that’s any safer, do you?” Will says. “How is Amelia?”
“Fine, but she’s making noises about coming back. She’s just in China, you know, refused absolutely to go to Australia. So, she’s in Canton, and complaining mightily. I can hear the racket from here.” Angus looked gloomily at the dance floor. “Might let her come back just so I can get some peace.” He paused. “Though that seems rather counterintuitive, eh?”
“Everything to do with women seems counterintuitive.”
“Trudy not leaving? ” Angus asks.
“Refuses. Says there’s nowhere to go. Which is sort of the truth for her, I think.”
“Pity,” says Angus. “A lot of places could use her right now.”
“Yes, she could charm everyone,” Will says.
“A formidable weapon, indeed,” Angus says.
“Did you see the paper today? Roosevelt sent Hirohito a cable?”
“Yes. We’ll see how effective that is. What are they having you do at the office? ”
“They sent around a memorandum a few weeks ago saying that our Volunteer positions took precedence over company business, but we are supposed to register with them during fighting, if it breaks out. They’ve given us a number to call with our location. I don’t know that they know what they’re doing.”
They watch Trudy twirl around the dance floor, laughing, ivory-white arms draped over her partner’s shoulders. Afterward, breathless and happy, she tells Will that her partner was the “head of the whole thing. He’s very important, and he seemed to like me very much, telling me all about the situation we’re in. And it’s terribly ironic,” she says. “The dreariest of people are safe—the Germans, bless their stolid hearts, the Italians with their awful, funny ways. Hong Kong’s going to be so dull, no parties worth going to at all.”
“So you’re interested when he tells you about the war, are you?”
“Of course, darling. He knows what he’s talking about.”
The orchestra is playing “The Best Things in Life Are Free,” and Trudy is complaining. “He’s horrible,” she says about the accompanist. “I could get up right now and play better than that.” But she isn’t given a chance because a short man with a megaphone strides through the ballroom and gets up onstage. The orchestra grinds to a halt.
“All those men who are connected to the American Steamships Line are ordered to report aboard ship as soon as possible. I repeat, all those connected with American Steamships Line are required to report onboard right now.”
There is a long silence, then on the dance floor, couples uncouple, at the bar, men stand up from their bar stools and pull down their shirt fronts. A few start to make their uncertain way to the door.
“I hate American accents,” Trudy says. “They sound so stupid.” She seems to have forgotten her great love for Americans.
“Trudy,” Will says. “This is serious. Do you understand?”
“It’ll be fine, darling,” Trudy says. “Who would bother with our small pocket of the world? It’s just the alarmists.” She calls for more champagne.
Dominick comes by and whispers something in her ear. He stares at Will while he’s doing it.
“Good evening, Dominick,” he says.
“Hallo,” is the laconic reply. Dominick is one of those queer Chinese who are more English than the English, yet has no great love for them. Educated in the most precious way in England, he has come back to Hong Kong and is affronted by everything that is in the least bit crass, which is to say, everything—the swill on the streets, the expectorating, illiterate throngs of coolies and fishmongers. A hothouse flower, he thrives only in the rarest of society circles, around damask napkins and clear, ringing
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