Sad Wind from the Sea. Jack Higgins
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in one of the numerous easy chairs and leafed through a month-old American magazine. He was only half-interested, however, and most of the time he found himself thinking about the girl and waiting with anticipation for the moment when she would join him. It was a new feeling. A disturbing feeling. He hadn’t been so interested in a woman for a long time. There was something ingenuous and refreshing about her. She had accepted his lunch invitation with a delight that she had not attempted to conceal and he wondered, suddenly, if he was getting involved in something serious. He dismissed the idea from his mind with a shrug. This would be their last meeting. Lunch for two to round the whole affair off. He beckoned to a passing waiter and ordered a gin-sling. As the drink was brought to him he noticed the Russian receptionist sneering at him from the desk and instinctively Hagen tossed the waiter a large tip. The Russian’s sneer vanished rapidly. He must have imagined he was now on bad terms with a tipping customer. Hagen sipped his drink and sighed. A few more grand gestures and he really would be broke.
He glanced idly across at the lift doors as they opened and the girl stepped out. He stood up and walked towards her and she looked eagerly around and then she saw him and a warm smile appeared on her face. She came towards him and as she passed the reception desk a voice said: ‘Oh, Miss Graham. Have you a moment?’
It was the Russian who had spoken. Hagen stood, hat in hand, a few feet away and feigned an interest in some travel brochures. He tried to pick up as much of the conversation as he could. The gist of it seemed to be that she hadn’t paid her hotel bill for three weeks and the Russian wasn’t being too polite about telling her. Hagen half-turned towards them, wondering whether he should intervene, when the girl opened her handbag and took out a cheque-book. She scribbled furiously for a moment, tore out the cheque, and flung it into the Russian’s face.
She turned to Hagen and cursed the man fluently in Malay, Cantonese and a dialect that was new to him. ‘They think because I am a Eurasian they can treat me any way they like, these people.’
Hagen smiled. ‘The cheque act was the best part of the show,’ he told her.
She smiled up at him, a tight little smile, and suddenly her face seemed to crumple and she began to cry. Before they could attract any attention Hagen gripped her arm and rushed her into the American Bar. Everyone had gone to lunch and for the moment the bar was cool, dark and empty. He left her in a booth to get the crying fit over and went and sat on one of the high stools at the bar and had a whisky-and-water.
He was puzzled. The girl was well educated and her clothes were expensive. She was obviously used to the best. One didn’t usually leave hotel bills unpaid for three weeks when one had a cheque-book. He began to wonder just how much was left in that bank account. He even wondered whether the cheque she had just written would bounce right back into the Russian receptionist’s face. It was a pleasant thought. The girl moved on to a stool beside him. She had fixed her face so that only an unnatural brightness in the eyes indicated that she had been crying. ‘Could I have a drink, please?’
‘Surely! A gin-sling?’ She nodded and he ordered the drink. He didn’t speak until the barman had placed the drink before her and retired to the other end of the bar to polish glasses. ‘Can you meet that cheque?’
She smiled wanly and sipped her drink. ‘Only just. A few dollars left and then…’ She shrugged her shoulders; a hopeless gesture that seemed to say she was at the end of her tether. This was the moment for the gallant gesture, Hagen thought. It suddenly occurred to him how ironic it was that of all the people in Macao she should have met him and he laughed aloud. She flushed angrily. ‘What’s so funny?’ she demanded.
He hastened to reassure her. ‘I’m not laughing at you, angel. It’s just that I’m in a pretty poor state myself at the moment. We make a nice pair.’ She began to laugh herself and Hagen remembered that he still had a little money left. Suddenly he felt reckless and past caring. He grabbed her arm and propelled her firmly out of the bar. ‘There’s one thing we can do,’ he said. ‘And that’s to have lunch. Things always look brighter after a decent meal.’
He kept up a running flow of conversation on the way to the dining-room and by the time they were seated at a table there was a smile on her face again. During the meal they talked little. She had a healthy appetite and he found himself covertly watching her at every opportunity. Once or twice she noticed his eyes and blushed. ‘That was lovely,’ she said at length. ‘I couldn’t eat another bite.’
Hagen suggested a drink on the terrace and ordered a couple of brandies before following her out there. She was seated at a table on the very edge of the terrace. Below them was Macao and the view stretched across the blue water to Kowloon and the Chinese mainland. ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said, and offered her a cigarette.
She nodded and refused the cigarette. ‘It’s a lovely city. Very lovely.’ She paused as the waiter brought the drinks and Hagen suddenly sensed that she was on the verge of telling him about herself.
She still hesitated and he said, quickly, ‘Have you been here long?’
She shook her head. ‘Only the three weeks that I’ve been staying at the hotel.’ She gazed out over the harbour. ‘I should have found somewhere cheaper I suppose, but a girl on her own! It’s very difficult.’
Hagen reached across the table and placed his hand gently over hers. ‘Why don’t you tell me about it?’ he said softly. ‘I know it’s something to do with our Red friends across the water.’
She straightened up, fear on her face. ‘How do you know?’
He explained briefly. ‘So you see,’ he concluded, ‘I’m mixed up in this thing enough to get shot at. The least you can do is tell me what it’s all about.’
For a little while she stared at the table, her fingers nervously interlacing, and then she began to speak. ‘I’m from Indo-China—the North. My father was a Scot. Mother was Indo-Chinese. I went to school in India, spent the war there. Afterwards I returned to my father’s plantation. He’d been on some special service during the war, in Malaya. Things were just beginning to settle down again when the trouble started between the French and the Viet Minh.’
Hagen nodded. ‘That must have messed things up pretty badly. Especially as you were living in the North.’
‘Yes, things couldn’t have been worse. It wasn’t long before we were completely surrounded by Communist territory. At first they didn’t bother us, but then one day…’
For a moment she seemed to have difficulty in finding words. She turned her head away a little and Hagen reached across again and took her hand firmly. ‘Go on, angel. Get rid of it.’
She smiled tightly. ‘My mother. They killed my mother. Father and I had been out for the day. We got home just as three Communist soldiers were leaving. My father had an automatic rifle. He shot them.’ She gazed away out over the water, into the past. ‘He did it very expertly. He must have had quite a hard war.’
‘Finish your drink,’ Hagen told her. ‘Brandy is the best pick-me-up I know.’
She gulped the brandy too fast, choked and made a wry face. After a moment she continued. ‘Dad couldn’t forgive himself for not getting us out sooner. You see he’d been preparing for quite some time. He had a thirty-foot launch hidden in a nearby creek and we were going to go down-river to the coast and then south to Hanoi.’
‘Why had he delayed so long?’ Hagen demanded.
She traced a delicate pattern with a finger in a pool of spilled brandy. ‘Because he’d promised to take something with him and it wasn’t ready.’
Hagen swallowed some of his brandy and said, ‘Was it all that important?’
‘If you’d call a quarter of a million dollars important,’ she said calmly.
Hagen finished his brandy and put the glass down very carefully. ‘How much did you say?’
She smiled. ‘I’m not exaggerating. A quarter of a million—in gold. There was a Buddhist monastery near the plantation.