The Year of Dangerous Loving. John Davis Gordon
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Oh yes, he had to see her next weekend. But how much longer could he afford to keep doing this? It was as if she had read his mind, for she said:
‘But what about all this crazy money you are spending? Crazy money. I will speak to Vladimir about a special price. Why don’t I come to you, in Hong Kong? We save the hotel bill and all the dinners – I will cook for you, darling!’
Hargreave smiled. The China moonlight was streaming through the French windows, dusting her naked goldenness in silver. He loved her for her concern about his money; that showed she wasn’t a whore at heart. But he hesitated: he wasn’t sure about her coming to Hong Kong yet – he didn’t care what people thought, or guessed, her alibi as a singer was good enough for Al Hargreave as an individual – but was it good enough for the Director of Public Prosecutions? And even if it was – which it was, for Christ’s sake, plenty of Hong Kong bigwigs were known to have mistresses, and a good few were known homosexuals – even assuming he could get away with her alibi, was he ready to make that kind of commitment? Wasn’t it quite a step, from a discreet hotel in Macao to taking her home to his apartment for all his neighbours to see? And even if that was okay, was it a wise thing to do when Elizabeth was suing him for divorce? And even if that didn’t matter – which it didn’t, because the marriage was over, whether he was shacked up with half a dozen girls or none – was it quite fair on Liz to have it known that her husband had a Russian girlfriend in residence? And most importantly, was it fair on Olga to take her into his A-grade government apartment and start the mental process that she was going to become the mistress of it? Was he ready for that yet? And was she, this Russian girl who had never had a real love, who had been forced into prostitution – was she ready for the heady business of being taken into his privileged life, even if only for a weekend? What would she expect the following weekend, and the next? Oh, Hargreave knew what he wanted, he wanted her every weekend, but how would she feel when he simply couldn’t afford her any longer – which was surely going to happen sooner rather than later. All these questions flashed through Hargreave’s mind, then he said:
‘Yes, come to Hong Kong. We’ll go out on my boat for a few days.’ The boat was the answer.
She sat up. ‘You have a boat?’
‘In fact we’ll go sailing for a week,’ he said. ‘Next Monday is a public holiday, so I’ll take leave from Tuesday to Friday; we’ll have eight or nine days on the boat.’
‘Oh how lovely!’ Olga cried. Then she frowned anxiously. ‘But supposing they won’t let me in with my new identity card – the immigration man may remember, me.’
Hargreave had forgotten that detail. ‘Then I’ll bring the boat to Macao to fetch you. I’ll check you through Hong Kong immigration formalities at the Marine Department as crew.’
‘Oh, wonderful, darling! And I will tell Vladimir to go to hell, he must drop his price!’
Hargreave smiled. Yes, it would be very nice to get Vladimir down. ‘And what will he say to that?’
‘He will finally do it – he knows he is getting a bargain because you are a good customer. And for me you don’t pay, ever again, I will give you back my share!’
Hargreave grinned. Oh, this was ridiculous – the DPP getting a kick-back from the Heavenly Tranquillity! She could keep her share, but he loved her for offering it. And he would pay the going price if he had to – he didn’t want any trouble from Vladimir. But yes, something had to be done, he couldn’t afford this much longer. But for the moment he could afford it, and a whole week with her on the yacht was going to be wonderful.
‘Oh darling,’ Olga said, ‘I can hardly wait!’
And nor could Hargreave.
He worked hard, to leave his desk clear for the holiday ahead. Every morning before dawn he drove down to his chambers and put in three hours’ work before his staff arrived, before his telephones started ringing. He kept his consultations to the minimum and declined all invitations to lunch. At lunchtime he went to the gym and pushed himself hard through the circuit of exercise equipment, then had a sauna and a hearty meal at the health-bar. He was getting fit and he felt good. He worked until about eight o’clock, then went home and rode his exercycle for half an hour whilst he watched the news and the weather report on television. There were no storms brewing nearby. He drank only a beer or two before Ah Moi served him another hearty health meal with plenty of salad: he was saving up his drinking-time for next week. Oh, he was so looking forward to the trip. He went to bed early with half a dozen different vitamin pills inside him and slept soundly. He woke up before dawn, eager to start the new day – one day less to wait. It was going to be a lovely adventure with his lovely girl on his lovely boat around Hong Kong’s many lovely islands. On Thursday night she telephoned him.
‘Hullo, darling! Are we really going sailing tomorrow?’
‘Really!’
‘Oh – all the girls are so envious, I’m so excited! Okay, I must go and work now. Is there anything I must bring?’
Work. The only thing he wanted her to bring was some good news from Vladimir. ‘Only your sweet self.’
‘And I’ve told Pig Vladimir to go to hell because I’m taking a holiday next week, there will be nothing to pay after Sunday, darling, next week is free.’
He was very pleased to hear that. ‘And what did he say?’
‘To hell with Vladimir. If I went back to Russia last week when my permit ended I would have some holidays before I started work, not so? Darling, I must go and sing now, goodbye. Know what I’m going to sing?’
Sing. That’s better. ‘What?’
‘“Slow Boat to China”. For us.’
Hargreave grinned: ‘That’s a lovely song.’
‘For us. I must go now – but darling?’
‘Yes?’
‘I love you! Okay,’ she giggled, ‘goodbye!’ The telephone went dead.
He woke up next morning at dawn feeling rested, fit and excited. He drove down to the gym, gave himself a quick workout, got to his chambers and finished clearing his desk. At nine o’clock he telephoned the Asia Company and asked them to deliver a week’s supply of meat to his chambers immediately – there was plenty of booze and canned food aboard. He telephoned the yacht club and instructed his look-see boat-boy to hose down the decks, open the portholes, check the oil, batteries and water tanks. He sent one of his clerks down to the Marine Department with his passport and ship’s papers to do port-clearance formalities for him: international destination Macao! With a hey-nonny-nonny and a hot cha-cha! He sent another clerk to the Hongkong & Shanghai Bank to cash a modest cheque – how delightfully cheap after the Bella Mar! He did a few pressing consultations, then, at noon, he summoned his three deputies, delegated the remnants of his files amongst them, discussed briefly the points of law involved, blew a jolly kiss to Miss Ho and Miss Chan, his secretaries, which sent them into fits of blushing giggles – Mister Hargreave had never done that before – and set off carrying his sailing bag. He rode down in the elevator to the parking basement, and drove out into hot, teeming Queensway with a song in his heart. Slow Boat to China, yessir. He drove through the steamy, congested thoroughfares of Wanchai to Causeway Bay, and turned out to the yacht club. He parked beside the clubhouse and strode down to the departure jetty. The good ship Elizabeth was waiting. Ten minutes later he was steaming down the fairway towards the international lane, a smile all over his face.
It was good to be alive! It was lovely to be steering his yacht across the South China Sea to fetch his beautiful Russian girl to go sailing around the myriad of islands – how exotic can a love affair get? And look at this magnificent Hong Kong, look at that breathtaking waterfront with its new skyscrapers towering up, look at that magnificent