Brother Fish (95 page)

‘“First the left plait, please, Madame Peroux.”

‘“As you wish,
ma chérie
.” She removed the left plait carefully.

‘“Please, madame, will you give it to me now?” I could see the puzzled look on her face. “Now, please,” I demanded, holding out my hand and looking at her mirror-image face. She handed me the plait, preparing to remove the right one. I moved my head away and twisted around to face her. “I must destroy this immediately. Do you have a furnace, madame?”

‘“You cannot, mademoiselle – impossible!” she declared, horrified at the suggestion. “This is
beautiful
hair – a wigmaker will pay a fortune. You must keep it for your grandchildren.”

‘I rose from the chair and turned rather rudely to face her. “Please show me the furnace,” I demanded.

‘“No, I cannot. This is a good neighbourhood – banker Li Ming, the taipan of the Bank of China, lives at number 650. Burning hair will smell bad, and he will complain.”

‘“I will tell Big Boss Yu – he will fix it,” I said confidently, using authority I didn't possess. I walked to the back of the salon and out into a small yard where I expected to find an earthenware stove burning charcoal. In those days small traditional stoves where servants prepared their food were so common at the back entrances of business premises in China as to be considered ubiquitous. As I expected, it was there. I walked up to it, startling the servant standing over it preparing a pot of rice by stuffing the thick blonde plait directly onto the glowing charcoal. The plait seemed to fizz into a shower of coloured sparks, the sound almost as if I was burning something alive. Then it was swallowed up in flames. I had no idea hair was so flammable. I have to confess, Madame Peroux was right – the smell that rose up with the smoke was simply atrocious.

‘I returned inside and apologised profusely for my boldness and poor manners. “I have been to see the incense master at the Taoist temple. I had no choice but to follow his instructions or I would bring bad fortune to my taipan.” I smiled, attempting to disarm her. “Madame, just one more small favour – before you remove the right plait, will you wash it, dry it and re-plait it and only then remove it, please?”

‘I knew the complaint about the smell of burning hair was simply an excuse. Being Asian herself, she nodded, though somewhat grimly, not at all pleased with me. I could well understand her annoyance. Western hair was in Chinese eyes wondrously fine and, unlike coarser Chinese hair, would fetch an excellent price. She was, after all, a Chinese businesswoman and saw the potential for making a fair dollar. She was naturally disgusted to see such an easy profit go up in flames.

‘The smell of the burning hair pervaded the salon, and no doubt the entire neighbourhood, so that there was little further conversation between us. She washed and dried my hair, and re-plaited the right side of my head before removing the splendidly shining plait. Then she braided several strands of hair into a small rope and tied one end while repeating the process at the other. She handed me the elegant-looking plait in silence.

Then she dampened my remaining hair and snipped away for some time, transforming it into a very smart-looking French bob. Madame Peroux explained that I should return once a week to have it trimmed and restyled. When I went to pay her she waved me away. “It has been taken care of, mademoiselle.” I apologised again, and thanked her for the plait.

‘She shrugged philosophically. “I am Chinese, Mademoiselle Lenoir-Jourdan.”

‘I returned home and stopped on the way to buy a rather expensive box made of persimmon wood with a lucky dragon's head carved into the lid, and placed the plait inside. When Ah Chow dropped me off in the Chinese City I handed it to him. “Please give this to Big Boss Yu. The incense master says it will bring him good joss.”

‘Ah May opened the door and screamed, then burst into tears, backing away from me. “Aieeyaaa! What have you done!” she cried, unable to control her shaking.

‘“I have grown up, Ah May,” I replied, holding her to me.

‘“The people in the street will mourn for you,” she said.

‘So much for changing my name on the poster announcing the new season at the Palace Hotel. It appeared at the very bottom of a list of artists who would be visiting Shanghai over the following six months. My inclusion almost required spectacles to read, and stated: “Featuring nightly the delightful new star Lily No Gin as ‘Shanghai Lil'.” I was to learn that despite his great charm and easygoing ways, Sir Victor Sassoon expected to have his way in all things. He'd only been present for a little more than an hour and the importance of my name on a show poster was of the utmost lack of concern to anyone, yet he'd persisted. It was this attention to detail that made him one of the most powerful and richest men in the world.

‘As these things invariably happen, audiences seemed never to hear my stage name when it was announced but proceeded to clap immediately after “Shanghai Lil” followed it. Whether I liked it or not, that was how I was known for the next two years.

‘There is always a party after the opening of a new show, and I was looking forward to both with a mixture of anticipation and dread. I had, after all, been locked up in the tiny house in the Chinese City for three weeks. Apart from Poppy and members of the dance orchestra, who were regulars at rehearsals, I saw very few people. The Russian doorman, Zhora Petrov, known to his Russian friends as Georgii, had become a friend and the hotel staff had come to regard me almost as one of their own. But I lacked any real European company except for the dreadful Mrs Worthington with her daily battering of clipped and rounded words. Ah Chow would be waiting the moment I finished rehearsals. I dreamed of some day walking out of the hotel to find no big black Buick waiting for me.

‘I forgot to mention that I had been put on a salary – small but not ungenerous considering I was an ingénue. A week before the opening Ah Chow took me to a tailor, where I was allowed to pick the material for three evening
chum sarm
, the traditional Chinese dress for a woman of quality. I chose a glistening black for one, and for the second a red trimmed with gold, the traditional Chinese colours of celebration, and a brilliant peacock blue for the third – all of them in silk, although only the peacock blue carried a sheen to it.

‘My mother had always told me that dressing well was about understatement – a beautiful woman is the jewel and not the baubles, bangles and beads she wears. Nothing should distract the eye from her.' At this point, Nicole Lenoir-Jourdan looked up. ‘Not, Jack, that I believed myself beautiful, but from a very early age my mother had taught me how to carry myself with a sense of pride. She would say, “Remember, Nicole, less is more. Always remember you are half-French – dress to show yourself, and not your wealth.” My gawky figure of a year ago had filled out somewhat, and I think I looked pleasing enough to the eye and, with my new French bob and a little bright lipstick and eye shadow, I felt I looked at least twenty.

‘So, of course, opening night was a very exciting occasion. The ballroom was essentially for dancing but it was also a supper club and featured a warm-up for half an hour at seven p.m. and then at ten o'clock “Champagne Hour” – the main show, when the house dispensed free Bollinger to the seated patrons – with dancing interspersed in between.

The warm-up act on opening night was a Chinese acrobatic troupe, while the star of the ten o'clock was, improbable as it sounds, a German
Lieder
singer whose name I forget but who proved a great initial attraction for the German Shanghailanders, most of whom turned up to hear her sing and then promptly left. The German star spoke no English and lasted for only the first week of a six-week engagement, being promptly dismissed by Sir Victor following a tongue-lashing she delivered to the audience in her native German for not devoting to her their undivided attention. I went on as the final act, wearing my peacock-blue
chum sarm
, singing cabaret and playing the grand piano with the orchestra occasionally called upon to accompany me. The idea was to warm up the audience for the late-night dancing that was to follow.

‘My very first performance was to a crowd of at least 800 people and I was understandably nervous, but, to my absolute delight, at its conclusion the men rose from their tables and cheered. Mr Coward's “Poor Little Rich Girl”, which I did as my final number, brought the house down and was to become an important part of my future repertoire – remind me, Jack, to tell you about meeting and playing it in front of Noël Coward.'

‘You performed for Noël Coward?'

‘Yes – but more on that later.'

‘Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. Please, go on.'

‘Well, flushed with first-night success I was now looking forward immensely to the party, having vindicated myself to Sir Victor, Poppy, but mostly Big Boss Yu, who attended the show although he declined Sir Victor's invitation to the after-party. Mr Yu had arrived alone, which was unusual – he was a popular and gregarious Chinese taipan usually accompanied by half-a-dozen people of every race. That night he sat alone at a small table with a bottle of Napoleon cognac for company. When I got resounding applause and the men rose from their tables, he did so as well and clapped, beaming at me. So I felt I hadn't disappointed him even though he refused an invitation to come backstage, and left immediately after the show.

‘So you can imagine my despair when a serious Poppy approached me in my dressing room. Earlier backstage, he'd hugged me and lifted me off my feet, swinging me around in a circle. “You were wonderful, darling!” he'd gushed. But on this second visit he said, “A word, darling?”

‘“What is it, Poppy? What have I done?” I asked, bewildered.

‘“Bad news, sweetheart. I'm afraid you're not invited to the party. Your chauffeur will take you home immediately.”

‘“But Poppy, why?”

‘He sighed. “Mrs Worthington. She says you're not quite ready.”

‘“Ready for what?” I protested.

‘“Why, haven't you been told? To be exposed to the public – the nobs, my dear.”

‘“But, but, what has that got to do with my act?” I asked, distressed.

‘“Nothing. Orders, darling. You have to be impeccable.”

‘“Impeccable? What has to be impeccable? My hair, my gown –
what
?”

‘“Your accent. You have to be taken for a young English gal of good breeding. Clipped and rounded, my dear.”

‘“Who decided this?”

‘Poppy smiled. “It came from Sir Victor, but I'm sure he was merely the messenger. He doesn't give a hoot about that sort of thing.”

‘“Big Boss Yu?”

‘He shrugged. “I haven't the faintest, darling. Someone out there is grooming you for something and, whatever it may be, being a Russian countess simply won't do the trick!”

‘“But you said it was Mrs Worthington. Was she here?”

‘“Don't shoot the messenger, darling – only doing as I'm told.”

‘Well, of course, all my new-found sophistication went completely out the window and I'm afraid I began to weep like a petulant schoolgirl. Poppy didn't stay to comfort me.

‘“That's show biz, sweetheart,” he said. “Time to grow up, darling.” Then he turned on his heel and left, leaving me to wail into the bunch of flowers I'd received on my debut with a note that said “Sincere good wishes, the Management & Staff”. Though, in fairness, I have to add I had also received an exquisite orchid from Sir Victor that I'd hoped to wear with my red
chum sarm
to his party.

‘That frightful woman kept me at my English lessons for an entire year before she agreed I was sufficiently clipped and rounded to be allowed among the upper crust of Shanghai society. I was lonely and frustrated but, curiously enough, this did nothing to disrupt my career as a cabaret singer and entertainer. The fact that I never appeared in “public” and no one knew where I lived meant all sorts of rumours began circulating, and Shanghai Lil became a mysterious, romantic woman. I was seen arriving and being whisked away in a big American limousine and then simply disappearing. Newspaper reporters tried to track me down without success, as it never occurred to any of them that I might live in the Chinese City.

Isolation from other Europeans also served to bring me close to the Chinese people again, as I had once been in Ah Lai's village in Manchuria. My Cantonese became fluent and I think I was popular with the locals, who always treated me with great kindness. Even though I was now earning a very reasonable salary, Big Boss Yu continued to support me while making no demands on me whatsoever. He was like a benevolent uncle, always there when I needed something. And while I saw very little of him, I feel sure my every movement was reported back to him.

‘Finally, two days before my seventeenth birthday, Mrs Worthington pronounced me clipped and rounded enough to be exposed to Shanghai's elite. In the period I'd been with her she'd fashioned an entirely new background for me, a past life that was appropriate for my impeccable accent. Good school, county manor, minor aristocracy and, most importantly, I had cultivated a mannerism unique to the English upper classes that allowed me to disengage from a conversation that appeared to be getting too personal with just the right amount of polite detachment – the raised eyebrow and almost imperceptible expression of disapproval that Poppy had dreamed of achieving all his life.