Read The Master of Rain Online
Authors: Tom Bradby
The Master of Rain (65 page)
When Penelope looked up, her eyes were dark hollows, her face streaked with makeup. “I used to tell him he was the bravest man I’d ever met,” she said. “But when he looked in the mirror, that wasn’t what he saw.”
“Everything changed at Delville Wood,” Field said.
She nodded.
“And he took his anger out first on you, then on the Russian girls.”
“He blamed me because I could not arouse him. At first it didn’t seem to matter.” She smiled sadly at him. “I thought love would provide the answer.” She started to cry. “I thought it would be temporary. The impotence and the anger.” She looked up. “His temper was so terrible, Richard. He would become furious with himself, with me. And then with the world.”
“We know about Irina, Natalya, Lena. Were there others?”
“When we came to Shanghai . . .” She sighed. “Oh, six years ago, it was to be a new start. For a time, I thought it had worked. At least he stopped hurting me. He didn’t touch me anymore.”
“But you knew he was hurting others?”
She looked down again. “I couldn’t face going back, Richard. Please understand. I couldn’t bear to go back.”
“You knew he’d killed Lena.”
A sad smile played at the corner of her lips. “Everything changed when you came, Richard.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighed again. “Everything suddenly seemed so obvious. I—I don’t know why I hadn’t seen it before, but sitting opposite you on that first night, talking about that poor girl. I knew. I knew it must have been him. And, of course, I realized I had known since the beginning.” She smiled again. “And he was always so on edge around you. He hated having you here.”
“Why?”
She looked at him, amazed. “You really don’t know?”
Field shook his head.
“You reminded him of who he was, Richard. You’re the man he was and the man he could have been.”
Field stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
Her expression grew more serious. “When the demons faded, you know, he could still be so kind and decent. He
was
the man you saw, the man you liked and admired. Once, he was like that all the time. He hated what he had become, hated the fact that he could not control himself. And he looked at you and saw the man he used to be and he hated you for it. For all that you have been through, you have kept your honesty. And he couldn’t forgive you for that.”
was
the man you saw, the man you liked and admired. Once, he was like that all the time. He hated what he had become, hated the fact that he could not control himself. And he looked at you and saw the man he used to be and he hated you for it. For all that you have been through, you have kept your honesty. And he couldn’t forgive you for that.”
Field put his head in his hands.
Penelope leaned forward. “You need shelter. I can give you that. You will need money, and I can give you that, too.”
“I don’t want your money.”
“It’s not my money, Richard.”
“They will turn the city upside down looking for me.”
“They will never think to look for you here.”
Field stared at the wall at the far end of the garden. He could hear a brass band on the Bund, practicing for tomorrow’s Empire Day celebrations. He stood, walked to the end of the veranda, and looked out across the lawn. A servant was watering flowers. “Geoffrey was involved in a syndicate to smuggle vast quantities of opium into Europe. Did you know about that?”
“I knew he was getting the money from somewhere. He thought that I didn’t know where he kept the key to his safe.”
Field moved back toward her. “The opium was being shipped through one of Charles Lewis’s factories, but Lewis’s name doesn’t appear on the list of payoffs that I have.”
“Geoffrey always wanted to be rich like Charlie.”
“The absence of Lewis’s name on the list doesn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t involved.”
“Charlie has more money than anyone could ever need.” She shook her head. “Anyway, he doesn’t think like that.”
“How does he think?”
She looked at him, her gaze level. “He’s more like you than you might imagine.” She raised her hand. “Oh, I know you wouldn’t accept that, and in an everyday sense you’re right. He’s unorthodox, even a little cruel at times. But he’s honorable in his own way. Consistent, anyway.”
“He’s close to Lu.”
She shook her head. “No, they tolerate each other. They have to.”
“Lewis doesn’t have to tolerate anyone.”
Penelope shook her head. “You’re wrong. He once told me that he viewed China as a great river. Sometimes you can divert it a little, but mostly you have to swim in the direction it flows. If Lu didn’t exist, someone else would take his place. He, or his kind, cannot be eradicated, and Charlie likes stability. Rather the devil, you know. That is how he keeps himself and Fraser’s where it is.”
Field found himself thinking not of Lewis, but of Granger, using similar words on the sidewalk outside the Cathay Hotel in a world that seemed light-years away. Granger had understood.
He had the uncomfortable sense that he had been responsible in some way for Granger’s death. He wondered if Lu and Geoffrey and Macleod had always intended to dispose of the Irishman, or whether his death had been an accidental by-product of their attempt to eliminate him and Caprisi.
“What will you do, Richard?”
Field looked down at the floor, trying to clear his mind. “I will contact Lewis and ask him to arrange a meeting with Lu. Somewhere safe. Somewhere public. I’ll offer them both exactly what they want, a continuation of the status quo.”
“And what do you want in return?”
“Something that is of no importance to either of them.”
“The girl?”
“The girl, yes. The
Russian
girl.” Field heard the bitterness and reproach in his voice.
Russian
girl.” Field heard the bitterness and reproach in his voice.
“Will you forgive me, Richard?”
He looked at her. She was biting her lip, on the verge of tears again, her face twitching nervously, and he understood her now. “You don’t need me to forgive you,” he said. “You need to forgive yourself.”
Penelope looked down and began to cry again, but he still did not move.
She stood, shaking her head, and went inside. Field lit another cigarette, but barely raised it to his lips, watching the smoke drifting up beneath the eaves and melting into the sky, its blue now flecked with thin shards of gray.
Penelope returned and placed a brown envelope on his lap. “If you’re to stand any chance at all, you will need this.”
Field opened it up reluctantly, then spilled its contents onto the table in front of him.
“I haven’t counted it, but I think there’s more than ten thousand American dollars.”
Field looked up at her.
“It’s for you, Richard, and your Russian girl. I don’t want it now.”
“I cannot accept this.”
“Then take it for her.”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Don’t be stubborn, Richard. You have nothing left to prove here. You need to accept help.” Her face softened. “I don’t want the money. If you don’t take it, I’ll throw it away.”
Field stared at the pile of cash spilling across the table in front of him. It was more money than he had seen in his entire life. It was enough money to live an entire life.
“I will take a thousand,” he said, “if you agree to take the rest of the money to an orphanage. I’ll give you the address.”
She knelt in front of him. Her face was serious—soft and sane. “I’m not a bad person, am I, Richard?”
He didn’t know what to say.
“Please.” Her eyes implored him. She placed her head on his lap, like a child. After a few moments Field reached forward and placed the palm of his hand gently on top of her head.
The bedroom window was open, and Field could still hear the sound of the band on the Bund, but the garden was strangely quiet, shielded on all sides by new office buildings that had sprung up in the boom years since the end of the Great War.
There was a light wind up here, just enough to tug at the curtains.
He turned, realizing Penelope had been watching him from the doorway.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Penelope breathed in deeply. “Forgive me if I don’t come to the door.”
“Of course.”
“Good luck, Richard.”
Field walked across the room, his footsteps loud on the wooden floorboards as he passed the foot of the iron-framed bed. He could not help glancing at the section next to the fireplace beneath which he had concealed the pages from Lu’s ledger the previous night. He wondered if she had heard him pulling up the floorboards and understood.
He stood in front of her, their faces close. “What will you do?” he asked.
“Where will I go, do you mean?” Her eyes were peaceful now, her demeanor calm and unhurried. “I’ll stay here, Richard. Unlike you, I have nowhere else to go. Or perhaps I should say, no reason to go anywhere else.” She smiled.
Field pressed the knuckles of one hand with the fingers of the other.
She touched his shoulder. “Good luck.”
Field bent to kiss her, but she took him into her arms, her grip tight as she held him. Then she released him and stepped back.
Field hesitated and then walked along the corridor. He stopped by the stairs and looked back.
She wore a fragile smile.
“Do you think,” he said, “they will give me what I want?”
“I don’t know,” she said quietly, “but you are right to try.”
Field looked at her. She stood with her legs together and her hands by her side, in a position of studied composure.
He put a foot on the stairs.
“Richard?”
Field stopped. He could tell it was taking every fragment of her strength to hold back the tears.
“He was a good man, you know. And that part of him was always there; it just got smaller and smaller.”
She had begun to cry now, and Field stepped back toward her.
“No.” She raised her hand. “Please.” Penelope wiped her eyes. “Just tell me I was not completely wrong.”
Field thought of the gaping wound in Lena Orlov’s stomach, of Alexei’s frightened face and the photograph that Maretsky had given him of Natalya’s mutilated body. He thought of Natasha’s bruised lip and the fate that had so nearly befallen her. He hesitated, then looked up again at the diminutive figure in the shadows.
“You weren’t wrong, Penelope.” He shook his head. “You weren’t wrong.”
He began to walk down the stairs.
“Good luck,” she said again.
Fifty-six
A
s the national anthem started, a great cheer went up. The crowd in front of him was a sea of red, white, and blue. They had gathered in their thousands, in front of the consulate. Field shifted to the right to get a better view.
s the national anthem started, a great cheer went up. The crowd in front of him was a sea of red, white, and blue. They had gathered in their thousands, in front of the consulate. Field shifted to the right to get a better view.
He did not believe he had been followed from Crane Road, but there were so many people about that anyone who wished to tail him without being observed could easily have done so.
The sergeant, mounted on his horse in front of the guard of honor, shouted, “Three cheers for the king and emperor,” and the crowd around Field erupted. “Hip, hip,
hooray!”
hooray!”
Field helped a man who was struggling to get his young boy on his shoulders and rescued his Union Jack from the ground.
The nearest troops were the Sikhs, dressed in white, their buckles and bayonets gleaming in the midday sun.
A portly, middle-aged woman, with a tiny flag tucked into the band of her hat, turned to him with tears in her eyes. “Look at the marines,” the woman exhorted him and whoever else was listening, gripping his arm. “Aren’t they absolutely
marvelous
?”
marvelous
?”
The crowd began to sing the national anthem. Field watched the marines, who were ramrod straight and completely aware of the splendid, heartening spectacle they were creating, a reminder to every inhabitant of this city of the power of the empire, upon which their fortunes rested.
He checked the revolver in his pocket as a group of drunken young men surged forward, crushing those at the front as they attempted to drown out everyone around them with the noise of their singing.
Field edged forward, pushed himself closer to an elderly couple. They were talking to each other excitedly in German, the woman’s face shielded behind an old-fashioned broad-brimmed blue hat. They were a wealthier version of the Schmidts and he excused himself as he shoved past them, fingering his revolver once more.
The crowd was thicker at the front, made up mostly of parents who’d fought to give their children the best view of the Bund. The white rope was ten yards from the line of Sikhs and only about a hundred from the gate of the consulate itself.
A gun went off as the national anthem came to an end—the midday salute.
He could see the sweat on the faces of the Sikhs as they stood to attention, their rifles now by their sides, the tips of the bayonets just above their ears.
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