SHANGHAI #2
Langham seemed to be everywhere, during those first hours; smoking on the veranda with gentlemen, winding up the gramophone, allowing ladies to exclaim and touch his curled hair and try to win the hibiscus from his lapel.
Everyone wanted to be near him. I, on the other hand – who could have been his twin – was invisible behind my tray.
The apron and serving jacket relegated me to a piece of furniture, beneath notice.
Only those who had been at Langham’s party the night of my arrival glanced my way, some – men and women both – with curiosity.
By the time the clock struck eleven, the party was in full, wild swing. Hilde was pale under her powder, her smile painted on. Langham too had started to sweat in the hot night – unusual for him.
I knew why. ‘Colonel Mayer’ had asked to meet Langham at the far end of the port at one o’clock. Of course, we all knew who would truly be waiting there. Whenever I thought about it, I felt sick.
‘What will you do to Cabrera?’ I had whispered earlier, in the safety of the study. ‘Will you kill him?’
Langham had turned away.
‘It’s better you don’t know.’
‘I have to know.’ I moved until I could look into his eyes. ‘Cabrera is the only one who can connect me to the Senor’s murder. He could hold that over me, for years. He could use it to blackmail me again …’
Langham put his hand against my cheek. ‘He won’t do anything, after tonight.’
Hearing that cold promise, I shivered. I wanted Cabrera silenced. I wanted him gone. Langham would do that for me.
When it was nearing midnight, he sought me out, under the pretence of giving orders. ‘The mahjoun,’ he muttered. ‘Go and get more, for god’s sake. They’re far too sober yet. This is like trying to drown fish.’
It was true. Tangerines, for the most part, could hold their liquor.
They were no match for the mahjoun though, which they gobbled like candy, their lips powdered with white.
I exchanged a look with Bouzid, who was circling like a shark, keeping every glass filled to the brim.
Slowly, the party began to grow more riotous.
I saw one woman pour a bottle of champagne over a man’s head, while two others sprawled unconscious on the cushions of the veranda.
Still more were at drunken business with each other in the shadows, trying to stifle gasps and moans.
Finally, there was a great splash and a chorus of laughter as one man went careering into the pool.
Half past midnight. It was time. I raced back to the kitchen, my heart hammering, my mouth dry with nerves. After a minute, Langham appeared, locking the kitchen door behind him.
‘Ready?’ he asked, retrieving my suit jacket from its hanger behind the door.
I nodded, trying to be fast, my fingers slipping on the gilded buttons of the server’s jacket.
He helped me to pull it from my shoulders, and within moments, we had swapped.
He now wore the apron and the serving uniform.
I was the one resplendent in white flannel.
Last, he took out his pocket watch, and hooked it into my own waistcoat.
‘Remember, keep your head down, and don’t let anyone get too close,’ he said. ‘They have to believe I’m you, Ale, if I’m to have an alibi.’
I nodded again, unable to speak, and caught him by the arms.
‘An hour and a half, by the Hotel Continental,’ he said rapidly. ‘Then we’ll be away from here. At two o’clock. You hear me?’
We kissed, once, and too soon he was turning, picking up the tray of mahjoun, his head lowered.
‘Arthur!’ My cry stopped him by the door, and he looked back. His posture had already changed, his expression, his whole demeanour. It was as if I was looking at a stranger.
Then he was gone, slipping through the shadows towards the back gate where Bouzid would be waiting. I grabbed the boater hat from the kitchen table and made for the lounge, keeping to the shadows.
For forty-five, dreadful minutes I flitted through the rooms, lingered beneath tree branches and in doorways, careful to be seen only in glimpses by the guests who stumbled across the veranda and down the paths.
When the clock in the lounge struck quarter past one, I almost sobbed with relief and made for the stairs, half running in case anyone should try to stop me.
Finally, I reached the safety of the roof terrace with its locked door, and sagged against it, breathing hard, trying to stay calm.
This was the part I didn’t like. Everyone at the party had to see me; they had to swear that Langham had been present all night, especially between one o’clock and half past.
Was a murder happening even now? I thought feverishly, peering out across at the city. Was Cabrera dead, lying crumpled in some alleyway, or face down with a bullet in his back? How had Langham done it?
I knelt down behind the parapet, wiping sweat from my upper lip, and checked the pocket watch.
Twenty past one. I took the box of matches from my pocket, snapping three before I finally managed to light one and touch it to the waiting fuse.
Then, I backed away to the farthest corner, watching it burn down, knowing that from this point on, there would be no return.
The firework exploded into the night, red and gold and white.
I stepped to the edge of the roof terrace and threw my arms wide, knowing my figure would be illuminated, in its distinctive white suit.
Below in the gardens, people began to cheer and aah, pointing up at me and clapping, yelling, Arthur darling, don’t fall off!
Done, I ducked back down. I had to hurry.
At the bottom of the stairs from the terrace, I ran straight into Hilde.
‘People are coming up,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Quick.’
She hustled me into Langham’s room and locked the door behind her, just as voices echoed in the corridor.
‘Langham,’ a man bellowed, hammering on the door, ‘come out and settle a bet!’
‘I think he’s busy,’ a woman’s voice slurred, ‘or didn’t you notice the bus boy was missing?’
There were sniggers and Hilde threw a look at me. They were too close to the truth. Suddenly, she was kicking off her shoes, pulling the dress over her head. ‘Hold this,’ she hissed. I threw off the hat, ruffled my hair and turned my back to the door just as she opened it, wearing only her slip.
The sniggers ceased.
‘If you’ll excuse us,’ she said, her voice low. ‘Mr Langham and I are enjoying a private conversation. We’ll re-join you in a moment.’
She slammed the door and locked it. We didn’t move, listening to the laughter on the other side.
‘They’re at it again,’ the woman crowed, as they stumbled away back down the hall. ‘Who’d have thought! So much for the cook!’
Hilde was dressing rapidly. ‘It’s nearly quarter to two,’ I told her, my pulse racing. ‘I have to get to the Continental. Hilde, what if he—’
‘Don’t.’ She looked at me, her face set. ‘For god’s sake, don’t talk about it any more.’