Gower had been told he would be met but not precisely how. He stopped and looked uncertainly around him directly outside the official arrival area. At once he saw an almost unnaturally tall, sharp-edged man moving easily through the crowd that still bewildered and jostled him.
‘Peter Samuels,’ introduced the man. ‘Political officer. Your photograph’s a good likeness. Good flight? Goes on forever, doesn’t it? Car’s outside. Come on.’ The man was turning practically before the handshake was completed, uninterested in any reply: Samuels loped rather than walked and Gower had difficulty keeping up, constantly obstructed by people.
Gower was caught by the oddness of the other man’s speech. It was as if the words were glued together and had to be prised apart at the moment of delivery.
The car, an English Ford, was parked almost directly outside. Samuels left Gower to open the boot himself to dump his suitcase, continuing on around to the driver’s side. There were a reasonable number of cars in the immediate vicinity of the airport, but almost as soon as they got out upon the road they became immersed in bicycles, some engulfed in produce or wrapped bundles. Curiously Gower turned, to look behind them. Another gap in the training, he reflected, remembering the motorway avoidance trick: how was he supposed to identify a bicycle that looked the same as every other bicycle ridden by a man who looked the same as every other rider?
‘According to what we’ve been told from London, you’re not going to be here very long?’ said Samuels.
‘No,’ agreed Gower, shortly, letting the other man lead.
‘Meeting new arrivals is the usual custom,’ announced Samuels. ‘But normally by a chauffeur.’
Gower began to concentrate inside the car. ‘Yes?’
Samuels jabbed his finger impatiently on the horn, staring directly ahead at the two-wheeled melee through which he was manoeuvring. ‘Important to understand the way things are here.’
‘I’d welcome any guidance,’ said Gower, politely but still cautious.
‘Probably the most difficult diplomatic posting in the world,’ said Samuels. ‘But it is opening up. Very slowly. There was a trade delegation here recently that could bring in orders to Britain well in excess of £300,000,000.’
‘That’s impressive,’ agreed Gower. Despite his concentration on the other man, he found himself looking curiously at the wooden houses with their curled roof corners by which they were driving. He thought of fairy tales and gingerbread houses.
For the first time Samuels turned briefly but directly to Gower. ‘Important nothing is done to upset relationships.’
Gower supposed the political officer would be one of the diplomats aware of his true function. Trust no one, he remembered. And then another edict: In an unknown situation, you take, never give. ‘I understand the point.’
There was another snatched look. ‘We don’t want anything to sour relations.’
‘I can understand that, too.’ He wished he’d managed to sleep on the plane, to avoid the tiredness dragging at him. There was no sun getting through the low, sullen yellow clouds but it was very hot, his shirt already clinging.
‘The ambassador wants to see you as soon as you’ve settled in.’
‘Entirely at his convenience,’ said Gower.
They drove carefully, slowed by the unrelieved congestion, for several moments in complete silence. Abruptly Samuels said: ‘Your first overseas assignment?’
Gower considered lying, not wanting to concede his inexperience, but he didn’t. ‘Yes.’
Samuels nodded, an impression confirmed. ‘Very necessary you know exactly how people feel.’
Gower had expected the distancing attitude – could recall the actual warning – but he hadn’t anticipated being confronted by it literally within an hour of getting off the plane. He felt an edge of temper but quickly curbed it. There was still no reason for him to be cowed by the overbearing manner of a man who rolled words around in his mouth. Intentionally difficult, Gower said: ‘Feel about what?’
Samuels’ face creased into a confused frown. ‘Thought that was obvious.’
‘I would have thought it to be equally obvious that my function here is not to create problems, that I’m fully aware of that fact and that London would not have sent me to such a sensitive place as Beijing if they imagined for one moment there was the slightest danger of my doing so!’ Towards the end Gower was running out of breath, only just finishing with his voice even. He’d spoken throughout turned directly to the diplomat, intent upon a reaction.
Samuels’ already furrowed face coloured, but oddly, two sharply defined red patches appearing on his cheeks, like a clown’s make-up. Stiffly he said: ‘I think it is essential for you not to forget that I am a senior member of the legation here!’
‘I won’t,’ promised Gower, just as stiffly. He believed he had made the necessary correction, but it was important for him not to become too cocky.
They were in the city now, and after the curly-tipped traditional houses on the way from the airport Gower was surprised at the row after row of modern concrete blocks, some almost skyscraper-high. The streets were wider, too, enabling them to move slightly faster.
‘You speak any Chinese languages?’ demanded Samuels.
‘No,’ confessed Gower.
There was a grunt from the other man, as if the admission was confirmation of another undisclosed impression. ‘There are English-language maps at the embassy, with places marked to show their positioning to the legation. Don’t go wandering off without one. You’ll get lost.’
Gower reckoned the other man found it difficult to be anything other than patronizing. ‘I won’t.’
‘Do you intend moving around the city a lot?’
‘Not a lot,’ said Gower.
‘Good.’ There was another quick look across the car. ‘Always remember the embassy is very closely monitored by the authorities.’
‘I won’t,’ repeated Gower.
‘Some material has arrived for you, in the pouch,’ announced Samuels. ‘It’s in the safe, in the embassy vault.’
‘I’d appreciate it remaining there, until I might need it.’
‘Not for too long,’ said Samuels.
‘It’s not causing any inconvenience, is it?’
Samuels didn’t reply.
The residential compound was at the rear but separate from the legation itself, a range of low, barrack-type buildings. The quarters allocated to Gower were at the end of an apparently empty wing. It consisted of a living area furnished with a basic three-piece suite, very old-fashioned in style and hung in Paisley-patterned loose covers. An unsteady-looking table with four chairs stood in a dining annex with one wall almost completely occupied by a dresser-type piece of furniture with drawers and cupboards below and a latticework of shelves and standing places above a long, flat display surface. There was a television, with compatible video-playing equipment beneath, on a fitted television table. The carpet directly in front was oddly threadbare in one place, as if someone had intentionally rubbed away the weave. Everything was covered with a faint layer of dust. The dust continued in the bedroom, with just a bed, a bare dressing-table and fitted wardrobes along one wall and a strangely sized bed, wider than a single but not big enough to be considered a double. The kitchen was narrow, without any appliances on the Formica working tops. The kettle was an old metal type that had to be placed on heat to boil, and the refrigerator was small and bow-fronted, from the same era as the suite in the outside living-room. Gower thought it looked like a forgotten furniture repository rather than a place to be lived in.