An odd incident stuck in my mind. We passed a frail gray lady alone at a table. She raised her eyes as we approached and asked for a light. It took nerve. Her voice was shaking, the cigarette wobbling.
“Sorry, love. I don’t smoke. I’ll get you one—”
A waiter sprang from nowhere with a lighter. To my surprise she shook her head and sat there, bowed, quivering, solitary. Even her face seemed gray, yet she couldn’t be forty. Sensing a fellow dud I would have said hello or something, but Steerforth hustled me on, whispering.
“Don’t worry about her. It’s only old Phyllis. She’s always here, trying courage on for size.” And that was what Phyllis dealt with—for the moment.
“One thing,” I asked hesitantly. “Am I me, or still ‘Hey, you, there’?”
He smiled, lit a cigarette in a mile-long ivory holder. “We’re now business partners, Lovejoy.”
“Right.” I relaxed and asked the waiter for coffee, looking about. “What business?”
“You’ll find out.”
All around was affluence, yes, but feminine. The decor was soft, gentle. Nothing garish or sudden. In fact it was so pretty and quiet, you had a hard time seeing as far as the other customers. Mostly women in pairs, I noticed. And no elegantly cocooned Chinese hostesses. A disappointment, really. The staff seemed all men.
“Here, Steerforth.” I pointed this out. “Every nationality under the sun.” Very few Cantonese evident.
“So it is,” he said evenly. I shrugged. I reached for a note to pay the waiter but the bloke, a Filipino in glitzy uniform, was astonished and stared from me to Steerforth before withdrawing. I put my gelt away, thinking. I’d learned the hard way that Hong Kong has the poorest poor and the richest rich. But I’d never seen a waiter thunderstruck at money before. I’d have opened my mouth and asked why, only Mame and Lorna hit town about then and superwhelmed me.
As it happened, that was the moment I was transformed. Into what, I didn’t yet know. I only learned the answer to that a little later.
Shame’s my long suit, so compassionate souls out there might like to skip this bit.
Mame and Lorna were Americans, fortyish, dressed in a costliness that did them proud.
Mame seemingly was an old friend of Steerforth’s, Lorna her pal who’d come along just for the—er, company. I nearly said ride. They came with that semibreathlessness women use to such good effect, Mame plumping down at our table with Lorna second, a little less effusive.
“James, darling!” said Mame. “Now don’t start! There was no way we could have been on time! Menfolk!” She was slightly the older, showy and determinedly blue-rinsed. Her clothes were worth twice me, I guessed. Lorna was quieter-looking, mousy, elegantly slim. A lady with character in depth, Lorna.
Clumsily I’d risen. I’m always awkward but made my hellos.
“This, Lorna dear, is the dreadful James I’ve told you about, and this is…” Mame’s eyes sparkled, drank me in. “Isn’t he sweet!” She made an imperious gesture for a cigarette.
Steerforth made slick fire.
“Lovejoy,” I said. “How do you do?” I’m never at my best with people who immediately know they’re boss. It happens to me a lot.
“Very well, thank you,” Mame said gravely, then fell about laughing. Lorna too was amused. Weakly I smiled along, wondering what the joke was.
“His first name’s terribly secret,” Steerforth said. I looked at him. His mannerisms had suddenly gone affected. Others would have said campish. Another private giggle, maybe? “But he’s been such marvelous help with those wretched old chairs your husbands adore.”
Eh? Did he mean the antiques, the nerk?
“Oh, good!” Mame ordered drinks. “They’ll be so pleased!”
“It’ll be a fraction…” Steerforth said with a merry expression.
“Of course, darling.” Mame glittered, in full if hilarious control. “Nothing’s cheap. I’ve heard.”
We drank and chatted. It being noon, they had Bloody Marys and that. They were from the tourist liner and prattled of shipboard socialites, captain’s-table politics, and who danced with whom. There were considerable limitations, Mame said, gushing at Steerforth and squeezing his hand. A bit risky, I thought, because there’s no telling who spots you in a restaurant, is there? George was Mame’s husband. (“I mean, I’d no idea I was marrying into the Brookers, know what I mean?”) Lorna’s spouse Irwin was his partner. “Lorna’s a slowpoke!” Mame giggled, then started a series of nudge-whispers with Steerforth.
“Have you lived in Hong Kong very long, Lovejoy?” Lorna asked me as the Mame-Steerforth axis strengthened.
“No. Only a couple of—”
“—years,” Steerforth cut in smoothly. “He loves it. Lovejoy’s great strength is his hobby.
Developed it here, didn’t you?”
“Eh? Oh. More or less,” I answered guardedly, nodding to show old Steerforth was really on the ball, and then listened anxiously to learn more facts about myself.
“Hobby?” Mame and Lorna breathed together, intrigued.
“Mmmh. Right up George’s and Irwin’s street. Detecting and restoring antiques, isn’t it, Lovejoy?”
“Er, well…” I beamed apprehensively.
“How marvelous!” Mame was thrilled. “We should get Mr. Gelman to come!” This caused her to laugh explosively. “What have I said!”
“Lovejoy has quite a reputation,” Steerforth added. I could tell he was delighted at the impression he was creating. “You want to see his workshop! Superb.”
“Is it really?” Lorna too was fascinated.
“Unbelievable,” I said dryly, looking narked at Steerforth. Half my brain was going: Brookers and Gelman. These were the wives of the pundits.
The swine was oblivious. “Yes. Cost him a fortune to set up. It’s been more difficult since the contessa.”
“The contessa?” The women were agog. Me too.
“Ooops. Sorry, Lovejoy,” Steerforth said, wincing as if at a gaffe. “But he’s got over it.”
“I have?”
“Well,” Steerforth gave back sharply, “it was you gave her the push, dear.” He shook his head at Mame. “You’ve never seen such a fuss! Can you imagine? Venetian nobility are very volatile. The noise! You could hear her on the Peak!”
“You threw her over, Lovejoy?” Mame was on her third drink.
“Well…” I said desperately, lost, promising myself a really good strangle of Steerforth’s throttle first chance.
“It was the scandal, wasn’t it, Lovejoy,” Steerforth prompted, nerk of the Orient. His glance told of disappointment at my lying talents.
“Oh, yes. There was that.” Pause. I swallowed hard. The world wanted more. “Er, I don’t really want to speak about it.”
“Oh, come on!” Mame was enthralled, leaning forward to squeeze my arm. Three pricey rings, one first-class and Cartier. Her huge diamond pendant swung gently above her cleavage. Valuable, but not a single antique. Modern equals crud. “Tell!”
“Go on, Lovejoy. About the count,” my pal Steerforth prompted with ill-concealed irritation. “And the earl’s obsession with his family’s lineage. How she behaved.”
A headache welded my skull. I began to stutter. “Sorry, everybody. It’s just that there are some things…”
“Spoilsport!” pleaded Mame.
It was Lorna who came to the rescue. “No, Mame,” she put in, all serious. She patted my hand. “I understand. It goes against the grain, isn’t that it, Lovejoy?”
“Yes.” I recovered and went all noble, speaking quietly. “I never betray a lady’s confidence. And one has memories…” Straight out of Charlotte Brontë.
“Oh, how perfectly sweet!” Mame sniffed.
“Don’t make too much of a thing of it.” I was and had pleased. And a gentleman to boot. I’d have waxed eloquent on my true-blue propriety if Steerforth hadn’t given the bent eye.
“I think, Lovejoy, it’s rather time we made a move.”