The Mandarin Cypher

'I have not been lying!'

'With every word you have lied!'

'I've told you the truth!'

Yelling at each other.

Heat of the lamp, his face coming and going.

'Lies! Lies! Lies!'

'I've told you the truth, sod you!'

Look out, perk up.

Tired.

'I am sorry, Mr Cox.'

'What?'

'I am sorry.' Smile on his face. 'Of course I believe your story, but you must understand that we have to pay close attention if persons approach this oil drill. We have very expensive machinery here. I hope you will accept my apologies.'

Movement of air as he passed me.

'Listen,' I said. 'Can I go out and take some air on deck?'

'But of course, Mr Cox. It is a delightful evening.'

I leaned on the rail.

Below me the sea was amethyst, its haze reaching to the ochre line of the horizon where the sun had gone down. All was still, except where a sea bird wheeled in silence overhead.

'What's this stuff?'

'It's a kind of millet gruel.'

I thought it looked rather wet.

There was a dish of man-t'ou.

'What about this?' In public I was keeping the cover.

'Millet,' he said, 'corn, squash, potatoes. Not bad.'

The line shuffled along and we shuffled with it.

Think they've got anything except millet?'

He gave his quick white laugh but it was just habit: his nerves were pretty bad. 'There's some Pekin duck along there.'

Face and the lamp, swinging.

'Thank Christ for that.'

The canteen was very clean and everything shone under the bright lights. Music tinkled soothingly from the speakers Someone dropped his tin plate and there was immediate silence and then the clatter started up again. I didn't notice any smell of actual food: I suppose they kept it down with Airwick or something hygienic like that.

I shovelled some duck on my plate for the sake of protein and Tewson had some too. Then we went along the deck to his cabin, carrying our trays.

'Sorry there's no wine.'

As we put our trays on each side of the table I noticed his hands were shaking. His brick-red colouring had yellowed since I saw him last.

'This is very welcome.'

'Is it?' He seemed pathetically pleased. 'It doesn't taste too bad. I expect I've got used to it.'

'I mean the whole thing's welcome. The idea of being invited to dine on board with a fellow guest. If that's quite the word.'

He looked down.

'They suggested it.'

'Civil of them.'

'I would have asked you myself, of course, if — '

'Of course — '

'I'm glad of a chance to talk to you.'

He took a sip of water.

'Cheers.'

'Cheers.'

We began eating.

I didn't look at him except when he made the odd remark, and he found it difficult to meet my eyes. September was a beautiful month in Hong Kong, he said: the evenings were always like this, very calm.

I said I hadn't been in this part of the globe for some years.

He asked me how the food was.

'Very good.'

He seemed pleased again and I couldn't think why. Some exaggerated sense of hostmanship? His eyes went down to his plate, and the light flashed across his thick-lensed glasses.

'They treat me well. Very well.'

'I'm sure they do.'

'Nothing to complain of.'

'That's good.'

He ate rather hungrily, but I imagined they wouldn't be rationed on board a first-line missile site. Possibly he was hoping to get to the flavour.

He put his knife and fork down.

'Did you come here to take me back?'

I had to think for a couple of seconds.

'That was the idea.'

'What will they do with you now?' he asked me, and looked up.

'The same as they'll do with you.'

He pushed his plate away and folded his arms on the table and leaned towards me.

'I don't believe it, you know. What you said.'

'Don't you?'

I left it at that, wanting to know how much he'd need convincing. He stood it for five seconds or so.

'You can't prove anything.'

He wouldn't need much convincing.

'Anyway,' I said, 'it's up to you.'

He let that go because he had to: he knew we couldn't talk.

'How — how well do you know Nora?'

Check and re-check.

I wouldn't normally have to, but that bloody light had bored holes in my eyes and I was longing for sleep and couldn't think as fast as I should.

Situation: I'd blown my cover to him. They hadn't broken me down but that didn't mean anything: they knew they were going to, if they kept on long enough. So I could talk to him about anything I chose but not about my warning to him now. He might not realize this and I was ready in case he let a word slip so that I could try covering it.

It was academic anyway.

They'd got us both.

'I don't know her very well,' I said. 'Done a bit of shopping with her, you know-House of Shen, Constellation «144» and places like that. Few evenings together at the Orient and Gaddi's — she's fun, isn't she? Loves expensive things. Of course I didn't know she was married, or — well — '

'That's all right,' he said with his head going down.

I don't often see people suffering — I don't mean self-pity, I mean suffering. Maybe I don't recognize it too easily, because in my opinion it's always their own bloody fault and that's why I don't seem to have too many friends.

But I recognized it now.

I suppose she'd gone and shoehorned him into this thing.

Be a pushover in a place like Hong Kong.

My husband works for the Ministry of Defence.

How interesting.

It's interesting for him all right, but the money's not much.

I'm sure the prestige is a compensation.

You can't have a fling on prestige.

Hong Kong is certainly a little expensive.

So's everywhere, I find! Excuse me, but are you sort of — I mean fully Chinese?

I was born here. That makes me a British subject.

Oh isn't that nice I Pushover.

He was staying at this hotel too, and knew London quite well. She ought to look up his brother when she got back, he must give her the address. The Chinese Embassy-just a temporary post.

She'd found his brother charming, and discreet, and extraordinarily generous. Because of his love for the British.

Then Hong Kong again for their next vacation and this time a prearranged contact and a blazing row in their hotel, what did she think she was doing, she wasn't doing anything except wasting the best years of her life tied to a man who couldn't even do it more than once a month and couldn't give her any money so she could at least buy a few new dresses and try to look like a woman somebody loved, but this would be treason, oh don't be so bloody dramatic, the Chinks haven't got anything against us, it's India they're scared of now it's got the bomb, he told me, they're a poor country and this thing you're working on would cut their costs of defence down to a tenth, oh all right, we've talked quite a lot together, so what, and listen, will you, do you know how much they'd pay us for a. few months' work, just as a technical adviser? Better get ready for it, George. A hundred thousand pounds.

He sat with his head down, toying with some kind of fruit mush in a waxed hygienic cup.

'I haven't had time to think,' he said quietly.

He meant he hadn't had time to think about what I'd told him out there on deck with the riveter hammering away.

I haven't had time to think.

You'd have to give me longer than that.

How much longer?

I don't know. I'd have to think.