Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [207]
“When they see she’s just a child,” Irene said reassuringly, “they’ll leave her alone.” But Ah Sing shook her head as she turned away and that night she lit incense to all the gods she could think of, praying Irene was right.
Lysandra was awake early the next morning and she ran from her room to Robert’s, next door. He lifted his head from the pillow and looked sleepily at her, searching for his glasses. “What is it?” he asked, alarmed. “Have the Japanese come for us?”
“No, no.” She shook her head and her blond hair flew. “I just want to ask you something.” She leaned forward conspiratorially, “I just realized that by the time I’m old enough to run Lai Tsin, your father will have retired. Robert, please will you be my comprador when you are older?”
He found his glasses and stuck them on his nose, looking at her. “I planned on being a brain surgeon,” he said. “I don’t think I’d be much good as a comprador.”
Lysandra heaved a sigh. “Promise me you’ll think about it,” she pleaded. “The Mandarin always said I would need every friend I could get.”
Philip was taking no chances and after breakfast Robert and his mother were sent to stay with friends in Kowloon. From there they would adopt the disguise of a peasant woman and her son and be taken under cover of darkness through the New Territories and across the border into China, where they could hide. Tears stung Lysandra’s eyes as she kissed them good-bye, wondering when she would see them again, and she watched anxiously from the window as Philip first walked the length of the street alone, checking to see if he was being observed. When he was sure the way was clear he waved Irene and Robert out through the servants’ entrance and down the alley behind the building, watching until they were out of sight.
As eleven o’clock approached, Ah Sing helped dress Lysandra in her best blue cotton, white ankle socks, and black patent Mary Janes. Even though it was a hot day she put the beautiful deep-blue silk robe, embroidered in gold and crimson, over the top. The Japanese had already annexed every motor vehicle in Hong Kong, so, accompanied by Ah Sing, who refused to leave her side, they made their way by rickshaw to the office.
The staff had been warned of the visit of the Japanese general and they were standing nervously about in the lofty, pillared reception hall. They stared in amazement as Philip Chen walked through the door with little Lysandra Lai Tsin in her Mandarin’s robe, quickly forming a line and bowing respectfully as she walked past, and in turn Lysandra bestowed a regal nod and a smile on each.
The Mandarin’s office at the back of the hall was exactly as he had left it; no one was ever permitted to use it and it was cleaned and polished each day by the most trusted workers. His Chinese inkpad and brushes, his silver inkstand and pens and his old wooden abacus were arranged on his ebonywood desk, just as though he might appear at any moment to use them. Lysandra stared at his portrait hanging on the wall opposite the window and she smiled tremulously at him. Like her, he was dressed in his Mandarin robe and he looked as wise and kind as she remembered. Her knees were shaking and her palms sweating with fear as she sat in a thronelike antique blackwood chair behind her grandfather’s desk, waiting for the Japanese general, and more than anything she wished her mom and dad were there. Seeking courage, she glanced again at the painting of the Mandarin, remembering the time he had first brought her here, and she knew he would have expected her to be strong in adversity, the way he had always been.
Philip Chen stood behind her chair to the left and a dozen men, the heads of all the departments, lined up alongside him, while Ah Sing crouched in a corner, fingering the sharp kitchen knife hidden beneath her black smock, ready to kill anyone who tried to harm her beloved Number One daughter.
At precisely eleven o’clock there was a sudden commotion of shouted orders and the sound of booted feet marching across the marble hall. The