The Year of Dangerous Loving. John Davis Gordon

else can a beat-up lawyer like me make money like this? I’ll stay until they make life too uncomfortable, like shooting defence lawyers as subversives. And you?’

      ‘I don’t know yet.’

      ‘I thought you were definitely quitting?’ Isabel Phipson said. Isabel didn’t know about Californian divorce law and Community of Property.

      ‘Why don’t you go up on to the bench, Al?’ Denys said. ‘You’ll probably be safer from the Comrades up there.’

      ‘Until I hand down judgements they don’t like?’

      ‘Oh, justice is going to be such fun,’ Denys said again.

      ‘And what about our pensions?’ Isabel said. ‘We better save like hell in the next eighteen months, chaps, I don’t see the Comrades letting our pensions flow out of the holy soil every month. Are you leaving, Whacker?’

      ‘Me leave?’ Whacker growled. ‘When the Comrades take over is when the Oriental Israelite really starts getting bitchy – it’ll be an honest journalist’s dream.’

      ‘Until they close you down,’ Hargreave said. ‘And shoot you, for “literary hooliganism”.’

      ‘Amen,’ Denys said. ‘And us for defending him. And the judge for acquitting him.’

      ‘If there’s a trial at all,’ McAdam said. He turned away to recharge his glass.

      ‘Hullo, my dear,’ Denys murmured to Olga as she joined them. She looked radiant, the sunset on her golden hair and face. Hargreave smiled at her proudly.

      ‘I’ll go down fighting,’ Whacker growled. ‘I’m almost seventy, for Christ’s sake, what else is there to live for at my age but the truth? And I’ll defend myself, thanks, really give ’em an earful. No, I’m staying. I wouldn’t miss the fun for the world.’

      ‘Do you really think,’ Monica asked Hargreave, ‘that China will get rid of people like Whacker? And Jake? And Martin Lee?’

      ‘No doubt about it,’ Denys said.

      Hargreave said, ‘China probably won’t shoot them, but a trumped-up charge to throw them in jail after a show trial is quite likely, to silence them.’

      ‘I’ve begged Jake,’ Monica said, ‘to pull his punches in his electioneering, but he won’t. I think he’s being very foolish, antagonizing China so.’

      Whacker growled, ‘Courageous yes, reckless maybe, but foolish never. He’s got to tell the people the truth.’

      ‘He can’t tell the truth for long if he’s in jail,’ Monica said.

      ‘What is the difference,’ Olga asked, ‘between Jake and Martin Lee?’

      Monica grinned: ‘Martin Lee is richer, smarter and better-looking.’

      Everybody laughed.

      ‘Richer, no doubt, smarter, probably,’ Jake said, returning with his glass recharged, ‘but personally I’ve always wondered about the better-looking.’

      ‘I mean,’ Olga grinned, ‘why is Jake an independent, not working with Mr Lee, what is the difference?’

      ‘None,’ Whacker said, ‘except Martin Lee is a gentleman who only calls a spade a spade; Jake calls it a fuckin’ shovel.’

      Everybody laughed again. Jake said to Olga: ‘No difference except, as an independent candidate I can say things he can’t because I’m not bound by party rules.’ He added: ‘However, I won’t win a seat – my eyes are the wrong shape. I’m only really interested in making a lot of noise so the people hear what I have to say.’

      ‘And what is that?’ Olga asked.

      McAdam sighed. ‘What Martin Lee says: we must have a strong democracy in place so we can stand up to China when she takes over. We must show China we are a voice to be reckoned with, we must insist that Britain – and the United Nations – enforces the Joint Declaration, forces China to abide by its international undertakings, forces China to abide by the agreement that our Court of Final Appeal will be made up of respected Western judges, not party toadies appointed by Beijing who can’t read English, let alone understand English law and who will do what the party instructs – ’

      ‘Hear, hear,’ Hargreave said.

      McAdam made a fist: ‘We must insist that Britain punishes China when she sweeps aside our elections, insist the world comes down like a ton of bricks with all kinds of economic sanctions: freeze her foreign assets, close down her embassies, throw them out of the United Nations, treat them as untouchables – really hurt them. Even threaten war – Christ, there’re six million Chinese British subjects in Hong Kong who’re entitled to Her Majesty’s protection.’

      ‘Hear, fuckin’ hear,’ Whacker growled.

      ‘But what is Great Mother Britain doing? Appeasing China at every turn, so as to not rock the boat, appeasing “in the interests of a smooth transition”. By the Joint Declaration China must not interfere with the running of Hong Kong until 1997, and our autonomy after 1997 is guaranteed but China is interfering all the time, announcing they’ll kick out our Legislative Council and abolish our Bill of Human Rights, threatening our business community with reprisals if they don’t toe the China line, throwing Hong Kong journalists in jail, telling our press they had better “bend with the wind”. And they’ve slandered our Governor for introducing reforms, calling him a “liar” and a “criminal”, “a prostitute”, a “Buddha’s serpent”, “a villain condemned by history for a thousand years”.’ He looked at Olga, ‘And what does Great Mother Britain do? Does she shake a stick and say: “We insist you adhere to the Joint Declaration or we’ll make sure the whole world kicks your arse”? No. Britain simpers and whines and does a hand-wringing exercise and appeases and compromises, all for the sake of,’ he made quotation marks with his fingers, ‘“a smooth transition”. The result? We face a Communist tyranny here in eighteen months.’ He ended grimly: ‘Britain must realize that the only way to protect her subjects is to be tough. That’s what I’m telling the people.’

      ‘You can’t tell them a damn thing if you’re sitting in jail,’ Monica said. Her eyes suddenly moistened. ‘Excuse me.’ She headed away abruptly to the booze table.

      Everybody glanced at McAdam. Denys, to fill the brief silence, said to Olga: ‘And tell me, my dear, what’s it like in Russia these days?’

      ‘Alas, it is very bad,’ Olga replied. ‘So much chaos …’

      Jake McAdam murmured in Hargreave’s ear: ‘She’s a knockout, Al. Now, are you guys going to stay for dinner?’

      ‘Thanks, Jake,’ Hargreave said, ‘but I think we’ll go back, we’ve got some nice fresh oysters waiting.’

      ‘Oysters?’ Jake joshed him. ‘Go for it, pal, happy sailing …’

11

      And it was happy. Sailing around Hong Kong’s multitude of islands, anchoring in deserted bays for long boozy lunches and sensual siestas: they meandered through the archipelago of Sai Kung district, went ashore in the dinghy to explore Chinese hamlets with little smoky temples to Tin Hau, goddess of the seas, where the people seldom saw a white man. They lived as they had before the battles long ago, and had come from the age of warlords to the age of television without a revolution. Hargreave bought fish and prawns and oysters from them. On up the crooked coastline they sailed, across Tolo Channel to Wong Wan Chau, then up to Crooked Harbour and Kat O Chau, overlooking Mirs Bay which brave Chinese lads and lasses swam to escape to Hong Kong, the ‘Golden Mountain Where Men Eat Fat Pork’. They sailed through Starling Inlet to Shatau Kok where the border runs through the middle of the road that is called Chung-Ying Street, Chung being