Read Online The Water Rat of Wanchai by Ian Hamilton - Free Book Online
Authors: Ian Hamilton
Ads: Link
claustrophobic.
The noodle shop was a hole in the wall, ten tables with pink plastic stools. The place was full, but a man in an apron came from behind the counter to tell two young men sitting by themselves to move to another table that was occupied but had vacant seats. He then waved Uncle and Ava to the empty table and bowed as Uncle walked past.
She ordered har gow — shrimp dumplings — and soup with soft noodles. Uncle ordered beef lo mein and a plate of gai lin, steamed Chinese broccoli slathered in oyster sauce, to share.
“How is your mother?” he asked while they waited for their food.
“As lively as ever.”
“A crazy woman.”
Ava’s mother was highly sociable and made friends as easily as other people changed clothes. Marian and Ava’s friends weren’t immune from her attention. It bothered Marian but never Ava; she saw it as just a natural extension of her mother’s all-consuming interest in their lives. So it had come as no surprise when her mother, in Hong Kong to visit her own friends, called Uncle and said she’d like to meet him, to find out what kind of man her daughter was working for. If Ava had been working in Toronto for a North American firm, she would have been mortified, not because of what her mother had done but more because they wouldn’t understand why she was doing it. But Uncle understood Chinese mothers; they met and got along well enough that from time to time Jennie Lee felt free to pick up the phone and call Kowloon. Just keeping in touch, she called it.
“She sends her love,” Ava said.
Uncle shrugged off the lie. “Will you call your father while you are here?”
“I don’t think so.”
The two men had never met but they knew of each other, as the wealthy and powerful of Hong Kong tend to do. “Maybe just as well. I hear that the wife in Australia is causing him problems.”
Ava hadn’t heard that news and the surprise registered on her face.
“It is smart of him, keeping them all separated. I don’t know, though, where he finds the energy or the time to keep them satisfied.”
Their food came. She poured tea for both of them. The restaurant was full, a steady flow of people coming and going.
Uncle ate quickly, hardly bothering to chew his food. For a man who was otherwise outwardly serene and calm almost to an extreme, it was an unusual characteristic. She wondered sometimes if this might be truer to his nature than the bland, confident face he liked the world to see.
“There isn’t any point in going to the Wanchai address you were given for Jackson Seto,” he said, pushing his empty plate aside. “I sent someone there today. He hasn’t lived there for at least six months.”
“Do you have another address for him?”
“No.”
“Hong Kong phone number?”
“No, but you might get better information from Henry Cheng. He is the one who connected Seto to Andrew Tam. You have an appointment with him tomorrow in his office at 11 a.m. He doesn’t know why you want to talk to him, but he should be cooperative enough. One of my friends called him and made the arrangement.”
“Where is the office?”
He passed her a slip of paper. “Kowloon side, Nathan Road.”
“I was thinking of going to see Andrew.”
“Why don’t you wait until you see Henry Cheng?” Uncle said. “And even then it may not be a great idea. What can you tell him? That you’ve found out where his money is? What good does that do him? You might create false expectations.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You know, Andrew’s uncle, my friend, used to call me every three weeks. Now he calls me twice a day. He is nervous for the nephew. The family does not have the kind of money where they can afford to lose thirty million Hong Kong. The repercussions would be massive. When he calls, I tell him I know absolutely nothing. And I’ll keep telling him that until you tell me it is over, one way or another.”
“I need to find Seto.”
“Maybe Cheng can
The noodle shop was a hole in the wall, ten tables with pink plastic stools. The place was full, but a man in an apron came from behind the counter to tell two young men sitting by themselves to move to another table that was occupied but had vacant seats. He then waved Uncle and Ava to the empty table and bowed as Uncle walked past.
She ordered har gow — shrimp dumplings — and soup with soft noodles. Uncle ordered beef lo mein and a plate of gai lin, steamed Chinese broccoli slathered in oyster sauce, to share.
“How is your mother?” he asked while they waited for their food.
“As lively as ever.”
“A crazy woman.”
Ava’s mother was highly sociable and made friends as easily as other people changed clothes. Marian and Ava’s friends weren’t immune from her attention. It bothered Marian but never Ava; she saw it as just a natural extension of her mother’s all-consuming interest in their lives. So it had come as no surprise when her mother, in Hong Kong to visit her own friends, called Uncle and said she’d like to meet him, to find out what kind of man her daughter was working for. If Ava had been working in Toronto for a North American firm, she would have been mortified, not because of what her mother had done but more because they wouldn’t understand why she was doing it. But Uncle understood Chinese mothers; they met and got along well enough that from time to time Jennie Lee felt free to pick up the phone and call Kowloon. Just keeping in touch, she called it.
“She sends her love,” Ava said.
Uncle shrugged off the lie. “Will you call your father while you are here?”
“I don’t think so.”
The two men had never met but they knew of each other, as the wealthy and powerful of Hong Kong tend to do. “Maybe just as well. I hear that the wife in Australia is causing him problems.”
Ava hadn’t heard that news and the surprise registered on her face.
“It is smart of him, keeping them all separated. I don’t know, though, where he finds the energy or the time to keep them satisfied.”
Their food came. She poured tea for both of them. The restaurant was full, a steady flow of people coming and going.
Uncle ate quickly, hardly bothering to chew his food. For a man who was otherwise outwardly serene and calm almost to an extreme, it was an unusual characteristic. She wondered sometimes if this might be truer to his nature than the bland, confident face he liked the world to see.
“There isn’t any point in going to the Wanchai address you were given for Jackson Seto,” he said, pushing his empty plate aside. “I sent someone there today. He hasn’t lived there for at least six months.”
“Do you have another address for him?”
“No.”
“Hong Kong phone number?”
“No, but you might get better information from Henry Cheng. He is the one who connected Seto to Andrew Tam. You have an appointment with him tomorrow in his office at 11 a.m. He doesn’t know why you want to talk to him, but he should be cooperative enough. One of my friends called him and made the arrangement.”
“Where is the office?”
He passed her a slip of paper. “Kowloon side, Nathan Road.”
“I was thinking of going to see Andrew.”
“Why don’t you wait until you see Henry Cheng?” Uncle said. “And even then it may not be a great idea. What can you tell him? That you’ve found out where his money is? What good does that do him? You might create false expectations.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You know, Andrew’s uncle, my friend, used to call me every three weeks. Now he calls me twice a day. He is nervous for the nephew. The family does not have the kind of money where they can afford to lose thirty million Hong Kong. The repercussions would be massive. When he calls, I tell him I know absolutely nothing. And I’ll keep telling him that until you tell me it is over, one way or another.”
“I need to find Seto.”
“Maybe Cheng can
Similar Books
