I
Jill spent a large part of her time talking about her past and spoke very little of her future. This was one of the disadvantages of her trade, for a prostitute, if she is clever, allows her client to direct the conversation, and what man discusses the future with a woman he hopes to pay off in the morning?
Moreover, and it is a more amiable prompting, with certain people outside oneās own ordinary circleāexplorers, inventors, labor leaders, whoresāone asks them, if merely as a matter of curiosity, āHow did it happen? Why arenāt you doing as I do, and as my neighbor on the left and my neighbor on the right are doing? How do you happen to be living in this precarious fashion instead of being safe and dull like me and all my family?ā
Over and over Jill had told the story about being a simple convent girl and the other one about the wicked employer, and she was tired of the whole thing. There was a slow anger burning away in her mind. The danger was imminent. If something didnāt happen soon to relieve her Jill would deal a smashing blow and start to tell the truth. She would indulge herself. She would have one of her nervous breakdowns.
At the same time a warning memory helped her to control the impulse. No doubt Annette would be angry, and unless Jill could work herself into a veritable inspiration of hysterics Annette was a power to be feared. Large and lethargic, she was still very watchful of her affairs. She inspected every room of the big rambling house every single day of the week; there wasnāt another European housewife in Shanghai as scrupulously clean as Annette, the madame of the brothel in Tibet Road. Careful to a lesser degree of the girlsā own lives, she still kept a sharp eye on them. She couldnāt do much about the ones who lived outside, but those who stayed night and day within the walls were as well cared for, according to her lights, as girls in a school. Of course Annetteās standards were not those of a schoolmistress, but she had her principles. And nothing made her so angry as any accusation that she did not do what she considered her duty. Annette aroused was a tiger, or perhaps a tiger tamer would be a better description.
āInteresting, very interesting,ā as Dr. Lionel Levy said to Jill.
It was a Thursday, and rather a slow night at Annetteās. Dr. Lionel had dropped in then for that reason. A Saturday would have been different; the Europeans had set the fashion for that one night in the week as a special occasion, and the Asiatics followed their lead in this as in other matters. Dr. Lionel was fastidious enough to avoid a crowd, and perhaps it was not only fastidiousness that made him pick out the deserted early hours of a midweek night to pay a call on Jill. He had his way to make in the world. In the minds of the public a rising doctor ought not frivol his time and money at Annetteās. A doctor partook of some of the advantages and many disadvantages of the priesthood.
No one was in the large drawing room when he arrived and asked for Jill. Tony, who answered the door, was alone on duty at this hour; nobody had ever been to Annetteās at any time when Tony was not there, no matter what other lesser domestics came and went. He recognized Dr. Lionel; he greeted him by name.
āYes, Jillās here,ā he said, and padded off softly to call her.
Left alone, Dr. Lionel wrinkled his nose with distaste and sat down gingerly on an overstuffed sofa. It was a purely mechanical distaste, an irrational feeling, left over from his youthful years in Europe, that in these heavy velvet drapes and soft chairs lurked a dust of more than normal dirtiness. He did not really think so, but still from the past he had an impression that this air held a miasma which did not exist in ordinary hotel atmosphere. Recognizing this weakness in himself, he smiled tolerantly. Dr. Lionel had learned to be tolerant, even with himself. He was tolerance itself with Annetteās girls. Yet he neglected to stand up when Jill came into the room: convention is a terribly strong force.
āOh, so you did come!ā
Perhaps she really was pleased, as well as surprised, that he had remembered.
āDid you think I was too drunk to know what I was saying?ā
āOhāāā She giggled a little. āNo, not exactly.ā¦ā
āI suppose itās too early to ask you to drink here,ā said Dr. Lionel. āShall we go out somewhere? To the Park, or what would you like? Iāll get you back before dinner,ā he added as she hesitated. āWe canāt talk here, itās impossible. When must you start work?ā
āAnnette likes us to be in before eight. All right, Iāll get my hat; just a minute while I tell Tony.ā¦ā
A soft noise like far-off thunder shook the air as they rode down the street toward the center of the city. Involuntarily Jill looked over her shoulder toward the creek that bounded the International Settlement.
āNo,ā said the doctor, āthey are away off by now, halfway to Nanking.ā
āOh dearādo you think theyāll get there?ā
He shrugged.
āThe Chinese put up a good fight,ā said Jill.
āYou sound as if you were there yourself,ā he said, amused. āQuite authoritative.ā
āWell, we ought to know enough about it at Annetteās. The Japanese are coming in now to see us, you know.ā
āSo?ā
āOh yes, colonels and generals and I donāt know what.ā
āYou do not mind?ā
āSome of the girls arenāt crazy about it,ā said Jill.
āBut you yourself?ā
She was evasive.
The Park Hotel was at its urban best at cocktail time. No hotel in Shanghai struck such a satisfactory medium between the uncomfortable splendors of old-fashioned British grandeur and the more hygienic if less gracious virtues of 1937. It was a place for the younger element of all races. While the wealthy older generation of Europeans clung to the Cathay down on the Bund, moved by the unspoken feeling that the Cathay, owned and operated by whites, must be better, the young Frenchmen and Chinese and Indians and Americans and Germans and Britons with money went cheerfully to the Chinese-owned Park, up in Bubbling Well Road, to meet their girl friends and drink their drinks. The suites at the Park, with their wide-open view of the racecourse, were much in demand. The central heating was so efficient as to be oppressive, and in chilly Shanghai it was chic to be overheated that year.
In Lionelās lifetime he had learned to mistrust all emotions save amusement. Other emotions would intrude, but the doctor, trying to exorcise them as illusion, greeted them all with his tired laughter. As a result his face was divided into halves, like those of so many intelligents; crowās-feet and a wrinkled brow gave his eyes a look of kindly hilarity which his mouth would not agree to. His actual smile was restrained. When he smiled Jill thought he was sneering, and to some extent she was right. As they entered the plushy lounge and sat down at a chromium table she glanced at him. Her fleeting look was childish and imploring, but Dr. Lionel recognized practice and emptiness in both qualities.
āYou like to come here?ā he suggested.
āOh yes, thank you!ā
A little more extreme, he thought, and she would have clapped her hands in subnormal glee. She almost lisped.
āWhy?ā
āOhāitās pretty.ā¦ I like to see people.ā¦ā
āAnd to be seen,ā hinted Dr. Lionel. That drew a satisfactory reaction; she flashed indignantly, with no trace of baby talk:
āWhy? There isnāt anybody here Iād want to know.ā
āThere, there, I only meant it must be nice to get a change. Annetteās is not so gay in the daytime, is it?ā
āOh, itās all right,ā said Jill. Their drinks arrived and she attacked hers. She laughed, back in her child world again. āWe all sleep late, you know. I like coming out and watching people, new people just going through Shanghai; I love going to Yates Road and talking to the tourists, sometimes, in the shops.ā
āDo you go alone?ā
She was accustomed to the catechism. Men liked to ask all sorts of questions; at least the men she preferred did.
āSometimes; sometimes Nina goes with me. I like Nina best to go out with. She doesnāt look soāwell, you know. Sheās more refined than the others. People arenāt so likely to mind talking in shops with Nina. Now if ever I go out with Yvonne, itās dreadful. I do wish,ā added Jill in her gentle little voice, āthat Annette wouldnāt keep Yvonne in the house. She lowers the tone. Donāt you think so?ā
āMmmmm,ā said Lionel noncommittally. He stifled a yawn and wondered why on earth he had taken this girl out for a drink. One marked time, that was all. The war had drawn near and then receded, and the old nightmare of Europe had been brought close to Shanghai and had not receded. It hung over the city with the smoke of the burning Chinese houses across the border, a heavy, sullen cloud that would not disperse. Dr. Lionel Levy knew how long that cloud could hang in the sky. He had watched it from Austria, from Italy, from North Africa, for many years. It could stay overhead indefinitely, he knew, waiting and thickening and thinning and thickening again, while below on the ground one marked time. One ate and slept and took little girls out and asked impertinent questions of other waiting people, pushing the time past.
āWhere did you say you were born?ā he asked abruptly. āYou are not Russian, you said?ā
āCertainly I am not,ā she said indignantly. āDo I talk like a Russian?ā
āNo, but some Russians speak English quite well, you know.ā He was conscious as he spoke of his Teutonic diction.
āOh, I know. A lot of these girls can, only they keep their accent because the men like it. No, Iām British.ā
āSo!ā
āI am,ā insisted Jill. āReally and truly.ā
āAnd why not? Do not be so resentful, little Jill.ā
āWellāso many of these English people act as if a girl at Annetteās couldnāt possibly be British. If theyād seen what I have in England!ā
āYou were born in England, then,ā said Levy.
Jill shook her head and took the plunge. āAustralia,ā she said, and waited. He said nothing complimentary, however, about her lack of a cockney accent, and she reminded herself that he could not be expected to notice it. He did not even seem to be aware of that distinction between English and Australian which had so often perplexed her.
āWell,ā he said, smiling quite broadly, āgo on. Tell me about it. But donāt tell me you were educated in a convent.ā
āBut I was!ā wailed Jill.
Dr. Levy sighed and ordered himself another cocktail. Jill had not finished her first; she was careful about drink.
āYou donāt believe me. Well, I donāt care,ā she said. āIāll tell you anyway, and Iāll tell you the truth. I was at a convent for quite a whileāalmost two years, I think.ā
āAnd when did that come to an end?ā
She hesitated, frowning. She was very pretty, with fair hair and a snub nose, a cast of countenance which would have been enough, even without her profession, to explain why people thought her Russian. It was a type of prettiness to which she had obviously referred when she selected the role she played for the public, what the other girls at Annetteās knew as Jillās baby act. Somewhere, reflected Lionel, she had learned not to overdress and not to use cosmetics; she was a girl a doctor could be seen with almost anywhere, save perhaps in the restricted European community of Shanghai, without causing comment. Not that it mattered in Shanghai, for everything and everyone there caused some sort of comment in any case.
Was she trying to remember? Lionel laughed silently at his temporary slip into bathos. No girl as egocentric as Jill would have failed to recall long since everything that she could, or wished, to keep in mind; the hesitation was only that she was deciding what lie to tell.
āI left when I was three,ā said Jill.
She blurted it with some effort, and Dr. Lionel felt flattered. This was not, then, to be the ordinary story she kept for transients: āI was a slip of a girlā¦ā
āYou just walked out, did you?ā
Uncertain, she peered at his sober face and then laughed. āItās what they told me,ā she explained, āwhen I went back to see them a few years ago. My mother must have put me in as soon as I was big enough to leave around. I donāt mean she left me on the doorstep in a basket; she paid some sort of a fee. She liked me all right,ā added Jill, a trace of anxious pride in her voice. āThere wasnāt any secret about it.ā
āWas she pretty too?ā
That pleased her; she smiled radiantly. āOh, much prettier, and I expect I was a complication in her life. She never told anybody at the convent who my father was. But I had a stepfather, quite a well-known man in Australia, a rich one, and I suppose he didnāt want me around.ā
āBut this manāher husbandāhe did know about you, that you existed, did he?ā
āOh yes.ā Jill paused, and then, again in a blurting rush, she said, āHe wasnāt her husband, you see. I had, oh,...