THE ENEMY’S WIFE (Extract 1)

Deborah Swift

Shanghai, December 1941

 Theodore Carter’s footsteps thudded up the stairs.

‘Dad!’ shouted Jimmy, charging out into the hall to grab him by the waist. Daisy followed, with Zofia waiting politely in the doorway. Theodore Carter was a stringy-limbed man with the neutral good looks of a clean-cut diplomat. Zofia liked him; he always paid on time without fuss. But today his face had a ravaged expression, his eyes restless. He clung to his son a moment before asking Daisy, ‘Where’s Mommy?’

‘Theo?’ Evelina appeared across the landing, a mascara brush in her hand. ‘I thought we were meeting at the American Club.’

‘I know. Something’s come up. You need to pack.’

‘Why? What’s going on?’

‘The Japs tried to assassinate Prescott of the China Weekly Press. A journalist for Christ’s sake. He was attacked with a grenade.’

‘Is he all right?’

‘He survived, but he’s leaving. And it’s time for you to get out with the children. I’ve booked you a passage to Manila.’

‘You’ve done what? When?’

‘This evening. Eight forty-five. You need to hurry.’

‘Now? Don’t be crazy. I’ve got to organise the children’s Christmas party for the Club.’ A shake of the head as if to deny what she’d heard.

‘There’s not going to be a party.’

‘Mommy?’ Daisy was getting upset.

‘Not now, darling. What about you?’ Evelina seemed unable to move, as if frozen in place.

‘I can’t come. The Chamber of Trade need me. We’re still lobbying the government back home, telling them the transfer of American assets and equipment is a national emergency. Since our ships stopped calling here, we can’t get anything in and out of port.’

‘I won’t go, not without you. The children need their father.’

‘Let’s go in your room while your daddy’s talking,’ Zofia said, shepherding the children away.

Theo’s voice was audible outside the door. ‘It’s for them I’m doing this. I’ll leave when I’ve secured the business. If the Japs take over our shipping accounts, we’ll be left with nothing. They’re looting everything in the Chinese quarter. Not content with bombing it to smithereens, they’ve taken every lightbulb, every doorknob; they’d take the wallpaper if they could scrape it off—’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘No, it’s you, you have to face it, our time here is up and I just need to salvage what I can, or how will we ever pay school fees, buy us a house, for God’s sake? Twenty years of damn work down the pan.’

Zofia could hear the desperation in his voice, but she didn’t like the way he referred to the Japanese, as if they truly were the enemy. She hovered in the doorway, unsure what to do, and knowing with a sick sense of dread that this meant the only real source of her income would soon be gone.

Mr Carter seemed to suddenly realise she was there.

‘Zofia, can you run to fetch Mai Ling and help her pack the children’s things? One suitcase each, their passports. Warm clothes?’

Zofia nodded, told the children to find their favourite toys, and shot away down the servant stairs, her thoughts in a panic. She knocked on the door of the room Mai Ling shared with Suzi, the female number two cook. Mai Ling was sleepy-eyed and grumpy because it was her evening off. The room was dark, and as cramped as a broom cupboard. Zofia explained they were to pack for the children and Mrs Carter.

Mai Ling gazed at her in shock. ‘Where they go?’

‘Manila. By boat.’

‘Mr Carter-Boss?’

‘He’s staying.’

She looked visibly relieved, but like Zofia, she must be worried about her job, about what would happen if there were no Americans to serve any more. They’d both seen it enough times – Chinese thrown out on the streets after having served years in these luxurious houses.

They clattered back upstairs, and into the children’s rooms. Jimmy and Daisy were full of questions they couldn’t answer.

Evelina and Theo were still arguing outside the door. ‘Can’t it wait?’ Evelina said. ‘I can’t possibly leave today, I have my appointment at the hairdresser tomorrow morning and I was meeting Gloria for mah-jongg then lunch at the—’

‘You don’t understand. It’s not safe, there’s no army here to defend us. The government are doing nothing. Nothing, I tell you!’

‘I can’t leave Shanghai! What about my medicine, for my nerves?’

‘You’ll have to manage without.’

‘I can’t, I just can’t.’ The sound of hysterical weeping.

Zofia tried to close her ears as she folded Jimmy’s school shorts and jumper and rolled his grey socks into balls to squash them in the corner of his case. She turned to him. ‘That’s right, put the Meccano in here.’

Across the room, Mai Ling was doing the same for Daisy, smoothing out winter dresses and little white lacy vests. She was listening first, packing second. ‘Manila. Where is that?’ Mai Ling asked.

The question was never answered as they both cocked their ears to Evelina’s protests.

‘But we’ve been okay so far, haven’t we?’ whined Evelina in the hall. ‘They wouldn’t dare attack us here.’

‘They already have. They raided Hongkew – supposedly searching for Chinese guerrillas. The ones that have been sabotaging Japanese garrisons. They killed the suspects, but foreigners were caught in the crossfire. It was savage. Two Englishmen are dead.’

Excerpt 1:

“Where’s Mama?” Neferet asked. “Surely she’s not still at the temple. They don’t have liturgies at night, do they? Why else would the chantresses be needed?”

Papa and Grandfather gave each other a meaningful look.

“She’s in the kitchen,” said Papa. “Making our dinner.”

Neferet hooted in surprise. “Why is she making it? Where’s Cook?”

“She didn’t come in today.” Papa lowered his voice as if Cook might be listening. “Her husband just died.” 

The three young women made noises of sorrow. “We should go pay our respects,” Neferet said.

“We all did earlier today,” said Grandfather. “She’s been with us a long time. She’s practically like one of the family. Your father is helping them with the funeral too.”

“That’s very nice, Papa. Maybe Mama would like some help herself.”

Neferet rose and started toward the door.

“Maybe yes and maybe no,” Papa said with a chuckle. “She chased me out of the kitchen a little while go.”

“Yes, but we’re going to help. Come on, people.”

Bener-ib and Mut-tuy popped up and trailed her into the kitchen, a kind of nook under an overhanging reed shelter that covered half the small interior court. Mama was squatting beside the hearth, a wooden spoon lifted to her mouth, tasting something in a big pot as they entered. Her hair was curling sweatily across her brow, but otherwise, she seemed to be mistress of the situation.

“Girls!” she cried. “Taste this and see what it needs.”

They each took a sip from the spoon. Neferet decided the lentils and pork were perfect— shiny with fat and perfumed by onions and garlic—and no one disagreed. “Papa told us about Cook’s husband. That’s such a shame.”

“Did he tell you Int-ef was poisoned?” Mama asked, rising to her feet. “Cook and her family think it was murder.”

Neferet stopped suddenly as if a goose had nipped her. “Murder, did you say?” Behind her mother, she saw Mut-tuy’s eyes grow round.

“Yes, my dearest. And Cook is obviously hoping you ladies and Hani will find out who did it.” Mama wrapped a towel around the pot and lifted it from its tripod over the fire. “Open the door for me, will you, Bener-ib, dear?” She sailed through the open doorway and into the salon, holding the pot out before her, the three young sunets trailing after like acolytes.

“That smells sumptuous, my dove.” Papa sniffed the steam rising from the pot as his wife set it down on the table. “I think you could give Cook lessons.”

“No, no. She’s excellent at what she does. I do have a few family tricks, though. My grandmother knew a lot about the kitchen.”

Neferet suspected Mama’s blue-blooded grandmother had never cooked a stew in her life, no matter how many tricks she knew. But neither had Mama, yet she was perfectly capable of supervising any procedure, from skinning game to confecting delicious dishes. She often said it was all a matter of common sense.

They scrambled back to their seats and waited until the mistress of the house had ladled out the lentils. “It’s simple, but it should do until Cook is back on the job,” said Mama, satisfied with her handiwork.

“No excuses needed, my girl,” Grandfather said after a sip from his bowl. “You’re ready for the royal kitchen.”

Mama laughed, pleased, then jumped up again. “Oh, the bread…”

But Bener-ib, whose reaction time was instantaneous when it came to being of service, was already on her way back outside. “I’ll bring it, Lady Nub-nefer.”

“So, tell us about this murder, Papa Duck.” Neferet stared at her father, excitement crackling in her fingertips.

“I know less about it than your mother, but apparently, when Cook came in this morning to request the day off, she said that her husband—who’s also a cook—had been poisoned, and although everybody acted like it was a self-inflicted accident, her family believes someone did him in. Do I have that all correct, my love?”

“Why does she think it was murder?” Neferet asked, more and more interested.

“He suddenly became very sick and felt like his mouth and throat and stomach were on fire. Then it progressed to other symptoms I won’t describe at the dinner table. The next day, he was gone.”