The Year of Dangerous Loving. John Davis Gordon

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      ‘Go into a decline. But that’s only part of the godawful story, Olga. The rest is even worse. Because what about human rights?’ He waved a hand. ‘China has agreed that our Bill of Rights will continue to apply, and they even wrote it into the Basic Law – but what does China now say? That will be thrown out along with our democratically-elected legislative council!’ He spread his hands: ‘Lord, how can anybody trust these guys on anything? And freedom of the press?’ He snorted. ‘Do you know that freedom of speech is actually enshrined in China’s constitution? Well, we all know what that means in China – life in jail, more likely the executioner’s bullet for speaking out against the Party. Tiananmen Square massacre, that’s what happens.’ He snorted again. ‘The Basic Law also says there will be freedom of the press – but what happens?’ He spread his hands again. ‘China’s propaganda chief has recently warned Hong Kong journalists to “be wise and bend with the wind”, and “to watch out”. And now China has banned television satellite dishes because she is terrified of her people learning what is going on in the rest of the world. Because information, general knowledge, is power, it empowers the people.’ He shook his head. ‘The press in China is just a propaganda machine, Olga, and it’ll be the same in Hong Kong after they take over. And that’ll be the death of our open, free-market culture that has made us so prosperous.’ He looked at her. ‘How can one do business with a country like that?’

      Olga sighed. ‘But then I look at all the new business going on, the new skyscrapers going up –’

      ‘That’s called optimism, Olga. That’s called sang-froid, which has always been a characteristic of the China coast. That’s called dollar-signs in the eyes of businessmen who know that a thousand million customers are wonderful – the businessmen will roll with the dirty punches and smile as long as they make their dollars, they don’t care if democracy and human rights are trampled underfoot. Even though Hong Kong will go to the dogs they’ll get their money back before it does.’ He held up his hands. ‘Oh, there may be a sort of honeymoon period while China tries to find its feet, but after that the bamboo guillotine will come down. And chop the heads off anybody who disagrees with the Communist Party.’

      Olga shook her head solemnly. ‘Communism is dead.’

      ‘Yes, and long live the Communist Party of China – where it is alive and well. Not necessarily as a Marxist economic philosophy any more, because it is a proven failure which even China can understand, but as a diehard, tyrannical regime that has been in power for fifty years and doesn’t intend to let go – like Russia did with such attendant chaos.’

      Olga sighed. ‘Do you know Martin Lee, the big Chinese politician in Hong Kong? He says the same as you.’

      Of course, everybody knew Martin Lee, but Hargreave was impressed with her general knowledge. ‘Martin Lee is a good friend of mine. Excellent man, and an excellent lawyer. Yes, he says the same as me – we must have democracy, so we can stand up to China and insist on the rule of law. Or rather, I say the same as him. I’m just a civil servant who can’t say anything publicly; he’s the courageous politician who is standing up to China as the leader of the United Democratic Party.’ He added: ‘He’s going to win the elections, but he’s going to lose his freedom in 1997.’

      ‘Will he get his head chopped off?’

      Hargreave snorted. ‘Martin is probably too high-profile internationally for China to dare shoot him. But he’s a sitting duck for being thrown in jail as a subversive – along with Jake McAdam and the likes.’

      ‘And you, darling?’ Olga said anxiously. ‘What would they do to you?’

      Hargreave sighed, weary of the question he and his fellow lawyers were asking themselves.

      ‘I’m not a politician; I’m just a government servant whose job is to administer justice. However, if the new government wants me to pervert justice, to bend the Rule of Law, to prosecute people who are innocent, or if new laws are made which violate the Joint Declaration or the Basic Law, or if the new powers-that-be insist I do not prosecute somebody who is guilty I will have to speak out, refuse to cooperate, I will have to set an example – and that will doubtless land me in jail, yes.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to practise law under conditions like that. So I want to quit in 1997, yes. But,’ he sighed, ‘I’ve got to think carefully about the financial aspects. Divorce is a costly business. So? At this moment I’m not sure.’

      Olga grinned: ‘We’ll find out. Finish your wine and I’ll take you to my favourite fortune-teller!’

      Hargreave didn’t go a whole bundle on fortune-tellers – he didn’t like messing with mumbo-jumbo and preferred not to know the future. Olga thought that was hilarious – ‘My fortune-teller is beautiful!’ Hargreave was reassured to find that the soothsayer was a little old Chinese man squatting on a corner and his paraphernalia consisted of a canary and a deck of little cards. Hargreave paid ten patacas and Olga squatted to observe the ritual closely. The man opened the cage door; out hopped the canary, picked a card out of the pack with its beak, presented it to the fortune-teller, was given a pinch of birdseed as a reward, and hopped back into his cage cheerfully. Olga was delighted. ‘Isn’t that clever!’

      The fortune-teller gravely presented the card to Hargreave. Chinese writing was on one side, the translation in English and Portuguese on the other. He read aloud: ‘You must work hard because you will have many sons.’

      Olga thought that was very funny. ‘So you’ll have to be a lawyer, darling! Many sons!’ She stood up and hugged him. ‘And maybe I better get a job too?’

      That Sunday night, as they lay in each other’s arms, she said, ‘Will I see you next Friday?’

      ‘Yes.’ Oh yes, he had to see her next weekend. But how much longer could he afford to keep doing this? It was as if she had read his mind, for she said:

      ‘But what about all this crazy money you are spending? Crazy money. I will speak to Vladimir about a special price. Why don’t I come to you, in Hong Kong? We save the hotel bill and all the dinners – I will cook for you, darling!’

      Hargreave smiled. The China moonlight was streaming through the French windows, dusting her naked goldenness in silver. He loved her for her concern about his money; that showed she wasn’t a whore at heart. But he hesitated: he wasn’t sure about her coming to Hong Kong yet – he didn’t care what people thought, or guessed, her alibi as a singer was good enough for Al Hargreave as an individual – but was it good enough for the Director of Public Prosecutions? And even if it was – which it was, for Christ’s sake, plenty of Hong Kong bigwigs were known to have mistresses, and a good few were known homosexuals – even assuming he could get away with her alibi, was he ready to make that kind of commitment? Wasn’t it quite a step, from a discreet hotel in Macao to taking her home to his apartment for all his neighbours to see? And even if that was okay, was it a wise thing to do when Elizabeth was suing him for divorce? And even if that didn’t matter – which it didn’t, because the marriage was over, whether he was shacked up with half a dozen girls or none – was it quite fair on Liz to have it known that her husband had a Russian girlfriend in residence? And most importantly, was it fair on Olga to take her into his A-grade government apartment and start the mental process that she was going to become the mistress of it? Was he ready for that yet? And was she, this Russian girl who had never had a real love, who had been forced into prostitution – was she ready for the heady business of being taken into his privileged life, even if only for a weekend? What would she expect the following weekend, and the next? Oh, Hargreave knew what he wanted, he wanted her every weekend, but how would she feel when he simply couldn’t СКАЧАТЬ