Valentina made no comment. Just looked at her daughter with watchful eyes.

Lydia started to talk. Somehow it seemed to her that if she could fill their little booth with her own words, stuff them into every spare corner, there would be no room for Alfred to squeeze in his news.

‘Mr Parker,’ Lydia said with a show of concern, ‘I think you said my headmaster, Mr Theo, is a friend of yours, didn’t you? Well, I need some advice because he was acting very strangely toward the end of term. You see, he would set us all some work to do in class and he’d put his head in his hands on his desk and stay like that for absolutely ages, as if he were asleep, but he wasn’t because sometimes I caught his eyes staring straight at us behind his fingers, and Maria Allen thinks he must be having trouble with his beautiful Chinese mistress and is suffering from a broken heart but…’

‘Lydia.’ It was Valentina.

‘… but Anna says her father behaves like that when he has a hangover, and one day Mr Mason burst into the classroom all red in the face and dragged Mr Theo out of…’

‘Lydia!’ Sharper this time. ‘Stop it.’

For the first time Lydia looked at her mother’s face. She uttered no more words, but her eyes pleaded.

Valentina turned away. ‘Tell her, Alfred. Tell her our good news.’

Alfred beamed at her. ‘You see, Lydia, your mother has done me the great honour of agreeing to become my wife. We are going to be married.’

They waited expectantly for her response.

Lydia made a huge effort. She forced a smile, though her teeth stuck to her lips. ‘Congratulations,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy.’

Her mother leaned forward and kissed her briefly on her cheek.

26

Chang An Lo found the note. He knew it was from her before he opened it and he delicately fingered the paper to seek out the touch of her skin on it. The note was crammed into a small gherkin jar and placed on the flat rock at Lizard Creek, the one she liked to sun herself on. A leafy branch had been placed over the jar to make it less obvious to any eyes but his, and the thin silver leaves of the birch tree had curled and dried in the heat. She had been careful. No names. Just a warning.

‘Kuomintang elite troops on their way to Junchow,’ it read. ‘To wipe out Communists. Leave now. Urgent. You and your friends. Go.’

The word Go was underlined in red. At the bottom of the folded piece of paper she had added a sketch of a snake with its head sliced off and blood dripping from the wound.

The night was demon black. No moon. Just unrelenting drizzle that deadened any sound. The house was grand and well guarded. Sentries almost invisible under the upturned eaves. High outer walls with no windows, and each courtyard lit by coloured lanterns even in the middle of the night. In every doorway that faced the courtyards wind chimes tinkled ceaselessly, warding off evil spirits and evil-minded intruders alike, but the main threat to Chang came from the broad-headed chow chow dog that roamed the innermost courtyard. Its sharp ears picked up what human ears missed.

Chang’s footsteps on the roof tiles were muffled. His felt shoes moved with slow patience, edging nearer, one silent step at a time. It was not the large inner courtyard that was his aim, but the previous one, the one with the fountain spurting from the dolphin’s gaping mouth, the carp moving like white ghosts in the ornamental pond at its base and in the corner the plum tree laden with ripe fruit. The tree was old and its branches leaned against the house the way an old man leans on his stick. Chang was all in black, waiting, crouched in the shadows on the roof. Eyes and mind focused on one window.

The patrol guard did his job thoroughly, jabbing his heavy cane into the shrubs and under the delicately carved benches. Chang heard the thwack of the stick as it skewered some night reptile on the marble floor, and a low growl came from not far away. The lantern on the veranda threw light down one side of the guard’s face, keen eyed and alert, hungry for something or someone to relieve the tedium of his nightly routine. Chang had no intention of doing so. Not yet.

Eventually the guard strode away to the shadows of the next courtyard where the dog offered a servile whimper of welcome, and while the animal was distracted, Chang moved fast. Wet tiles, slick under his feet. Along the top ridge. More tiles, moss-covered and treacherous. The tree, as easy as stepping stones. Over the veranda. The open window. A low light glimmered behind the curtain. Chang stepped over the sill.

It was a large room. In the centre stood a massive black-oak bed, silk canopied and deeply carved with the shapes of bats with wings spread wide and fangs bared and long-necked birds devouring scorpions and frogs. To one side of the bed a candle burned in a jade holder and around it lay a confusion of fallen glasses and bottles, leather thongs, pools of spilled beer and a small brass burner. A long-stemmed pipe of stained ivory had been thrown on top of it all. The air smelled sweet and sickly.

Chang stood in the fold of the curtain for just long enough to make out three figures on the sheets. Two lay still and silent, eyes wide with fear. Staring at the knife in his hand. They were two young concubines, wrists bound with cords of leather to a hook attached to the headboard, and both were naked. Their smooth skin glistened with fragrant oil. One had what looked like a whip mark across her small breasts. Between the young concubines a large male figure lay sprawled on his back, slack-jawed and snoring, a yellow trail of vomit on the side of his face and the pillow. He wore nothing but a belt of snake teeth around his waist, which was thick and muscular, and his stomach was covered in dense wiry hair.

Chang fixed his eyes on the girls. It was a long time since he’d had a woman. The one with the whip mark was very beautiful, eyes like sloes and breasts that swelled soft and inviting, tilting upward with pink bud nipples. He moved closer, slowing his breathing, and stood at the foot of the bed. In one swift leap he was kneeling on it, between the man’s naked legs. The man’s closed eyes were quivering behind his eyelids but otherwise he did not move a muscle, unaware of anything except the drugged chaos of dreams beyond control. Chang reached over and removed a pair of chopsticks from the bedside table, sending both girls scurrying into a tight huddle on the pillows, the thongs pulled taut around their wrists. They were trembling, their long black hair flickering in the candlelight.

‘A demon of the night,’ one whispered.

‘Don’t kill us.’

He paid them no heed. Using the chopsticks in his left hand, he took hold of the man’s limp penis and raised it until it was pulled taut and upright. A groan came from the sleeper’s mouth, and one heavy hand crept down to his groin but then lay still. Chang slipped the sharp tip of his knife through the tangle of black hairs till it found the base of the penis and with a small twist of his wrist he snicked the fragile flesh.

A screech like the whinny of a horse rang out and made Chang expect the guard’s return.

‘Silence,’ he hissed.

The man’s mouth shut and his teeth ground together. Whether in fear or pain was not clear. To Chang it made no difference.

‘Silence,’ he ordered again.

The man’s eyes were narrowed to slits, and they were staring with hatred at Chang. For one moment they sought out the sword, slender and delicately engraved, that hung on the wall above a small shrine, but Chang increased the pressure of his blade.

‘What is it you want?’ the man growled. His body was rigid and still as stone.

‘I want your balls on a plate.’