“Hello, Miss Storch,” she said. “I was right behind you on the path but it was just too hot to rush.”

The old woman did not reiterate her past desire to be addressed by her first name.

“Yes, it’s terrible out there, isn’t it,” she said, pulling out a white handkerchief and wiping her forehead. “Does something to the character but I haven’t pinned it down yet. It’s something that people who live here over twenty years develop but I can’t put a name to it.”

“The heat?” Claire said.

“Yes. Most of your day is spent trying to avoid it. And the endlessness of it. Always at war with the elements, instead of in harmony with them. That’s us, the British colonials, battling against our circumstances, always.” Miss Storch peered at Claire. She was reminded of the first time she had met her and the gaze that had almost made her faint. “Shall we sit?”

“Certainly.”

Claire was unsure as to why Edwina Storch had rung her up. The old woman moved slowly, and was treated with great respect by the staff.

“Lovely to see you again, Miss Storch,” said the manageress, who had come out to greet them. “So nice that you can come into town and see us.”

“Do you know Mrs. Maxwell?” Edwina asked Claire. “She’s been around almost as long as I have.”

They shook hands and were escorted into the dining room-more of the heavy damask curtains, a mix of old, good tables and new chairs, too shiny.

“We have your favorite currant scones today,” Mrs. Maxwell said. “And the good Chinese oolong.”

“Splendid,” Edwina said as she lowered herself carefully into a chair. “You’re too kind, Harriet. We’ll both have the high tea, please.”

“It’s very pleasant here,” Claire said. “It’s my first time.”

“Not too bad,” Edwina said. “During the war, I spent a few nights here.”

“Yes,” Claire said.

The waitress came over and poured water for them into faded, scratched glasses.

“There’s something sad about the Eurasian, isn’t there?”Edwina Storch said, looking after the girl as she left. “Something incomplete, something wanting in them. I always feel they are searching for something to make them whole.”

“Do you think so?” Claire said politely. “I find them very attractive, actually, with their beautiful skin and golden eyes and hair. When I first was in Hong Kong, I did find them odd-looking, but now I think they are just splendid.”

“Hmph,” snorted the old woman. “You’re young and romantic. The children feel dreadful because they are not accepted by either race.”

Claire had not thought Miss Storch to be so narrow-minded when her own lifestyle was not at all conventional.

As if she could sense what Claire was thinking, Miss Storch drew herself up slightly. “Mary and I have always led our lives with good Christian values!” she said. “We love all of God’s creatures, even the less fortunate.”

“Of course,” said Claire.

The Eurasian girl came over again with a pot of tea. She set down the cups and put a strainer on each of them. Her eyes were downcast, steady on the table.

“I’ll pour,” said Miss Storch, dismissing her.

“You don’t think she’s attractive?” Claire asked. She felt an obstinate urge to pursue the matter.

“Claire,” Miss Storch said. “I do not. She is unfortunate. She is lucky to have a respectable job because I am sure that her father left her mother after he had his fun with her. You know, that’s how most of these situations are.” She poured the hot tea into Claire’s cup. Claire lifted up the milk pitcher.

“You don’t pour milk into this sort of tea!” Miss Storch barked. Claire’s hand hung suspended in the air, frozen. “The whole point of this tea is to have it unadulterated. Put that milk down. I don’t know why they even give us milk.”

Claire paused and then poured the milk into her tea.

“I prefer my tea with milk,” she said.

Miss Storch stared at her, then took off her spectacles and started rubbing them again.

“So you’ve got some spunk,” she said, inspecting her glasses. “Glad to see that.”

Claire was silent.

“You’re going to need it,” Edwina Storch said. “There’s a pretty kettle of fish going on, and from what I understand, you are in the middle of it.”

“I don’t understand,” she said.

“Oh, I think you understand more than you let on.” Miss Storch sipped her tea, made a grimace. “Too strong. They let it steep too long.”

“I’ll call for hot water,” Claire said, and raised her hand.

“Don’t bother. I’ve better things to talk about.” She sighed. “You have a fondness for the Eurasian race.”

“Hardly,” Claire protested. “I just…”

“And I am sure you know of Trudy Liang, then.” She peered intently at Claire over her glasses. “She was one of the better-known Eurasians in Hong Kong when she was alive. She was from a very wealthy family and so escaped much of the prejudice that comes from being mixed.” Edwina Storch said this with a complete lack of irony. “You know who I’m talking about?”

“Yes,” Claire allowed. “I have heard of her.”

“And that whole business during the war. She was out of the camps because she was Portuguese and Chinese, and I was out of the camps because I thought it better, and I had a Finnish mother and I was able to work it out. If you were persuasive in the early days, these things could happen. It was very confusing and the rules changed every day.” Her eyes shifted, became wistful. “Of course, I couldn’t get Mary out, but I was able to provide for her when I was outside, and brought her packages and all that. It was for the best.

“You know, Claire,” she said suddenly. “You have a face for listening. People must always confide in you. Do you find that to be the case?”

“Not really,” Claire demurred. She thought to herself that Edwina Storch’s face resembled a large, fleshy reptile now. It had shrewd opportunism and greed written all over it.

“You know about Trudy and Will Truesdale, then?”

“I’ve just heard stories, like everyone else,” Claire said. “But it has nothing to do with me.”

“It doesn’t!” Miss Storch laughed, a harsh chuckle. “Oh, I imagine you would like everyone to believe that. But yes, the two of them were thick as thieves. Everyone thought they would marry. If you ask me, he got the short end of the stick. He could have done much better. But no, he was with her, and then the war happened, and a lot more.” She paused. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I asked you here today, or why I asked you to lunch the other week. I wanted to get a good look at you, at your face. But it is a long story. You should eat while I talk.”

The woman looked suddenly very serious.

“You must be different now,” she said. “You must rise to the occasion. And you must be strong. Now is the time for you to make a difference.”

In the late afternoon light, the door to the Librarian’s Auxiliary opened. Claire stood, blinking even in the fading light. She was saying good-bye to Edwina Storch.

“Thank you very much for the tea,” she said.

“You’re quite welcome, my dear,” said Miss Storch. “I hope I have been enlightening.”

“Yes,” Claire started. Then, “No. Actually… I don’t know.” She stumbled over her words.

“Not the way, dear,” Miss Storch said. There was exasperation in her voice.

“But Miss Storch,” Claire said hurriedly. “Miss Storch, I do feel… There is something that I would like to say. When I met you at your garden party some weeks ago, you said that I reminded you of a young you. I just want to tell you that I think that is not at all correct. You and I are as different as can be.” Then she turned and walked away quickly, not looking back.

The sun was setting and Claire could not imagine that it had been an ordinary day outside, before she had entered the dark rooms and into an afternoon of storytelling by a vicious old woman with an ax to wield.