The Man in the Wooden Hat Read Online Free PDF

you. We’ll be head-on for months. Sick of the sight of each other. I’ve said exactly the same to the other side for the same reason. They’re all over there.”
    Gales of laughter were arising from across the room and there was the impression of someone bigger than the rest buffooning about. He had a flap of flaxen hair.
    “I can’t remember how well you know Veneering?”
    “Quite well.”
    Pastry Willy quickly looked away. Something about a mutual and inexplicable loathing.
    “May I introduce Elisabeth Macintosh?” said Edward. “She is about to become my wife.”
    “Delighted, delightful,” said the Judge, and his wife Dulcie blinked at the gingham dress and pearls.
    Elisabeth leaned forward and kissed Pastry Willy on the cheek. “Hello, Uncle Willy. I’m Betty Macintosh.” She kissed him again on the other cheek.
    “Oh, my goodness! Little Betty! Joseph’s girl!”
    “Father died,” she said and disappeared into the crowd.
    “But this is splendid! Splendid, Feathers! I used to read fairy tales to her on my knee.” Edward was hurrying after her. “In Tiensin!”
    “Elisabeth!” He caught up with her. “You kissed Willy?”
    “Well, I knew him when I was seven,” she said.
    In the heart of the throng Edward, looking joyous, began to declare to left and right, “Hello, my—my fiancée.”
    The room became more crowded still, the talk all London Inns of Court and how the Colony was awash this month with English lawyers. A drift of excited wives just off the plane surged by in new silk dresses they’d already had time to buy, their hair and lipstick all in place and shiny. A lovely Chinese woman in pale yellow with chandelier earrings was reclining on a chaise longue. She had a face of perpetual ennui. From the corner of the room where the noise was wildest the flaxen-headed man separated himself from his friends, roaring with laughter. He was wearing khaki shorts and a khaki shirt, which made him seem not eccentric but ahead of fashion and in the sartorial know. “No, not that way,” Edward commanded Elisabeth, and the man with the bright hair cried out, “Oh, God! It’s Old Filth!” Then he saw Elisabeth in the pearls and gingham and stood perfectly still.
    “I’m Veneering,” he said to her, “Terry Veneering.” His eyes were bright light blue.
    Elisabeth thought: And it is just one hour too late.
     
    “Come and meet—” Edward was steering her away. “You must meet my clerk and—I don’t see Ross anywhere yet. I hope you’re going to like him. I’ll tell you—oh, hello! Hello! Tony, Desmond. Safe here, all of us. This is—”
    But Elisabeth had slid away. Through some glass doors on to an airy balcony she had spotted a glitter of dishes. Her holiday money she’d used up in Australia, and for the past week she and Lizzie had been eating nothing much except noodles and deep-fried prawns off the market stalls. At the end of this frugal day of celebration (when she’d thought there’d be a feast, looking out over the sunset harbour), she was ravenous and—with a percipience she would keep and be thankful for throughout her coming life—she’d noticed that Edward hadn’t mentioned dinner. And she knew that after the party he would find urgent work to do for the next day.
     
    Belshazzar’s feast was laid out on white cloths on the balcony, a row of robotic waiters standing behind.
    “I’m your first customer,” she said, and with faint disapproval one of them handed her a plate and she passed down the buffet alone, helping herself hugely to crab and lobster mayonnaise. Oh, glory!
    She sat down alone at an empty side table with a long white cloth to the floor, stretched her sandy feet beneath it and touched something that squeaked.
    Putting her chopsticks neatly down, she lifted a corner of the tablecloth and saw a boy cross-legged on the marble, crunching a lobster. He had black Chinese hair that stood up spikily in an un-Oriental way. His eyes were blue.
    “Good