Li’s sister, Xiao Ling, and his father, stood uncomfortably on the edge of the gathering, clutching glasses of orange juice. They did not belong here and they knew it. A retired teacher living in an old folks’ home in Sichuan, and a worker on the production line of the Beijing Jeep factory. Li’s father had made the trip specially to see his son. There had always been difficulties between them, but his father could not bring himself to miss such a moment. He was staying with his daughter and granddaughter during his visit.
Xiao Ling shook Margaret’s hand rather formally. She did not speak English, and she and Margaret had never really hit it off. Neither did Margaret get on with Li’s father, who regarded their relationship as ‘unfortunate’. He would have preferred that Li had found a Chinese girl to father his son. He, too, shook Margaret’s hand. ‘I will come tomorrow to see my grandson,’ he said. ‘With your permission.’ As if she might have refused it.
‘Of course,’ Margaret said.
‘In the afternoon,’ he added.
‘Magret, Magret,’ Xinxin clamoured for her attention. ‘You want drink?’
‘Champagne,’ Margaret said quickly. She needed a drink.
Xinxin came back with champagne for Margaret and an orange juice for herself. Margaret took a couple of quick swallows, and felt the bubbles carry the alcohol almost immediately into her bloodstream. She could do with a few of these, she thought.
‘Perhaps I might be allowed a glass. It is not often that I have had the chance to drink champagne.’ The voice at Margaret’s side startled her, and she turned to find Lao Dai standing by her shoulder. He was wearing a thick blue jacket over a knitted jumper, baggy trousers and scuffed leather shoes. A navy blue baseball cap was pulled down over his bald head. She had met him for the first time only after Yifu’s death, and they had struck up an immediate rapport. He took her hand warmly in both of his and held it for a moment. ‘How are you, Margaret?’ His English was almost perfect.
‘I am well, Mister Dai,’ she said. And she turned to Xinxin. ‘Xinxin, could you get a glass of champagne for Mister Dai?’ Xinxin skipped off, happy to have an errand to run, and Margaret turned back to the old man. ‘And you?’
‘Oh, as always,’ he said. He shook hands, then, with Xiao Ling and Li’s father, and they had a brief exchange in Chinese which, to Margaret’s surprise, brought uncharacteristic laughter to their lips.
‘What’s so funny?’ Margaret asked.
‘Oh, nothing,’ Dai said. ‘I told them I shouldn’t drink too much champagne or Li Yan would have to arrest me for being drunk in charge of a bicycle.’ His eyes twinkled mischievously. Xinxin returned with his champagne and he raised his glass. ‘Cheers,’ he said, and took a long draught of it, putting the back of his hand to his lips as he then broke wind. One or two faces turned and scowled in their direction. But Lao Dai just lifted his glass and grinned, displaying broken and discoloured teeth, and they turned quickly away again. ‘Stuffed shirts,’ the old man whispered conspiratorially to Margaret. ‘In my day you succeeded on merit. Nowadays it’s down to brown-nosing and politics.’ He took another quaff of his champagne. ‘Li Yan is jade among stones.’
A sprinkling of applause drew their attention, and Margaret craned to see Li Yan being led up a broad staircase to the reception room by the Minister of Public Security, flanked by his deputy and the Commissioner of Police. Trailing behind were Deputy Cao and all the wives. Margaret should have been there amongst them. But she and Li Yan were not married, and she was not Chinese. She would be bad for the image of the poster boy.
The crowd parted, like the Red Sea, to let Li and the entourage through to the champagne. The Minister raised his glass and proposed what Margaret took to be a toast. She heard Li Yan’s name, and along with the others she raised her glass and repeated it. The Minister then made a short speech to which everyone listened attentively.
‘What’s he saying?’ Margaret whispered to Dai.
‘Oh, he’s just talking the usual shit,’ said the old man.
Applause marked the end of the speech, and the leading entourage and guests of honour started to make their way through to the auditorium. Lao Dai took Margaret’s arm to steady himself, and Xinxin held her hand, and they followed the crowd downstairs and into the first level of the auditorium where nearly four thousand people were already seated. There were another three thousand on the second floor, and more than two thousand on the top.
The stage was vast, each side draped with long red flags. Margaret, Dai and Li’s family took seats reserved for honoured guests near the front and found themselves almost on a level with the stage. The lights dimmed and there was a fanfare of martial-sounding music, and a visual presentation began, projected on to a large screen disclosed by a rising curtain. There was a voice-over commentary, images of police officers at work: in offices and cars, catching criminals, giving evidence in court. Some flickering archive footage showed early police officers in green army uniform performing military-style drill outside a police station. The film cut to a modern police station with a well-equipped gymnasium and basketball court, and showed smartly dressed officers in their new black uniforms standing cheering a police football team. Then there was news footage of Li Yan leading a man in handcuffs out of an impressive-looking building. Margaret recognised the man as the former deputy mayor of Beijing whom Li had arrested for fraud and corruption. It had been one of the most high profile cases of the last few years. The deputy mayor had been found guilty and sentenced to death, which would mean a bullet in the back of the head. He was currently awaiting the outcome of an appeal that would reduce his sentence to life imprisonment if successful.
The music soared and swooped, switching from martial to classical and back again. It ended as suddenly as it began and everyone dutifully clapped. A curtain fell, and an officer in uniform walked out to a microphone in centre stage and made a short speech. ‘More shit,’ Dai whispered to Margaret, and then the Minister of Public Security walked out to thunderous applause. As the applause died away, he took out a sheaf of notes from an inside pocket and embarked on a speech which lasted nearly fifteen minutes. The Chinese were fond of making speeches. Margaret looked at Dai, but he just shook his head. ‘You don’t even want to know,’ he said.
Margaret looked about her and saw TV cameras strategically placed around the hall, recording the entire ceremony. It was probably going out live on one of the China Central TV stations. A phalanx of press and official photographers was clustered around the front of the stage, cameras flashing. Most of the invited guests would be police officers and their families, she thought, or people employed directly or indirectly by the Ministry — a strange brotherhood to which police everywhere seemed to belong.
The Minister finished his speech, to more applause. An elaborate table draped in red silk had appeared from somewhere — Margaret had not seen it brought on — displaying a wooden shield bearing the red, blue and gold crest of the Ministry of Public Security. The police badge. Beijing Police Commissioner Zhu walked on to shake the Minister’s hand and take up a position in front of the microphone. His rimless glasses caught and reflected the light, and you could not see his eyes. It made him appear oddly sinister, tall and thin and sightless. He waved a hand towards the shield and began speaking.
Dai whispered, ‘He’s talking about Li, now.’ He listened for a bit and then said, ‘He does not much like our young friend.’
‘You mean, Li?’
Dai nodded. ‘He is full of praise. Noisy praise, like a drum with nothing inside it. He says only good things of Li Yan. His tone is honeyed, but there is vinegar on his tongue.’
Margaret glanced around. If Commissioner Zhu’s words were having that effect on other members of the audience there was nothing in their faces to show it. The Minister beamed happily at the Commissioner’s side, and Margaret wondered if perhaps Lao Dai was reading more into the speech than was intended. And yet she knew that he was a clever man, experienced and perceptive. It gave her cause for disquiet.