Searching for locations: The Jade Factory, Beijing, China

The first stop is at a Jade Museum to learn the history of jade. In Chinese, jade is pronounced as “Yu” and it has a history in China of at least four thousand years. On the way there, we are given a story about one of the guide’s relatives who had a jade bracelet, and how it has saved her from countless catastrophes.It is, quite literally ‘the’ good luck charm. Chinese gamblers are known to have small pieces of jade in their hands when visiting the casinos, for good luck. I’m not sure anything could provide a gambler with any sort of luck given how the odds are always slanted towards the house.

At any rate, this is neither the time of the place to debunk a ‘well-known fact’.

On arrival, our guide hands us over to a local guide, a real staff member, and she begins with a discussion on jade while we watch a single worker working on an intricate piece, what looks to be a globe within a globe, sorry, there are two workers, and the second is working on a dragon.

At the end of the passage that passes by the workers, and before you enter the main showroom, you are dazzled by the ship and is nothing short of magnificent.

Then it’s into a small room just off the main showroom where we are taken through the colors, and the carving process in the various stages, without really being told how the magic happens.

Then it’s out into the main showroom where the sales are made, and before dispersing to look at the jade collection, she briefly tells us how to tell real and fake jade, and she does the usual trick of getting one of the tour group to model a piece.

Looks good, let’s move on. To bigger and better examples.

What interested me, other than the small zodiac signs and other smallish pieces on the ‘promotion’ table, was the jade bangle our tour guide told us about on the bus. If anyone needs one, it is my other half, with all the medical issues and her sometimes clumsiness, two particular maladies this object is supposed to prevent.
Jade to the Chinese is Diamonds to westerners, and the jade bangle is often handed down to the females of the family from generation to generation, often as an engagement present, to be worn on the left hand, the one closest to the heart.

There are literally thousands of them, but, they have to be specially fitted to your wrist because if it’s too large, you might lose it if it slips off and I didn’t think it could be too small.
Nor is it cheap, and needing a larger size, it is reasonably expensive. But it is jadeite, the more expensive of the types of jade, and it can only appreciate in value, not that we are interested in the monetary value, it’s more the good luck aspect.

We could use some of that.

But, just to touch on something that can be the bugbear of traveling overseas, is the subject of happy houses, a better name for toilets, and has become a recurrent theme on this tour. It’s better than blurting out the word toilet and it seems there can be some not so happy houses given that the toilets in China are usually squat rather than sit, even for women.
And apparently, everyone has an unhappy house story, particularly the women, and generally in having to squat over a pit. Why is this a discussion point, it seems the jade factory had what we have come to call happy, happy houses which have more proper toilets, and a stop here before going on the great wall was recommended, as the ‘happy house’ at the wall is deemed to be not such a happy house.

Not even this dragon was within my price range. Thank heaven they had smaller more affordable models. The object of having a dragon, large or small, is that it should be placed inside the main door to the house so that money can come in.

It also seems that stuffing the dragon’s mouth with money is also good luck. We passed on doing that.

After spending a small fortune, there was a bonus, free Chinese tea. Apparently, we will be coming back, after the Great Wall visit, to have lunch upstairs.

Writing a book in 365 days – 174

Day 174

Emotional Responses

…

Have you found yourself writing a passage where you have either burst out laughing or shed a tear?

Sometimes, when we are writing certain emotional scenes, that depth of feeling required might actually be a response to something that may have happened to you.

I never thought I could write comedy, because I didn’t believe I had that sort of humour in me. And yet, not so long ago, I was writing a scene where the lines were not meant to be comedic, but just the way the words were going on paper caused me to smile. It was actually something that made me want to write more, if possible, to feed off that first line.

It didn’t quite come as I expected, but over a few days working and reworking, the whole scene came off better than I’d expected, and I was hoping the reader got it.

The same goes for more serious stuff, and I did eventually lean on some of my own feelings on the subject.

But when I was writing it, it was sad, yes, but it didn’t evoke an emotional response.

When I came back to it a few days later, for some odd reason, it did. I actually found tears in my eyes, and I realised that it did hark back to an event where, at the time, it hadn’t affected me, but with more of the story, it did.

Now, writing about my family history and finding out a lot of things I didn’t know about my parents and grandparents, those emotions sometimes run so high, it’s not possible to write. I wonder, when someone finally gets around to reading it, they might have the same feelings.

First Dig Two Graves

A sequel to “The Devil You Don’t”

…

Revenge is a dish best served cold – or preferably so when everything goes right

Of course, it rarely does, as Alistair, Zoe’s handler, discovers to his peril. Enter a wildcard, John, and whatever Alistair’s plan for dealing with Zoe was dies with him.

It leaves Zoe in completely unfamiliar territory.

…

John’s idyllic romance with a woman who is utterly out of his comfort zone is on borrowed time. She is still trying to reconcile her ambivalence, after being so indifferent for so long.

They agree to take a break, during which she disappears. John, thinking she has left without saying goodbye, refuses to accept the inevitable, calls on an old friend for help in finding her.

After the mayhem and being briefly reunited, she recognises an inevitable truth: there is a price to pay for taking out Alistair; she must leave and find them first, and he would be wise to keep a low profile.

But keeping a low profile just isn’t possible, and enlisting another friend, a private detective and his sister, a deft computer hacker, they track her to the border between Austria and Hungary.

What John doesn’t realise is that another enemy is tracking him to find her too. It could have been a grand tour of Europe. Instead, it becomes a race against time before enemies old and new converge for what will be an inevitable showdown.

Writing a book in 365 days – 172/173

Days 172 and 173

Writing exercise – Something they thought they had known all their lives turns out to be false.

…

Someone once told me that weddings and funerals brought out the worst in people. Even those you thought were family.

Of course, it was not so much the fact that people could be very nasty, they could and with very little provocation, but there was always a catalyst, and it had nothing to do with human nature.

It had everything to do with money.

I knew this because I had spent the last 30 years of my life with my older brothers and, like the last sibling in the family spoiled and treated more favourably than those who came before, but not in a bad way.

After all, we were family.

Our mother and father treated us all with the same disdain the moment we were all old enough to fend for ourselves. They had the means and wherewithal to give us an easy life, but they instead chose to cut us off the dat we turned 21 and made it a rule we had to fend for ourselves

For David, the eldest, now 45, and William, his twin brother, for Wendy, second eldest, 43, George, third eldest, 41 and Petulia, my youngest sister, 39 and then me, the surprise, Andrew, who just turned 30.

The others went to very expensive schools and had the benefit of the old school tie, some of which they often bemoaned, having spent time at boarding school.

The girls did the same, and then were finished off in Switzerland, the sort of girls who should have married Dukes or sons of Dukes and be living in castles. They certainly had the expenses, the expensive tastes, and the posh voices to go with it.

Just not the Dukes.

And my brothers, they had all perfected the art of starting, but never finishing, a project and had to be saved, if only to save the family name.

My father didn’t like failure. I took that to heart and used my polytechnic education and turned it into a gold mine, one I simply avoided telling the others about because I knew this day would come.

The day the cash cow stopped handing out cash.

The day our parents died in a plane crash, in a plane my father was piloting until he had a heart attack and lost control of it, and from which plane my mother had called me to ask me what she could do.

I didn’t get to tell her it was too late.

Three days after the funeral, one that made page two in the national dailies for a reason I won’t go into, that would take a book, we assembled in the morning room of Ballyshore Manor, the family seat.

It was the reading of the will. It was exactly the same for Mother as it was for Father.

Expectations were high. My siblings were not the sort of people who understood economics or the vagaries of accounting.

They had no idea how much it cost to run a household, maintain servants or a hundred-acre estate, or the value of family heirlooms and history.

They had all met, without me, to discuss what it was worth and how they would divvy up the proceeds. I deduced this when they all arrived at the Manor, and under the guise of reacquainting themselves with their home, each had a section, a clipboard with lots of blank paper and started writing down everything that was for sale.

They thought their surreptitious activities were undetectable. They forgot about the servants who noted everything they did, and those activities were in Davidson’s report to me.

Davidson was the Butler, the head of the household, along with Joanne, in charge of everything else, and if she was to be believed, everything Davidson was responsible for.

They and the other servants had their future to worry about. But what they did was no surprise. They showed no remorse or feelings at the funeral, other than a few crocodile tears.

They filed in one by one, each giving the other a sly look, like they had a shared secret, one that had been kept from me.

Mr Wilkinson of Wilkinson, Wilkinson, Wilkinson, and Wilks, the elder and my father’s best friend from school days, was the solicitor who would be reading the will.

I had asked him if he knew what was in it, and he said no. Father had made a late change, and Wilkinson, the younger, had attended to the details, then sealed it.

Father had wanted it that way.

And he had said just before the twins arrived, he was looking forward to the roller coaster ride.

With everyone in attendance, I chose a seat in the third row, and the reading began.

“Firstly, I would like to thank you all for coming. Your father specifically asked that I should do the reading from this room rather than in Chambers.

“It is a pleasure to finally get back here and I know that both your parents wanted to keep the Manor in the family, but, as you can imagine,” he held up the sealed envelope with the new will in it, “I’m guessing it will depend on what’s in here.”

He then made a great show of opening the envelope and showing it the Wilkinson the younger to verify it was the last will and testament.

I could see the reflection of the five other siblings in the floor-to-ceiling doors that, in summer, opened out on the patio, but closed for winter, salivating at the riches they were about to get their hands on.

I tried hard to hide my disappointment.

He read the legal stuff before getting to the meat of the matter.

“Your mother and I were proud as punch when our twins, David and William, were born, and there have been ongoing discussions, sometimes heated, over who was first. It can now be settled. David was first, therefore the eldest, and all things considered, the heir apparent.

“In name only, though. Whether first or sixth, it had no bearing on how the inheritances are allocated.”

A momentary pause while David’s supercilious and smug look turned to a rather pug-ugly expression.

“The idea was that each of you should get one-sixth of the inheritance. Then Dorothy,” that was Mother’s name, “said we should take into account the benefits we paid out each time each of you stumbled, because quite frankly she was annoyed that after being given the best education and the best start in life all of you managed to fail, not once, but in one case six times. And all during those failures, not once did you think to exercise economy and stop living high on the hog.”

Wilkinson stopped and looked at each one of them.

When he got to David, David said, ” You can skip the pathetic attempt to tell us we were not as good as them. It was their fault anyway. They knew baling us out. They should have been tougher.”

It probably was their fault, but like all proud parents, they had hoped sooner or later one or all of them might change.

That was never going to happen.

“Well, perhaps belatedly they might be. Let us continue.” He shuffled through three sheets, a long dissertation no doubt of their shortcomings, and then at the next took up the reading.

“So, in light of all yor failures, the final sums to be deducted in round numbers, from your inheritances will be, David, twenty three million pounds, William, twenty eight million pounds, Wendy, twelve million pounds, George, twenty two million pounds, Joanne, one million pounds, and Andrew, zero pounds.”

“How does he get no deduction?” William demanded.

“He had a successful company and contributed about a hundred million pounds to the estate.”

“What? How?” David swivelled on his chair to glare at me.

“Father never lent me anything. I told him I had an idea, and he said to run with it. When the estate was having financial problems, I contributed some working capital.”

“Which in turn means that your parents have to return those funds as per the terms of the loan agreement between your parents and Andrews company, Lightseek Investments.”

“Wouldn’t that be up to the heirs of the estate?”

“It could be argued that it is possible. But it would have to be deducted from the proceeds of the sale if such a sale were contemplated by the heirs.”

“Then I guess it’s time to find out who the heirs are, not that we don’t already know.”

I was guessing he had the estate valued, and if he was smarter than I thought he was, he would have asked around whether any of the neighbours and one in particular, were interested. My own enquiries valued the estate as a going concern, at about three hundred and twenty-five million pounds.

“Right. There’s just a little more preamble. After thirty years of disappointing results, I asked a private investigator to look into each of my children and their heritage. The thing is, my brother’s children are all successful businesspeople and success was written into our DNA. Samples were taken from each of my brothers’ children and mine and compared.

“Here’s the surprise. The only child in the room, who is my son, is Andrew. The rest of you are not. Apparently, Dorothy had a long-standing affair with another man, and each of you is his progeny, not mine. Therefore, as far as I’m concerned, none of you is entitled to inherit anything from the estate, except Andrew. You may be entitled to inherit something from your mother and the man who is your legitimate father. If you can find him. Therefore, the whole of my estate and everything else that I possessed are left to my son, Andrew.”

David leapt out of his chair, and his usual high-pitched bluster, yelled, ” This is rubbish. He can’t do this. We are his children irrespective of who our real or imaginary father is or was. We will fight this and win.”

“That might be so, but there’s just one more problem. You can sue for possession of the Manor, the estate and everything else, but currently it is under an order where, unless the debts of the estate are not paid within one month of the date of your parents’ death, the property will be siexed by the financiers given the debt.”

“That can’t be much,”

“Thirty-six million pounds, after the loan to Andrew’s company, is repaid. The finance company will have a fire sale, and you will all inherit debt, which none of you can pay.”

“Andrew will pay it,” Joanna said, as a favour to his siblings. After all, it sounds like he’s made of money, plenty to go around.”

I smiled. She was sweetly naive but of the same stock as her older brothers and sister.

“No. You wasted every opportunity afforded you, and I’m not going to perpetuate fathers’ generosity. You leave her with debts to pay or nothing. Your high life is over.

“This can’t be happening,” Wendy muttered. “How can Mother have done this to us?”

I stood and looked at Wilkinson, the elder. “When does all of this need to be settled?”

“The weeks. I’ve scheduled a meeting with the creditors.”

“Good. I’ll see you again in several days. Tell the staff they have nothing to worry about. I’ll be staying here for six months of the year.”

“What about us?” George said.

“You are not family, and have no right to live here or to expect anything. I suggest you find your real father and sponge off him. Or, worst possible scenario, get a job. I’m sure my employment people will find you something. Wilkinson has the cards if you want one.”

“Did you know?” Wendy asked.

“No. He never said a word to me or anyone. He did tell me how proud he was of you lot when he didn’t know you were not his, and had always hoped success would happen. But maybe he did have an idea because now I remember our last conversation before he died. He rather cryptically said that he hoped one day that you would overcome the genes you inherited. I didn’t have much of it at the time.

“You can’t just leave us here with nothing.”

“No. I guess not. Tell you what. You prove to Wilkinson here that you have a job and are earning an income for three months, and I’ll have him issue you with a check for half a million pounds. And if you can keep that job, a half million each year thereafter. Take it or leave it.”

They took it.

But what happened on the road to achieving success was another story.

…

Searching for locations: The Jade Factory, Beijing, China

At any rate, this is neither the time of the place to debunk a ‘well-known fact’.

At the end of the passage that passes by the workers, and before you enter the main showroom, you are dazzled by the ship and is nothing short of magnificent.

Then it’s into a small room just off the main showroom where we are taken through the colors, and the carving process in the various stages, without really being told how the magic happens.

Looks good, let’s move on. To bigger and better examples.

We could use some of that.

It also seems that stuffing the dragon’s mouth with money is also good luck. We passed on doing that.

After spending a small fortune, there was a bonus, free Chinese tea. Apparently, we will be coming back, after the Great Wall visit, to have lunch upstairs.

Another excerpt from ‘Betrayal’; a work in progress

…

My next destination in the quest was the hotel we believed Anne Merriweather had stayed at.

I was, in a sense, flying blind because we had no concrete evidence she had been there, and the message she had left behind didn’t quite name the hotel or where Vladimir was going to take her.

Mindful of the fact that someone might have been following me, I checked to see if the person I’d assumed had followed me to Elizabeth’s apartment was still in place, but I couldn’t see him. Next, I made a mental note of seven different candidates and committed them to memory.

Then I set off to the hotel, hailing a taxi. There was the possibility the cab driver was one of them, but perhaps I was slightly more paranoid than I should be. I’d been watching the queue, and there were two others before me.

The journey took about an hour, during which time I kept an eye out the back to see if anyone had been following us. If anyone was, I couldn’t see them.

I had the cab drop me off a block from the hotel and then spent the next hour doing a complete circuit of the block the hotel was on, checking the front and rear entrances, the cameras in place, and the siting of the driveway into the underground carpark. There was a camera over the entrance, and one we hadn’t checked for footage. I sent a text message to Fritz to look into it.

The hotel lobby was large and busy, which was exactly what you’d want if you wanted to come and go without standing out. It would be different later at night, but I could see her arriving about mid-afternoon, and anonymous among the type of clientele the hotel attracted.

I spent an hour sitting in various positions in the lobby simply observing. I had already ascertained where the elevator lobby for the rooms was, and the elevator down to the car park. Fortunately, it was not ‘guarded’ but there was a steady stream of concierge staff coming and going to the lower levels, and, just from time to time, guests.

Then, when there was a commotion at the front door, what seemed to be a collision of guests and free-wheeling bags, I saw one of the seven potential taggers sitting by the front door. Waiting for me to leave? Or were they wondering why I was spending so much time there?

Taking advantage of that confusion, I picked my moment to head for the elevators that went down to the car park, pressed the down button, and waited.

The was no car on the ground level, so I had to wait, watching, like several others, the guests untangling themselves at the entrance, and an eye on my potential surveillance, still absorbed in the confusion.

The doors to the left car opened, and a concierge stepped out, gave me a quick look, then headed back to his desk. I stepped into the car, pressed the first level down, the level I expected cars to arrive on, and waited what seemed like a long time for the doors to close.

As they did, I was expecting to see a hand poke through the gap, a latecomer. Nothing happened, and I put it down to a television moment.

There were three basement levels, and for a moment, I let my imagination run wild and considered the possibility that there were more levels. Of course, there was no indication on the control panel that there were any other floors, and I’d yet to see anything like it in reality.

With a shake of my head to return to reality, the car arrived, the doors opened, and I stepped out.

A car pulled up, and the driver stepped out, went around to the rear of his car, and pulled out a case. I half expected him to throw me the keys, but the instant glance he gave me told him was not the concierge, and instead brushed past me like I wasn’t there.

He bashed the up button several times impatiently and cursed when the doors didn’t open immediately. Not a happy man.

Another car drove past on its way down to a lower level.

I looked up and saw the CCTV camera, pointing towards the entrance, visible in the distance. A gate that lifted up was just about back in position and then made a clunk when it finally closed. The footage from the camera would not prove much, even if it had been working, because it didn’t cover the life lobby, only in the direction of the car entrance.

The doors to the other elevator car opened, and a man in a suit stepped out.

“Can I help you, sir? You seem lost.”

Security, or something else. “It seems that way. I went to the elevator lobby, got in, and it went down rather than up. I must have been in the wrong place.”

“Lost it is, then, sir.” I could hear the contempt for Americans in his tone. “If you will accompany me, please.”

He put out a hand ready to guide me back into the elevator. I was only too happy to oblige him. There had been a sign near the button panel that said the basement levels were only to be accessed by the guests.

Once inside, he turned a key and pressed the lobby button. The doors closed, and we went up. He stood, facing the door, not speaking. A few seconds later, he was ushering me out to the lobby.

“Now, sir, if you are a guest…”

“Actually, I’m looking for one. She called me and said she would be staying in this hotel and to come down and visit her. I was trying to get to the sixth floor.”

“Good. Let’s go over the the desk and see what we can do for you.”

I followed him over to the reception desk, where he signalled one of the clerks, a young woman who looked and acted very efficiently, and told her of my request, but then remained to oversee the proceeding.

“Name of guest, sir?”

“Merriweather, Anne. I’m her brother, Alexander.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my passport to prove that I was who I said I was. She glanced cursorily at it.

She typed the name into the computer, and then we waited a few seconds while it considered what to output. Then, she said, “That lady is not in the hotel, sir.”

Time to put on my best-confused look. “But she said she would be staying here for the week. I made a special trip to come here to see her.”

Another puzzled look from the clerk, then, “When did she call you?”

An interesting question to ask, and it set off a warning bell in my head. I couldn’t say today, it would have to be the day she was supposedly taken.

“Last Saturday, about four in the afternoon.”

Another look at the screen, then, “It appears she checked out Sunday morning. I’m afraid you have made a trip in vain.”

Indeed, I had. “Was she staying with anyone?”

I just managed to see the warning pass from the suited man to the clerk. I thought he had shown an interest when I mentioned the name, and now I had confirmation. He knew something about her disappearance. The trouble was, he wasn’t going to volunteer any information because he was more than just hotel security.

“No.”

“Odd,” I muttered. “I thought she told me she was staying with a man named Vladimir something or other. I’m not too good at pronouncing those Russian names. Are you sure?”

She didn’t look back at the screen. “Yes.”

“OK, now one thing I do know about staying in hotels is that you are required to ask guests with foreign passports their next destination, just in case they need to be found. Did she say where she was going next?” It was a long shot, but I thought I’d ask.

“Moscow. As I understand it, she lives in Moscow. That was the only address she gave us.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I know where that is. I probably should have gone there first.”

She didn’t answer; she didn’t have to, her expression did that perfectly.

The suited man spoke again, looking at the clerk. “Thank you.” He swivelled back to me. “I’m sorry we can’t help you.”

“No. You have more than you can know.”

“What was your name again, sir, just in case you still cannot find her?”

“Alexander Merriweather. Her brother. And if she is still missing, I will be posting a very large reward. At the moment, you can best contact me via the American Embassy.”

Money is always a great motivator, and that thoughtful expression on his face suggested he gave a moment’s thought to it.

I left him with that offer and left. If anything, the people who were holding her would know she had a brother, that her brother was looking for her, and equally that brother had money.