CHAPTER 1
Phillip had been through the whole education system: primary school, secondary school, Sixth Form College, and now King's College, University of London. He had just finished his final exam in his law degree and was now sitting, waiting to leave university forever.
He was sure he had aced his finals and that he would come out with a 2:1 at least, perhaps a first. As he already had a degree in Scottish law, a pass in these exams would mean he could practise in courts in Northern Ireland and Wales as well as both English and Scottish courts.
He looked around at his fellow students, who were still writing. He hadn't really got on with the majority of them. He had very little in common with them, with their college scarves and V-neck sweaters and sensible shoes. He looked down at his bomber jacket lying on the floor, his faded jeans, and on-trend trainers. Phil wasn't your ordinary guy, maybe not quite your ordinary lawyer to be, with his shoulder-length curly hair and T-shirt.
The clock on the wall facing him was now ticking down to the end of the allocated exam time, and the exam invigilator was also checking it against his watch. Then disturbing the silence in the room, he boomed: "That's it, ladies and gentlemen. Time up. Please stop writing and put your pens down."
That was it. That was the end of university. Phillip wouldn't be coming back. He picked up his bomber jacket off the floor and made his way to the door, stopping on the way to talk to the invigilator and shake his hand.
Once outside, he gave a large sigh of relief. He was standing there, looking up at the university, when a gust of warm wind blew his hair all over his face, bringing him swiftly back to reality. Putting the books under his left arm and sliding his right finger through the loop in the back inside collar of his bomber jacket, and throwing it over his shoulder; he started to walk out of the university for the last time, turning right along the busy street on his way home.
"Home. Well, home is in Inverness in Scotland", Phil thought, as he strolled along the street looking at the shops and everything that was going on in the street. An advertisement caught his eye in the travel agent's window.
"The Forbidden City, Beijing" it stated intriguingly. Phil stood reading the poster on the window and digesting the information.
The Forbidden City situated in the very heart of Beijing was home to 24 emperors of the Ming 1368–1644 and Qing 1644–1911 Dynasties.
He was drawn in by the mystery of it.
"Fuck it", thought Phil. "I'll go there. It's not much and it's for two weeks all inclusive, and I deserve time off." He peered through a gap in the window which wasn't covered in posters advertising different holidays, to see whether it was busy or not. "Looks OK", he thought. He opened the door and went in. He stood on the red carpet, holding his jacket and books down in front of him, waiting his turn as he looked at the four girls in their blue uniforms sitting behind their desks, talking to their prospective customers.
Some of the girls were just wearing their white blouses with their jackets slung over the back of their chairs, and they were the ones Phil was concentrating on. Straining to see if he could get a slight glimpse of a frilly bra through their white blouses, but all he could see was the shape of the girls' breasts trying to push their way through the white blouses that were keeping them captive.
Phil took them in turn, looking at each girl and asking himself which one was the best looking. Before he could make up his mind, a couple in front of him got up and moved away, leaving the girl tidying up her desk and doing something to the computer; then she looked up at Phil and smiled, asking politely if she could help him.
"Yes", said Phil, pulling out the chair and sitting down before leaning over to put his books and jacket on the floor beside him. He told her that he wanted to go to the Forbidden City in Beijing, the holiday on that poster, as he turned and pointed to the one on the window. He turned back to face the blonde haired girl behind her desk. She turned to her computer and started to press the keys, but he couldn't see what she was doing or what was coming up on her screen; he just had to wait, but he filled his time by looking at the girl's breasts and the outline of her bra.
"Just a plain white bra, no lace, boring." His attention was brought back when the girl spoke again. "What date were you planning on?" she asked.
Phil told her and asked if he could fly out of Glasgow Airport. He waited to hear what she was going to say, as she checked her computer again; she looked back at Phil and said that it would cost more to fly out from Scotland.
"That's OK", Phil assured her. "Would you do one more thing for me please?" The girl smiled, waiting for Phil to say what he was going to say. "Could you book me a flight to Inverness this weekend?" Phil handed her his credit card and waited again for the transaction to go through. Once complete, he thanked her and began picking up his things from the floor, as the girl wished him a nice holiday and held out her hand with his credit card.
On leaving the travel agents, Phil stood outside and slung his jacket over his shoulder once again, nearly hitting a passer-by with it. He smiled and apologised to the person as he fixed his jacket, put the books back under his arm, and began to walk along the street, grinning to himself for booking the holiday to China.
That was Phil all over – spontaneous. He did things without much thought and sometimes found himself in rather nasty dilemmas – always because he hadn't thought it through first. He walked along the street with a big grin on his face as he always did when he was pleased with himself.
He stopped and stood at the edge of the curb, waiting to cross to the coffee shop that he always called into on his way home, when he spotted a young girl struggling to hold her short summer dress down. The dress was getting blown about in the warm summer wind, and as she held the front down the back would get caught and be lifted up more than she would have liked, showing off a good top part of her thigh and revealing to Phil and other people a pair of yellow knickers covering a nice round bum. As she pulled the back down, the wind caught the front, resulting in the same lifting and causing her to walk in the most awkward way, in a sort of crouching, walking position with her bag slung over her shoulder.
Phil just stood there, taking in the delightful scene as the wind teased this young girl along the street, who was struggling to get to where she was going. He stood longer than necessary, just looking and thinking to himself: "She won't wear that dress in the wind again", as she turned the corner and disappeared out of sight, much to his disappointment.
He got his coffee, having some difficulty in drinking it with his jacket slung over his shoulder and the books under his arm, but he struggled away, sipping at it as he made his way home.
While he was down here in London he was sharing a flat with six other students – a large town house that had been altered to accommodate students. All the rooms were bedsits and Phil's, and a few of the others that he had seen, was very basic – a fridge, a round table in the middle of the room with hardly any varnish left on it, three chairs in the same state around it, a bed with two bedside tables (varnish also peeling off ), in fact, there was no varnish on anything really, and a large armchair opposite a TV with a blanket thrown over it to hide the berry burns from the joints that had been smoked by the last tenant, or was it the one before him ...? Phil didn't smoke joints; he preferred to smoke his cannabis in a pipe, but saying that, if he was offered some cannabis in a rolled-up form he wouldn't say no to it.
Leading off the hallway were stairs going up to more rooms and stone steps leading down to the basement where you had a small bathroom with a bath and washbasin, another small room with a toilet and shower, and a large kitchen that everyone used. The back door through the kitchen led out into a damp passageway that opened out in a communal garden.
Phil's phone rang in his pocket as he walked home along the bustling street. "Just to make things even more difficult, another thing to try and hold", he thought as he looked around for a place to put his books, jacket, and his coffee down. Still on the street and struggling to get to a shop window ledge through the crowds, he managed to answer it before it rang off: "Hello … hello? Oh hi, Mum, yes, I did, no, yes, I'll be coming home this weekend, yes, y-e-s, and how's Dad, Mum? OK, must go, see you this weekend," stuttered Phil, putting the phone back in his pocket, and lifting all his belongings back up again, he continued his walk to the flat.
Phil phoned home before boarding his plane at Heathrow because he knew that it would take time to get from London to Inverness, and then the drive to his home. He had got his mum when he phoned and asked her if she could meet him off the plane, but it was the same answer as always.
"I don't know, dear. We are very busy here, and I don't know if I can spare the time dear. If I really have to, I could go to the Cash and Carry as it is near the airport so the whole day isn't wasted."
There was never a straight answer like: "Yes, dear" or "No, dear"; it had to be "Oh well, if I have to".
The plane touched down in Inverness, and as he came through customs he saw his mum standing waiting for him. There were the usual greetings, and before Phil could ask how his dad was, his mum had already marched off ahead.
"I must get to Cash and Carry and away home before the rush hour. You know what it's like, dear."
"Yes, Mum", Phil thought, following her through the terminal, through the glass doors, out into the rain and across into the car park.
Home was Bromley Hall – a large rambling country house with about 20 bedrooms and the usual other rooms that large country houses have. There were about 3,869 acres of park land and sport facilities, shooting on very fine grouse moors, stalking a number of fine stags on a number of hills on the estate, as well as fishing on two well-stocked rivers.
Bromley Hall had the usual stable yard with about twelve loose boxes and a selection of fine horses to suit all riders. In fact, it was a very well-run business and busy all year round with an international clientele. As the men fished or shot, their wives lay about in the heated pool area or played tennis or went horse riding. Dinner was included in the whole package, and the package was in no way cheap. If the ladies didn't like any of that, they could be pampered at the Bromley Hall spa.
They turned in through the gates of the long driveway up to the house and parked outside the front door. Phil helped his mum unpack the assortment of things that she had got from the Cash and Carry and carried them through to the kitchen where he was warmly welcomed by their old German cook, who embraced him warmly. For all the years that Phil had been a small boy, she had been the family cook; yet she still had her very strong German accent.
"Congratulations, I hear you passed your examinations - good boy," she praised and gave him another big hug and a kiss on the cheek. "Sit, I give you coffee. Sit, sit, Phil, and tell me all about London and what you got up to."
"You really want to know, Helga?" Phil laughed as he replied, smilingly cheekily.
"Oh, you naughty boy!" Helga exclaimed, as she took the kettle off the large cooking range and started to pour water into a mug. Phil stood beside the large wooden table and sipped away at his coffee, telling the cook most, but not all, of the things that he had done recently.
There was a commotion as the back door opened and his father came bursting in with the estate gamekeeper, both carrying partridges in one hand and a shotgun under the other arm. They put their game down on the side table and propped the guns up against the wall.
Phil's dad came over to him, giving him a big hug and a slap on the back and shaking his shoulders firmly, and the kitchen erupted with everyone talking to everyone else all at once.
At dinner that night came the usual discussion about the estate and how to improve it. Phil quietly awaited his time to ask one of them if they would run him to the airport on Monday. Deep down, he knew that it would be the same as always; he hated to ask them anything because of the fuss.
The opportunity rose and Phil asked the question: "Can one of you run me to the airport on Monday?" Phil's mother was, as always, the first to answer: "But you have just arrived here, dear." "I know," Phil interjected, "but I have booked a flight to China."
The room fell quiet.
"Where, dear?"
"China, Mum," Phil said softly.
"What on earth are you going there for?" His father stared at him.
"Dad, I'm just taking some time out, from all the studying that I have been doing for the past God knows how long. I need a break from all of it", Phil explained in a stern voice so that it might get through to them how hard he had been working to get to where he was.
There was another silence around the table, broken only when his father spoke up: "Quite right, Phil, take some time off, and where did you say you were going?" "I'm going to the Forbidden City in Beijing." He started to tell them all about it and what he had read at the travel agent. After Phil had told them everything that he knew about it, his mum was keen to know why he had chosen China.
Putting the glass of wine back down on to the table after taking a drink out of it, he wiped his mouth with the starched white napkin and explained: "Just because", he started, "I saw a poster in this travel agent's shop window just before I left London and I booked it there and then, Mum."
"Just like you! Doing things without thinking it through first!" his mum shot back, accusingly.
"Well?" Phil said, thinking back to his initial question. "Well what, dear?" His mother looked at him with questioning eyes.
"God!" Phil said in exasperation. "Phil! Don't speak like that," his mum chided.
"Will one of you p-l-e-a-s-e take me on Monday?" Phil asked politely this time.
"Yes, yes, I will take you," his father said at last. "I'll need to get to the gunsmith and pick up that gun that I put in a week ago anyway."
"Thanks, Dad," said Phil, all the while thinking why they couldn't just say: "Yes, I'll take you", without saying that they had to do something or go somewhere, just a simple: "Yes, I'll take you, dear".
He took another drink of wine and finished what was in his glass; he put it down and went to reach for the bottle that was perched on the table near his mum, asking before he poured the wine into his own glass whether anyone else would like more.
"No, dear," his mum said. "I must go and see Helga before she goes to bed." She got up swiftly and left the room.
"Dad?" Phil gestured the wine towards his father's glass. "No, I'm going to have some brandy and a cigar. Want one?"
Phil agreed to the cigar and moved up to sit closer to his father, whilst his dad got up and went to get the brandy decanter from the side table and the box of Havana cigars. Returning to the table with them, his father gave a happy sigh.
"Now we can have that chat at long last," laughed his dad, and together they stayed there drinking brandy and smoking till the early hours.
CHAPTER 2
China
Phil flew with Emirates to Beijing Capital International Airport. The plane made its final approach and touched down smoothly. Phil sat there looking out of the window; the plane slowed down and taxied to the appropriate exit. Phil heard the engines die down, go quiet and stop.
The Captain spoke over the speakers: "Thanks for flying with Emirates and I hope you enjoyed your flight." Then all hell broke loose with people getting their things out of the overhead storage lockers. Phil just sat there until most of the people had gone. Then he got up and grabbed his things, making his way to the front of the plane where a flight attendant was waiting to say good bye. Phil smiled and said: "Good bye and thanks", and made his way up through the tunnel to the terminals.
Once he had cleared customs he made his way to the airport express subway system and got a ticket; he had been told by the flight attendant that the airport was about thirty two kilometres northeast of Beijing. He was headed for the Crown Plaza International hotel in the Tianzha, Shun Yi District. The subway was modern, clean and so very efficient that it didn't take long to get to where he was going. The hotel he was staying in was within walking distance from his stop.
It was some place. The hotel looked so grand that Phil caught his breath in his throat.
As he made his way to the glass door it was opened for him by a man in a green uniform with white gloves. Phil smiled and walked through and along the shiny tiled floor towards the lobby desk. He dropped his bag at the lobby desk and stood there waiting for one of the girls in their green uniforms to come, and as he waited he looked around at the large lobby.
