visit. You and Victor,” he added. “I thought I’d stay there for years more, but it turns out the French can’t build a railroad properly without an Englishman’s help.”
As a waiter approached, Red raised his glass and asked for another Pegu Club. “Two,” he corrected himself. “This young lady needs to be initiated.” He threw his forearms on the table with a bang. They were as hairy as his chest. “I think you would like Burma. You have a wild air about you. You’re trying to hide it, but I see it. People like that thrive in places like Indochine and Burma. Personally, they suit me better than home. I’m just too undomesticated for London, or Paris for that matter. I tried that one, too. Wasn’t a good fit.”
“You should work on your accent then,” I said, trying to break myself from his spell and hold up my end of the conversation. “It’s much too proper. You won’t convince anyone—or at least me—that you’re a savage if you sound like King George.”
“Hard thing to shake, an accent,” he said, sipping the last of his drink.
“I’ve been told that a few times,” I agreed.
“Your accent becomes you,” he said, looking at me quizzically. “To be honest, I’ve never heard an American speak like you.”
“You’ve only met New Yorkers probably.”
Red twirled his glass in his hand and leaned back. “I met a man from California in Rangoon. Railroad man.”
“As in he worked on the railroad or he owned the railroad?” I asked.
“I believe he owned it,” Red said, laughing.
“Then he definitely didn’t sound like me.”
“What do the French think of your accent?”
“Some think it’s terrible, others find it charming,” I said honestly. It was mostly the men who found it charming.
“It’s quite obviously the latter. And your French is extremely good. Almost as good as mine.”
“It’s not quite, but thank you. It’s my favorite language, even when spoken with an American accent,” I said, turning up the drawl.
“It’s everyone’s favorite language, trust me. When French women find out I’m a Brit, there’s nothing I can do to compete with their countrymen,” he said, shrugging.
It was clear from the shrug that he didn’t believe that for a second. Red had obviously come out on top most of his life.
He pushed his dark blond hair out of his eyes and nodded to a man who had just walked in.
“That’s the résident supérieur of Tonkin,” he said. “Stodgy grump when he’s sober but marvelous when he’s drunk. So, avoid him during daylight hours. You can tell that to Victor, too. If he needs to work with him, it best be between one and three in the morning.”
“I’ll pass along the advice,” I said. “Where are you from in England?” I asked.
“Buckinghamshire.”
“And where did you go to school?”
“Cambridge.”
“Are you married?”
“Never,” he said softly, leaning toward me. He picked up my glass and drained it for me.
I laughed, and he laid his hand on my shoulder. Firmly.
“That’s my cue,” he said, keeping his grip on me. “Marcelle is on her way back, but I just got the prettiest woman in the room to laugh. Now I can start my day properly. A pleasure meeting you, Jessie Lesage. I’m sure I will cross your golden path again soon.”
TWELVE
Marcelle
September 24, 1933
“Sang has been found out.”
“What?” I mumbled, Khoi’s words startling me awake. Since he had returned in 1930, one of Khoi’s first missions was to study the management pyramid of the Michelin plantations, which was easily done by traveling north into the rural provinces of Tonkin and finding former coolies who had worked there and were willing to talk for a modest sum. On each plantation, the laborers were divided into villages to live and then into smaller teams of ten to work. Each team of laborers was overseen by a foreman, native like them. Above the foreman was an overseer, who was usually mixed-race and spoke French. These overseers reported to the chief overseers. Above them all reigned the plantation manager. The Annamites could not rise above an overseer position, but those overseers were at least given their own rooms, unlike the laborers, who slept fifty to a barracks and had only a few square feet of living space to call their own. The mixed-race overseers came from varying backgrounds, unlike the French, who for the most part had gone straight from the army to Michelin. Plantations followed a strict hierarchy, and the number of men on them was massive and, according to the French, needed to be