Lee was well known on these waters. He’d grown up playing and fishing on them, and gained and lost a fortune on them too, in his youth. He collaborated with some of the fishers occasionally, purse seining for sea bream. The other fishers and boat people were generous when the saw the two downed craft. They didn’t know whose fault it was, and they didn’t ask. They gave towels and blankets and hot tea to the wet victims. Under Captain Lee’s direction they righted Granny’s boat. She was still upset because she lived on that boat, and all her worldly possessions were lost.

The British woman continued to apologize. “I’m sorry. We’ll replace everything. Selby, tell the lady you’re sorry. What you did wasn’t very nice.”

The British captain said nothing. He was embarrassed, but he didn’t want to make himself small before this low-class Chinese woman.

Cheung recognized him. He was the nephew of the Hong Kong Cricket Club’s president, Richard Hancock. This nephew, Selby Hancock, worked as a teller at the Hongkong and Shanghai Banking Corporation. Like many of the expats who worked here, he’d been in Hong Kong for only a couple of years. He didn’t seem to recognize Cheung. Or if he did, he didn’t let on. Cheung wondered whether he should or shouldn’t identify himself.

Selby Hancock drained his teacup. A woman from one of the boats that came to help poured him more tea.

“Mr Hancock,” Cheung said, “you know me, I think?”

Selby Hancock wouldn’t look at him.

But the British woman said, “Cookie Cheung! It’s me, Elizabeth!”

Cheung recognized her too, then. She was Hancock’s young wife, who sometimes came with him to the club. “Mrs Hancock,” he said.

“I didn’t think you would know these kinds of people, Cheung,” said Mrs Hancock. She’d never seen him outside the context of the cricket club.

“These kinds of people?” Cheung gave her a quizzical look. “These people are my people. This is Captain Lee. My sworn brother. Brings you the crab you eat at the club on Tuesdays.”

“I’m sorry, Cookie,” Mrs Hancock said. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

But she did, and Cheung knew it, and he felt absurdly ashamed, whether for himself or Mrs Hancock, he wasn’t sure.

Unlike her husband, who couldn’t care less, Mrs Hancock was astute enough, and cared enough, to know that she had hurt his feelings, though she couldn’t fully figure out why. “We’re sorry, Cookie, truly,” she said. “What can we do to make it up to you?”

“You didn’t hurt me,” said Cheung, automatically saving face for both of them. “But Granny Tang lost everything.”

“Ask her what she lost,” Mrs Hancock said. “We’ll replace it.”