Gathering for Auntie Joan's birthday is a tradition in our family. The last surviving member of her generation, she's the glue keeping us together. Now in her seventies, Auntie hasn't let herself go. She's a lady with style. She never married, but according to my Mum" there were men in her life. In one unfortunate romance, he turned out to be married with children. Wanting no truck with being a little wife, Auntie, broken hearted, kicked him out once she knew the truth. This year, my cousin Betty Leung rang around. "Hello Alvin..."


"Yes Betty."

"Auntie's birthday; on the tenth, we're meeting at the Happy Valley club house, Fortune Restaurant. You'll be there, won't you." After a fine dinner we adjourned to the side lounge of the Derby Bar. With backlit, sliced, yellow marble panelling, a vaulted ceiling and deep carpet, the room felt opulent. Away from the hubbub, we sank into chintzy chairs, around glossy mahogany tables. A serenading singer in the background, this was an ideal place for Auntie to hold court.

"Does anyone want to see my Sydney photos," Katherine Chen asked. She put an open album on the table. Vast red deserts and browned bodies on sun drenched beaches jumped off its glossy squares.

"What were you studying in Sydney, Katherine?" I said. There'd been no practical studies of medicine or engineering for Katherine, she graduated from Hong Kong University in English Literature.

"I got a graduate diploma in Medieval Women's Literature, Alvin."

Next to Katherine, her mother, Lena Chen, beamed. Artistic too, Lena had knocked around on the fringes of a theatrical set, taking parts in obscure, avant­ garde, plays.

Lena looked across to Betty Leung. "How's business, Betty, I hear you're opening a store in Shanghai?"

Betty brought her hand up to her face. "The Wanchai shops are going well... there's an opportunity up there. I've said go for it."

Auntie was listening. "What about the girl of yours, Betty, is she a doctor yet?"

Betty flushed, she didn't brag about her kids. "Richard and I are going down to New Zealand for her graduation next month."

"Will I be able to get free consultations then," Auntie joked.

"You'd have to ask her, Auntie, besides Dunedin is a long way off."

I just nodded. Betty's gorgeous, knows everything and gets things done. I find her intimidating. Among my cousins I prefer Carol Kwung. She's not really a cousin. She's the only daughter of Auntie's great friend Sandra Lee. Auntie sort of adopted her as a child, after her father left.

As we relaxed with our highballs and specialty tea, Auntie regaled us with a family tale. "You see dear, it was before the Japanese occupation... he was high up in the British military... they got married, secretly." Pausing for effect, she looked around her audience, bright eyes as big as rice bowls. "Of course when the Japanese came everything changed. He wound up in one of those ghastly camps... never came out. She was broken hearted, but..." In Auntie's stories there are no peasants, only rich professionals or the old aristocracy. Thankfully, we don't live on the Mainland; at her stories the Red Guards would have sent us all away for re-education!

More intrigued by the present, Betty scanned the room. "Who do you think the two young girls are with the short balding man over there, in the dark suit, the one smoking?"

Turning discretely, I could see who she was talking about. "Could they be his daughters, or nieces?"

"Hell no!" Betty retorted. "They've got to be hookers... they're not over the top, but they're definitely rented."

Auntie spied the man too. "I agree with you Betty," she said. "They look to me like they're from the Mainland though, haven't got the polish of the local girls."

Carol Kwung heard Auntie's reply. "Talking about rented women," she said. "I had a strange experience at my daughter's school last week... " She looked around. "There's this Mother there, called Mrs. Ming, she seems really nice, but…" Carol paused, the women hanging on her words. "She said to me, 'If you see me at the clubhouse don't call me Mrs. Ming... my husband doesn't like it'... and what was I to think, she looked most respectable."

"She's surely Mr. Ming's little wife," Auntie suggested, revelling in the scandal. "No wonder he doesn't want anyone to know!"

"That's what I thought," Carol agreed. The others nodded.

The singer started again, quelling their chatter. Auntie spotted Katherine's photograph album on the table and picked it up. Flicking through the pages, she paused. "Who's this chap with you by the Sydney Opera House, Katherine?"

Flushing, Katherine was hesitant. "Oh... that's my friend David... he visited me in Sydney a couple of times."

"He looks a bit old for you, dear," Auntie suggested, before digging deeper.

"Do you know him from Hong Kong, then?"

"He's only thirty five," Katherine retorted. 'I've known him for years!"

Distracted from the singer by their conversation, Carol Kwung peered at the album. "He looks like Mr. Ming!" she burst out. "In fact I'm sure it's him!"

"His name is David Chen and he's a really nice guy," Katherine snapped, becoming redder.

"Well, he certainly looks a lot like the Mr. Ming with the little wife at our school... I'd check him out if I were you," Carol said.

At that, Katherine lurched to her feet, tears welling in her eyes. Snatching the album from Auntie's grasp, she rushed out of the room; followed closely by her mother.

Not everyone realised what had happened, but the altercation put a damper on Auntie's court that evening. Katherine and her mother didn't return, leaving the rest of us to wonder at the truth about Katherine's David Chen, or was it Mr. Ming? No doubt Auntie filed the dialogue, verbatim, in her memory banks. I'm sure it'll be refined and re-released at a future family audience.

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