addict. Then he looked into those fearless Chinese eyes. To his surprise they seemed genuinely interested.
“No. We don’t even know who the victims were. No fingerprints, no ID tags-nothing to go on. They were shredded. All we have is a vat full of human hamburger.” He didn’t mention the heads. He was keeping them out of the public domain for the moment.
The other people in the kitchen had stopped to listen. There were muted squeals and winces all around, except from Emily Ping. She was amused by his provocation. Or perhaps she enjoyed gore. The rich could have strange tastes.
Chan turned to Jenny, drew her into a corner. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go.” He spoke in Cantonese, exaggerating tones to carry his point.
She made a face. “Is it really that bad? Jonathan had to invite all these people; it’s business. You’re my only real guest.”
“I don’t believe you. They all love you, and you’re a perfect hostess. Look, it’s just me, isn’t it? I’m sure they’re all great, wonderful, warmhearted, humble-like most billionaires.”
Jenny’s eyes pleaded. “Don’t go yet. Let’s go somewhere private for a moment. I need a real person to talk to, and I have news.”
Her eyes searching his face expressed something close to adoration. He noticed Wong looking at her, a husband’s complaint in his expression:
“Okay.”
Chan followed her to the same corridor and eventually the same room as that where the seduction of the blond young man had so recently taken place. Chan sniffed at a fading odor of sex and perfume and told her about it as they entered the bedroom together. Jenny winced as she closed the door.
“She has a hell of an appetite. I think I’ll lock the door. God knows what people would accuse us of if they came barging in.” She looked up at him and cocked an eyebrow.
She turned a bolt, then held his hand to lead him to a small window with a view over a mountain at the back of the apartments. The room was unlit except for safety lights from the grounds of the apartment building and from lamps that lined a mountain road. About every thirty seconds a car rounded a certain point in a bend and illuminated the room. He stood still while she kneaded his hand. Her dress was a deep crimson that contrasted with her black hair. It was as expensive as any other woman’s, but, on her, twice as beautiful. Standing so close to her, he could smell her perfume and underneath it a faint musk that he remembered from childhood. Odors could be like fingerprints.
Her voice was full, rounded, confident; she was a natural princess who found it easy to charm these people. When she was in the mood, anyway. Tonight there was a glint in her eye.
“We’re going through a bad patch, Jonathan and I. I’m not sure how much of all this socializing I can take. He lost his rag with me when I refused to wear a triple string of pearls that he bought me last week.”
“How selfish of him.”
“I refuse to be got up like a pet poodle. I don’t mind the odd party, but it’s every night, sometimes cocktails at one place followed by dinner at someone else’s-it’s so artificial. What are you grinning at?”
“The problems of the rich-how can you stand it?”
“I’m serious. We’ll have to reach a compromise.”
“Two strings of pearls?”
“Smart-ass. You know, sometimes I feel, living this life, that I’m being disloyal to Mum.”
He lit a cigarette without offering her one. “That is a little farfetched.”
“Is it? Okay, you being so street-wise, tell me what you noticed about all those people out there tonight, especially the Chinese.”
“Apart from wealth, arrogance and a serious lack of depth, nothing. They all looked disgustingly happy to me.”
She lowered her voice. “Exactly. They’re mostly Emily’s people. Jonathan invited them because of her. Her main business is with the PRC; she’s well in with some big shot general called Xian. Only two months to go till the Communists march in, and these people alone are happy, not a care in the world. Why no June neurosis? Because they’ve made their connections, their
Chan shrugged. “There’s no money in heroic resistance. They’re smart; to survive an invasion, you have to befriend the invader.”
Jenny scowled. “You don’t really think that; you’re just saying it because you know I’m stuck with these people, for better or worse. To me, it’s like collaborating.” She looked him in the eye. “You loathe them as much as I do. More, probably. You don’t really approve of Jonathan. Why did you encourage me to marry him?”
Smiling, Chan looked her in the eye; she knew the Chinese answer to that question. Since her early twenties her looks had raised her above her class. She was a natural member of the aristocracy of beauty. Not only her looks; her grace, elegance, a kind of poise that cut through social strata. It would have been stupid not to capitalize while she could. How many attractive women from their background ended by working in bars and nightclubs? That would have broken his heart. It wasn’t the job of older brother to be romantic on younger sister’s behalf; his duty was to save her from poverty and shame, a duty he’d discharged in a rare act of social shrewdness by persuading her to enter a beauty competition. Quite amazing, the respectability that a title could bestow: Miss Hong Kong. The wealthy suitors alone would have filled a house. Not all eligible from Jenny’s point of view, though; Wong had been among the prettiest.
She was safe now; even if the marriage didn’t work, she’d be protected by a share of Wong’s money. Chan was still proud of himself. Would marriage to a pauper have been less stormy?
“Okay, he was a good catch, and you were being the Chinese patriarch. Well, I have real news. I’m probably pregnant.”
“Whoopee.”
“Right word but not much feeling. Are you pleased or not?”
“Of course I’m pleased.”
“You’re going to be the godfather.”
“Honored.”
“And in addition to your usual duties, you will make sure that he or she grows into a real person. If I catch them prancing around like those creeps out there, you’ll be in trouble.”
“Agreed. I’ll be a blue-collar street-cop uncle. Weekends we’ll spend at the morgue.”
She smiled and kissed him, held his arms while she gazed into his face. He made to move away, but she held him still. She wore no pearls, no jewelry at all. A neckline like that could not be improved.
“No one compares to you.” She said it in a hurried whisper, before he could stop her.
He admonished her with a finger, tutted, returned to the door to release the bolt, let Jenny out first. She led him back down the hall to the huge reception room, which had filled since he’d left it. “You didn’t even introduce your new girlfriend,” Jenny said.
Chan looked for Angie over the heads of the other guests. Finally he saw her talking to the young blond man, who was now fully dressed. “She’s not. This is the first night-I mean, she’s a colleague.”
Jenny smiled. “I’m so glad. I hope she stops you smoking.”
Chan pushed his hair back. “It’s not that serious.”
He saw Angie say something to the young man while keeping her eyes on Chan. The blond boy-he was hardly more than that-took his leave of her before Chan arrived. A pity, Chan thought, they seemed to go well together. The boy looked Australian too.
“We can go,” Chan told Angie, feeling suddenly nervous; it was so long since he’d had to entertain a Western woman on his own.
12
Three hours later outside the Bull and Bear Chan stood with Angie in the taxi queue. Nearly midnight and still as hot as a sauna. In the pub she’d felt instantly at home and talked for hours. He’d forgotten almost everything
