“I think you are your father’s son, Richard.”
Natasha was suddenly subdued and withdrawn as the cafe owner brought their coffees on a round wooden tray.
“And you,” he said. “Are you your father’s daughter?”
“I am glad he did not live to see Shanghai.” She sat up straight. “What will you do with me?”
“He was in the army.”
“What will you do with me? You have discussed it with your colleagues?” She was nervous and suddenly uncertain at the intrusion of the real world.
“What do you do for him, Natasha? You go to his house?”
“I do not want to talk about it.”
“I’m afraid you’ve got to tell me exactly what happens.”
“It is my business.” He thought the defiance he could see in her eyes was in fact fear.
“Has he ever shown any violence to you? Has he ever hit you or—”
“He does nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Sure.”
“Why does he—”
“Why do you want to know?”
Field continued to stare at her.
“I go . . . Always the same. To his house. There is a telephone call and I go down. I am shown to the room on the first floor by his bodyguards, and there I wait. Then one of the housekeepers comes down. Sometimes it is a long time. One hour, two. More.”
“You’re alone in that room?”
“Yes.”
“Then what?”
“Then I am taken upstairs, and the housekeeper—always the same, a Chinese woman wearing a uniform—she tells me to begin. At first, she explained, I must take my clothes off slowly and then, when he waves his hand, I can go.”
“The housekeeper withdraws.”
“Yes.”
“And . . .” Field felt his stomach tense. He wanted to shut out the image of her and Lu, and yet he desperately needed to know.
“I begin. I take my clothes off.”
“What do you wear?” he asked, no longer trusting his voice.
“Does it matter?” Her voice was sharp.
“It might.” He swallowed hard. “Lena was handcuffed to the bed, wearing stockings and a garter belt. Has he ever used handcuffs, or asked you to wear anything in particular, anything like that?”
Natasha shook her head.
“And when you have done that?”
“It’s all right, Richard.”
Unconsciously, he was tensing up again. He fought the urge to stand and punch the window. “And when you are finished?” he asked with exaggerated care.
She shrugged. “I pick up my clothes, and there is a dressing room. I put on my clothes and leave by a side door, back into the hall and down the stairs, past the bodyguards.”
“They are—”
“They think I’m a whore.” She put her hand to her mouth and started to bite one of her fingernails. Visibly upset, she turned to face the window and crossed her arms protectively across her chest.
“And Lu—what does he do? Where is he when . . .” Field cleared his throat. “Where is he when you come into the bedroom?”
“He is lying on the bed in a silk dressing gown.”
“Fully dressed?”
“He has a dressing gown on.” She shrugged. “There is an opium pipe beside him and his eyes are glazed.”
“But he is looking at you?”
“Please stop it, Richard.”
“He watches?”
