“And you’re not listening.” Lewis’s voice was still icily polite, his glare piercing. “I’m warning you and you’re
Lewis turned around, leaving Field confused and angry.
He breathed in deeply and walked through to the dining room. He was ushered to a seat between Penelope and Caroline Granger.
Field watched Granger as he leaned across to talk to Geoffrey. He thought of the questions that cluttered his mind.
“How are you enjoying Shanghai?” Caroline asked. She was leaning toward him, smiling warmly.
“It has its moments.”
“Only moments?”
He shrugged. “It’s different.”
“Charlie is an evangelist,” she said quietly, glancing across the table at Lewis. “We’re not all blind to the city’s faults.”
Field was not certain what she meant, so picked up a spoon and began to eat the avocado on the side of his plate, which was extremely ripe.
“Most of us went through phases . . . excitement, disillusion . . . realistic tolerance.”
“Of what?”
“Of the poverty, of the inequality. Rome wasn’t built in a day.”
“But it was built nonetheless.”
She frowned. “So much better that we are here than the alternative. We have to lead by example. That’s what Patrick believes.”
“Of course.”
“And if we can’t set an example, then we shouldn’t be here. Otherwise what’s the point?”
Field took a last mouthful of avocado, then put his spoon down, noticing that it was silver. He was thinking about Lewis’s words and the sense of urgency in his voice. “Where did you meet Patrick?” he asked.
“In Ireland.”
“You don’t sound Irish.”
“School in England.” She smiled again. “My father should have been loyal to the English, but he was a believer and we hid Patrick in the house.” She touched Field’s arm. “That’s what I love about Shanghai. You may have a past, but even if everyone knows about it, they don’t hold it against you.” She glanced at her husband, a look of deep, measured affection. “Anyone can be anyone.” She got up, still smiling, to supervise the preparation of the main course, and Field took the opportunity to go down the corridor to the lavatory. He washed his hands and then his face in the big enamel basin. He looked at his bloodshot eyes in the mirror and wondered what was happening to him.
He thought of Patrick and Caroline and how easy they were together, and the wealth on display—the silver and the servants and the big airy rooms. Was that what he wanted in life? To scramble to the top, to accumulate?
He wondered if he could stay in this city, if he could accumulate wealth under Patrick and take possession of Natasha. If he cooperated, wouldn’t they give him that?
Is that what Patrick was always doing—subtly offering him a chance to join the club? Was he just missing the opening?
He still didn’t understand the question of the supplement. Were the previous payments from someone else, not Granger, or was Granger just being disingenuous?
Field wondered what in his father’s upbringing had made him so hostile toward the idea of pleasure and ease. Honor wasn’t going to feed anyone, and it had certainly never fed them. Perhaps integrity was a luxury of the rich.
The door opened behind him and she stepped in. “Jesus, Penelope . . .”
“Keep your voice down.”
“For Christ’s sake, they’re only in the next room.”
He saw immediately that she was drunk. She was fumbling for something in a long thin silver and black handbag. “Everyone gossips, Richard. Everyone in this city. Everyone will soon know.”
“Is that what you want? Why me, all of a sudden?”
“Why not?” She looked up. “Are you ashamed, Richard? Of what we did?”
Field didn’t answer.
“Just an easy fuck, is that it?” she asked, her face twisted. She shook her head. “I can see what you think— see it in your eyes. It is the same with the others: just an easy fuck. Well, you don’t get off that lightly.”
“I’m not ashamed.”
“But you still think it was a mistake?”
Field saw no point in provoking her.
She looked down. “Geoffrey will go back to work tonight. You can drop me home.”
He moved toward the door.
