The Chemical Reaction

by Fiona Erskine

  ‘Nothing broken,’ he announced. ‘But you haven’t half taken a beating. That must hurt like hell.’ He turned to Timur, who was hovering anxiously. ‘The things we do for love.’ He opened a medical box and fished out some painkillers. ‘You taking anything already?’

  ‘Some disgusting herbs.’

  He laughed. ‘Allergic to anything?’

  She shook her head and then wished she hadn’t. Something had worked loose inside her skull and continued banging against her temples even after she stopped moving. Flashing lights and blinding pain made her cry out.

  ‘Let’s try some conventional medicine.’

  She swallowed the tablets he gave her, let him re-bandage her wrists and hands and then sank back into crisp cotton sheets, asleep again before she could even thank him.

  She woke to a breakfast tray and Timur sitting by the window. Sunlight streamed through a chink in the curtains, illuminating his sharp cheekbones. She tried to sit up and groaned out loud.

  ‘Morning, Jaq Silver.’

  ‘Morning, Timur.’

  She managed to eat the porridge he gave her, balancing the bowl between bandaged hands and slurping it from the rim. Timur wiped her face with a damp cloth.

  His gentleness touched her. Had she misjudged him?

  ‘Why were you meeting Wang from Krixo?’ she asked.

  He reeled back. ‘So that’s why you are here.’ He crossed his arms. ‘Why should I tell you anything? All you have done so far is trick me.’

  ‘I didn’t know if I could trust you.’ And yet she did.

  ‘Well, I am absolutely sure that I can’t trust you.’

  Time to come clean. ‘I’m looking for a student of mine, Ning Dan. I taught him in Teesside before he returned to China. I was hired by the English owner of a joint venture company called Krixo and I asked Dan what he knew about the Chinese operation. Next thing I know he’s vanished, just like the factory in Shingbo. I got a message from him, in code, asking me for help, imploring me to find someone called Xe Lin. As far as I can tell she was a former classmate of his working for Krixo, and he was worried about her. Is she OK?’

  Timur shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t meet anyone called Xe Lin.’

  ‘But you met Wang from Krixo?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  Timur stood and walked to the window. ‘Do you know your parents, Jaq Silver?’

  ‘Know them? Well, yes, of course . . .’

  ‘I don’t know mine,’ Timur said. ‘My grandfather told me they were killed in a car crash, but the woman who raised me, and taught me to speak Mandarin, says that my mother abandoned me after my father abandoned her.’

  It explained something about him at least, this striking, sensitive man with his almost childish desire to please, to impress, to be desired, be loved. ‘Perhaps your parents had valid reasons . . .’

  ‘Exactly. And that is what I’m here to find out.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  He turned to face her.

  ‘There’s a link between my father and the Qianlong lovers’ cup.’

  ‘What sort of link?’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to discover. I came to China to find the buyer. Sun Chang, Mico’s father, was one of the last two bidders.’

  ‘The successful one?’

  ‘No.’ His mouth twisted into a rueful smile. ‘But I met Mico at her father’s office and she offered to help me.’

  ‘In exchange for . . .’

  ‘In exchange for the Hop! tour.’

  ‘But you and your friends don’t just strip for her. What about the thefts?’

  ‘You’re a nosy parker, Jaq Silver.’ His shoulders dropped, as if the air had gone out of him. ‘Mico made a deal with Wang. The lovers’ cup in exchange for the rest of the collection.’

  ‘You stole to order? The Qianlong jade from foreign museums?’

  He sighed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And now you have the lovers’ cup?’

  ‘I’m not finished yet.’

  He stood beside the bed, leaned down and took her face in his hands.

  ‘Did the kiss mean anything?’

  ‘Absolutely nothing,’ she lied.

  He released her and left the room.

  Holger brought lunch, a clear broth in a sippy cup that she managed to hold between her wrists. Perhaps the giant water baby would be more forthcoming. Be direct.

  ‘The day we met,’ she said, ‘what were you doing in the river?’

  ‘Bargespotting.’ Holger had a voice so deep it was part rumble. ‘A bit like trainspotting, but more exciting.’

  ‘But why were you in the water?’

  ‘Attaching a tracker,’ he said. He flipped open his mobile phone. ‘That barge is now a long way upstream.’

  He showed her a map with the flashing dot indicating the barge. It had moved from Shanghai to Wuhan.

  ‘That was an incredibly dangerous thing to do.’ She was unable to keep the admiration out of her voice.

  ‘I get paid for it. There’s not much call for synchronised swimming champions, especially male ones, so I tend to get odd jobs.’

  Odd as in peculiar. Odd as in dangerous. ‘Are you really a synchronised swimming champion?’ she asked.

  He nodded.

  ‘Why that barge?’

  ‘It belonged to a company called Krixo.’

  Her pulse quickened. ‘The equipment from the Shingbo factory?’

  ‘I have no idea. I just track what I’m told to.’

  ‘By who?’

  ‘Insurance companies, generally. It is amazing how often a vessel magically reappears after being reported as sunk.’

  If only Holger could magically restore the Frankium. ‘Where do you think the barge is going?’

  ‘We’ll know when it gets there.’

  Vladivostok, Russia

  The wind was howling outside the palace high above Vladivostok. The Siberian High met cyclones from the Pacific, west and east clashing with raucous commotion. The old man lay on his narrow bed and slipped in and out of consciousness.

  ‘Good morning, Dmytry. How are we today?’

  The patient muttered something, and the doctor bent her ear towards him as she checked the dressing on his chest.

  ‘They are falling from the skies,’ Dmytry whispered.

  ‘Are they indeed?’ She straightened up. ‘Well, you’re safe here. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘I can’t stand the noise,’ he said.

  The doctor took a step back. ‘What noise?’

  ‘The shouting.’ His voice was clearer now. ‘The clapping.’

  Nurse and doctor exchanged a silent glance.

  ‘Stop banging!’ Dmytry raised his voice. ‘STOP CLATTERING!’

  ‘You must rest,’ the doctor urged, taking his wrist and checking the pulse.

  Dmytry screwed his face up. ‘Such sweet little birds, all plump and honey-coloured, short tails, strong beaks.’

  ‘Ah, you’re a birdwatcher, are you?’ the doctor said. ‘Why don’t you tell us more after you’ve had a good sleep.’

  ‘Passeridae, Passer montanus, shù má-què. Why sparrows?’

  Dmytry’s eyes opened and shone with a wild light. The doctor moved her hand across his field of vision, but his pupils remained unfocused.

  ‘Can you see me, Dmytry?’

  ‘Sparrows have an extra bone in the tongue, you know.’ He sounded almost lucid now. ‘The preglossale to hold the seeds. They eat grain, it’s true, but they eat pests too.’

  ‘Can you hear me, Dmytry?’

  ‘STOP BANGING! STOP CLATTERING!’

  The doctor nodded to the nurse.

  ‘If you kill the sparrows, the pests will flourish,’ Dmytry said.

  ‘Will they now?’

  The nurse plunged the needle of a syringe through the rubber membrane of a glass ampoule.

  ‘What about the locusts?’ Dmytry asked.

  ‘What indeed.’

/>   The nurse retracted the plastic plunger, filling the syringe.

  ‘What about the bed bugs?’

  ‘No bed bugs here.’

  The nurse held the needle upright and tapped the syringe.

  ‘Why would you kill the sparrows? Why?’ He banged his head against the pillow, up and down, left and right. ‘STOP THE NOISE! STOP BANGING POTS! STOP SHOUTING! STOP CLAPPING! STOP!’

  The nurse administered the injection and Dmytry fell back onto the pillows.

  ‘They are falling from the skies!’ the old man muttered. ‘She will starve.’

  The doctor shook her head.

  ‘Nina, Nina!’ he shouted. ‘I’m sorry! So sorry.’

  The nurse put her hand on his brow. ‘Shall I call his family?’

  ‘I think it’s time.’

  Zhengzhou, China

  A crescent of moon cast a silvery glow onto the garden. Jaq lay on the bed, in darkness.

  She had barely moved since they’d brought her here. It all hurt too much: the cuts to her hands, the bruises on her skin, the welts round her wrists and ankles, the ache in her bones. But worst of all was the knowledge that she had failed, that she hadn’t been enough. Once again, she’d tried to go it alone and, once again, she had done too little, too late. A washed-up, broken, penniless engineer, who couldn’t even support her own mother.

  Jaq heard the Masters of Disguise returning from their show. She called out as they entered the house. Timur appeared at the doorway.

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Police closed it down again. Offences against public decency.’

  What to say? She wasn’t entirely unsympathetic. The libertarian in her believed that consenting adults should be allowed to do whatever they liked in private, or in a private club for that matter, and yet her moral compass was disorientated by the idea of paid strippers, male or female.

  ‘They seemed to like us, though. The Hop! publicity team say news of the ban sent the campaign viral. Makes the offering a bit edgy. Good for selling beer, apparently.’ He took a step into the room. ‘I’m glad you are awake. I wanted to say goodbye.’

  ‘You’re leaving? Did you get what you came for?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘You’re giving up?’

  ‘I have to go back to Vladivostok. My grandfather has taken a turn for the worse. The boys are going back to Shanghai for a few days, but Speedy will stay with you until you are well enough to go home.’

  The slow wave of sadness took her by surprise. ‘Timur, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry for what, Jaq Silver?’

  ‘For everything. For not trusting you. For tricking you. For stealing from you.’

  ‘Jaq Silver, steady on.’ He came into the room. ‘This is not like you. Are you OK?’

  He sat on the bed and she caught a whiff of his scent. Mint and clove with hints of musk. Despite herself, she leaned into him and allowed his arms to envelop her. She pressed against the human warmth and let her head drop against his shoulder.

  ‘Have you been able to wash?’

  He must be able to smell her.

  ‘No.’ She sighed. ‘Not since I got here.’

  ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’ She held up her bandaged hands to demonstrate her inability to perform the simplest of tasks.

  ‘I can help.’ He paused. ‘If you’ll let me.’

  He waited for her assent and she nodded.

  ‘Here’s what we are going to do,’ he said. ‘I’m going to bag up your bandages to keep them dry. Then we’re going to get in the shower together and I’m going to wash you. OK?’

  Forget embarrassment. So badly did she need to get clean, she was beyond caring how it happened.

  ‘OK.’

  He undressed her carefully, draping a quilt over her shoulders to keep her warm, and taped plastic bags over her bandaged hands. But when she tried to stand, her legs gave way and she would have fallen if he hadn’t been there to catch her.

  ‘Wait.’ He helped her back onto the bed and fetched a plastic chair which he placed in the shower. He opened the taps, tested the water and then came back for her.

  She looked away as he took off his shirt and trousers. When he picked her up, his bare skin was warm against hers as he carried her to the shower.

  ‘Temperature OK?’ he asked.

  She tested the water with an outstretched foot.

  ‘Could be hotter,’ she said.

  He sat her in the chair and adjusted the taps until the steam rose and the shivering stopped.

  ‘Hair first?’ he asked.

  He stood behind her to shampoo her hair, massaging her scalp with deft fingers. He rinsed it before combing conditioner through it.

  ‘Leave that on for a few minutes, OK?’ he said.

  ‘OK.’

  He cleaned her face with a flannel and then patted it dry with a hand towel. Careful to avoid getting water on her hands, he washed her arms, her armpits, her neck and her shoulders and then rinsed off the conditioner.

  ‘Lean forward.’

  She obliged, and he rubbed her back, using long firm strokes with the heels of his hands.

  ‘Now the rest, OK?’

  Taking the soap, he knelt in front of her and washed her feet, careful to go in between the toes, gentle with the welts on her ankles, then her calves and thighs.

  He smiled up at her.

  ‘Do you trust me, Jaq Silver?’

  ‘I trust you, Timur Zolotoy.’

  He was quick and firm, washing her torso, her breasts. Lifting her to wash between her thighs. The sensations from his hands, fleeting, impersonal, efficient, made her both grateful and sad. The shower water bounced off her body, splashing him.

  He left her seated in the shower while he brought towels.

  ‘Ready?’

  ‘Just a moment longer.’

  She threw back her head and let the hot water cascade over her face and body. How had it come to this? How had she become so helpless that she was dependent on the kindness of a virtual stranger? Why did she never learn? Wasn’t it time she faced up to the fact that she wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing? She should have remained in Europe. Forget contracting – she should have found a steady job in Teesside. And if there were no jobs in manufacturing any more, then something else. Something low-risk. Something she could learn to do well. In an engineering drawing office, perhaps? When this was over, she would remake her life. Start from scratch.

  ‘I’m ready now.’

  He turned off the water, draped a large bath sheet over her shoulders and twisted her hair into a smaller towel.

  ‘Let’s get you dry, OK?’

  ‘OK.’

  He wrapped the towel around her and knelt to pick her up.

  ‘Are you and Mico lovers?’ she asked.

  Timur laughed. ‘If there’s one thing erotic dancing has taught me, it’s how to recognise which team people bat for. Mico has no interest in men.’

  Oh, why was she so bad at this? What had Mico said to her? If I wasn’t already spoken for, I might just fall for you.

  ‘You, on the other hand, can barely keep your eyes off the Masters of Disguise.’

  ‘Stop it.’

  ‘Were you jealous?’ he teased.

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself.’ It came out sharper than intended. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt, that’s all. Mico might be a murderer.’

  Timur shook his head. ‘You misjudge her. She’s a stuntwoman. And a consummate actor.’

  He deposited her on a stool in front of the dressing table. She watched him in the mirror as he combed her hair.

  ‘What about those men in England, murdered by a thousand cuts? Bernard Ashley-Cooper, Professor John Tench?’

  ‘The auctioneer and the metallurgist?’ He tested the warm air from the hairdryer. ‘I wondered about them, too. But Mico was in the US in October. Some Hollywood film awards. She was in all the papers.’

  Whoever had killed th
ose men, it wasn’t Mico.

  Her scalp tingled as he began to dry her hair. ‘Thank you, Timur.’

  He grinned. ‘I’m only just getting started.’

  She felt a little stirring. Bad idea, neither the time nor the place.

  He brushed her hair until it was dry, then removed the plastic bags from her bandaged hands, unwrapped the towel and carried her, naked, back to the bed.

  ‘I’m sorry I stole your phone.’ She swallowed. ‘The kiss did mean something.’

  ‘I know.’ He smiled. ‘Think you can sleep now?’

  Truth was, although she felt better, sleep was still far away.

  ‘I can try.’

  ‘You want me to stay for a bit?’

  What was the point of dissembling? She didn’t want to be alone right now. ‘Please,’ she said, and tears came again.

  ‘It’s OK, Jaq Silver,’ he said, wiping them away.

  ‘It’s not OK,’ she said.

  ‘But this is OK?’ he asked, stroking her hair.

  She sighed.

  ‘Do you trust me, Jaq Silver?’

  ‘I trust you, Timur.’

  ‘Those hands of yours are no use right now. Let me help you to relax so you can sleep.’ He tightened the towel around his hips. ‘This isn’t for me, OK? It’s a private dance, just for you.’

  It had been so long. Why resist?

  And yet resistance was inevitable. He slipped into the bed beside her, kissing her neck, her breasts. This was a bad idea. What had she been she thinking of to permit it? However experienced, however technically gifted he was, this was just a transaction. Whether or not money changed hands, there was an unbridgeable gulf between intimate pleasure mutually exchanged in love and sexual gratification given for any other reason. And what was driving him? Pity? Friendship? Or did he just want to prove a point?

  She trusted him; he was hers to command. This was a strange new experience. Did she like it? Not really. The imbalance of power was a turn-off. All she had to do was tell him to stop. And she would. In a minute. Once she had thought this thing through.

  He slid under the sheet, licking her belly button, and she felt herself yielding as he moved down. She had to admit it felt good. Oh, so good. The ache easing, the stinging soothed, the discomfort forgotten. It was getting harder to remember why this had to stop.