"As I told you on the phone," Ben said, "my friends are seeking information about three pieces of art, two dragons that join together to open a box that we believe once held a flute."
"Yes." Mr. Fong picked up a folder from the table. "I made a copy of the article I found."
At Ben's nod, he handed it to Paige. She opened the folder, sensing that she was about to see something very important. Her instincts were right on the money. The photograph in front of her showed two dragons, one facing to the right, one to the left, interlocking together in front of a long, rectangular box. "This is it," she murmured. Riley and Alyssa crowded in next to her as she read the caption under the photograph. "An ancient Chinese bronze excavated from a burial site in 1903, now on display at the National Palace Museum." She looked at Mr. Fong. "Where did you get this?"
"From a very old book I have on Chinese art. Is this the piece you are seeking?"
She glanced at Riley. He was staring at the picture with an intense frown. "What do you think?"
"I think that's my grandmother's dragon on the left, with the head going to the right, don't you?"
"I don't really remember."
"It looks a lot like the dragon in my mother's painting," Alyssa commented.
"If it was in the museum, what happened to it?" Paige asked.
"The National Palace Museum was taken apart piece by piece during World War Two," Mr. Fong replied. "Almost thirty thousand crates filled with artifacts were sent all over China for protection against the invading enemies. After the war it took sixteen years to put the museum back together. Some items were lost during that time, the dragon set among them."
"Do you know what happened next?" Riley asked. "Is there any record of these pieces reappearing at auctions or in private collections?"
"Some believe the box and the dragons came to the United States along with other pieces of art that were sold discreetly and privately."
"But there are no records, no proof that these pieces, this set, still exists?" Paige asked.
"Not until Mr. McAllister's grandmother found a dragon in her attic," Mr. Fong replied. "Ben told me what happened. I wonder how it got there—in your grandmother's attic."
"I wonder the same thing," Riley said, his expression grim. "Do you mind if I keep this photo?"
"Please do."
"Thank you for your time," Paige said as they all stood up and walked toward the door. "Just out of curiosity, Mr. Fong—if someone were looking for that dragon or its match here in San Francisco's Chinatown, where do you think they would go?"
"They would follow the pattern. The dragons and box connect. I suspect the owners do as well. If Mr. McAllister's grandfather had one dragon, then who do you think would have the other?"
Wallace Hathaway or Lee Chen. Those were the connections, Paige realized. But both of those men denied having knowledge of the dragons. Someone was lying.
* * *
Victoria raised her hand to knock on the door of David's bedroom late Sunday afternoon, knowing she'd put off this visit as long as she could. She'd managed to avoid her husband since she'd brought him home in a limousine just before lunchtime. She'd rationalized that she was letting him rest, but in truth she was avoiding him. His near brush with death had scared her more than she wanted to admit. Although she and David had grown apart in recent years, she didn't want him to die. In fact, faced with that possibility, she'd been shocked at how much she wanted him to live. She'd prayed for another chance, but now that she had it, she didn't know what to do with it.
They could no longer pretend that Jasmine and Alyssa did not exist. Jasmine might be willing to stay hidden, and Paige might be willing to let Jasmine stay that way, but not Alyssa. Paige wouldn't take kindly to sweeping Alyssa under the carpet. Victoria would have to deal with Alyssa herself, make it clear to her that she wasn't going to be a part of anything Hathaway. Victoria couldn't bear the thought of her husband's lover's daughter getting anything that she, Victoria, had worked so hard to achieve for herself and her own child.
One of the maids walked down the hallway. Unwilling to be caught waffling in front of her husband's door, she knocked and entered without waiting for a reply. David was still dressed in the casual clothes he'd worn home from the hospital. He was lying on the middle of his bed surrounded by art and antique books.
"What are you doing? You're supposed to be resting."
He looked at her with bemusement in his eyes, as if he wasn't quite sure why she was there. "I'm reading."
She picked up one of the books and saw a photo of a dragon. She sighed. "Dragons and more dragons. Is this the same one?"
"No."
"I thought you didn't remember the dragon statue."
"I asked Martin to send over a copy of the videotape from the antique show so that I could see the statue that sent me to Chinatown."
She wasn't quite sure she believed him—he'd lied about so many other things—but his words had a ring of truth to them. "Maybe you just went to Chinatown to see that woman. It wouldn't have been the first time. We both know that."
David took off the reading glasses that had slipped to the bridge of his nose and put them on the bed. "Must we deal with this now?"
"Paige knows about your illegitimate child. That damn security expert she made friends with has dug into our personal life."
"But you already knew about Alyssa, didn't you?" he said, through shrewd, tired eyes.
"I know everything, David." She could have sat down on the chaise lounge next to the bed, but she preferred to stand, to be taller, bigger, more in control than he was.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"It wasn't important as long as she stayed away."
"What do you want to do now?"
"Pay her off, of course."
"Of course," he echoed wearily. "It doesn't matter that she's my daughter."
"You haven't acted like her father, have you? I didn't think so," she added when she saw him flinch. She knew this man too well, maybe better than he knew himself. She knew what made him strong and what made him weak. She knew his fears and the limits to his courage, and once upon a time he'd known something about her. But he'd forgotten or she'd changed—maybe it was a little of both.
"Alyssa is a young woman. She can't hurt us," David said.
"I won't be made a target of gossip."
"Don't worry, Vicky, you can play the martyred wife and become even more popular."
She ignored his cutting comment. "The least you could have done was use birth control. Where was your mind anyway? Forget it, I don't want to know. What I do want to know is if there are any other children about to come out of the woodwork."
"No," he said shortly.
"Thank God for that." She walked over to the window, gazing down at their beautifully manicured backyard lawn, next to the swimming pool and the gazebo. The sight of her surroundings immediately calmed her.
"You're so cold, Victoria. So sure of yourself, so self-righteous. I almost died this week, but all you can think about is your image, your reputation."
"You almost died this week because you went to see her," she said fiercely, turning to face him. "How do you think I felt knowing you were almost killed two blocks from her apartment? What do you think the press has been asking me all week? 'Where was your husband going? What was he doing in Chinatown?' I'm lucky I managed to cover up your connection with that woman. Thankfully our good friend the police chief made sure that piece of information was put to rest by suggesting that the police visit to Jasmine's apartment had no connection to your attack."
"You mean your good friend, don't you? I'm not the only one with friendships in unlikely places, but while you can take the girl out of the slum, you can never quite take the slum out of the girl."
"How dare you!"
"How dare you?" he echoed. "You haven't said a kind, warm word to me since we buried Elizabeth, since you decided to blame me for her dying. It was my fault she got cancer. It was my fault the doctor
s couldn't save her. It was all my fault."
"Yes, it was," she hissed. "It was your fault. It was your fault I had to hear the diagnosis by myself because you were out of town. It was your fault that Elizabeth didn't go to see that specialist in Europe because you let her pleas that she just wanted to stay home sway your judgment. Maybe he could have saved her."
"And maybe he would have caused her more pain. She was dying, Victoria. You knew it, and I knew it, and neither one of us could stop it, not even you, the superwoman, and certainly not me, because I've never been good enough to do anything in your eyes. Except marry you. I got that right, didn't I? It wasn't me you wanted. It was my name, my house, my business, my parents. But was it ever me? Tell me the truth for once in your life."
Staring into his demanding eyes, she wondered—had it ever been him? She'd set her sights on him and made sure she got an introduction. She'd learned everything she could about him, his likes, dislikes, ambitions, fears, and she'd made herself into the perfect wife-to-be. She wouldn't apologize for it. She'd been a good wife. She'd given him children, managed his house, taken over his company, made his life simple and easy. "You've had it good, David. You have nothing to complain about. You had what you needed."
"I didn't have love."
She shook her head, remembering those same words coming out of her poor, drunken mother's mouth. "What is love, anyway? It doesn't pay the bills. It doesn't get you through life. It doesn't make trouble go away. You have to fight for things. You have to take care of yourself." She walked back to the side of his bed. "Haven't you figured that out yet?"
"I figured out I couldn't depend on you, except for the basics of our life together. What about friendship? Companionship? Caring? Kindness?"
"Is that what she gives you?"
"She did at one time."
His gaze was clear and direct. She found herself feeling uncomfortable, but she wasn't the one who was wrong; he was. So why was she feeling as if she had to explain or justify her own actions? "Don't turn this around on me."
"Was I doing that?"
"I never walked out on you. I never cheated on you."
"You never wanted anyone more than you wanted the store. That's why you didn't cheat. It wasn't out of faithfulness to me; it was out of your desperate need to keep your position. That's what you love. That's the only thing you love."
"That's not true," she said, her voice shakier than she wanted it. "I love Paige. And I loved Elizabeth. And at one time I even loved you, dammit. Is that what you want to hear? Well, there it is. When we first got married, I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world, because you didn't just have everything I wanted; you were everything I wanted—funny and passionate and charming. But when things got tough, I couldn't count on you. And you're right, I want more for my life than someone who drops in and out of it every few weeks, whose heart is on another continent. If I'm cold, it's because it got damn chilly in our bed."
"You locked your door against me. The day Elizabeth died, you turned away. Every night that week you went into your room alone, and every morning when you came out, there was another piece of you that you'd hidden away from me. It was the same with my father. When my mother and sister died in that car crash, he turned away. He couldn't love me, because I had survived. Just like you couldn't love me, because Elizabeth was gone and I was still there."
His words shocked her to the core with a truth she couldn't refute. She put a hand to her heart, feeling weak. A moment later she was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking into the eyes of a man she had never really seen. "You never said that before."
"I was hoping you'd figure it out for yourself. You were so damn smart about everything else."
"I—I never wished you dead in her place."
"It doesn't matter anymore, does it, Vicky? We're done. We've been done for a long time. What are we trying to hang on to, anyway? What do we have left? Why don't you just give me a divorce and call it quits? You can have the store. You can have whatever you want."
"And what will you have?" she asked. "Will you have her?"
"I hurt Jasmine more than I ever hurt you," David said with brutal honesty. "I used her for comfort and friendship and kindness. When she got pregnant, I gave her money to get an abortion, money she threw back in my face. When she had Alyssa, I offered to send support, but she turned me down. For years I didn't give Jasmine or our daughter one penny of my money. Finally, Jasmine broke down. She needed help. Her family had turned against her because she'd had a baby out of marriage and out of her own race. So I sent her a few dollars when she asked, never one cent more than she requested, and I never saw Alyssa, never even spied on her in the playground. Jasmine didn't want me to confuse Alyssa, and I couldn't betray..." He rubbed a rough hand across his eyes, eyes that were suspiciously wet.
Victoria was still reeling from his suggestion that they get a divorce; she could barely keep up with what he was saying, the words pouring from his heart. The dam had burst and twenty years' worth of feelings were rushing out in a wild torrent of emotion. She was feeling it, too, more than she wanted. All those old feelings of young love were coming back. She'd told herself for so many years that she hated David, but she'd never really told herself why. Now she wasn't sure she could remember why. She just knew how badly he had hurt her, and she supposed she had hurt him, too. She'd known that he didn't get along with his father, but she hadn't realized that it stemmed from the accident in which David had survived and his sister and mother had perished. Why hadn't she put those facts together?
Everything made so much more sense—even to some extent the affair that he had had. Deep down in the honest part of herself, she knew she had turned away from him. She'd been overcome with sadness, depression and pain; she just hadn't wanted to feel anything else.
"I don't expect you to forgive me," David said wearily. "I'm too old to start over, to change, to make things better. I'm too damn old."
Now here was one good reason why she had grown to dislike him so. "You're such a quitter, David. Why don't you ever fight for the things you want? Why didn't you fight for your father's attention, for my attention? Why didn't you fight Jasmine, so you could see your own daughter? Why do you always give up, take the easy way out?"
"Because I never win, even when I try."
"I don't think you try. You blame yourself the way you expect others to blame you. I think you're the one who feels bad for surviving all the tragedies."
"You've been in therapy too long, Vicky."
"I have been in therapy too long," she agreed. "I realize now I wasn't the one who needed it. It was you, always you." She got up from the bed. "Here's the bottom line, David. If you want a divorce, you're going to have to fight like hell to get it. Maybe it's time you found out what you're made of. Maybe it's time you gave me a chance to see if you're worthy of my affection."
He uttered a short, bitter-edged laugh. "Goddamn, Vicky. Do you know how crazy you are? You're saying the only way you'll love me again is if I can beat you, if I can make you divorce me."
"I need an equal, not a doormat. It's your call. Frankly, I don't think you have it in you to do anything more than run back to China and lick your wounds in private. I fully expect things to go on exactly the way they've gone for the last twenty years at least."
"We'll see about that."
"Yes, we will."
Chapter Twenty-One
"I cannot believe you want to sneak into my parents' house and search the cupboards and closets for a dragon statue," Paige said. "This is your worst idea yet."
"You didn't have a better one," Riley replied as he settled himself more comfortably in the driver's seat of his car. "Mr. Fong told us to look for the connections, and we both agree that your grandfather is one of those links."
That was true, she silently conceded. She'd been thinking about their grandfathers' connections ever since she'd left Mr. Fong's apartment, but she hadn't had time to do anything about it, having spent most of the day helpin
g her mother get her father settled back home. "Did you talk to your grandmother again?" she asked.
"No. Not yet," Riley said.
She stared down the dark shadowy street. Riley had parked several mansions down from the one she'd grown up in, and she couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that they were heading into trouble. But they weren't really breaking in anywhere. They were just going to take a look through the family home while her mother and grandfather were out. She checked her watch. It was nearly six. "They should be heading out any minute now."
"If they're as punctual as you say they are."
"They are, trust me. I inherited the on-time gene. But don't forget my father will still be in the house, not to mention his private nurse and a couple of servants. We won't be alone."
"Too bad.” He smiled. "So, what was it like to grow up with servants. What did they do for you?"
"They kept the house, cooked, that kind of stuff."
"If you dropped a candy wrapper on the ground, someone was there to rush over and pick it up for you?"
"I wasn't allowed to eat candy. It's bad for you."
"Some bad things are really good," he said with a wicked smile.
And suddenly the quiet in the car grew more intimate. She'd been trying to keep her attraction to Riley at bay, to remind herself that Riley didn't want the things she wanted, like commitment, marriage, family. Maybe she didn't want all that tomorrow or the next day, but eventually she would. What was the point in wasting time in a relationship that wouldn't lead in that direction? She wasn't twenty-one anymore. She was almost thirty.
So why couldn't she listen to her head instead of her heart? When he'd stopped by her apartment an hour earlier, she'd jumped at the chance to join him on this latest escapade, not even asking him what he had in mind until they were in the car. She was crazy. Crazy in love.
She'd just have to get over it. Treat it like a bad cold or a case of the flu. She could recover. She'd just have to work at it.
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