“We’re waiting for a wheelchair and discussing hotel rooms. Miss Baker here doesn’t have a place for the night.”
Joe’s scarred eyebrow crinkled as he frowned. “That’s no good. Maybe she could try the Grand? I’d give her my room, but I need a good night’s sleep. We’re flying some execs home tomorrow, and if I’m dog-tired they might get the wrong impression.”
“I’ve got it handled.” Nathan waved them on. “Go ahead, please. We’ll be fine.”
The pilot didn’t move. “I’m sure you will. But I can’t leave the plane until all the passengers are off. Company policy. Even though we’re on British soil, you can’t be too careful about sabotage. Not with a war on.”
Genie hurriedly stood. “Oh, I didn’t know—”
“Sit down, Eugenia,” Nathan said impatiently. “No one can go anywhere until Mrs. Schmidt is safely off.”
Genie shot him a questioning look as she sat, wondering how he had learned the young widow’s last name.
“Chair’s here!” George called back.
Ted unslung his bag and tossed it onto a seat. “I’ll pick her up and then, Sterling, if you’ll catch her under the arms, I can take her legs.”
Nathan hesitated, and Ted swore softly.
“You’re not going to endanger your soul if you accidentally touch her breasts. Pretend she’s a guy, or else switch places with me.”
“Just get on with it, Younan,” Nathan snapped.
Ted reached down and hauled the girl out of the seat, his shoulders straining to control her dead weight as he eased her into the aisle. Nathan slid his arms under her armpits.
“Got her,” he said, his pale skin flushing slightly as he adjusted his hold.
Ted wrapped the girl’s long skirts around her legs and then lifted her up. Slowly, awkwardly, they carried her toward the stairs. Chin grabbed Ted’s bag and nodded toward the door.
“After you, Miss Baker.”
An unexpected reluctance to leave the plane kept her in her seat. Even though the experience of flying had been frightening, especially right at the beginning, the truth was she had never felt more alive than when looking out the pilots’ window and watching the landscape rush beneath her. Now that she was safely on the ground, the desire to relive it was nearly overwhelming.
Mr. Chin’s scarred eyebrow arched in silent question at her delay. With a small sigh, aware that they both had places to go, she pushed the desire away and stood. Flying had been a wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime thrill, but she was a missionary’s daughter, not a pilot.
By the time Genie exited the plane, Lavinia was already seated, slumped over in the wheelchair, with Brother Marcus holding the handles. Nathan stood beside Marcus, deep in conversation, leaving Ted to help her down the stairs.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” he said in a low voice as he escorted her over to Nathan. “I’m giving you my room for the night. If I have a roommate, I’ll kick him out.”
“No, don’t—” she started.
“Hey, Sterling,” he called over her head. “I think I’ve got a solution to your problem, at least temporarily. How ’bout we discuss it over dinner?”
Nathan hesitated. “I don’t think eating would be a good idea yet. At least not for me.”
Ted turned to her. “How ’bout you, Miss Baker? Are you hungry?”
Now it was her turn to hesitate, habit warring with desire. She should follow Nathan’s lead and refuse, despite being ravenous. It was what Nathan expected of her. It was what her father would expect.
“I am,” she said, shocking herself.
Ted’s dark eyes warmed with approval, and the corners of his mouth curved into a smile, sparking a glow of satisfaction in her own chest.
“Be ready at seven,” he said, giving her a wink. Then he strode over to the two missionary men. “Here’s my idea . . .”
Chapter 13
At twenty past seven, Genie skidded to a stop on the polished marble floors of the Grand Hotel lobby. Panting to catch her breath, she craned her neck and scanned the faces of all the men packed into the elegant but very busy room. Soldiers of all sorts and nationalities stood in groups talking, or dozed on the upholstered couches and chairs. Others read mail while leaning against one of the gilt-and-white columns. None were the right height or build or had the right shade of ink-black hair.
Her chest constricted. Oh please, oh please, oh please, let Ted still be here.
It was Nathan’s fault she was late. One would think a man who was still in the throes of travel-induced nausea would have better things to do than lecture her on the pitfalls of female vanity and the inherent wickedness of men.
Relief made her knees weak as she saw Ted standing by the front doors, talking with a couple of fellows she didn’t know. He was laughing at something someone had said, his posture relaxed and confident, a man sure of both himself and his place in the world. Something like envy stole through her veins, but it was soon lost beneath pure feminine admiration as she worked her way closer through the crowded lobby. The gold hue of the gaslights made his tanned skin glow like polished bronze, and his slicked-back hair was as black and glossy as a raven’s wing. He glanced her way and then smiled, his teeth startlingly white in his handsome sharp-edged face.
Nathan’s dire warnings rang in her ears. Women are weak in the ways of the flesh . . . unfit for the male world . . .
Her steps faltered. Was this fluttery feeling in her veins weakness? Or was it only excitement that for a moment, an hour or two, she might be in the company of someone other than Nathan? Someone she admired. Someone much more interesting who could tell her about the country to which she was traveling.
In any case, she doubted her virtue was in any danger tonight. Perhaps if she were more petite and feminine, like Li Ming, it might be; however, she had no illusions as to her own appearance. Too tall, too masculine, too red of hair, she was unlikely to spark desire in any man’s breast, let alone someone as worldly as Ted.
Drawing a deep breath to bolster her courage, she started toward the front doors. Ted was a good person. He wouldn’t ridicule her if she made any mistakes at the restaurant. And even if he turned out to be bad company, she still needed to eat. Nathan had volunteered to sit with Lavinia, who had yet to awaken from her narcotic dreams, while Brother Marcus scoured the city for another hotel room.
“Sorry I’m late.” She flashed Ted a quick smile as she stopped in front of him.
“No apology necessary, now that you’re here and I don’t have to eat alone,” he said with a wink, and her heart raced a little faster.
He introduced her to his companions, their names forgotten the second after she heard them, and then whisked her outside to a waiting cab.
“Where are we going?” she asked as Ted opened the back-seat door for her.
“I thought we’d celebrate your first meal in a foreign country by going to one of my favorite clubs in town—unless Sterling needs you back right away.”
“He didn’t set a time, actually,” she said quickly, ignoring the stab of conscience. The imprecision of Nathan’s parting command to be “quick about it” might be interpreted a number of different ways. If she chose to define quick as a couple of hours, surely that was her prerogative.
As she climbed into the cab, she could feel Ted’s speculative gaze but chose to ignore it.
While she waited for Ted to finish giving directions to the cabdriver, she smoothed the blue fabric of her dress down over her knees, glad that Natasha had insisted on her taking it. Ted jumped in and closed the door. All of a sudden, she was very aware of how small the cab’s interior was and how close Ted’s thigh was to her own.
She smoothed her dress again.
“I hope I look all right,” she said to break the silence after the cab pulled away from the hotel.
“Like a thousand bucks. Which is a compliment, by the way,” he added at her questioning look. “When you first showed up, I was worried Carlton and Spitz were going to try to
invite themselves along.”
Not sure how to respond to that, she didn’t, though she guessed Carlton and Spitz must have been the two soldiers at the door. She smoothed her skirt again.
He shifted toward the far door, opening up more space between them. “You know, I was kind of surprised Sterling didn’t put the kibosh on your coming tonight.”
“Kibosh?” She squeezed her hands together in her lap, hoping he had moved farther away out of concern for her comfort and not because she was somehow repellent.
“A stop.” His lips curved in the semidarkness of the cab’s interior. “You never read Dickens?”
“Who?” She hoped the shadows would hide her blush of embarrassment.
“Guess not.” Then he continued, “I think you’ll like the 300 Club. Before the war, it was a private club. Women had to be escorted by a member, and nonmembers were admitted only by invitation. Now pilots and military officers are also allowed as unofficial members—officers because they are helping defend the city, and pilots because the proprietor likes them, being one himself.”
“Sounds grand.”
“It is. More important, I like the food. And most nights they have dancing.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever danced,” she said, thinking the club sounded fantastic. “I mean other than when I was a baby.”
“We can definitely fix that tonight, if you’re up for it.”
She searched his face to see if he was serious. He was, and her breath caught. Excitement doubled her heartbeat. Afraid of seeming too eager, she tore her gaze away. Outside the open window, the city flew by.
“Calcutta is beautiful, if you can look past the beggars and the kids rotting with leprosy,” he observed from behind her. “And the smell. I swear it’s worse than Kunming.”
Frowning at that last bit, she leaned toward the window and sniffed. Not surprisingly, the acrid stench of sewers and animal dung weighed heavy in the air, but it was a smell she associated with any big city—a natural outcome of too many people and animals living in too little space. The air was also thick with an oily mix of smoke and smog, tasting almost metallic on her tongue—the smell of progress.
Yet there was also an unfamiliar cloying undernote of spice and incense lingering in the night air. To her the combination didn’t seem all that offensive, but perhaps American cities smelled different?
Before she could ask, the cab slowed and turned onto a private driveway. A pale stone edifice rose in front of her, capturing her imagination. Lush gardens, studded with exotic flowers like shy jewels, surrounded the porticoed entrance. The cab stopped, and Ted opened the door. The heady scent of night-blooming flowers rushed in, and somewhere the delicate splashings of a fountain echoed off the courtyard’s limestone walls.
Like a princess from a fairy tale, she got out of the cab and entered unfamiliar territory. She stooped to pick up a faded blossom off the immaculately swept tiles while Ted paid the cab fare. She rolled the silky pink flower between her fingers, marveling at its existence.
Twenty-four hours before, her world had been one of frost and barren ground. Tonight, through the whim of fate, she was enveloped in gentle summerlike heat, with the heady fragrance of exotic flowers and rich, fertile soil. It was almost too unreal to believe.
Ted came up beside her and held out his arm. “Ready?”
She hesitated, suddenly unsure whether she should touch him, which made no sense at all. It wasn’t like he was a stranger. She had spent three days on the trail with him—slept with her head on his shoulder, for heaven’s sake—and had even knocked him to the ground. Yet tonight everything felt different, more . . . real.
“Never mind.” His jaw tightened as he stepped back.
“No.” Instinctively, she reached for his arm and slipped hers through, her decision made in a heartbeat. “Now I’m ready.”
His slow smile erased all thoughts from her brain. In a daze she let him lead her to the entrance, where a turbaned dark-skinned man stopped them and then waved them through after Ted pointed to the gold wings on his shirt front.
“So what do you think?” he asked as they passed a polished mahogany sideboard with a sparkling crystal vase filled with scarlet flowers.
“I feel underdressed,” she whispered. From down the hallway came the sound of laughter and male voices as well as the unfamiliar strains of Western-style music—the kind she’d only ever heard over the radio when she had lived in Hankow.
“You’re not,” he murmured over the growing buzz of conversation. “I’d tell you again how nice you look, but I wouldn’t want it to go to your head, you being engaged to another and all.”
He gave her a teasing wink, yet his words sparked a ripple of unease. She disliked lying in general, but most particularly to someone she admired and liked. Perhaps it was wrong of her, but tonight she wanted to forget about Nathan and his matrimonial plans. For one night, she wanted to forget about the war and the danger to her family and friends. To be, for a moment, a carefree girl out with a handsome man, one who made her feel attractive, desirable . . . lovable.
“No, you’re right,” she said, pushing those dangerous thoughts away. “We can’t forget about Nathan.”
Before he could respond, someone hailed them.
“Younan! Miss Baker!” A man’s voice cut through the sea of conversation and music. “Over here!”
Genie turned and saw a slightly disheveled George Willits, the blond CNAC pilot, waving at them from the corner. She followed Ted through the blue haze of cigarette smoke, past white linen–draped tables that practically staggered under the weight of perspiring drinks and empty bottles of beer. Everywhere there were men. Men in uniforms or linen suits. Men drinking at the bar or smoking at tables. Men laughing, arguing, staring . . . at her.
She moved a little closer to Ted, suddenly aware of how few females were present. Here and there, she spotted women in uniform. Over by the bar she saw a handful of girls in brightly colored dresses. She also saw how closely the young men hovered over them.
“You made it,” George said with a wide grin as she and Ted got closer. After winking conspiratorially at her, he gestured with his beer bottle to the man seated at the table with him. “Joe here was just talking about you, wondering if you were coming tonight.”
“Well, I did.” She smiled tentatively at Joe. “Hello, Mr. Chin.”
The Chinese pilot stood politely, his scar hardly noticeable in the soft light of the chandeliers. “Good evening, Miss Baker. And please, call me Joe.”
George kicked out a chair with his foot. “Have a seat, you two. And, Younan, now that you’re here, settle an argument for us. What’s the word on Burma? How much longer will we be able to use Lashio for refueling?”
“Off the record?” Ted said as he scooted the chair out farther for her and then waited for her to take a seat. Once she was settled, he and Joe sat down. “Maybe a month at the most. We’re taking too many losses to hold the base much longer, especially with no new planes coming through. Why?”
George leaned forward. “Because without Lashio, we’re going to have to start flying the Hump, and I don’t have to tell you how much fun that’s going to be. Damn the Brits, anyway, for pulling out.”
“It’s not like they have a choice,” Ted retorted as he tried to flag down a waiter.
“Wait, are you saying Britain is pulling out of Burma?” Her stomach twisted. Even with her limited knowledge of world politics, she knew that the fall of Burma would leave yet another undefended border for China.
Ted rubbed her back reassuringly, releasing a flood of heat in her body. “It hasn’t fallen yet, Genie. And your village is a long way from the Burmese border. Don’t worry.”
She bit her lip, simultaneously wanting to lean into and away from his touch.
He lifted her chin until she met his gaze. “Your father will be fine.”
She wanted to trust the earnestness in his dark eyes. She truly did, but her fears wouldn’t let her.
�
��Of course,” George said, breaking the moment, “if the Chinese troops would stop looting their own supplies long enough to mount an offense, we might not be in this fix. I swear, half the stuff we deliver disappears onto the black market seconds after it’s unloaded.”
“That’s not fair!” Genie exclaimed, turning to face him. “Our soldiers would never steal from their own army. Not when the survival of China is at stake.”
George raised a blond eyebrow. “Our soldiers? You Chinese or American? I mean, I understand Chin’s confusion, being a Chinaman born in Baltimore and all.”
“Actually, I suffer no confusion whatsoever,” Joe said calmly. “You’re the one who can’t decide.”
George drained his beer bottle and set it on the table. “You know what? You’re right. Can I get you something to drink at the bar, Miss Baker? The waitstaff is unbearably slow tonight, and I’m in need of another beer.”
“That’s very kind of you,” she said, racking her brain for something that would make her sound sophisticated and mature, like the other women here tonight. “Do they have punch?”
George staggered to his feet. “If they don’t, I’ll tell the bartender to go get some. Younan? Chin?”
Ted slid her a considering look. “Gin and tonic for me, and change Genie’s order to a club soda with a twist of lime.”
“Did I order something wrong?” she asked Ted with a frown while Chin said another beer would be fine.
“No, but I happen to know the bartender here likes to spike the punch, and I’m guessing you still abstain from liquor?”
Her cheeks heated under his steady regard. “Would you think less of me if I said yes?”
“Not at all,” he said. “In a place like this, I would say it’s wise.”
“Oh. Thank you for looking out for me, then.”
He tilted his head in acknowledgment and then turned his gaze to the room. Genie fidgeted as an awkward silence fell over the table. She wished she could think of something clever to say, something that would interest these men, who had seen and done so much more than she had.
A Girl Divided Page 13