He looked up at her, surprised, seeing how her breasts had slipped from within the robe and lay between the rich blue folds of cloth, exposed, strangely different.
And as he looked, desire beat up in him fiercely, like a raging fire.
He sat beside her, reaching within the robe to gently touch the soft warmth of her flesh, his hands moving slowly upward until they cupped her breasts. Then, lowering his face to hers, he let his lips brush softly against her lips.
She tensed, trembling in his arms, then, suddenly, she was pressing up against him, her mouth pushing urgently against his, her arms pulling him down. He shivered, amazed by the sudden change in her, the hunger in her eyes.
For a moment he held back, looking down into her face, surprised by the strength of what he suddenly felt. Then, gently, tenderly, he pushed her down, accepting what she offered, casting off the bright, fierce light that had held him in its grasp only moments before, letting himself slip down into the darkness of her, like a stone falling into the heart of a deep, dark well.
Chapter 56
THE LOST BRIDE
‘Well, Minister Heng, what was it you wished to see me about?’
Heng Yu had been kneeling, his head touched to the cold, stone floor. Now he rose, looking up at his T’ang for the first time. Li Shai Tung was sitting in the throne of state, his tall, angular body clothed in imperial yellow. The Council of Ministers had ended an hour past, but Heng Yu had stayed on, requesting a private audience with his T’ang. Three broad steps led up to the presence dais. At the bottom of those steps stood the T’ang’s Chancellor, Chung Hu-yan. In the past few months, as the old man had grown visibly weaker, more power had devolved on to the shoulders of the capable and honest Chung, and it was to Chung that Heng had gone, immediately the Council had finished. Now Chung gave the slightest smile as he looked at Heng.
‘I am grateful for this chance to talk with you, Chieh Hsia,’ Heng began. ‘I would not have asked had it not been a matter of the greatest urgency.’
The T’ang smiled. ‘Of course. But, please, Heng Yu, be brief. I am already late for my next appointment.’
Heng bowed again, conscious of the debt he owed the Chancellor for securing this audience.
‘It is about young Shepherd, Chieh Hsia.’
The T’ang raised an eyebrow. ‘Hal’s boy? What of him?’
‘He is at college, I understand, Chieh Hsia.’
Li Shai Tung laughed. ‘You know it for a certainty, Heng Yu, else you would not have mentioned the matter. But what of it? Is the boy in trouble?’
Heng hesitated. ‘I am not sure, Chieh Hsia. It does not seem that he is in any immediate danger, yet certain facts have come to my notice that suggest he might be in the days ahead.’
Li Shai Tung leaned forward, his left hand smoothing his plaited beard.
‘I see. But why come to me, Heng Yu? This is a matter for General Nocenzi, surely?’
Heng gave a small bow. ‘Normally I would agree, Chieh Hsia, but in view of the father’s illness and the boy’s possible future relationship with Prince Yuan...’
He left the rest unsaid, but Li Shai Tung took his point. Heng was right. This was much more important than any normal Security matter. Whatever Ben said just now of his intentions, he had been bred to be Li Yuan’s advisor, and genes, surely, would out eventually? For anything to happen to him now was unthinkable.
‘What do you suggest, Heng Yu?’
In answer, Heng Yu bowed, then held out the scroll he had prepared in advance. Chung Hu-yan took it from him and handed it up to the T’ang who unfurled it and began to read. When he had finished he looked back at Heng.
‘Good. You have my sanction for this, Heng Yu. I’ll sign this and give the General a copy of the authority. But don’t delay. I want this acted upon at once.’
‘Of course, Chieh Hsia.’
‘And Heng Yu...’
‘Yes, Chieh Hsia?’
‘I am in your debt in this matter. If there is any small favour I can offer in return, let Chung Hu-yan know and it shall be done.’
Heng Yu bowed low. ‘I am overwhelmed by your generosity, Chieh Hsia, but forgive me, it would not be right for me to seek advantage from what was, after all, my common duty to my lord. As ever, Chieh Hsia, I ask for nothing but to serve you.’
Straightening, he saw the smile of satisfaction on the old man’s lips and knew he had acted wisely. There were things he needed; things the T’ang could have made easier for him; but none, at present, that were outside his own broad grasp. To have the T’ang’s good opinion, however, that was another thing entirely. He bowed a second time, then lowered his head to Chung Hu-yan, backing away. One day, he was certain, such temporary sacrifices would pay off – would reap a thousandfold the rewards he now so lightly gave away. In the meantime he would find out what this business with the Novacek boy was all about. Would get to the bottom of it and then make sure that it was from him that the T’ang first heard of it.
As the great doors closed behind him, he looked about him at the great halls and corridors of the palace, smiling. Yes, the old T’ang’s days were numbered now. And Prince Yuan, when his time came, would need a Chancellor. A younger man than Chung Hu-yan. A man he could rely on absolutely.
Heng Yu walked on, past bowing servants, a broad smile lighting his features.
So why not himself? Why not Heng Yu, whose record was unblemished, whose loyalty and ability were unquestioned?
As he approached them, the huge, leather-panelled outer doors of the palace began to ease back, spilling bright sunlight into the shadows of the broad, high-ceilinged corridor. Outside, the shaven-headed guards of the T’ang’s elite squad bowed low as he moved between them. Savouring the moment, Heng Yu, Minister to Li Shai Tung, T’ang of City Europe, gave a soft, small laugh of pleasure.
Yes, he thought, looking up at the great circle of the sun. Why not?
Catherine stood in the doorway, looking across at him. Ben was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head pushed forward, his shoulders hunched, staring at the frame without seeing it.
He had woken full of life; had smiled and kissed her tenderly and told her to wait while he brought her breakfast, but he had been gone too long. She had found him in the kitchen, staring vacantly at his hands, the breakfast things untouched.
‘What is it?’ she had asked. ‘What’s happened?’ But he had walked past her as if she wasn’t there. Had gone through and sat down on the bed. So still, so self-engrossed that it had frightened her.
‘Ben?’ she said, setting the tray down beside him. ‘I’ve cooked breakfast. Won’t you have some with me?’
He glanced up at her. ‘What?’
‘Breakfast.’ She smiled, then knelt beside him, putting her hand on his knee.
‘Ah...’ His smile was wan; was merely the token of a smile.
‘What is it, Ben? Please. I’ve not seen you like this before. It must be something.’
For a moment he did nothing. Then he reached into the pocket of his gown and took something out, offering it to her.
It was a letter. She took it from him, handling it with care – with a feeling for its strangeness.
She sat on the floor beside his feet, handling the letter delicately, as if it were old and fragile like the book he had given her, taking the folded sheets and smoothing them out upon her lap.
For a moment she hesitated, a sudden sense of foreboding washing over her. What if it were another woman? Some past lover of his, writing to reclaim him – to take him back from her? Or was it something else? Something he had difficulty telling her?
She glanced at him, then looked back, beginning to read.
After only a few moments she looked up. ‘Your sister?’
He nodded. ‘She wants to come and visit me. To see what I’m up to.’
Ah...’ But, strangely, she felt no relief. There was something about the tone of the letter that troubled her. ‘And you don’t want that?’
Again he no
dded, his lips pressed tightly together.
For a moment she looked past him at the books on the shelf beside his bed. Books she had never heard of before, with titles that were as strange as the leather binding of their covers; books like Polidori’s Ernestus Berchtold, Helme’s The Farmer of Inglewood Forest, Poe’s Eleanora, Brown’s The Power Of Sympathy and Byron’s Manfred. She stared at them a moment, as if to make sense of them, then looked back at him.
Folding the sheets, she slipped them back inside the envelope, then held it out to him.
‘I’ve come here to get away from all that,’ he said, taking the letter. He looked at it fiercely for a moment, as if it were a living thing, then put it back in his pocket. ‘This here...’ He gestured at the frame, the books and prints on the walls, the personal things that were scattered all about the room, then shrugged. ‘Well, it’s different, that’s all.’
She thought of Lotte and Wolf, beginning to understand. ‘It’s too close at home. Is that what you mean? And you feel stifled by that?’
He looked down at his hand – at the left hand where the wrist was ridged – then looked back at her.
‘Perhaps.’
She saw how he smiled, faintly, looking inward, as if to piece it all together in his head.
‘Your breakfast,’ she said, reminding him. ‘You should eat it. It’s getting cold.’
He looked back, suddenly focusing on her again. Then, as if he had made his mind up about something, he reached out and took her hand, drawing her up towards him.
‘Forget breakfast. Come. Let’s go to bed again.’
‘Well? Have you the file?’
Heng Chian-ye turned, snapping his fingers. At once his servant drew nearer and, bowing, handed him a silk-bound folder.
‘I think you’ll find everything you need in there,’ Heng said, handing it across. ‘But tell me, Novacek, why did you want to know about that one? Has he crossed you in some way?’
Sergey Novacek glanced at Heng, then looked back at the file. ‘It’s none of your business, but, no, he hasn’t crossed me. It’s just that our friend Shepherd is a bit of a mystery, and I hate mysteries.’
Heng Chian-ye stared at Novacek a moment, controlling the cold anger he felt merely at being in his presence. The Hung Mao had no idea what trouble he had got him into.
‘You’ve made your own investigations, I take it?’ he said, asking another of the questions his uncle had insisted he ask.
Novacek looked up, closing the file. ‘Is this all?’
Heng smiled. ‘You know how it is, the richer the man, the less there is on file. Those who can, buy their anonymity.’
‘And you think that’s what happened here?’
‘The boy’s father is very rich. Rich enough to buy his way into Oxford without any qualifications whatsoever.’
Novacek nodded, a hint of bitterness overspilling into his words. ‘I know. I’ve seen the college records.’
‘Ah...’ Heng gave the briefest nod, noting what he had said.
‘And the bronze?’
Heng Chian-ye turned slightly. Again the servant approached him, this time carrying a simple ice-cloth sack. Heng took the sack and turned, facing Novacek. His expression was suddenly much harder, his eyes coldly hostile.
‘This cost me dear. If there had been any way I could have borrowed a million yuan I would have done so, rather than meet my uncle’s terms. But before I hand it over, I want to know why you wanted it. Why you thought it worth a million yuan.’
Novacek stared at him a moment, meeting the Han’s hostility with his own. Then he looked down, smiling sourly. ‘You call us big-noses behind our backs, but you’ve quite a nose yourself, haven’t you, Heng?’
Heng’s eyes flared with anger, but he held back, remembering what his uncle had said. On no account was he to provoke Novacek.
‘And if I say you can’t have it?’
Novacek laughed. ‘That’s fine. You can pay me the million. In instalments, if you like. However, I’ll charge you interest on it. A hundred and fifty thousand a year.’ He looked up again, meeting Heng’s eyes. ‘But that’s rather more than what you get, so I hear. You might find it... difficult to make ends meet. It takes a fair bit to live as richly as you do.’
Heng swallowed, then, almost brutally, thrust the sack into the other man’s hands.
Sergey watched Heng a moment, noting how angry he was and wondering about it, then looked down at the plain white sack he held, feeling the shape of the bronze through the flesh-thin cloth, a clear, clean sense of satisfaction – of fulfilment – washing through him.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then we’re clear, Heng Chian-ye. I’d say your debt to me was settled, wouldn’t you?’
Heng Chian-ye turned, taking three angry steps away from him before turning back, his face almost black with anger, his finger pointing accusingly at his tormentor.
‘Take care, Novacek. Next time you might not be so lucky. Next time you could meet with someone who counts honour a lesser thing than I. And then you’ll find out what the world really thinks of scum like you.’
Sergey stared back at him, smiling insolently. ‘Go fuck yourself, Heng Chian-ye. You’ve no more honour than a Triad boss’s cock. The only reason you paid up was your fear of losing face in front of your friends. But that’s your problem. I’ve got what I want.’
Heng opened his mouth, as if to answer him in kind, then changed his mind. He laughed then shook his head, his voice suddenly colder, more controlled.
‘Have you, my friend? Have you now?’
They went to the Café Burgundy and took a table close to The Green, paying to keep the three chairs empty. Catherine sat to Ben’s right, the tiered cage of the central pagoda behind her, forming a frame to her pale, flame-like beauty. ‘My bird’ he called her now, and so it seemed fitting. He smiled, studying her profile, then turned and raised a hand to order wine.
He had been quiet all evening, pensive. A second letter had come. It lay inside his jacket pocket unopened. He could feel its gentle pressure against his chest; sense the hidden shape of it.
She too had been quiet, but for different reasons. Hers was a broody, jealous silence; the kind he had come to know only too well these last few days.
The waiter came and poured their wine, leaving the unfinished bottle in an ice bucket on the table between them. Ben leaned across and chinked his glass against hers.
She turned her head and looked at him. ‘What does she want?’
He almost smiled at that, knowing what she really thought. His unexplained absences. The letters. Even his moods. He knew she took these things as signs of his infidelity. But she wasn’t certain. Not yet, anyway. And so the brooding silence.
He sipped at his wine then set the glass down. ‘Here.’ He took the letter from his pocket and handed it to her.
She narrowed her eyes, suspicious of him, then took the letter. For a time she simply stared at it, not certain what he meant by giving it to her. Then she lifted it to her nose and sniffed.
‘Open it,’ he said, amused by her hesitation. ‘Or give it back and I’ll open it. It’s from my sister, Meg.’
She nodded, only half convinced, but gave the letter back, watching as he slit it open with his thumbnail and drew out the four slender sheets of paper. Without even glancing at them, he handed them to her.
‘Here...’
She lowered her eyes, beginning to read, reluctantly at first, but then with a growing interest. Finally, she looked up again, her face changed, more open to him.
‘But why didn’t you say? That was cruel of you, Ben, leaving me in the dark like that. I thought...’
She blushed and looked away. He reached across and took the letter from her.
‘Aren’t you pleased, Ben? I think it’s sweet of her to worry about you. She could stay with me, if you’d like. I’ve a spare pull-down in my room. She could use that.’
He glanced at her, then returned to the letter. Finished, he folded it neatly and s
lipped it back into his pocket.
‘Well?’ she said, exasperated. ‘It would be lovely to meet your sister. Really it would.’
He poured himself more wine, then drank deeply. She watched him, puzzled.
‘What aren’t you telling me?’
He shook his head.
‘Don’t you like her? Is that it?’
He laughed. ‘What, Meg? No, she’s...’ He smiled strangely, looking down into his empty glass. ‘She’s just perfect.’ He looked up at her, then reached across and, gently lifting her chin, leaned forward to brush his lips against hers.
She smiled. ‘That’s nice. But what about her?’
‘She’ll stay with me,’ he said, dismissing the subject. ‘Now... what shall we eat?’
She stared at him a moment, then let it go. ‘I don’t mind. Surprise me.’ He laughed, suddenly, inexplicably, his old self. ‘Oysters. Let’s have oysters.’
‘Just oysters?’
‘No. Not just oysters, but a whole platter of oysters. The very best oysters. More than we could possibly eat.’ He puffed out his cheeks and sat back in his chair, his hands tracing an exaggerated curve about his stomach, miming a grossly swollen gut. He laughed, then sat upright again and turned in his chair, snapping his fingers for a waiter.
The abruptness of the transformation both delighted and disturbed her. It hinted at a side of him she had not seen before, unless it was in that moment when he had mimicked her. She pushed her tongue between her teeth, watching him. Laughter at a nearby table distracted her momentarily, making her turn her head. When she looked back he was watching her again, a faint smile on his lips.
‘Sometimes you’re just plain strange,’ she said, laughing. ‘Like this business about your family. What’s wrong with talking about them? You never tell me anything.’
He shrugged. ‘It isn’t important. That’s home. This is here. I like to keep them separate.’
She looked down, wondering if he realized what he was saying. She felt hurt by his exclusion. Somehow lessened by it.
An Inch of Ashes (CHUNG KUO SERIES) Page 31