Perfect Wedding

by Duncan, Alice

  “I hate to move her,” he went on. “She’s beginning to trust us. If I take her somewhere else, she’ll have to adjust to a whole new set of circumstances and people, and she’ll only become frightened again. Besides, the more we move her around, the more chances there are for someone to spot her.”

  “But if they keep trying to find her in Loretta’s house, they’ll probably succeed one of these days, because she’s there. Besides, if you keep her there, more people than she will be in danger.”

  “I know.” He heaved a gigantic sigh and sipped his soup.

  Finally, Marjorie condescended to pick up her spoon. She took a very small sip of her own soup, then eyed her spoon with misgiving. “I’ve never seen a spoon like this before.”

  “Chinese,” muttered Jason. “They carve them out of bone.” Her nose crinkled, and he added, “Don’t worry, they wash the bone first.” With a stab at sarcasm, he said, “Be brave for once, can’t you? It’s only soup, and it hasn’t killed anyone yet.”

  She gave him a very good frown and dipped her spoon again. “I’m not refusing to eat the stuff. Besides, I’ve eaten Chinese food before.” She sniffed meaningfully.

  The stuff. Huh. “It’s tasty. You have to admit that it’s tasty.”

  “Aye,” she said grudgingly. “It is tolerably tasty.”

  He put his spoon down. “Do you think they know she’s there? Really know?”

  At last she made eye contact. She’d avoided doing so until this moment. “I don’t know. Those two hoodlums asked for the Chinese girl, and I said I didn’t know what they were talking about.”

  “Hmmm. I wonder why they chose Loretta’s house to look for her.”

  Shaking her head, which was at present crowned with a flat hat tilted at an angle that looked remarkably fetching on her, she said, “I have no idea.” With unbecoming sarcasm, she added, “Perhaps because you and Loretta are known to be best friends, and you both support all sorts of unorthodox causes.”

  “They aren’t unorthodox,” Jason grumbled.

  “Hmm.”

  The beads at their sides rattled, and a smiling Chinese waiter in a crisp white robe appeared. “Main course,” he said in heavily accented English.

  “Thank you.” Jason sat back as the plates were placed on the table before them. He didn’t watch the food; he watched Marjorie. In spite of his mood and the seriousness of what they needed to discuss, he felt a tingle of amusement as she eyed each dish as the waiter set it down in front of her. He could tell what she was thinking. She recognized the rice for what it was. She had grave suspicions about the chicken with cashew nuts. And she was clearly afraid of the shrimp with vegetables and garlic.

  “It’s all very good, Marjorie. Don’t look so frightened.”

  She lifted her head with a jerk. “I am’na frightened!”

  “Right.” He lifted his chopsticks. Marjorie had been provided with a knife and fork. “I’ll just put a little bit of this on your plate. You’ll see. It’s delicious.”

  He did as he said he would, piling approximately a tablespoonful of rice onto her plate, and a teaspoonful each of the other delicacies. On his own plate, he mounded as much as would fit, then dug in with relish.

  Marjorie didn’t exactly dig in at all. She forked up a tiny bit of chicken with some rice and tasted it, a thoughtful expression on her face. Her eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  “Good, isn’t it?”

  “I must admit that it is.” She took a deep breath and forked up some of the vegetables and shrimp, leaving the rice aside as if she were finally willing to chance something new without something familiar along with it to give her comfort. Again her eyebrows lifted.

  “See?” said Jason, swallowing. “It’s good.” He reached over and dished up more of all three selections onto her plate.

  “Thank you. Aye, it’s vurra good.”

  To his surprise, she looked him square in the eye and smiled. “And it’s the second time I’ve experimented with food recently, too, so your nasty comment about my not being brave was off the mark.” She sounded proud of herself.

  “The second time?”

  “Aye. I had Russian food at the Panama-Pacific Exhibition.”

  “Oh. Right.” He frowned, having forgotten about that humiliating day. Damn Hamilton St. Claire as a benighted prig and a bounder.

  “Aye.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. Jason discovered that his appetite had come back to him the instant Marjorie gave her approval of the fare. Strange, that. After demolishing most of the food on his plate, he sat back, sighed, and returned to the pressing issue of Jia Lee. “I’m worried that even if we move her, people will still try to invade Loretta’s house.”

  “Why should they if she’s not there?”

  “Because if they don’t know she is there, they won’t know when she’s not there,” he pointed out. Picking up his tiny teacup, he sipped some fragrant tea. He really did feel a special kinship to Chinese history and culture, which was one of the reasons he found his attraction to Marjorie so remarkable. She was as remote from anything Chinese as a body could get.

  “Ah. Aye, that’s so.”

  Her frown made him itchy. “I know, I know. I should never have brought her to Loretta’s house. It put all of you in jeopardy. But I didn’t know what else to do at the time, and it was critical that I take her somewhere before the louts who’d been after her traced us. She was badly injured, don’t forget, and I couldn’t very well just let her go. She had no place to go.”

  Setting her fork down, Marjorie sighed. “Aye, I know. You made a quick decision. I’d probably have made the same one.”

  His own eyebrows shot up. “Is that a conciliatory statement from our own Marjorie MacTavish? How unusual.”

  “Blast you, Jason Abernathy!”

  He winced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “I’m sure.” With sharp, angry gestures, Marjorie folded her napkin, set it beside her plate, and scooped up her small handbag from the seat beside her. “I willna stay here and be insulted by you! I’ve taken enough of that sort of thing from you. And I willna do it anymore.”

  Reaching across the table, Jason grabbed her wrist. “No, Marjorie, don’t run off in a huff. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

  The beads at their side rattled again, and a most unwelcome, and entirely too hearty, voice said, “I thought I heard your lovely voice, Marjorie!” Hamilton St. Claire nodded at Jason. “Dr. Abernathy. Sorry for intruding like this, but I wanted to see if I was correct.” He giggled, thoroughly irritating Jason, who didn’t approve of men giggling. “I do love this restaurant, don’t you?”

  “Hamilton!” Marjorie, clearly as startled as Jason by this sudden intrusion, dropped her handbag on the table. “I didna know you were here.”

  “Miss Collins and I were taking a bite of lunch. I see the two of you had the same idea.”

  “Yes, we did.” Jason eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t suppose your table is anywhere near ours, is it?”

  Marjorie gave him a searching glance.

  “No, indeed. We’re across the room.” Holding the beaded curtain back, Hamilton pointed, and Ginger gave them a finger wave. She wore a silly smile on her face, as if she felt she had somehow scored a point against Marjorie.

  Jason, who couldn’t account for his sudden jolt of suspicion, nodded. He didn’t chalk this meeting up to coincidence, of course, although he guessed he could acquit St. Claire of having designs on Jia Lee. He definitely had designs on Marjorie, damn the fellow.

  “We were just finishing up here,” he said gruffly. “Then I’ll see Miss MacTavish to her home.”

  “Of course, of course. Just wanted to say hello. Ta-ta, Marjorie.”

  “Good afternoon, Hamilton,” Marjorie said formally.

  Jason silently blessed her for sounding as annoyed as he felt. Maybe she wouldn’t fall for the sissified Hamilton St. Claire and his money and his breeding. Not that Jason himself d
idn’t have money and breeding but, according to his parents and their socially snobbish friends, he’d been flying in the face of both of those privileges his entire adult life. He’d expected his father to disown him when he married Mai, but since she’d died shortly thereafter, the old man had forgiven him. Not, Jason thought bitterly, that he had any reason to be forgiven, not having done anything the least bit shameful except love a good woman.

  Damn it, he didn’t want to think about that right now. The beads dropped back into place, and he scowled at Marjorie. “Do you think they heard what we were talking about?”

  “Of course not!” She looked at him as if she considered him not merely an idiot, but a particularly pernicious one. “And what if they did? Would it matter? Surely you don’t suspect Hamilton St. Claire or Ginger Collins of attempting to abduct that poor girl.”

  It did sound silly, when she said it aloud. “Of course I don’t,” he retorted irritably. “I just don’t like coincidences.”

  “Balderdash. This restaurant is close to the church. I’m sure there are others from the congregation here. You’re not the only one who likes to dine out on a fine Sunday afternoon, you know.”

  “Of course, of course.” Jason plucked some bills from his wallet and threw them onto the table. Marjorie’s eyes opened wide, and he glanced at the money. Sheepishly, he scooped up a couple of the bills, understanding that ten dollars for a one-dollar meal was fairly excessive. Marjorie rattled his senses, damn it. It wasn’t like him to throw money around. Literally or figuratively.

  “Come on. We can talk in the clinic.” He took her arm, nodded at Hamilton and Ginger, who were smirking from their table, offered the Chinese owner a friendly good-bye, and left the restaurant. “It’s not far. We can walk, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind. I can use some exercise after that meal.”

  “It was good, wasn’t it?”

  “Aye. Very.”

  Jason felt an unaccountable surge of pride at having succeeded in pleasing Marjorie for once.

  The crisp autumn air was bracing after the warm, foody atmosphere of the restaurant, and Jason discovered his mood was bright and his step was jaunty. He allowed himself only a second or two to consider that this phenomenon might owe something to the company he was in. Down that path lay too many perils, and he didn’t need any more things to worry about than he already had at the moment. Before he could even begin to think about what Marjorie was coming to mean to him, he had to solve the problem of Jia Lee.

  “Weather’s nice,” he said, attempting in that way to reinforce his hope that it was the weather, and not Marjorie, that was affecting his mood.

  “Aye,” said she. “Brisk.”

  And that was that. Neither one of them spoke as they traversed the sidewalks of San Francisco. As they neared Chinatown, the atmosphere changed, as it always did, and Jason’s perky mood got even perkier. He couldn’t really account for why loved this part of his city. God knew, his appreciation had nothing to do with his upbringing.

  Gradually, the conversations they overheard as they walked past other people changed from mostly English to mostly Chinese. The air they breathed, always tangy with salt and creosote, became mingled with the aromas Jason would forever associate with Chinatown: fragrant teas, salt vegetables, and always, always, a faint, elusive hint of sandalwood incense.

  He’d just taken a deep breath, preparatory to breaking the silence prevailing between himself and Marjorie when suddenly the air was knocked out of him by a vicious blow to his back. Marjorie screamed. Jason, scrambling to keep his feet under him, whirled around to see what had happened, and was horrified to find Marjorie crumpling on the sidewalk. Two brutish men, hooded and enormous and carrying cudgels, charged at him, their purpose clear, even if their faces weren’t.

  But Jason hadn’t merely devoured Chinese food and culture during his years in Chinatown. He’d also become fairly well acquainted with the old Chinese martial art of Taijiquan.

  No expert, he still managed to kick out smartly and fell one villain with a blow to his midsection. In a flash, he’d snatched the fallen brute’s cudgel and warded off a blow from his companion with it. Still in a crouched position, he knocked the second hoodlum in the knee with a sharp kick. The man bellowed, dropped his own cudgel, and as quickly as they’d attacked, the two men ran away. Both of them limped, making Jason’s heart soar a second before it plummeted as he beheld Marjorie’s still form huddled at his feet.

  “Marjorie!” He knelt beside her, wanting to take her into his arms and knowing that might be the worst thing he could do for her.

  She stirred.

  “Don’t move,” he said, palpating her head like mad. It looked to him as though her pretty hat, now squashed and not so pretty, might have cushioned the cudgel’s blow. He ripped it off her glorious, shiny hair, prompting a squeal of pain from her. “Sorry. Don’t move. I want to see if you have a concussion.”

  A crowd had gathered. As a rule, the Chinese avoided the problems of whites who invaded their neighborhood, but everyone in the neighborhood knew and respected Jason, so the crowd consisted of a variety of facial characteristics and colors. Glancing around, Jason rapped out an order in Chinese. “Go to my clinic and fetch Lo Sing and a litter.” Several people darted off.

  “What happened?” Marjorie lifted a hand to her head and grimaced. “It hurts.”

  “I’m sure it does. We were attacked.”

  “Attacked?”

  Her beautiful green eyes blinked at him. He longed to hold her in his arms, to cradle her and tell her that he wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt her again, ever. Because to do so would not merely be dangerous if she had sustained a concussion, but also incredibly stupid, he only answered her question. “Yes. And damned if I know why.”

  She lifted her eyebrows, and he understood the question. “I can’t imagine why they’d do this for that reason.”

  “Let me sit up, please,” she said. “I dinna like it here on the ground.”

  “Not until I know you won’t hurt yourself more.”

  “Jason!”

  Looking up, Jason beheld Lo Sing and several other Chinese men racing toward him. “Thank God.”

  “What?” Marjorie blinked blearily.

  “Here’s Lo Sing with a litter. We’ll take you to the clinic, where I can examine you more carefully.”

  “This is vurra embarrassing,” muttered Marjorie.

  Her complaint was so utterly typical of her that Jason actually laughed. “It’ll be all right in a few minutes,” he promised, hoping he was right. “Don’t talk.”

  A glance at the people surrounding her made Marjorie shut both her mouth and her eyes. Jason got the impression she was either wishing she could disappear or praying for deliverance.

  # # #

  For a moment or two after she awoke, Marjorie didn’t know where she was, why she was there, or why her head hurt. When she reached up to feel the sore spot, she encountered a bandage covering lump the size of an egg, and it all came back to her.

  “Och, God,” she moaned, unsure whether she found the wound or the place she lay more of a problem for her. Because she was currently occupying Dr. Jason Abernathy’s personal, private bed in his personal, private bed chamber, located above his clinic on the corner of Grant and Sacramento Streets in Chinatown.

  How shocking. Not to mention degrading. And then there was the fact that it was relatively frightening to know that she and he had been attacked on a public street by two armed—with cudgels as weapons, but still they were armed—hooligans on what should have been a peaceful Sunday afternoon.

  Loretta would be delighted if such a thing had happened to her.

  Marjorie snorted. In some respects, Loretta was a fool. Not that Marjorie didn’t love her like a sister.

  With a groan, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. At least Jason hadn’t undressed her, but had allowed her to do the deed herself. Glancing down at the white Chinese robe now adorning her person, sh
e couldn’t understand the small stab of disappointment that speared her at the knowledge that she and not he had wrapped the silken garment around her. She frowned, knowing that the stab had been not merely outrageous and foolish, but probably irreligious and immoral as well.

  She glanced around the room curiously. So this was where Dr. Jason Abernathy lived. Interesting. His fascination with all things Chinese was evident here. The room was filled with Chinese art, silk hangings and painted landscapes. They were beautiful, although they made Marjorie feel somehow alone and isolated, as if she and not they were the alien entity in this room of the man she . . . er . . . was beginning to trust as a friend. She scowled, knowing that wasn’t the right description, but she didn’t care to examine it further at the moment. She had plenty enough problems to occupy her without having to worry about her feelings for Jason.

  Jade and ivory ornaments sat here and there, artistically arranged on tables and bookcases. Marjorie wondered if Jason had accepted the gewgaws in payment for his medical services. It was a good thing the man came from money, because he assuredly didn’t make much in his practice, which was all but a charity clinic.

  With a deep inhalation of breath, Marjorie decided she liked the fragrance permeating the room. It was a flowery, somewhat spicy scent that she knew she’d forever associate with Chinatown and the jasmine and sandalwood incense so prevalent there. Pushing herself up from the bed, she stood still for a moment, testing her ability to maneuver without falling over or bumping into things.

  After a few seconds, she decided that, except for the lump on her head, she felt fine, and the pain from that was isolated at the site of the lump. She didn’t know if that was a good thing or not, but she suspected it was. Jason needn’t worry about concussion, if she was any judge. Of course, she wasn’t, but that didn’t deter her from her mission of exploration. After all, she’d never again have this opportunity.