Tell Me No Lies

by Elizabeth Lowell

  "It's a very fine wine vessel," she said, looking at the cylindrical bronze that had been made to hold an individual portion of wine.

  Slowly Catlin walked around the piece. The vessel was just over six inches high and three inches in diameter. It stood on three vaguely clawed feet and had once been inlaid with gold, silver and turquoise. Some of the precious metal still shone forth from grooves that had been created during the casting process itself, rather than incised afterward. Here and there a few chips of turquoise remained, adding a blue-green accent that complemented the vessel's fine patina.

  Lindsay knew before Catlin looked up that he admired the bronze but wasn't going to bid on it. It was there in his expression, in the way he appreciated the piece without any trace of possessiveness. A week ago she wouldn't have noticed the extremely subtle clues as to his thoughts, and she doubted that many other people would notice those clues under any circumstances. She was simply attuned to Catlin's responses, to the way he looked at and touched the objects around him.

  "Why not?" she asked quietly.

  He glanced up, startled. "I'll have to brush up on my poker face," he said. "How did you know?"

  She opened her mouth to answer, then realized that there was no way to explain that somehow she read him accurately even when he gave no overt clues. "I just knew."

  Catlin's amber eyes weighed Lindsay for a long moment. No one had ever read him easily, not Susie, the childhood sweetheart he had married, not even Mei, the woman who had almost killed him. Catlin had learned young that it was too dangerous to be open to another person's mind, for the simple reason that people betrayed you. And you betrayed them. Trust simply wasn't a survival attribute. Not that Susie had meant to betray him. She had simply been too young and too lonely to wait for her high school hero to come home from the war to her. It had been different with Mei. Mei had meant to betray him from the beginning, for that was the job given to her by her pimp and occasional paramour, Lee Tran. Mei had let nothing stop her, not even her own unexpected emotion for the man she had been assigned to kill.

  And Lindsay, who had never betrayed anyone, was being taught how to by an expert.

  "I have a wine vessel like this already," Catlin said, his voice as emotionless as his eyes. "The design on this one is slightly more ornate, but the inlay on mine is intact, even to the turquoise. The patina on mine is richer, more even. Superior, in a word."

  Lindsay stared at Catlin, absorbing the fact that at one time he must have been a very serious collector indeed. The wine vessel in front of her was of museum quality, a work of art as well as a piece of history. If he had one in his collection that was better, he had a treasure.

  "I would like to see your collection," she said distinctly.

  "So would I," Catlin said, his mouth turning up in something less than a smile.

  For Catlin, leaving his bronzes in a Hong Kong vault had been the most difficult part of ending his old life and beginning the new one. It had also been very necessary. If Catlin were to survive, his undercover identity as Rousseau must end. Completely. And so his "death" had been arranged.

  But Rousseau didn't die, did he? Catlin asked himself bitterly. Not completely. Chen Yi resurrected him from the hell of the past with half of an old coin. And now I'm dragging someone down into that hell with me, someone who has done nothing to earn it, someone who deserves much better than what I'll bring to her.

  Lindsay watched Catlin's dark face and wondered what thoughts were turning within the desolate amber depths of his eyes. From what little she knew about his past, she could guess that his memories weren't the sort to be trivialized ob rose-tinted greeting cards. The realization didn't disturb her. Some of her own memories were less than cheerful, too.

  For once Lindsay was glad of the role she had to play. It gave her an excuse to take Catlin's grim face between her hands and kiss him gently. His mouth was unresponsive. His hands covered hers, removing them abruptly.

  "Save it for later," he said in a carrying tone. "I want to look at the bronzes." He smiled as he spoke, but there was no emotion in his eyes, nothing but the chill she had instinctively attempted to warm.

  The rejection was complete and unexpected. For an instant Lindsay stared at Catlin, seeing from the corner of her eye the smiles of two collectors before they looked away from the small incident. Humiliation and anger rose in her cheeks. Deliberately she smiled at him, showing all her lovely white teeth.

  "Later? I don't think so," she said, her voice much softer than his had been. "Unless later is another word for never." She leaned closer to him, smoothing his tie with her fingertips. When she spoke, her voice carried no farther than his ears. "I'm supposed to be infatuated, not rock stupid. You made the touchy-feely rules, Catlin, and now you will damn well play by them. Or else we can have a lovely, very public little spat and you can get another hotel room"

  Lindsay smiled suddenly, a real smile, for the knowledge that tonight she would have to share Catlin's bed in reality rather than simply appearing to share it had been undermining her composure at odd moments. And share it she would. There was no help for it; the hotel maid would know very quickly if two beds had been slept in. What the hotel maid knew, other people could buy from her.

  "Yes I like the idea of two rooms," Lindsay murmured. "It has real possibilities. Why didn't I think of it sooner?"

  Humor flickered for a moment, changing the grim lines of Catlin's face. But it was only for a moment. "Don't push it, honey," he said very softly. "If you do, I'll make you blush down to your toe-nails."

  Lindsay understood the warning very clearly – play the game his way or undergo a very public bout of lovemaking. "You really are my very own G.B. aren't you?" she whispered, smiling brittlely.

  "Remember that," he answered with equal softness. "It will save us both a lot of trouble."

  She stared up at him for a moment, her face as expressionless as his.

  In the sudden silence came the sound of an old-fashioned lighter's metal top snapping shut. Catlin looked up just in time to see Yi return the lighter to his pocket and expel a stream of pungent smoke. Yi's glance passed over Catlin and Lindsay without pausing, as though they were strangers.

  "Remember, too," murmured Catlin, "that you have never seen Chen Yi."

  Lindsay nodded and carefully disengaged herself from Catlin's embrace. "Shall we look at some bronzes?" she asked, her expression tight, closed.

  "What a clever idea," he said ironically. "I wish I'd thought of that myself."

  "I'm just full of clever ideas," said Lindsay. Her voice was husky, as though she were referring to joint bedroom acrobatics. "Remember?"

  Then she realized that Wu was watching her from the corner of his eye. Undoubtedly her old friend had been treated to a full view of a teasing woman being brought to heel by her man. She couldn't prevent the flush that heated her face as she realized what the very conservative Wu must think of her.

  Catlin, too, had noticed Wu's discreet scrutiny. When Lindsay's eyes lifted to Catlin in silent apology for the blush she couldn't control, he took her arm and led her toward the next bronze. He wanted to tell her that the blush didn't diminish her role one bit. In fact, it helped to validate the act as little else could have. She was the perfect picture of a woman caught in a blazing affair, doing things that she would never do otherwise, embarrassed but helpless to resist because she was caught in the grip of a passion that simply overwhelmed her normal scruples. He wanted to tell Lindsay those things, reassuring her, but Wu was too close, too curious.

  The next bronze was a superbly executed mirror with interlocking geometric designs and copper inlays that had turned a uniform blue-green. Lindsay had seen similar mirrors, which was just as well, for her mind was still seething. Beyond the fact that the piece was genuine, she could think of little else to say to Catlin about it. He walked around the mirror several times and moved on without comment.

  It was the same for the next three pieces, ritua
l vessels inlaid with gold and silver. The workmanship was of a high order, but that was the hallmark of bronzes made from 500 B.C. to 206 A.D. the beginning of the Han dynasty. Karlgren, a famous bronze scholar, had designated the bronzes created in this period as the Huai style. It was the final, and greatest, of the three styles of Chinese bronzes. The pieces that Wang had collected for tonight had been cast midway through the Huai style – or were said to have been.

  "Something wrong?" Catlin asked softly, seeing the vague frown on Lindsay's face.

  "Nothing major. A matter of taste, you might say."

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning that I think this food canister is closer to Han than to third century B.C."

  "But genuine?"

  "Oh, yes. It will make a very nice addition to the museum's collection," she said, walking slowly around the piece. "We don't have a – "

  "No," Catlin said smoothly.

  "What?" asked Lindsay, startled out of her concentration on the bronze.

  "Just that. No. I want this bronze." As Catlin was making no particular effort to lower his voice, it carried quite clearly to anyone who was interested in listening.

  "But it was my name on the invitation tonight," Lindsay said automatically, "and the museum always has first call on my-"

  "Don't go all technical on me," interrupted Catlin, smiling as he caressed Lindsay's arm. "Buy something else for the museum. Bid on this one for me."

  "Catlin – "

  "Do it, honey cat. For me."

  Although the words were coaxing, the pressure of his hand on her arm was very firm, as though he expected her to bolt, She smiled weakly at him, realizing what he was doing and why. What she hadn't realized before this instant was how very hard it was going to be for her.

  "I – " Lindsay's voice fragmented into silence. She took another breath and tried to smile up at the golden-eyed dragon who was watching her so intently. "All right. Darling. Just this once."

  Catlin bent and kissed Lindsay's unconvincing smile, concealing it. Then he quickly led her around the corner of the L-shaped room to the display that had been out of sight until that moment. Lindsay stopped without warning. The bronze she was facing wiped everything from her mind but a sense of wild astonishment and discovery followed by a piercing stroke of regret.

  At the end of the room was an ebony table big enough to seat four. Crouched in the center of the table was an extraordinary bronze dragon. In it the realism that was the highest development of the Huai style had reached a magnificent level. Sinuous, powerful, mysterious, the dragon watched the world with eyes of beaten gold. The gold was repeated in a scrollwork of designs that both defined and enhanced every muscular line of the dragon's body. Traces of silver showed in tarnished teeth and in claws.

  In absolute silence Catlin and Lindsay studied the dragon. After several long minutes he looked up, reluctant to ask whether the beast were genuine art or a powerful fraud. She met his eyes and didn't know what to say.

  "Tell me," he said flatly.

  "I – oh, Catlin," she said, her voice low, sad, "I'm afraid it's a fraud.''

  Catlin's breath came out with a harsh sound. "Are you sure?"

  "I-"

  He waited, seeing both her distress and her confusion. "Lindsay?" he asked finally, softly.

  Almost wildly she looked away from Catlin, back toward the magnificent dragon who watched her in return. "I want it to be genuine," she said raggedly. "It's magnificent," she whispered. "Just magnificent. I would never have believed that a fraud could be so compelling, so alive."

  "But you're sure it's a fraud?"

  Slowly, sadly, Lindsay nodded.

  "Why? What's wrong with it?" he demanded.

  She spread her hands helplessly.

  "The designs are right for the period," said Catlin. He wasn't asking for her opinion. He knew.

  Again, Lindsay nodded. "They're very like the rhinoceros."

  "What?"

  "A bronze found in Hsing-p'ing. Extraordinary. The same dense, sinuous designs worked in gold. The same profound realism in the details of anatomy. Unmistakable. Very powerful. Very masculine. The rhinoceros was by far the most stunning piece of bronze I'd ever seen – until today."

  "Go on," said Catlin.

  "But unlike the rhinoceros, there were no models in real life to take this dragon from. This came out of man's mind, a creation from whole cloth based on thousands of years of tradition. And that's just it. The style of the dragon is wrong for the third century B.C. In Huai times, the dragon motif was little more than sinuous lines and two eyes staring outward. The Huai style worshipped a reality that was as solid and magnificent and tangible as a rhinoceros with its head thrown up to test the wind for danger. Dragons are not tangible. They're symbolic."

  Lindsay sighed and brushed her fingertips over the bunched muscles of the dragon's neck. Absurdly she felt tears burn behind her eyes.

  "Whoever made this was an artist of incredible skill and power," she said when she was sure of her own self-control once more. "He knew that dragons weren't real, that they lived only in the mind of man. And he knew that for that very reason, dragons are more real than anything else, because reality is what we make of it rather than what it makes of us."

  Lindsay looked up suddenly, feeling Catlin's intensity as he listened to her. "Whoever created this dragon was modern," she said. "He looked at the world through the eyes of a man who has discovered that ancient Taoism and modern particle physics are one and the same pursuit, that the more closely man investigates physical reality, the more metaphysical reality becomes. That is a very modern point of view. And to me, very compelling. This art is from my own time, my own world, my own beliefs. That's why it's so incredibly moving to me." Lindsay shook her head, still unable to believe that the fraudulent bronze could hold her mind and emotions so completely. "I should hate this dragon. I hate all fakes. Why don't I hate this one?"

  "Because the dragon isn't a fraud. Only this is," said Catlin, flicking his fingernail against the card that stated: "Hsing-p'ing district, Shaanxi province, about third century B.C."

  There was a long moment of silence before Lindsay let out her breath and said, "I would like to believe that this bronze was created out of a need to express the nature of reality and dragons, rather than a desire to pull money out of gullible pockets. In fact, I choose to believe it."

  "Reality is what we make of it, is that it?" said Catlin, repeating her words like a man turning a familiar, complex object in his hands, examining it from all perspectives.

  "Up to a certain point, yes," Lindsay said firmly.

  "You mean that no matter how hard you try, you can't make sand out to be wine," he said, smiling suddenly.

  She laughed, feeling the last of her sadness slide away, a melancholy that had come when she had realized that the magnificent dragon was less than it seemed. And it was also more. "Exactly. Although I'm told that some people have lived who can drink sand wine."

  "Do you believe that?"

  With a graceful shrug, Lindsay returned her attention to the dragon. "It doesn't matter, because I know that I'm not one of them."

  "How about you, Wang?" said Catlin, turning smoothly. "Can you drink sand wine?"

  Startled, Lindsay looked over her shoulder. Her breath came in sharply. Sam Wang was standing not four feet away. Next to him was Chen Yi and his two Chinese comrades. From the look on Wang's face it was clear that he had overheard the discussion of his expensive, beautifully wrought and almost certainly fraudulent dragon.

  Chapter 12

  For or a moment all Lindsay could do was stare at Sam Wang's handsome, utterly controlled face and wish that she had heard him come up behind her as Catlin so obviously had. Everything that she had said about the dragon returned to her in a rush.

  Because it would have been rude to do otherwise, Wang introduced the three Chinese to Catlin and Lindsay. The woman was Mrs. Zhu. Her counterpart was Mr. Pao. Like Yi, they s
poke Mandarin. Unlike Yi, they didn't understand or speak English; or if they did, they kept it to themselves. When introduced, they gave Lindsay the exaggerated facial responses of people who have no other means of communicating. Although Zhu and Pao were introduced as Yi's secretary and assistant respectively, they stood elbow to elbow with Yi, silently proclaiming that they were his equals. Lindsay thought that odd; despite the carefully enforced equalities of the modern People's Republic, nuances of position and power were adhered to with a cultural tenacity that was the result of five thousand years of obsession with face. No matter what role Pao and Zhu were playing, they would not position themselves as Yi's equals unless they were.

  With the directness possible only to a nonnative Chinese, Wang raised the subject of the dragon as soon as the introductions were complete.

  "So you don't like my dragon?" he asked Lindsay, but there was no real doubt in Wang's voice. Obviously he had overheard more than he had wanted to.

  "I like it very much," countered Lindsay.

  "But not as a Huai bronze?"

  "It's every bit as finely crafted as a Huai," she said, wishing that the subject would be closed.

  "But it's not a Huai?" pressed Wang.

  Lindsay sighed. "Mr. Wang – " she began.

  "Sam," he corrected, glancing approvingly at the picture Lindsay made in her simple black dress and unusual ivory jewelry. "In California, only enemies and outlanders use last names."

  She smiled unwillingly, appreciating both Wang's quickness and his approval of her as a woman. "I can't be positive without tests, of course, but there is something about the dragon that is very modern. At least to me," she amended.

  "Certainly not the patina," retorted Wang.

  "It's an excellent patina," Lindsay agreed, looking again at the rare cinnamon finish and wondering what new process had been discovered that could chemically age bronze to that color.