She blinked hard. The man’s features settled into a familiar image. ‘Alexei Serov,’ she gasped and retched all down his chest.
60
‘Mama.’
‘What is it, my darling?’
‘You don’t need to sit here all night.’
‘Shh, sleep now.’
‘I’m okay, you know.’
‘Of course you are. So shut your eyes and dream sweet dreams.’
Valentina was seated on a low chair beside Lydia’s bed, her elbows on the quilt and her chin propped on her hands, gaze fixed on her daughter’s face. She looked tired, grey lines in a fine web around her eyes and mouth. For the first time Lydia could see what she’d look like when she was old and white-haired. She gave her mother a fleeting smile. They both knew the dreams were anything but sweet. In the hospital the doctors had kept her drugged with something that numbed the pain and the brain but let in the nightmares, so now that she was home she refused all tablets and instead remained awake.
Three nights her mother had stayed at her bedside, three nights of being there each time Lydia opened her eyes. When she heard Valentina softly humming the overture from Romeo and Juliet in the early hours of one morning, it made her cry.
‘Where is he, Mama?’
‘Who?’
Lydia put out a hand and cupped it around her mother’s. ‘You know who.’
The green lamp was on in the corner of the room, but Valentina had draped a ruby scarf over it, so that the light was muted to the colours of a winter’s sunset. Enough to see her mother’s eyes.
Valentina turned Lydia’s hand over in her own and with one slender finger slowly traced the lifeline on her palm right down to her wrist. ‘He’s a prisoner.’
‘Where?’
‘How should I know, dochenka?’
‘Who has him?’
‘The Chinese, of course. You know what they’re like, always at each other’s throats.’
‘Do you mean the Kuomintang?’
‘Yes, I suppose so, the ones in those dreadful peasant uniforms. ’
‘Is he alive?’
Valentina sighed elaborately and her mouth softened. ‘Yes. Your wretched Communist is still alive.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I made Alfred make inquiries. Don’t look so happy, Lydia. He’s not for you. You must forget him.’
‘I will forget him the day I forget to breathe.’
‘Dochenka! You’ve been through enough. Stop this madness.’
‘I love him, Mama.’
‘So you must unlove him.’
‘I can’t. More than ever now.’
Valentina sat up straight, placed Lydia’s hand gently down on the quilt, pulled her kimono tightly around herself, and folded her arms.
‘Very well, darling. So. Tell me. What is it that your stubborn little soul wants? What plans have you hatched in that convoluted head of yours?’
There was a long silence. Downstairs the grandfather clock chimed three. Lydia could hear her mother’s breathing.
‘Mama, I nearly died in that Box.’ She spoke softly.
‘Don’t, sweetheart. Don’t.’
‘I’d always thought survival was enough. But it’s not.’
It was seven-thirty and the sky was just growing light when Lydia went downstairs. Valentina was in the bathroom and likely to remain there for some time judging by the scent of bath oil wafting under the door, so Lydia knew Alfred would be alone and unprotected.
‘Hello.’
‘Good heavens, Lydia, you startled me.’ He was sitting at the breakfast table engrossed in the newspaper, a bowl of steaming porridge oats in front of him. ‘Shouldn’t you be in bed, my dear?’
She slipped into the chair opposite him. ‘I need your advice.’
Alfred put down his paper and gave her his full attention. ‘Anything I can do to help, just say the word.’
‘Mama said you made inquiries about Chang An Lo.’
‘I did.’
‘I have to go to him. So . . .’
‘No, Lydia.’
‘Alfred, if it hadn’t been for him, I’d be dead.’
‘Well, really I think it’s that young Russian gentleman who . . .’
‘No. It was Chang An Lo. He was the one who got the Chinese troops searching for me. That’s what Alexei Serov himself told me in the woods. So you see, I do need to speak with him.’
Alfred looked uncomfortable. He picked up his spoon and stirred his porridge, added a sprinkling of sugar to it, then shook his head sadly. ‘I’m so sorry, Lydia, I can’t help you. Chang An Lo is not allowed visitors.’
‘Where is he?’
‘In Chou Dong Prison. It’s down by the river. But listen to me.’ He pushed a rack of toast toward her and she took a piece because she knew he was trying to help. ‘This whole business of your kidnapping has caused a bit of a stink, what with the police looking into Feng Po Chu’s death and everything.’
Her head jerked up. ‘I thought they said I was in the clear. It was self-defence.’
‘That’s true.’ He reached out and patted her hand, but she could tell his sense of order was dislocated. ‘You see, Sir Edward Carlisle feels that the sooner it all dies down the better because, to be honest, it has created a lot of tension between the Chinese and ourselves. If you go around complaining and making a fuss about this Communist down at the prison, well, it’ll just stir things up even worse. So if you want my advice, I suggest you keep well clear. Get back to bed and stay there until this is all done with. I’m very sorry, Lydia, I know it’s hard, but it’s for the best, my dear.’
Lydia spread butter on her toast. Drizzled honey on it. Snapped it in two.
‘Best for who?’ she asked.
‘Best for you.’
She looked at him. Behind his spectacles his eyes were full of concern.
‘Will you drive me to the Serov villa on your way to the office today, please?’
‘There’s no need.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Alexei Serov calls here every morning. Nine-thirty sharp he’s been arriving on our doorstep to ask after your health.’
‘Chyort! Why did no one tell me?’
‘Come on, Lydia, you know what your mother thinks of him. She’ll probably give me hell just for telling you.’
Lydia allowed herself a little bright window of hope.
‘Alexei, tell me what happened. Please. I need to know.’
The tall Russian looked relieved, and Lydia realised he’d been expecting a more difficult question. He was seated on the leather sofa, legs crossed, his gloves placed tidily beside him, his body as relaxed as ever in a dark well-cut suit, but his expression was tense.
‘You’re looking much better, Miss Ivanova,’ he’d said.
It was a lie but a nice one, so she let it pass. Their exchanges so far had been peppered with awkward silences. The usual words of polite conversation did not seem to be enough between them. Not anymore.
‘Tell me,’ she repeated, ‘how you found me.’
‘It wasn’t hard. But,’ he gave an easy laugh, ‘don’t tell Sir Edward that. He thinks I’m a hero.’
She smiled. ‘So do I.’
‘No. I just used my contacts. No heroics.’
‘But why did Chang come to you of all people?’
He leaned forward, green eyes suddenly very hard, and she could see the military man in him. ‘He learned of the split between Feng and Po Chu, heard a whisper that Po Chu was siding with the Kuomintang against his father. That meant their spies would know exactly where he was hiding out. So your Communist used his brains. Who was the one person who knew you but also had influence over the Chinese?’ He shrugged and spread his hands. ‘Myself. And the only way he knew of finding me quickly was through the Kuomintang.’
‘But now Chang An Lo is in prison.’
His long face studied hers intently. ‘Yes.’
‘Can’t you do something? Please. To get him ou
t.’
‘Lydia, don’t be foolish, this isn’t a game. Chiang Kai-shek and the Kuomintang army are at war with the Communists. They slaughter each other every day, sometimes hundreds at a time. Chang knew that when he walked into Captain Wah’s arms. So no, I can’t get him out.’
‘But Alexei, he stuck up a few posters, that’s all. Surely not enough to . . .’
He barked out a scornful laugh. ‘Don’t be absurd. He’s a trained code breaker. One of their best. That’s why the Kuomintang are interrogating him now before . . .’ He stopped.
There was a silence in the room so crystal clear that Valentina’s soft footsteps could be heard pacing up and down outside the door. It had taken a lot of ‘discussion’ to convince Valentina that Lydia owed the Russian this courtesy.
‘Alexei.’
‘Whatever it is you want, Miss Ivanova, the answer is no.’
‘You are in a powerful position, Alexei.’
He stood up quickly and gathered his gloves to him. ‘Time for me to leave.’
The walls of Alexei Serov’s office were painted bright yellow on the top half and a drab olive green on the bottom half. His desk was gunmetal grey and the floor just bare boards. Lydia regarded it with distaste as she sat silently on a bentwood chair in a corner and watched Alexei plough through a pile of paperwork. She noticed the way his brown hair, though still short, was starting to curl again behind his ear and the speed with which he scanned each document in front of him. But she was irritated by him. How could he sit there so calmly when elsewhere in the building Chang An Lo was . . . ? Was what?
In pain? On a rack? In chains?
Dead?
Twice she interrupted him. ‘Is he coming?’
Twice Alexei had sighed, lifted his head, and looked at her with disapproval.
‘I’ve given the order for him to be brought to my office. That’s overstepping my mark as it is. I can do no more. This is China. Be patient.’
She sat there for two hours and forty minutes. Then the door opened.
Lydia’s face made Chang An Lo’s heart burst into life again inside his chest. Her smile filled the drab little room. Her hair. It set the air itself on fire. He ought to have known she’d come, that somehow she’d reach him. He should have believed.
She leaped to her feet, but the Russian at the desk gave her a warning look. So she stood quietly in the corner, her tawny eyes focused on Chang’s face, her fingers tugging at her coat buttons as if she would tear off her clothes if she could. Behind him two Chinese soldiers stood at attention and he knew that if he gave the yellow-bellied worms the slightest excuse, they would delight in joining the imprints of their rifle butts to the marks already on his back. But he was certain their farm brains would know no English.
‘Chang An Lo,’ the Russian said formally, ‘I have summoned you here to answer some questions.’
Chang kept his gaze firmly on the Russian. In English he said, ‘The sight of you brings joy to my heart and makes my blood thunder in my veins.’
The Russian blinked. A small sound escaped from Lydia but the guards behind him stood silent.
‘I know not how long I will be allowed to stand here. So there are words I must say. That you are the moon and the stars to me, and the air I breathe. To love you is to live. So if I die . . . ,’ another raw sound from Lydia, ‘ . . . I will still live in you.’
The Russian could take no more. ‘For God’s sake, that’s enough,’ he snapped.
But Chang was barely aware of anyone other than Lydia in the room. He let his eyes move to the corner. Her gaze met his and he felt such a surge of desire for her that he knew he was not ready to die yet.
Abruptly the Russian was ordering the guards out of the room and following them through the door himself.
‘You have two minutes, no more,’ he said briskly.
Chang An Lo moved toward Lydia. He opened his arms and she stepped into them.
61
Theo opened the drawer and removed the pipe with care. He ran a hand over its long ivory stem and felt the ancient carvings on it talk to him through his fingertips. The need to keep it safe, to have it there at his bedside just in case, was so strong he knew he had to destroy it. Ever since that strange day at the farmhouse with Alfred and Liev Popkov he’d had an acute awareness that his life was too fragile to take risks with anymore.
Maybe it was all that crazy strutting about with a gun in his hand that did it. Or the violent death of Po Chu. Or the impending execution of the Communist.
Death was whispering in his ear.
Or was it the curt letter from Mason severing all future contact? That had mystified Theo. What in hell had changed that bastard’s mind?
All he knew for certain now was that he wanted more from life. For himself. For his beloved school. And for Li Mei. He raised his gaze from the pipe in his hands and looked at her. She wore no jewellery, no face paint, and her hair was pulled back from her face in a severe knot, a white flower pinned to it, all signs of her mourning for her brother. She was sitting at the window, her hands folded over each other on her lap, her almond eyes watching him. Only the tick of a tiny muscle at the side of her mouth betrayed how much she wanted this.
Slowly he lifted the pipe up above his head, holding it with both hands like a sacred offering to the gods, and for a brief second his mind yearned again for the swirl of the sweet smoke. But Theo didn’t listen. The pipe came swinging down with force, right onto the brass rail at the foot of the bed. The ivory shattered. Pieces skittered across the room and one brushed against Li Mei’s small foot. She kicked it away.
‘Now will you say yes?’ Theo demanded.
Her black eyes were bright with happiness. ‘Ask me again.’ ‘Will you marry me, Li Mei?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tiyo.’
‘What is it?’
‘She’s there again. At the gate.’
‘Who?’
‘The Chinese woman.’
‘Ignore her.’
‘Perhaps she wants her cat back.’
‘You mean Yeewai?’
‘Yes. The creature used to be hers. And now you say her husband has been executed and his boat taken, as well as her daughter, there’s no reason why you couldn’t give the animal back to . . .’
‘If she wants the cat, let her ask.’
‘I don’t like the woman, Tiyo. Or her cat. There are bad spirits around her head.’
‘Superstitious claptrap, my love. There’s no harm in her. But if it’ll please you, I’ll give her a few dollars next time I go out.’
‘Yes, do that, Tiyo. It might help.’
But when Theo drove out, there was no sign of Yeewai’s previous owner and he gave her no thought. The traffic across town was slow, the streets full of Saturday shoppers, so it took him longer than he expected to reach Alfred’s house and he was annoyed at being late. In the days that were to follow, he would go over these moments again and again in his mind, trying to get them straight and in the right order, to see if anything could have been done differently. But some were fuzzy and indistinct. His arrival was one of those. He remembered backing the Morris Cowley into the drive and leaving it near the open gates because Alfred’s big Armstrong Siddeley was already taking up most of the space. But after that, nothing until Alfred was clapping him on the shoulder.
‘Good to see you, old chap. I know Lydia is longing to thank you.’
It didn’t look like that to Theo. She was standing by the window in the drawing room, holding herself very stiffly. Either the girl was in pain or she was on guard. Could be both. Theo followed her line of sight to see what she was staring at outside. Nothing. Just an old garden shed. She didn’t look well. Gaunt cheeked. Her skin transparent. Her mouth was pulled tight with strain and her amber eyes seemed to have turned several shades darker. Yet something in them gleamed, as if there were a bright light deep down there, a kind of fire he had not seen in them before. He remembered that, when he conjured up her image later. Th
at fire.
‘Lydia, come over and say hello to Mr Willoughby.’
It was Valentina who spoke. She was smiling enchantingly at Theo, and he got the feeling she was one or two ahead of him in the vodka chase. When he thought back later, it was her long cool throat he recalled, though he didn’t know exactly why. She was wearing something bright, red maybe, that showed off her creamy white throat with its delicate pulse throbbing at the base. She kept touching it with her scarlet-tipped finger. Her mouth smiled a lot. And her eyes were genuinely happy, so that she looked younger than at the wedding only a few weeks earlier.
‘We are so very lucky to have you home again, aren’t we, darling? Safe and sound. Well,’ she laughed and the look she gave her daughter flickered with something more fragile, ‘nearly sound anyway.’
‘How are you, Lydia?’ Theo asked.
‘I’m well now.’
‘Good for you, young lady.’
‘Come on, darling, don’t be so rude. Thank Mr Willoughby.’
‘Thank you, Mr Willoughby. For searching for me.’
‘Poof, what kind of words are those? He deserves better than that. He risked his life.’
Lydia shivered. Then she smiled and something seemed to open up in her, letting out a young eagerness for a moment. She offered him her hand.
‘I am grateful, Mr Willoughby, really I am.’
‘It’s your Russian bear you should be thanking. He was the one who did the dirty work.’
‘Liev,’ she said.
She raised the glass of lime juice in her hand and turned to where Liev Popkov was slumped in an armchair. He was peering with his one eye into the depths of a glass of vodka that was swallowed up in his great paw, but when he saw her look across he shook his black curls at her and showed his teeth. It made him look ready to take a bite out of someone. Valentina glared at him and muttered something under her breath in Russian.
‘And Chang An Lo?’ Theo asked.
‘He’s in prison.’
‘I’m so sorry, Lydia.’
‘So am I.’
The Russian Concubine Page 51
