And the Bride Wore Red

by Lucy Gordon

  ‘I can see you’ve never lived with a family like mine.’

  ‘Wait a minute, you said when you “get home”? You don’t live in the same house, do you?’

  ‘Sometimes. I have a room there, but also a little place of my own near the hospital where I go if I’ve done a long stint at work and need to collapse. But if I want warmth, noise and cousins driving me crazy I go to the family home, so they tend to know what I do. But next time we’ll avoid this place and have some privacy.’

  ‘Look-’

  ‘It’s all right.’ He held up a hand quickly. ‘I don’t mean to rush you. I know you haven’t decided yet. But, when you do, let me know where you want to go.’

  Her eyebrows rose at this quiet assurance but his smile disarmed her, making her complicit.

  ‘I didn’t finish telling you about our tradition,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, I’m curious. How did a family that had to work so hard come to put such a high value on romantic love? Surely it made more sense for a man to marry the girl whose father owned a strip of land next to his own?’

  ‘Of course, and many marriages were made for such practical reasons. But the descendants of Jaio and Renshu always hoped for more.’

  ‘Who were they?’

  ‘They lived in the reign of the Emperor Qin, of whom I’m sure you’ve heard.’

  She nodded. In reading about China, she’d learned about the time when it had been divided into many states. Qin Shi Huang, king of the state of Qin, had conquered the other states, unifying them into one gigantic country. Since Qin was pronounced ‘chin’ the country had come to be called China. Qin had proclaimed himself emperor, and on his death he’d been buried in a splendid mausoleum accompanied by any of his concubines who hadn’t born him a child.

  ‘One of those concubines was Jaio,’ Lang told her now. ‘She didn’t want to die, and she was in love with Renshu, a young soldier who also loved her. Somehow he managed to rescue her, and they fled together. Of course, they had to spend the rest of their lives on the run, and they only had about five years before they were caught and killed. But by then they’d had a son, who was rescued and spirited away by Jaio’s brother.

  ‘Nobody heard anything for years, but when the son was an old man he revealed the writings that Jaio and Renshu had left, in which they said that their love had been worth all the hardship. Of course, they had to be kept secret, but the family protected them and still has them to this day.

  ‘Because of this the Langs have always cherished a belief in love that has seen them through many hard times. Often their neighbours have thought them mad for trusting in love when there were so many more important things in life, but they have clung to their ideals. It was that trust that made Meihui leave China and follow John Mitchell to England. And she never regretted it. She missed her homeland, but she always said that being with the man she loved mattered more than anything in life.’

  Hearing these words, Olivia had a strange sense of familiarity. Then she realised that this was exactly what Norah would have said.

  She sipped her wine, considering what she had just been told. On the surface it was a conventional legend-charming, a tad sentimental. What made it striking was that this serious man should speak as though it had a deep meaning for him.

  ‘It’s a lovely story,’ she said wistfully. ‘But did it really happen that way?’

  ‘Why not?’ he asked, giving her a quizzical smile.

  She suppressed the instinct to say, Because it’s too absurdly romantic to be real, and said, ‘I only meant that two-thousand years is a terribly long time. So many things get lost in the mists, and you could never really know if they were true or not.’

  ‘It’s true if we want it to be,’ he said simply. ‘And we do.’

  For a moment she almost queried who ‘we’ were, and then was glad she hadn’t, because he added, ‘All of us, the whole family-my aunts, great-aunts, my uncles, cousins-we all want it to be true. And so it is-for us.’

  ‘That’s a delightful idea,’ she mused. ‘But perhaps not very practical.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I’d forgotten that you must always be practical and full of common sense,’ he teased.

  ‘There’s a lot to be said for it,’ she protested defensively.

  ‘If you’re a schoolteacher.’

  ‘Doesn’t a doctor need common sense, as well?’

  ‘Often, but not always. Sometimes common sense is a much over-rated virtue.’

  ‘And sometimes it can come to your rescue,’ she said wryly.

  She didn’t realise that she’d spoken aloud until she saw him looking at her with a question in his eyes.

  ‘Has it rescued you very often?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Now and then. It’s nice to know I can always rely on it.’

  ‘That’s just what you can’t do!’ he said with sudden urgency. ‘You must never rely completely on your head, because sooner or later it will always let you down.’

  ‘And you think the heart doesn’t?’ she retorted with a touch of indignation. ‘We’re not all as lucky as Meihui.’

  ‘Or Norah.’

  ‘I’d hardly call her lucky.’

  ‘I would,’ he said at once. ‘The man she loved died, but he didn’t betray her. That makes her luckier than many women, and men too, who live for years with the shadows of failed love, bad memories, regrets. Or the others, who never dared risk love at all and have only thoughts of what might have been if only they’d had a little more courage.’

  ‘That sounds very fine,’ she said. ‘But the fact is that most people are unlucky in love. Is there really much to choose between taking the risk and regretting it, and deciding not to take it at all?’

  ‘And regretting that?’

  ‘And living free,’ she said defiantly. ‘Free of regrets, free of pain-’

  ‘Free of joy, free of the sense that life is worth living or ever has been?’ he interrupted her firmly. ‘Being free of pain can come at a heavy price.’

  How had they strayed into this argument? she wondered. And why? The conversation was becoming dangerous, and she acted instinctively to get back into control.

  ‘I see Wei coming towards us,’ she said brightly.

  If he noticed her abrupt change of subject he didn’t say so. Instead he turned sardonic eyes on his cousin, who bustled forward eagerly, his gaze darting between the two of them.

  ‘We’d like some fruit, please,’ Lang said firmly. ‘And then, vanish!’

  Wei gave him a hurt look and departed with dignity. Lang ground his teeth.

  ‘Sometimes I think I should have stayed well clear of my family,’ he said.

  Fruit was served, then tea, and then it was time for the entertainment. Two girls identically dressed in white-embroidered satin glided in. One, holding a small lute, seated herself, ready to play. The other stood beside her.

  The lights dimmed except for the one on the performers. The first notes came from the lute and the singer began to make a soft crooning noise, full of a poignancy that was like joy and sadness combined. As Olivia listened an aching feeling came over her, as though the music had sprung all the locks by which she protected herself, leaving her open and defenceless as she had sworn never to be again.

  The girl was singing in a soft voice:

  ‘The trees were white with blossom.

  We walked together beneath the falling petals.

  But that is past and you are gone.

  The trees do not blossom this year.

  Aaaii-eeeii!’

  That was how it had been; the trees hadn’t blossomed this year and she knew they never would again. Andy had been an abject lesson in the need to stay detached. In future no man would hurt her like that because she wouldn’t let it happen.

  ‘The bridge still leads across the river,

  Where we walked together.

  But when I look down into the water,

  Your face is not beside me.

  Never again…’

&n
bsp; Never again, she thought, not here or anywhere. She closed her eyes for a moment. But suddenly she opened them again, alerted by a touch on her cheek.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ Lang said.

  ‘I’m not crying,’ she insisted.

  For answer he showed her his fingertips, wet with her tears.

  ‘Don’t weep for him,’ he said softly.

  It would have been useless to utter another denial when he hadn’t believed the first.

  ‘I get sentimental sometimes.’ She tried to laugh it away. ‘But I’m really over him.’

  In the dim light she could see Lang shake his head, smiling ruefully.

  ‘Perhaps you belong together after all,’ he said. Suddenly he reached into his pocket, took out his mobile phone and pushed it towards her, then he leaned close to murmur into her ear without disturbing the singer.

  ‘Call him. Say that your quarrel was a mistake, and you love him still. Go on. Do it now.’

  The dramatic gesture astonished and intrigued her. With a gasp of edgy laughter, she pushed the phone back to him.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’ he demanded.

  ‘I was just picturing his face if he answered the phone and found himself talking to me. There was no quarrel. He left me for someone else. She had a lot of money, so he obviously did the right thing. I believe they’re very happy. She bought him a posh car for a wedding present.’

  ‘And that makes it the right thing?’ he enquired.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So if a millionaire proposed you’d accept at once?’

  ‘No way! He’d have to be a billionaire at least.’

  ‘I see.’ The words were grave but his lips were slightly quirked, as if he were asking who she thought she was fooling.

  But he said nothing more. The music had ended. The singer bowed to the heartfelt applause and embarked on another song, slightly more cheerful. Lang turned his head towards the little stage, but reached back across the table to take hold of Olivia’s hand, and kept it.

  She found that her nostalgic sadness had vanished, overtaken by a subtle pleasure that seemed to infuse the whole evening. Everything was a part of it, including the man sitting opposite her, looking away, giving Olivia the chance to study him unobserved.

  She could appreciate him like this. His regular features were enough to make him good-looking, but they also had a mobility that was constantly intriguing. His eyes could be bland and conventional, or wickedly knowing in a way that gave him a disconcerting charm. She wondered if there was anyone he regretted from his own past. A warm-natured man in his thirties, with a deep belief in the value of romantic love, had surely not reached this point without some sadness along the road.

  She began to muse on the subject, wondering if there was a way to question him without revealing too much interest. There wasn’t, of course, and an alarm bell sounded in her head. This was just the kind of atmosphere she’d learned to fear-seductive, romantic, lulling her senses and her mind in dangerous harmony.

  It was time for common sense to take over. In a few minutes she would suggest that the evening should end soon, phrasing it carefully. She began to plan the words, even deciding what she would say when he protested.

  Lang was beckoning to Wei, paying the bill, and ordering him to stop giggling and make himself scarce. Wei departed jauntily. Olivia took a deep breath to make her speech.

  ‘We’d better go,’ Lang said.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘We both have to work tomorrow, so I’ll get you home quickly. I’m sorry to have kept you out so late.’

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ she said faintly.

  On the journey she wondered what was going to happen now. Lang had recognised that she wasn’t ready for a decision, while subtly implying that he was attracted to her. He was charming and funny, with a quiet, gentle strength that appealed to her, perhaps because she could sense something quirky and irreverent beneath it.

  A light-hearted flirtation could be agreeable, but if he wanted more, if he planned to end the evening in her arms-or even in her apartment-what then? A gentle letdown? How did you half-reject someone you more than half-liked? Again she began to think about what she would say to him.

  When they arrived, he came with her to the apartment block.

  ‘How far up are you?’ he asked.

  ‘Second floor.’

  He rode up with her and came to her door.

  ‘Lang?’ she began uneasily.

  ‘Yes?’

  She lost her nerve. ‘Would you care to come in for a drink?’

  ‘I certainly want to come in, but not for a drink. Let’s get inside and I’ll explain, although I’m sure you know what the problem is.’

  Once inside he took off his jacket and helped her off with hers.

  ‘You’ll need to remove your blouse as well,’ he said, beginning to work on her buttons.

  ‘Lang…’

  He took no notice, opening the buttons one by one until he could remove the blouse, revealing her as he had the day before. She was astonished at his effrontery. Did he think he could simply undress her, seduce her, do as he liked with her?

  ‘Now let me look at that arm,’ he said.

  ‘My arm?’ she echoed, thunderstruck.

  ‘That’s why I came to find you tonight, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, yes-I remember.’

  She had a horrible feeling that she sounded idiotic, but that was how she felt. He hadn’t come here to seduce her, but to tend her. Her wild thoughts had been nonsense. She felt herself blushing from head to toe.

  Then she thought she caught a gleam of mischief in his eyes, although it was gone before she could be certain.

  With her blouse removed, he held her arm up, moving his head this way and that without appearing to notice anything but her injury. He had no eyes for the peachy, youthful glow of her skin, the way her waist narrowed and the lamp threw shadows between her breasts. It was almost insulting.

  ‘This is the last time it will need covering,’ he said. ‘It’s healing nicely.’

  He’d brought a small bag in with him, and from it he took replacement dressings. He covered the grazes lightly, and fixed everything in place.

  ‘Now get a good night’s sleep,’ he instructed.

  Then he was heading out of the apartment, without having touched her, except as a doctor.

  ‘Wait,’ she said desperately. ‘What did you mean about “the problem”?’

  He paused in the doorway.

  ‘The problem,’ he said, ‘is that you’re still my patient. Later…’

  ‘Later?’

  His gaze moved over her slowly, lingering just a little on the beauty he had so dutifully ignored.

  ‘Later you won’t be. Goodnight.’

  The school term was nearly over. Olivia was busy writing reports, talking to parents and consulting with the headmistress, who looked in on her on the penultimate day.

  ‘I’m just making plans for next year,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’m so glad you’re staying.’

  ‘Staying?’ Olivia echoed vaguely.

  ‘You originally came for six months, but when I asked if you were going to stay on you said you would. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘Oh, yes-yes.’

  ‘You really sound in need of a holiday,’ Mrs Wu said kindly.

  ‘It’s just that I’ve been wondering if I should go home.’

  ‘But you can do that and still come back next term. From all you’ve told me about Norah, she wants you to stay here and spread your wings. I hope you come back. You’re doing such a good job. But you’ve got my number if you have a last-minute change of mind.’

  Olivia went home, thoughtful. Everything that had seemed simple only a short while ago had suddenly become complicated.

  It was true that Norah showed no sign of wanting her early return. Only last night she’d been at her most lively, talking furiously about Melisande’s latest lover.

  ‘You mean, Freddy?’ Olivia ha
d queried.

  ‘No. Freddy’s finished since she caught him sleeping with a pole dancer. It’s your father.’

  ‘Mum and Dad? What are they playing at?’

  ‘I gather he went to see her, seeking solace from a broken heart.’

  ‘I thought you said he’d made some girl pregnant.’

  ‘He thought he had, but apparently it’s not his, so he went to cry on your mother’s shoulder because, and I quote, “she’s the only one who understands”.’

  ‘Give me patience!’

  ‘That’s what I said. Anyway, it seems that they looked at each other across the barrier of years, heart spoke to heart as though time and distance had never been…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I told her to get out before she made me ill. It’s just her putting herself centre-stage again, as always.’

  Olivia had had to agree. She’d seen, and suffered from, enough of her parents’ selfish grandstanding to dismiss this great romance as just another show in the spotlight.

  You could say much the same of all great romances, she thought. Her father would let her mother down again, because that was what men did. It was what Andy had done. And who cared if Lang called her or not?

  Several days had passed since their last meeting. After talking so significantly he had fallen silent, and with every passing hour Olivia had condemned herself more angrily as a fool.

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been warned, she told herself crossly. When Andy had appeared in her life, she’d abandoned the caution so carefully built up over a lifetime because she’d convinced herself that this man was different.

  But no man was different, as she’d learned in anguish and bitterness. She’d vowed ‘never again’, but then she’d been tricked into ignoring those resolutions because Lang had charmed her.

  No, it was more than charm, she admitted. It was the sense of quiet understanding, the feeling that his mind and heart were open to hers, and that she would find in him generosity and understanding.

  Heart spoke to heart as though time and distance had never been.

  Her mother’s melodramatic words shrieked a warning in her head. She and Lang had met only a couple of times, and came from different worlds, yet time and distance did not exist, hadn’t existed between them from the first moment.