“Mr. Fenton? Mr. Tsung just got back. Give him a minute for one phone call, and then you can go in.” She waved one perfectly manicured hand toward a chair, and he sat down, looking around the office.
Raymond Tsung was doing okay. Yes, indeed. Everything was expensively beautiful. Each fabric seemed to be in tones of gray with touches of gold or red or black. Black was picked up again in some of the Chinese wood pieces. Gold was repeated in a spectacular five-fold screen, which stood across the room from where Bruce sat. Even the equipment seemed to have class, he thought. When the telephone sounded there was no bell, just a gentle two-note musical tone.
“Mr. Fenton. You can go in now. Right through here.” She pressed some hidden button, and a little gateway that separated Raymond Tsung from the outside world slid silently open. Bruce walked on bottomless carpet into a small anteroom. Feeling something close to his early courtroom stage fright, he approached the double doors facing him.
They opened as he approached.
“Mr. Fenton. Come in.” A middle-aged Chinese held the door wide and gestured him in. It took Bruce a moment to realize that the great desk opposite was empty, and that Tsung himself had opened the door for him. It was a touch of graciousness he hadn’t expected.
“Thank you.” He extended his hand. The other’s grasp was firm, and brief. He was a busy man, just back after several weeks’ absence from his desk. He probably had a hundred things to do, but even so would not sacrifice courtesy because of his schedule.
“Sit here, why don’t you?” Tsung pushed a gray leather chair closer to the black lacquer desk, then went behind the desk to seat himself. He was a shade above medium height, and somewhat stocky, but he moved with grace. His banker’s gray suit was tailor-made and elegant. A platinum ring, set with lapis lazuli, gleamed darkly on one well-kept hand. “Now, what can I do for Fenton and Hunt? I recognize your name, Bruce Fenton, of course.” He smiled, and his slightly crooked teeth gave his round face an impish quality.
“My name?” Bruce was suddenly nervous, and he wondered if some of the people he had questioned had told Tsung.
“Oh yes. You did quite a lot of work here a few summers ago, I recall. I’ve heard many good things about you.”
“Oh, I see. Well, it was little enough, helping new immigrants settle in. Since we’re a nation of immigrants anyhow, it seemed only fair.”
“Nice viewpoint. It’s good to remember that fact once in a while.” His smile was genial, but he leaned forward in an attentive attitude. It was a subtle gesture that conveyed the message he really didn’t have time for much idle talk.
Bruce took the hint. “I gave you my firm’s name, Fenton and Hunt, so you wouldn’t think I was trying to sell you something. Actually, this is not a legal matter.”
Tsung’s onyx eyes glinted with humor. “Then you did come to sell me something?”
Bruce laughed. “No. I came on behalf of a friend, Donna McGrath. She’s spending the summer in San Francisco and was thinking of looking you up.”
“Ah? I’m afraid I don’t place the name.”
“Do you place the name of Crawford?”
“That rings a bell. Two in fact. I have a Crawford in my employ here in the bank, and the man who overcharged us for plumbing at the house is named Crawford. One of those?” He gave that engaging grin again.
“Prairie Crawford?” Bruce felt his mouth dry. Damn it. He felt like a first-year law student facing a judge. He could tell nothing from Tsung’s face. It still held only polite interest.
“Prairie Crawford. No, I’m afraid I…wait.” He sat back abruptly in his chair. “I did know a Prairie Crawford once! Good heavens. You’re going back quite a way, Mr. Fenton. Is she still—? Do you know her? Tell me, how is she doing?” He laughed. “What a free spirit she was. Don’t tell me she outgrew it all and became a stockbroker or something. I did myself, and became a banker.” He rocked in his chair, smiling in remembrance. “I used to think of Prairie sometimes, and the old place where we lived—usually when I was bored out of my skull at a board-of-directors’ meeting. I haven’t done that lately.”
“Well, it’s her daughter I came to speak to you about—”
“Her daughter! So she got married and settled down. What do you know! I’d never have thought it. Why does it make me kind of sad?”
“No, actually she didn’t. Settle down, I mean. She’s still pretty much a free spirit. Her daughter is nineteen now—almost twenty—and she was adopted by a Canadian couple named McGrath when she was about thirteen. Prairie couldn’t care for her, so she had the sense to hand the child over to people who could. She visits Donna from time to time. They haven’t lost touch, which is nice, of course.”
“And the girl, Donna, is nineteen, you say?” Tsung leaned forward again, the smile gone, the dark eyes intent.
How was he going to take this? Bruce felt the palms of his hands go damp, and he pressed them against his thighs. If Tsung rejected the idea of Donna being his daughter, Bruce might be tempted to poke the guy in the nose.
When Tsung spoke, his voice was deceptively soft. “Are you about to tell me, Mr. Fenton, that Donna McGrath is half-Asian?” Tsung was quick, no doubt about that.
This was it. “Well, yes, she is, but that’s beside the point, she—”
Tsung shook his head slightly. “I differ, sir. It is decidedly not beside the point. Are you going to tell me that I have a nineteen-year-old daughter from my days with Prairie Crawford?” Both his well-kept hands were pressed flat on the desk, and he seemed about to rise from his chair.
“Yes,” Bruce said. He went on quickly. “Please understand that Donna is, and has been, exceedingly happy with her adoptive parents. She makes no claim upon you. None at all. It is simply that she is spending the summer in San Francisco and, well, perhaps like all adopted children, she was a bit curious to meet you. There is certainly no obligation on your part to meet her, if you are at all reluctant—”
“Claim, Mr. Fenton? Obligation, Mr. Fenton? Of course she has a claim.” He rose from his desk and stood behind it, a dull color coming into his face. “Of course there is an obligation. Reluctant? No way. We are talking about my daughter, Mr. Fenton. My daughter, do you realize that?”
Bruce stood, too, completely nonplussed. He watched as Tsung pushed back his chair and started pacing about the office, pounding one fist softly into the palm of his other hand. “A daughter. A daughter! Think of that. Just think of it! I’ve got to call my wife! Please excuse me for a moment.” He lunged for the phone and spoke a flood of Chinese into it before hanging up again. “I’ve asked my secretary to put through a call to Hong Kong. That’s where my wife is, Hong Kong. Good grief!” He flopped into his chair, pulling a fine linen handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his palms, then his face. “Please excuse me, Mr. Fenton. I guess I’m upset. I don’t suppose you’ve ever had anyone walk into your office and tell you…my God!”
“Look,” Bruce said desperately, sitting down again. “Miss McGrath is a friend, and of course I also represent her, but I do assure you that—”
“You have no idea, Mr. Fenton,” Tsung interrupted heedlessly, “how my wife and I wanted more children. We have two sons. No daughter. Never any daughter. My wife even wanted to adopt, but I…Mr. Fenton, this is the greatest day of my life. When can I see her, my daughter? Do you have a picture of her? But it doesn’t matter what she looks like. My daughter!”
“Actually, I do have a picture, I think,” Bruce said, fumbling for his billfold. Now what! He hadn’t known what sort of reaction he would get, and he certainly hadn’t expected this. It might take a little doing to disengage. “Here. This is a couple of years old. This was taken in Vancouver, Canada. The McGraths were nice enough to invite me up for Christmas that year.” He extended the snapshot across the desk, and Tsung took it almost reverently.
“Beautiful,” he breathed. “She is beautiful. But that wouldn’t matter,” he said again firmly.
“Uh, yes, she is quite attr
active,” Bruce said. “She’s going back to Vancouver at the end of summer to go to college, and we thought perhaps while she’s here she might just—”
“College? Yes, of course. I’ll pay for that. We must work out some details, Mr. Fenton.”
“No! She is adopted, Mr. Tsung. Her adoptive parents are willing…and quite able…to cover all her expenses.” This was getting out of hand.
Tsung put the snapshot down on the desk and looked at Bruce. It was a long, measuring look.
“Does she need anything? Any money while she is here?” he asked. His composure had returned.
“No. Nothing. She doesn’t need a thing.” Bruce spoke more firmly than he intended. “Actually, all she wanted was to just…uh…look you up, and perhaps stop in to meet you sometime before she goes back. If you have time.”
Tsung leaned back in his chair. “I have the time, Mr. Fenton.” He smiled. “I have the time.” He looked down at the picture on his desk. “May I keep this, please? When can she come? This afternoon? Tomorrow?”
“Why, I…tomorrow, I guess, would be best,” Bruce said. “She’s working, you know. She has a summer job with Fenton and Hunt.”
“Working, is she?” Tsung laughed. “Imagine that. Tomorrow will be fine. Yes?” He glanced over Bruce’s shoulder.
Bruce turned, and saw the elegant Miss Hu.
“I tried to ring in here but couldn’t,” she said in a faintly reproving tone. “I have Mrs. Tsung on line one.” She walked to the desk and straightened the phone receiver Tsung had left crooked in its cradle.
“Thank you,” Tsung said. “I’ll take it in a moment.” Then, turning back to Bruce, he said, “What time would you like to meet tomorrow? Shall we meet someplace else? Will you come here? How do you wish to handle it?”
“I thought that she and I would just stop in here, perhaps, if that’s okay. We needn’t stay too long.”
“Fine. Can you come in the morning? Or would the afternoon be better?” He was looking down at the snapshot again. “I’m going to send this to my wife by courier. She’ll want to see it.”
“Afternoon, I think. I have to be in court in the morning, and Donna is a bit shy. I thought I’d come along, if you don’t mind.”
“Mind? Not at all.” Tsung laughed. “Come at two, then. Okay?”
There was a gentle clearing of a throat behind them, and he raised his eyes. Miss Hu stood in the doorway.
“You have an appointment at two, Mr. Tsung,” she murmured.
Still smiling benignly, Mr. Tsung said something in Chinese, which Bruce was positive meant, “Cancel it!” or, Mr. Tsung being Mr. Tsung, probably, “Cancel it, please.” Bruce looked at his watch and rose from his chair.
“I’m afraid I’ve got to run,” he said, extending his hand. He wanted out. He wanted to sort through his thoughts before he reported to Donna. Five minutes ago he had been ready to punch Tsung’s nose if he rejected Donna, and now he wished the man had. It would have been much easier. This, he knew, wasn’t going to be easy. Thank God he didn’t have to talk to Donna until this evening, as he had outside appointments all afternoon. He’d have a little time to prepare.
As he went out the great doors of the Cathay Bank, he couldn’t stop thinking about different ways of telling her. He must put it out of his mind. He had work to do. He must find a way to tell her that between them they had opened a kind of Pandora’s box—and Raymond Tsung had popped out. And, somehow, he thought that Raymond Tsung wasn’t going to pop back in again.
Plunging into the teeming mass of people along Grant Avenue, he phrased and rephrased what he could say. By the time he reached the corner he knew there would be no tactful way. It all came down to the same thing. In the course of a fifteen-minute interview with Raymond Tsung, he’d managed to get Donna another set of parents.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I WON’T SEE HIM.” Donna pushed Bruce away. “I can’t. You’ve got to understand.” She clutched the front of his shirt. “This is one of your not-very-funny jokes, Bruce, it has to be. Raymond Tsung doesn’t really want to see me.”
Her fingernails dug into his chest, but he let her hold onto him. She was desperate, and he didn’t blame her. Neither of them could have expected the kind of reaction he’d received from Raymond Tsung.
“Calm down, Donna, love. It’s not as bad as you think.” Everything was exactly as bad as she thought, but saying so wouldn’t help. “Sit down, please. Why don’t we have a drink? Or wine? How about a glass of wine?”
“I don’t want anything.” Her eyes were dull now. She sat on the closest chair. “And I don’t want Raymond Tsung and his lovely wife and their lovely sons.”
“Your half brothers,” Bruce reminded her gently.
“I don’t want any half brothers,” she said. “I’ve got one brother, Jim. I love him, and he’s all I need.”
“I know, Donna, I know. But you’ve got to face up to reality, sweetheart. We’ve got to face it. We’ve been over this moment a hundred times and decided exactly how we’d handle it—whichever way Tsung decided to jump.”
“Bruce, you’ve got to help me.”
Desperation overtook him. She needed him, and he wouldn’t allow himself to fail her. “I’ll help you,” he said tightly, opening the French doors to the terrace. “It’s just going to be a bit more difficult than we thought, that’s all.” Warm air rushed in with the scent of honeysuckle. “I’ve got to think, Donna. You’ve got to think, too, my girl. There’s no magic wand in either of our cupboards.”
He heard the click of her sandals on the brick behind him, but didn’t look back. Instead, he stuffed his hands into his pockets and wandered down the steps beneath the massed wisteria vines climbing over the arbor.
From the end of the walk, at the top of the steps leading down to the garage at the back of his property, he could see over a patchwork quilt of roofs to a sparkling patch of San Francisco Bay. He sighed, and immediately stiffened at Donna’s hesitant touch on his back. He was so aware of her, so intensely attuned to her moods. Lately, she was with him wherever he went, and the attraction intensified with every day, every hour. He held himself very still.
“I’m sorry for what I’ve done,” she murmured, laying her cheek against his back. “I wish I was a kid again and someone would send me to my room. Then, when I came out, I’d be back in everybody’s good graces and that would be that. Only it’s not going to work that way this time, is it?” She slid her arms around his waist, and something inside him moved convulsively.
Bruce closed his eyes. Was it the honeysuckle he smelled now, or Donna? The scent was achingly sweet. “It can’t work that way anymore, I’m afraid. And this is exactly what we were talking about—have been talking about for weeks. We’ve been talking about being adult and facing up to all that means. Adults can’t expect someone else to make their troubles go away.”
“I know—”
“No, I don’t think you really do. And I’m partly to blame. I should have been able to help you more before we got to this stage.”
“Help me now, Bruce. Tell me what I ought to know.” She was so vulnerable, but so was he.
“Growing up is the message. Kids can go spend a few hours in a room, or a few minutes standing in a corner, and the infraction is forgiven. But, Donna, you’ve done something that affects many lives, and no adult is going to come along to smack your wrist, then tell you to run away and play. When you devised your plan you were behaving like a child, convinced that what you wanted was all that mattered.”
She rubbed his ribs, and stroked his sides, his back; he flexed his shoulders instinctively. “Maybe I started out that way,” she said, “but I sure don’t think that’s the way it is anymore. And, Bruce, it isn’t fair for you to keep throwing that at me—the immature routine. I’ve already admitted I’ve still got some growing up to do, and I intend to do just that.”
“Come here, runt.” He reached back and pulled her beside him. “You’re right. That wasn’t fair. And I�
�m not trying to be tough on you. I’m worried, that’s all. We both need to step back and put things in perspective. Before you know it, this episode will be resolved. And I honestly don’t expect the disaster you expect. I really anticipate little more than a very charming meeting between you and a very charming man. Donna, Ray Tsung is everything a girl could want in a father—”
“I don’t want another father,” Donna said, stiffening. “I’ve got a perfectly good father already. Bruce, what’s my dad going to say if he ever finds out what I’ve done?”
They were revolving in diminishing circles. Bruce tilted Donna’s face up to his. She was so lovely. He kissed her lightly.
Her lashes fluttered shut, and she slipped her hands beneath the open neck of his shirt and around his neck. His body wanted to give in to its responses, and his mind was rapidly following suit. When he crossed his arms over her back she felt small and insubstantial.
“Donna,” he said against her lips. “I want you to go home.” But even as he said the words, he was kissing her again.
She dropped her hands and rested her forehead on his chest. “You want me to go,” she said flatly.
The floral air suddenly became cloying. “No, I don’t want you to go. But you’ve got to, for both our sakes. Go home and think about meeting your Raymond Tsung. It could be far more special than you think if you let yourself relax.”
Wordlessly, she led the way back into the house and out to the Lamborghini parked at the curb. When they arrived at Mark and Laura’s, she gripped his hand on the steering wheel, and he sensed he should sit quietly until she’d said what was on her mind.
Donna looked at the purse in her lap, then at the curved steps to the Hunts’ front door. Mark’s Mercedes was parked beneath a tree in front of Bruce’s car. “Bruce, this is serious. What if Raymond Tsung feels he should speak to my folks?”
“Why should he?”
Yes Is Forever Page 15
