by Reese, Jenn
"There's nothing like this in China or Los Angeles," Shan said, still in awe.
"And thank god for that," Ian said. He stopped the car in front of the mansion, near a wide stone staircase leading up to a pair of huge wooden front doors. The whole scene would have made even Cinderella green with envy.
Shan looked down at her clothes. Dirt and blood stained her shirt and pants in irregular patches, and a nice blood-caked rip still adorned her pant leg from the fight at the university. She hadn't showered in two days, or changed her socks or underwear. Some first impression she was about to make. The Dashells would probably have her hauled off to a mental institution by tea time tomorrow.
Ian switched the car off and unlocked his seatbelt. "Come on, let's get this over with, shall we?"
"Over with. Sounds good," Shan said dully. She removed her seatbelt and opened the door. It's like a bandage, she thought. Rip it off quick and the pain will fade before you know it. Shan stood and tried to brush off some of the grime on her shirt. Her hand grazed her ribs, and she winced.
"Don't worry," said Ian. "My mother is used to me showing up under all sorts of circumstances. I used to pop over for visits during my field work sometimes. At this point, she gets worried if I don't look like a drowned rat."
"How comforting," Shan said. She managed a small smile, and Ian laughed.
"Brave until the bitter end, I see."
Shan had been hoping for another kiss before the whole "meet the parents" debacle, but Ian seemed to be keeping his distance. It made perfect sense, of course. The only thing more difficult than dropping in on your parents, covered in blood, was doing it with a new... A new what? Did they even deserve a label after only two real kisses? You couldn't really introduce someone to your parents as a potential lover or girlfriend, now could you? No, it would be far simpler to just avoid the whole issue, even if it meant keeping her distance from Ian during their stay. Shan hugged the messenger bag carrying the crane to the unwounded side of her body. She could use a little of its grace and balance right about now.
They climbed the massive stone steps to the front door. Shan noticed video cameras hidden in the awnings and plants, covering the entire front of the house. The gate at the front of the property hadn't impressed her much, but it would certainly stop vehicles from entering the property without permission, given the huge numbers of rocks, tree, and shrubs scattering the acres of yard. She guessed that the windows and doors were also wired, given Ian's insistence that the place was secure. If One-eye intended to stroll up to the front door and knock, he was in for a surprise.
Of course, that's what they did. Strolled right up to the door and knocked. After a minute or so, the huge door swung open and the butler stood before them. At least Shan assumed it was the butler, judging from his nice but wholly inappropriate clothes. Who else would wear a waistcoat on a beautiful day in late spring? The man looked to be in his mid-thirties with a football player build. Maybe he worked part-time as a bodyguard or a bouncer.
"Geof!" Ian said, and gave the man a brisk handshake and a half-hug. "Good to see you again."
Geof smiled warmly. "Likewise, sir."
Ian motioned to Shan. She took a step toward the butler and held out her hand. "Geof, this is Shan. Shan, Geof."
"A pleasure to meet you, miss," Geof said, shaking Shan's hand. His grip was loose, his hands enormous. "May I take your bags to your rooms?"
"Oh, no bags this time," Ian said without apology. "But we'll need to find some fresh clothes for Shan."
Geof looked Shan up and down, clearly calculating. Then he nodded and said the very British, "As you wish, sir."
"Thanks a bunch," said Shan. If she let Ian do all the talking, it might become a habit, and she had no intention of playing to the shy little Chinese girl stereotype on this trip. Though, to be honest, she'd rather fight off a group of gang members than try to figure out which fork to use with a salad. Yet another reason why chopsticks were a superior utensil.
"It will be my pleasure, miss," Geof said simply. Shan looked for insincerity in his voice, but found none. The man seemed to take great pride in his job. Geof turned to Ian. "After you freshen up, you'll find Mrs. Dashell on the veranda with the dogs."
"Excellent," Ian said. "Come on, Shan, let me give you a quick tour." He looked at her hand, which seemed to gravitate to her ribs when she wasn't thinking about it. "Of the first floor," he added.
By the time Shan's eyes adjusted to the dark, castle-like interior of Dashell Manor, they were standing at the base of a huge, sweeping staircase in a cavernous foyer. Which was, she guessed, roughly five times the size of her room over the school in L.A. Maybe six. Portraits lined the walls, all the way up the twenty- or thirty-foot high ceiling. Pedestals squatted against the walls at regular intervals and sported various antiquities. Shan recognized one as a Ming-style vase. If it was authentic, the Dashells were even wealthier than Buckley had said.
As Ian gave her the tour, Shan made all sorts of oohing and aahing noises, sometimes without trying. This wasn't a house; it was a palace. And Ian had said that her parents lived here alone, except when they were entertaining. How could two people possibly need or use this much house? It was so thoroughly un-Chinese, and so very Los Angeles. Likewise, she was both awed by its glory and sickened by the waste of space.
Shan saw the contradiction in Ian now. His love of artifacts as priceless things of beauty, versus the simple life he had chosen for himself as an archaeologist and professor. His mind was a more complicated landscape than she had suspected.
Ian marooned her in one of several bathrooms on the first floor and went off to find another one for himself. After Shan finished the requisite admiration for the decor and size, she settled into the much more intimidating task of making herself presentable. She scrubbed her face with decorative soaps and found a full set of accoutrements in one drawer labeled "For guests" in a flowing script. With gusto, Shan helped herself to a fresh toothbrush and toothpaste, then worked her way through the rest of the items. There was really no hope for her red silk shirt, her jeans, or her shoes, though she did attempt to wipe the dirt off them one more time before putting them back on. By the time she opened the door to leave, Shan was feeling almost entirely human again.
Happily, Ian was waiting for her on a padded wooden bench just a little way down the hallway. He stood when he saw her, a huge grin on his face, like some goofy groom watching his bride-to-be walk down the aisle.
"You clean up pretty well," he said.
"Wish I could say the same for you," Shan countered, "but I guess archaeologists and dirt go hand-in-hand."
"Speaking of hand-in-hand..."
Ian reached for her hand and intertwined her fingers with his. Shan's whole body relaxed at his touch. She felt like she'd been running a marathon and had finally crossed the finish line. Another huge grin came unbidden to her face, and she let it linger. Ian made her happy, and he deserved to know it.
"I talked to Geof about our mystery follower, by the way," Ian said. "He's going to alert the servants and security staff."
"Oh, good," Shan said. "Thanks." She swung Ian's arm back and forth, testing the distance. It felt good, natural. Ian led them through the house and toward the backyard. His hand fit so well with hers that she couldn't even summon panic about meeting his mother.
Ian opened the door to the veranda, and Shan once again found herself gasping at the sight. Beautiful gray stone tiles covered the huge patio area like the pebbles at the bottom of a river. Gnarly old trees made little islands, with comfy looking chairs and tables underneath their branches. The yard itself extended back until it disappeared into a thick copse of trees. A partially shaded pool with trickling fountains sat off to the left. The air was cold, promising snow, but only a few small drifts of the stuff clung to the shadows.
"Beautiful," Shan breathed, for possibly the hundredth time on this trip.
"Yeah, the landscapers outdid themselves, didn't they?" Ian looked left and waved.
Belatedly, Shan remembered his mother. She followed Ian's gaze and saw a lone woman sitting in one of those comfortable chairs, two huge piles of fur at her feet and a fire blazing in a round stone hearth nearby.
"Let's do this," Shan said quietly. Ian kept waving at his mother, but he looked at Shan.
"You're dazzling."
Her heart thumped loudly in response. Dazzling? But Ian was already walking toward his mother, and pulling her along with him.
Dazzling?
Ian's mother wore a trim pair of pale slacks, a turtleneck, and a red and green sweater. Her light brown hair was cut stylishly short and seemed designed to show off the sparkling stud earrings she wore. Her face was long and a bit angular like Ian's, but still feminine. Mrs. Dashell had to be in her late fifties or sixties, judging from Ian's age, but she wore the years extremely well.
As they approached, Mrs. Dashell and her dogs stood up to greet them.
"Ian!"
"Mother." Ian released Shan's hand to pull the older woman into an awkward hug. "Mom, this is Shan. Shan, this is Janet."
Shan shook hands with the woman and smiled. "Thank you so much for letting us visit on such short notice."
"Oh, it's nothing, dear," said Janet Dashell. "Please, have a seat and join me. No doubt Geof is already on the way with drinks."
Ian offered a chair to Shan, then took one himself. One of the huge dogs waddled toward Shan. "It's a Chow Chow," Shan said, surprised. She let the plush, cinnamon-colored dog sniff her hand. It panted, letting its notorious black tongue hang out of its mouth.
"Be careful, dear," Janet Dashell said, "Ginger is probably sizing you up as a threat."
"Thanks for the warning," Shan said. "We used to have several of these dogs in the...where I grew up. They make excellent guardians and are extremely loyal." Ginger apparently decided not to push Shan over and go for her jugular. Instead, Ginger sat down on her haunches and allowed Shan to bury her hands in the thick fur of the dog's head.
"Mom and Dad used to breed Chow Chows," Ian said. "Now it's just Fred and Ginger." Fred, an even more densely furred dog, lifted up his head when he heard his name and waggled his crescent-shaped tail.
"They're my little babies," Janet said. "They're all Henry and I have, since we haven't been blessed with any grandchildren." Mrs. Dashell smiled sadly at Shan, clearly trying to get sympathy from a fellow woman.
"Gee, Mother, I think that was a record. You waited a whole minute before pulling out the grandkid card." Ian's voice said he was joking, but his eyes were anything but jovial.
Mrs. Dashell reached a hand over her chair arm and stroked Fred. "Well, you aren't getting any younger, and neither are we," Janet said firmly. "I'm not telling you what to do; I'm just telling you how your decision affects your father and me. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"
"No, of course not," Ian answered. "Oh, look. Here comes Geof with our drinks."
Shan got the distinct impression that this exchange happened frequently, but that fact didn't make her any more happy about the waves of tension washing over the three of them. Respect for one's elders was a virtue instilled in most Chinese from an early age, and Shan had certainly had cause to respect the older men and women she had known in the Jade Circle. By twelve, Shan had found it impossible to disobey her mother, let alone argue with her about personal issues in front of a stranger. Americans raised their children so differently.
Geof placed a tray of steaming mugs and bowls on the table. Shan said yes to the mulled cider and the barley soup. Homemade food was a marvel to her. Her normal diet consisted of far too many protein bars, and since she'd been on the road, they'd been stopping at fast food joints so they could keep driving.
"Geof, come and sit with us for a while," Mrs. Dashell said. It's going to be a beautiful night."
"Yes, Geof, join us," Ian added. Shan guessed they both wanted more of a social buffer than she was currently providing.
"Thank you, but I've got a few more items to take care of before dinner." He turned to Shan. "Does the lady have any special eating requirements?"
Shan paused, a spoonful of soup on its way to her mouth, as everyone looked at her. She shook her head, "None that I know of."
"Very well," Geof said. Shan watched his well-tailored back disappear into the house.
"Do you play tennis, dear?" Janet asked Shan.
Shan swallowed a mouthful of food abruptly. "No, I've never played before."
"Oh, well you look like a tennis player. Very athletic. I'm sure you'll do just fine."
"Excuse me?"
"Yeah, excuse me?" added Ian.
"Oh, do let me have my fun, Ian. Henry and I so rarely get a chance to play doubles anymore. You're far better than we are, so you and Shan versus your father and I will be even teams."
"We'd love to play," Ian said quickly, "but Shan...took a nasty fall recently and hurt her ribs. She shouldn't be moving around that much."
Janet Dashell never missed a beat. "Well, in that case, you absolutely must see my doctor while you're here, Shan. He's very good."
"I'm not fond of doctors," Shan said honestly. "I prefer Eastern practitioners."
"Then I'll send you to my acupuncturist," Janet countered. "She's really excellent."
"You have an acupuncturist?" said Ian. Shan suppressed a smile. Ian looked rather silly with his mouth hanging open.
"Well, it's not like I'm locked in the Dark Ages, son. I am capable of trying new things. In fact," Janet said, admiring her nails, "you should try that sometime. You've been in such a rut."
"The acupuncturist sounds great," Shan said quickly. "I really appreciate your help."
The three of them passed the next hour in polite conversation. Ian's normally balanced personality fluctuated more than Shan had ever seen it. Perhaps she'd been premature in casting him into an almost perfect mold after so short an acquaintance. On the other hand, family had a way of bringing out the best and worst of people. Usually the worst.
Ian's father arrived shortly after that, and his presence had a mollifying affect on both Janet and Ian. Henry Dashell was tall and lanky like his son, but with a rounder face. He hugged Shan when they met and invited her to stay at Dashell Manor whenever she wanted. At dinner, as the four of them sat at one end of a table meant for twenty, Ian finally got around to mentioning the invitations to the auction.
"The Ashton affair?" Henry said, dabbing his mouth with a cloth napkin.
"Yes," said Ian. "I was wondering if I might use your invitation this year. It's very important."
"Excellent!" Janet said. "We've already RSVP'd, but I'll have Geof call and change the number. Will you be joining us as well, Shan?"
"You're going?" Ian said. "You've never gone before."
Henry shrugged. "We've never been to Hong Kong, and our collection is looking rather thin of late."
"And it's been so long since we've taken a vacation together," Janet said. "It'll be fun! Like an exotic double date." She looked at Shan and smiled.
"Actually," Ian said quickly, "Just Shan and I are going. I'd like you two to stay home."
"Don't be ridiculous," his father said. "We've always wanted to go to Victor's auction, and this year will be perfect now that we've got our own expert coming. You can't be that embarrassed by us, can you?"
"It's nothing like that," Shan interrupted. "We have reason to believe that the event will be dangerous this year. Ian just wants to keep you safe."
"Dangerous? Victor Ashton has an army at his disposal," Henry said. "We'll be safer with him than we are in London."
"I'm sorry, but I can't explain everything," said Ian. He stole a glance at Shan, then looked quickly back at his parents. "You just have to trust me. The event is going to be very dangerous this year."
"Well, if it's that dangerous, then why are you going?" Janet asked. The woman stabbed at a spear of asparagus with her fork absently as she spoke. "Do you expect us to sit here in England knowing you're in grave danger half the world away
?"
"We can protect ourselves," Shan said, letting her tone of voice convey both her confidence and her resolve. Mrs. Dashell looked like she wanted to respond, but couldn't do so politely.
"Look," Henry Dashell said, "you rarely ask us for anything, Ian, so I'm inclined to let you have your way in this. But, for the record, I agree with your mother. If it's not safe for us, then you shouldn't be going, either."
"I appreciate your concern--I really do," said Ian. "But we're going with or without the invitation."
"Oh, Ian!" Mrs. Dashell exclaimed.
"It wouldn't be the end of the world to crash a party, Mother."
"Still!"
"You've been in England far too long--"
"Let it go. Both of you," said Henry Dashell. His voice held the hard edge Shan occasionally heard in Ian's. "Just promise me one thing, Ian," Henry continued. "Promise me that you won't get this young woman hurt in one of your crazy quests for adventure. Your mother and I barely survived your graduate school years."
Ian looked at Shan, clearly amused.
"I assure you, Mr. and Mrs. Dashell," Shan said, not allowing Ian a chance to respond, "that any crazy quests will be my fault, and not Ian's."
The Dashells looked at their son, but Ian merely shrugged. Then Mrs. Dashell smiled a new and dangerous smile, and said, "Oh, I see. I understand completely now." She looked at her son fondly. "Such a nice girl, Ian. So smart and pretty. You two make a sweet couple."
Shan's ears burned, and Ian sputtered. Mr. Dashell just leaned back in his chair and laughed.
Shan opened the huge window in her room, letting the cold night air sweep in and tickle the thick fabric of the drapes and canopy bed. She'd never slept in a room so large by herself. In China, she had shared sleeping quarters with a dozen other girls her age. In Los Angeles, she'd had a small room in the tiny apartment she had shared with her father. And now, her entire living space was just one room on the second floor of the martial arts school where she spent all her time teaching and practicing.
