"Qin's vision didn't stop with military maneuvers," continued Catlin, picking up Lindsay's hand and absently smoothing the pad of his thumb down the soft inner skin of her wrist as he spoke.
Sensation radiated through Lindsay from the warmth of Catlin's touch. She watched him with an intensity that matched his as he spoke softly of one of the great rulers in human history. Like Catlin's words, the slow stroking of his thumb sent ripples of awareness through her.
"Qin knew that to hold his conquered lands and peoples together, he had to standardize everything from the size of axles on carts to the width of the roads to the law itself," said Catlin. "Qin did just that with a ruthlessness that has since become legend, burying rebellious Confucian scholars alive to make his point.
Nor was he satisfied with simple tyranny. He knew that food as well as soldiers had to be moved freely from one end of his huge country to the other, so that famine in the north could be balanced by the south's bounty. A network of roads was built, China's greatest river was subjected to man's control, and the Great Wall was completed, ending the barbarian raids and removing the need for warlords with personal armies to protect personal feuds."
Lindsay watched Catlin openly, making no effort to conceal her interest in both the man and his words. She was accustomed to a certain amount of scholarship in the men she dated, but she wasn't accustomed to a mind that was both educated and highly pragmatic. The combination fascinated her.
"The result of Qin's military and administrative genius was precisely what Qin had in mind the destruction of feudal China," summarized Catlin. "Qin gave land to the peasants and then he taxed those peasants directly, erecting a framework for imperial control that endured largely unchanged into the twentieth century."
Lindsay watched as Catlin's amber eyes changed subtly, signaling a shift in his attention from his dinner companions to something much farther away in time and place. She felt herself being pulled along with him, for the intelligence and restrained passion in him as he spoke of Qin was as electrifying to her as the thumb delicately caressing the inside of her wrist.
"But Qin's greatest accomplishment," Catlin continued softly, "was his preparation for the comfort of the half of his soul that would remain on earth after his death. A million peasants, as well as the artists and artisans of an entire continent, worked for more than a decade to build the twelve square miles of grave mound that we know as Mount Li. Perhaps seven thousand life-size terra cotta soldiers were made and painted in individual detail, as well as horses and chariots and weapons. Nor did Qin stop there. Another army was cast, this time in bronze. It guarded another entrance to the grave mound. The bronzes were made in the style men came to call Qin inlaid with gold and silver, using designs as graceful and fluid as the terra cotta soldiers were powerful.
"There must be other treasures at Mount Li, too," said Catlin, "grave furnishings in all that was precious to the Qin culture, metals and jade, ivory and fantastic silks brocaded in silver and gold. Through the centuries men have talked of a bronze map of Qin's China that was as big as a football field. The map had seas and rivers of mercury that coursed over its surface, circulated by pumps. All to amuse the soul of Qin."
Lindsay barely controlled a shiver as Catlin's thumb slid from her wrist to her fingertips, caressing them slowly while he spoke. The passion that had vibrated subtly through his words was more apparent now. His voice deepened suddenly, becoming as supple and smooth as a quicksilver river created by a long-dead emperor for the future entertainment of his own soul.
"I'd trade all the gold and silver, incense and silk, ivory and jade, all of it, for a single bronze chariot and charioteer," said Catlin. "No one anywhere, in any time or culture, attained the artistry and understanding of bronze that was achieved under Qin's reign. In Qin bronzes, there is true greatness."
Catlin turned and fixed Lindsay with his uncanny golden brown eyes. She met the glance without even being aware of it. She was aware of nothing but the emotion coiled in his voice, an emotion very like her own when she thought of man's greatness cast in enduring bronze for all the ages to share. She didn't remember that there were other people at the table, other voices in the room, an act to be conducted on a public stage. Only Catlin existed for her, and his deep voice was describing emotions she had always believed only she herself felt. It was like the moment when she had seen how confidently and yet reverently he had handled the unique Shang bronze. It was like seeing a reflection of her own soul dizzying, confusing, almost terrifying, for Catlin was very much unlike anyone she had ever known, especially herself.
"I would give anything I own," he said, watching her. "I would give anything you asked, for one of Qin's bronze charioteers."
"If there is one to be found," Lindsay promised, her voice husky with the yearning she sensed in him, a yearning frighteningly like her own, "I'll find it for you, Catlin. It will be yours."
"Sweet Lindsay," he murmured, kissing the palm of her hand. "You are much too good for me."
"Don't tell her that," said Mr. Stoltz, horrified. "She might believe you!"
"It would be only the truth," Catlin murmured. He released Lindsay's hand as he turned back to the other couple. "What about you, Tom? You know of any Xi'an bronzes for sale?"
Lindsay could barely conceal the shock she felt. Catlin's tone was matter-of-fact again, holding none of the complex emotions that had enthralled her and made her forget where she was and who he was. With fingers that wanted to tremble she reached for her small glass of Riesling. Forcefully she told herself that she had to stop being taken in by Catlin. With him everything was an act, even passion. Especially passion.
Yet even as she told herself that, she didn't believe it. She had known too many collectors, too many artists, too many scholars, to mistake the truth of the emotion in Catlin's voice when he spoke of history and bronze, greatness and man. He might fake an attraction to her for the sake of the job, but he loved ancient Chinese bronzes as passionately as she did.
"Right, Lindsay?" asked Mr. Stoltz.
Frantically Lindsay tried to recall the conversation that had eddied about her while she thought of passion and bronze and Jacob MacArthur Catlin. Nothing came to her but the realization that, despite the certainty that he was as ruthless in his own way as the long-dead Emperor Qin, Catlin was becoming more and more attractive to her with each moment she spent with him.
"Tom claims that all rumors of Qin mortuary bronzes have ended up being scams of one kind or another," said Catlin, smiling at Lindsay like an indulgent lover.
She took a grip on her fraying concentration and smiled blindly at Catlin blindly because she refused to really meet his eyes. He was much less distracting when she wasn't caught like a foolish, fluttering insect in their cool amber depths.
"Well, yes," admitted Lindsay. "That's true. But "
Taking her courage in both hands, Lindsay put her fingertips against Catlin's forearm with the casual intimacy of a woman who is accustomed to a certain man. Immediately she realized that the small embellishment on the act hadn't been a good idea. She wasn't accustomed to Catlin, to feeling the heat and power of him radiating through the dress shirt and dinner jacket. It was unnerving. Before she could snatch back her fingers, his hand came down over hers, firmly holding her captive, caressing her soft skin.
"But I'm I haven't tried all possible sources for bronzes from Xi'an," Lindsay said quickly. She rushed on, wanting to say what was necessary for the act before her distaste became too obvious. "There are other other dealers. People I don't usually "
Her words dried up suddenly. She looked at Catlin in helpless, painful apology.
Catlin wanted to come to Lindsay's aid, to finish the sentences that were sticking in her throat, to somehow make it easier for her to open her mouth and compromise a lifetime of work in a few words. Ruthlessly he controlled the impulse to speak for her. Nothing he could say or do would be one-tenth as convincing to the Stoltzes as th
e flush on Lindsay's cheeks and the strain in her voice as she offered to sell her vaunted principles for a man.
In the end there was nothing Catlin could do but lift Lindsay's fingers from his sleeve and gently kiss her palm, breathing warmth into flesh that was too cool, almost chilled. Even as he caressed her hand, he knew that he should not. It wasn't part of the act.
Why not? he asked himself harshly. Just because a man is a ruthless bastard when it comes to collecting bronzes doesn't mean that he's a ruthless bastard when it comes to women.
The answer came even as the question silently formed. The man called Rousseau had not been noted for his compassion and he had made no distinction between men and women when it came to getting the job done.
People change, he argued silently with himself.
Sure they do, he retorted. They die.
There was no answer to that. There never had been.
Lindsay took a deep breath, letting the warmth of Catlin's caress radiate through her. She smiled at him with real gratitude, knowing that he was trying to make it easier for her to go on with the act. His understanding gave her the courage to keep on talking.
"I I'm sure I'll be able to find someone, somewhere, somehow," Lindsay said, meeting Catlin's eyes. "There are so many dealers, so many rumors. One of them is bound to lead to a bronze for you. I won't overlook any lead, darling. No matter how unusual."
At the corner of his vision, Catlin saw the speculative look the Stoltzes exchanged. He brushed his lips across Lindsay's palm again, then folded her fingers over as though to hold the warmth of his caress in place.
"We'll both keep our ears open," said Catlin. "One of us will hear something." He glanced up at the Stoltzes. "If you happen to hear anything, I'd appreciate knowing in time to make a bid. I'm a very generous man. Ask Lindsay."
Mr. Stoltz smiled. "Generous enough to sell a Han hill-censer?"
"If your information led to my acquiring a Qin charioteer, yes."
Mr. Stoltz looked both surprised and excited. "I'll keep it in mind."
"Do that," Catlin said. "More wine, darling?" he asked, shifting his attention to Lindsay.
She shook her head.
"Then perhaps the Stoltzes will excuse us." He moved his head enough to divide a smile equally between husband and wife. "Lindsay has promised to introduce me to the rest of her friends."
Lindsay felt the heat of Catlin's big hand through the thin silk of her blouse as he guided her between tables and open spaces toward a group of people across the room. Half humorously, half seriously she decided that in the future she would wear clothes that were thick enough to remove any sense of intimacy from Catlin's casual touches. Medieval armor, perhaps, or its modern equivalent.
"What are you smiling about?" Catlin asked, bending down until his lips brushed the shining thickness of her hair.
"Bulletproof vests," she said softly.
One thick, very black eyebrow arched upward. "What about them?"
"Do they conduct heat well?"
"No."
Lindsay realized that Catlin was serious. "Are they heavy?"
"The new ones aren't. Quite comfortable, all things considered. Why? Thinking of getting one?"
"It occurred to me," she said dryly.
Ignoring the people circulating around them, Catlin stopped and turned Lindsay toward him. He put his hands on either side of her face, holding her gently, irrevocably in place.
"I'll protect you, Lindsay. I swear it," he whispered against her mouth. The words were too soft for anyone to overhear and they were sealed with a slow kiss. When he lifted his head it was to look into eyes as pure and blue as high-mountain twilight. "But if you want body armor," he added, nuzzling her lips, "I'll get it for you. Do you?"
Lindsay shut her eyes, feeling off balance again. Catlin had touched her often enough in the last few hours that she should be getting used to it. She was not. She was becoming mote sensitized to his caresses, not less.
"Will it protect me from your touch?" she asked helplessly.
Catlin heard the desire and the truth in Lindsay's question. The honesty of her response to him was more potent than any aphrodisiac. Hunger quickened in him, the hunger he had first felt when he saw the soft outline of her breasts while she bent over a table of bronzes. A hot wave of desire swept through him before it focused low in his body, letting him count every heartbeat in the growing heaviness of his sex. The speed and force of his response caught him unaware. He had few defenses against honesty, because he had known so little of it from women or men.
"You are too goddamned honest," Catlin said softly, distinctly, wanting to kiss Lindsay again and not trusting himself to stop with just one kiss. "I don't think they make Kevlar chastity belts. Too bad. One of us sure as hell is going to need it before this is over.''
"Kevlar?" asked Lindsay, grasping the only safe part of the conversation that he had offered to her.
"That's what body armor is made out of."
"Oh." She laughed a little shakily and then took a deep breath. "I think maybe I'd better have some more wine. Maybe a lot more."
"I think that's a really lousy idea."
He turned her around, put his hand in the small of her back and pushed her toward a group where a redhead in a black sheath and scarlet bugle beads was describing Chinese bronzes with graceful sweeps of her long-nailed hands.
"That's the famous Ms. Merriman, isn't it?" Catlin asked softly.
Lindsay looked away from Catlin's face, saw the blaze of red hair and nails, and agreed. "That's Jackie."
"Anyone with her we should meet?"
"The man on her left, I guess. Mitch Malloy. I wonder who had the bad taste to invite him tonight?"
"What's wrong with him?"
"Nothing, if you like slime mold," Lindsay said in a voice that went no farther than Catlin. "Malloy sells spurious bronzes," she explained. "He sells them very carefully, mind you, and mainly to nouveau riche out-of-towners. But he sells bad bronzes just the same. It's rumored that he sells others that are genuine enough, but not very honestly come by. That's only rumor, though."
"Our kind of guy."
Lindsay's mouth flattened. "If you say so."
"I do. Anyone else?"
"I don't recognize the woman. One of Mitch's, I suppose. The man to Jackie's right is Sam Wang, her latest lover. He's from either San Francisco or Vancouver, depending on which gossip you believe. Some have him born of a French colonel and an ethnic Chinese woman living in Vietnam. Others say he's Taiwanese. Others say his family has been American since the first railroad was built." She shrugged. "You get the idea. Everybody knows something about Sam, but nobody agrees on just what. Except one thing. He gets his hands on some truly stunning bronzes from time to time."
"Dubious provenance?"
Lindsay hesitated. "I don't think so. Sam's family still has ties overseas, and he's well connected to refugee communities all over the West Coast. Family treasures that are being sold to finance resettlement in a new land could easily come to him first. In that he's like Hsiang Wu, an old friend of my family.
Wu was a respected man in Shaanxi before the revolution. Newcomers seek him out and old-time residents ask his advice. Naturally, the results show up in Wu's antique shop."
Catlin waited, but Lindsay didn't go on to point out that a man like Sam Wang or Hsiang Wu was in a perfect position to fence stolen bronzes under a cover of eminent respectability, "Is Wu honest?" asked Catlin, keeping his voice low.
"Of course," said Lindsay instantly. She looked at Catlin with wide, shocked eyes. " Wu was my mentor. He taught me a great deal about how to tell genuine from fraudulent. He would allow no dubious merchandise in his shop. I know, Catlin. I was in and out of his shop every day until I moved to Washington. I still see him whenever I visit my aunt."
"And Sam Wang? What's his reputation?"
Lindsay shrugged. "If you collected bronze seriously at one ti
me, you know what the art business is like. Everybody is slandered, most of the time without much cause. Sam comes in for his share of it, but nobody has caught him in anything dishonest or even truly dubious."
"That's hopeful."
"It is? Why? Aren't we looking for thieves?" asked Lindsay, her voice very low.
"I doubt that the Chinese thieves, whoever they are, would trust their treasures to an idiot with a bad reputation," murmured Catlin, brushing his lips over Lindsay's hair as though he were whispering endearments to her.
"But an honest person wouldn't handle stolen goods," objected Lindsay.
"Who said they were stolen?" he whispered.
Lindsay looked at Catlin for a long moment. "Are you saying they aren't?" she whispered.
"Let's get me introduced around," he said, his voice normal again.
Lindsay started to press Catlin, to ask again if the Qin mortuary bronzes were indeed stolen goods. Then she remembered Catlin's warning about questions and lies. Apparently this was one of the times when he simply wasn't going to answer.
Without a word Lindsay allowed Catlin to guide her toward the group he had selected. As she had half expected, Jackie wasn't overjoyed to see her. Jackie was one of those women who preferred to be the undivided center of whatever male attention was available. Then she glanced over Lindsay's shoulder to the tall man standing behind her. If there was one thing Jackie appreciated more than an outstanding bronze, it was an outstanding man.
"Lindsay," said Jackie, smiling widely, "how marvelous to see you here tonight. I heard Steve was sick. Nothing serious, I hope?"
Tell Me No Lies Page 13
