Stone, Katherine (10 page)

Usually
one of the Trade Winds' white-uniformed bellmen would show a new
guest to her apartment and describe the many services offered by the hotel.
Tonight the bellman had been excused. Tonight, for Allison, the hotel's owner
assumed those duties himself.

All of Hong Kong's five-star hotels placed a premium on service.
But the Trade Winds set the standard of luxury by which the others were judged.

In addition to a staff dedicated to anticipating every conceivable
need—before the guest did—most services were available around the clock.
Clothes were laundered twenty-four hours a day; rooms were cleaned at the time
specified by the guest; and every floor had butlers, who, within minutes of a
request, would appear with hot tea, buttered scones, baskets of dim sum and
newspapers from around the globe.

In-room dining was offered by all the hotel's restaurants. If one
was in the mood for French, one ordered from DuMaurier's, and the Blue Lantern
boasted a sweet and colorful Cantonese, and if hot and spicy suited, there was
Szechuan from the Wild Ginger, and, for traditional British fare, one needed only
to ring Elliott's. The hotel's entire fourth floor was dedicated to fitness—an
Eden Health Spa, a running track, an indoor pool—and a second pool, on the
thirtieth floor, overlooked Victoria Harbour.

Guests of the hotel's residential apartments enjoyed additional
services. The kitchens were kept fully stocked with staples, as well as the
finest in wine, liquor, champagne, and since few business visitors to Hong Kong
had time to shop for groceries, a preprinted shopping list was supplied, with
selections for every imaginable taste. Within two hours of giving the list to
one of the butlers, or faxing it to the concierge, the items would arrive.

"This is wonderful," Allison whispered—repeatedly—as
James described the luxuries of the Trade Winds while showing her the luxurious
apartment that was hers. She wished for more imaginative words, but rejected
every other breathless superlative as even more naive.

In desperation, she looked to the sophisticated woman who was at
ease with James. Maylene had been silent for a while. And, Allison realized, a
dramatic transformation had taken place.

Maylene appeared tense. Troubled.

Allison wanted to help. But her questioning smile drew no
response. The other woman's gaze was unseeing—even though Maylene was staring
right at her.

James's pager sounded, not for the first time.

"I'm going to have to answer this fairly soon," he said.
"But I want to show you your office and darkroom."

"My office and darkroom?"

James smiled. "Follow me."

The apartment's second bedroom had been equipped with desk, file
cabinets, computer and fax.

"The cabinets lock and are also fireproof," James
explained. "Theft has never been a problem in the hotel. You might want to
keep a duplicate set of negatives in a safe-deposit box downstairs, in any event."

Allison couldn't imagine anyone wanting to steal her photographs,
but his expression eloquently conveyed the rather remarkable fact that he
believed her Hong Kong photographs would be valuable.

"The bath seemed the logical place for the darkroom," James
continued. "I'm told it's state-of-the-art. If there's anything else you
need, please let me know. The man who set it up will be making the murals for
the hotel. He has a vested interest in ensuring your negatives are the best
quality possible."

"Thank you," Allison murmured, both elated and terrified
by his confidence in her talent. Yes, she'd taken some good portraits of her
native Texas for
Lone Star Serenade.
But could she really do justice to
this exotic place? And would flaws easily hidden in book-sized photographs be
glaringly revealed when enlarged to murals? Would she disappoint the man who
clearly expected so much of her?
Too
much?

What was she
doing
here? What had possessed her to embark
on this adventure? She was wearing low-heeled pumps, not ruby-red slippers, but
it would be prudent to tap her heels together anyway. With luck, such
tapping—and the silent mantra, "There's no place like home"—would
transport her to a bedroom in Dallas strewn with magazines about weddings and
brides.

But Allison neither tapped her sensible shoes, nor thought the
sensible mantra. Instead, she met the gaze of the man who expected so much of
her. And when she did, her fluttering heart soared even higher.
This
is
where I belong.

The message in his eyes seemed a reflection of her own. Yes, they
were saying.
This
is your home.

James's pager sounded, and the moment was gone.

"I'd better deal with this," James said. "I'm
afraid I won't be able to stay for tea. Maylene will tell you anything I've
forgotten about the hotel." He looked to Maylene, not for confirmation of
her willingness, but to ask a question. It was a moment before he posed it,
however—a moment during which he compelled Maylene's distracted gaze to meet
his. "Will you give Allison directions to the Towers?" "Yes. Of
course."

"Good." James returned to Allison. "I'll see you in
the morning, Allison. Sleep well."

***

Then James was gone, and Maylene and Allison were seated on a
living room couch, the traditional welcoming pot of green tea steaming on the
table before them. Maylene knew James expected her to be the gracious hostess,
but how could she?

She'd permitted herself to believe that her first sight of Allison
would be the most difficult. If she could just control herself...

But Maylene felt more precarious now, an emotional tangle of
ancient fears she knew well and foolish longings that were new. The longings
urged her to search for physical proof of sisterhood with the golden girl. She
had been, until the search came to a crushing halt. There weren't any bonds of
consequence between wicked Number One Daughter and lovely Number Two
Daughter—nor would Allison want there to be.

The reminder gave Maylene the control she needed to look at eyes
as different from her own as good was from evil.

"Please don't feel you have to stay, Maylene."

There. See? She doesn't want you here. She's dismissing you. You
should seize the opportunity. Who knows what will happen if you don't, what
cruel—or foolish—words you might speak?

I'm just going to speak
polite
words, Maylene told herself.
Polite lies. "I guess you've noticed how distracted I've been. Please don't
take it personally, Allison. My mind keeps wandering to a problem I'm having
with a blueprint. I'd like to stay for tea... if that's all right with
you."

"Yes, of course. I'd like that."

The conversation was easy for a while, thanks to Allison. She
raved about the drama of landing at Kai Tak, and the glitter of the Hong Kong
skyline, and the luxuries of the Trade Winds, and how nice it was of James to
put a darkroom in her apartment...

Allison faltered midway through her gushing about James. "I
guess I don't need to tell you how wonderful James is."

She thinks James and I are lovers, Maylene realized. And she's
obviously dazzled by James herself.

Being dazzled by James wasn't unusual. Most women were. But
another woman might be envious of Maylene, or resentful. Not Allison. She was
looking proud of her again, as if it made perfect sense James would have chosen
her—as if she, Maylene, was deserving of his love.

She wasn't deserving, and she could prove her unworthiness right
now. I
do
know how wonderful James is, she could say. I know how desire
looks in his eyes, desire for me, how his lethal, elegant hands feel when they
touch me.

"James and I are good friends," Maylene said. "Not
lovers."

"Is he married?"

"No." Maylene saw Allison's hope and felt an almost
forgotten emotion, in hiding for fifteen years and badly rusted from the spill
of tears—the urge to protect. For the first thirteen years of her life,
protectiveness had been Maylene's constant companion. She'd concealed her own
sadness from her mother, wanting no unhappiness cast on their private world of
love—or on the memory of the father who'd have been with them, protecting them
both, had he not died.

The true beneficiary of Garrett's love was sitting before her,
vulnerable and ready to trust. It wasn't too late for Maylene to prove her own
cruelty. She could set a trap for Allison—and end forever her own foolish
longings. James is
obviously
attracted to you, Allison. I'm his friend.
I can tell. All you need to do is offer yourself to him.

Maylene set no trap. She told Allison the truth. It wasn't a
betrayal of James; Gweneth's death was hardly a secret. Sam knew, as did Sir
Geoffrey and Lady Lloyd-Ashton—and everyone else who'd met Gweneth during the
Drakes' Christmastime visit to Hong Kong. For that matter, anyone in England
who'd read newspapers or watched television three months later knew.

"Oh, no," Allison whispered as she learned of the
tragedy in Wales. "How awful for James. And Gweneth."

"Yes. It's not a sadness that's easily overcome. James is
married to his work, Allison. He isn't involved with anyone, nor does he want
to be—especially now."

"Because of the Jade Palace?"

Maylene nodded. "It was Gweneth's idea. He's building it
because of her."

Silence fell, and for many moments the sisters were lost in
thought. Eventually, Allison reached for the teapot and poured them each a
little more tea.

"Is that a medical alert bracelet?" Maylene asked.

"Yes. I guess I'm so accustomed to being around people who
know about it that I forget I'm wearing it."

"Are you okay?"

Allison smiled. "As long as I don't get a blood transfusion,
I'm perfectly fine. I have a severe allergic reaction when I'm given other
people's blood."

"That's something that can be detected in advance, isn't
it?"

"Usually. But not in my case. With the routine cross-matching
techniques used in blood banks, everything looks compatible—even though it's
not. My hematologist in Dallas has devised a complicated set of tests that will
detect the incompatibility, but it hardly matters. In ten years of testing, he
hasn't found a single unit that would work."

"What if you needed blood?"

"I couldn't get it," Allison said simply, without drama,
despite the simple, dramatic fact that a blood transfusion would kill her.
She'd survived—barely—the only transfusion she'd ever received. But her immune
system was sensitized, armed against any future invasion. The response would be
swifter the next time, and more potent than the last. "I just have to hope
I'll never need another transfusion."

"You won't."
You can't. I won't let you.
"That
must have been very frightening for you."

"For me, yes, but mostly for my father. He was with me when
the reaction happened, and I remember his terror. I wanted to tell him not to
worry, and how much I loved him and my grandparents." Allison remembered
something else Maylene didn't know. "My family is my father and
grandparents. My mother died when I was born."

Allison's face, saddened by the loss of the mother she'd never
known, triggered memories for Maylene. How she'd loved the father she was told
had died. How she'd missed him. And how perfect she'd believed life would be if
only he were alive.

She had something in common with her golden sister, after all.

"I'm sorry, Allison."

The phone trilled during Allison's "Thank you." The
caller was Garrett Whitaker, the father Maylene had loved and missed so
desperately—and who'd been filled with terror when he feared he was watching
his beloved daughter die.

He wanted to make certain that beloved daughter had arrived
safely, happily, in Hong Kong.

What a loving father! What if he'd ever called
her—
just
once—to see if she was happy and safe? And what if he'd been there—just once—to
pick up the pieces of her broken heart when she was called the half-breed child
of a whore?

"Yes, Dad," Allison laughed. "I'm here, safe and
sound. Everything's just fine.... Yes, I was met at the airport, by both James
Drake and Maylene Kwan. She's the architect for the Jade Palace. She's here
now, in fact, visiting and drinking tea... Dad?... Oh, good, for a moment I was
afraid we'd lost the connection."

He'd recovered quickly, Maylene thought, from the shock of
learning his daughters were together sipping tea. And why not? He assumed his
secret was safe.

Maylene could set him straight. She merely had to take the
receiver from her sister's silver-braceleted hand. Hello, Daddy, it's me, the
daughter you abandoned. Surprised I know about you? Well, I do. Your coercion
of my mother lasted only thirteen years. No, she didn't betray you. She never
would. She pretended you were a dead hero, just as you told her to. I
discovered the lies myself. I know the truth about you, Daddy. You're no
hero... except to Allison. At least, you
were
her hero—until now.