Stone, Katherine (13 page)

Only one thing was real about the "love" between Garrett
and Juliana—the daughter from two worlds... neither of which wanted her.

"Jade?"

"I was just in the mood for a drive." She found a
radiant smile, a beautiful mask. "What do you think of the castle?"

"Spectacular."

"But you're frowning."

"I guess it all seems a little presumptuous."

"To establish oneself as king of the mountain?"

"Yes. And," Sam added, "to believe you have the
right to blind a dragon."

***

"Do you know about feng shui, Allison?"

Sir Geoffrey's question came between the fifth and sixth courses
of the eight-course Cantonese feast prepared by one of Hong Kong's master
chefs. The dinner guests were seated at tables of eight in the castle's banquet
hall. Florentine frescoes adorned the walls, and Venetian-glass chandeliers
glowed overhead, and in the room's four corners stood statues sculpted by
Donatello.

At the mahogany table where the guests of honor were seated with
their host and hostess, the conversation flowed as freely as the rice wine.
Geoffrey was an expert storyteller, but he was equally adept at coaxing others
to speak.

"I've read about feng shui," Allison replied. "And
from the tours I've taken, I've learned a little more. But, Sir Geoffrey, I'd
like to hear your definition."

Geoffrey laughed appreciatively at her finesse in tossing the
question back to him. After a moment he complied. He gave an expansive and
entertaining description of the four-thousand-year-old science of "water
and wind," finishing with, "In Hong Kong, one must never forget the
dragons. There are many hills here, and there's a dragon living in every one. I
imagine, Allison, that during the tour of Victoria Peak you heard a bit about
Peak Castle? That it stands in brazen defiance of the decrees of feng shui?
That, in fact, it blocks the view of one of Hong Kong's most celebrated
dragons?"

"Yes," she admitted. "That was mentioned."

Sir Geoffrey seemed more amused than concerned that his
unrepentant mockery of the mandates of feng shui was a topic among tour guides
ten years after the castle had been built— and he apparently had no qualms
about any consequences that might befall his home.

"Water isn't a problem up here, and any wind that tried to
blow the castle off Victoria Peak would have to take a chunk of mountain with
it. So, Allison, I do hope you'll feel comfortable visiting us."

"I will, Sir Geoffrey. Thank you."

Allison might have assured him that she knew about the prohibition
of cameras within the castle walls, but Geoffrey had already shifted elsewhere.

"What about you, Maylene?" he asked. "Do you
believe in feng shui?"

There wasn't the slightest edge in Geoffrey's voice, and it was a
perfectly logical question to pose to the Hong Kong native who was also the
architect of its grandest hotel. Earlier, when he'd offered toasts to everyone
at the table, Geoffrey's praise for Maylene had been quite lyrical.

Still, to Sam, the question felt like a taunt. And he suspected
that was how it felt to Maylene. She was seated beside him. He sensed her
stiffening beneath the flowing gold.

But she made a dazzling recovery. "I
half
believe in
it, Sir Geoffrey."

If Geoffrey's question had been posed as a test to see if Maylene
was sensitive about her background, she'd passed with flying colors. Her reply
sent the message that her mixed heritage afforded her the luxury of enjoying
only the best of each culture, embracing the traditions she liked and ignoring
the rest.

The test—if there had been one—was over. Or was it? Geoffrey's
gaze hadn't left hers, and Sam felt her steeling herself for more questions,
preparing to dazzle no matter how much she hurt.

Sam didn't want Maylene to hurt.... With a slow, easy smile
followed by a slow, easy drawl, he said, "I may be a newcomer to Hong
Kong, Sir Geoffrey, and I may be a cowboy, but it just so happens I believe in
feng shui."

Sam's words had the hoped-for result, drawing Geoffrey's attention
from Maylene to him. "Good for you, Sam. And good for the Jade Palace.
Maybe your belief will bring even more good fortune to the project."

"Even more?" Allison asked.

It was James who answered. "I assume Geoffrey is referring to
you, Allison, and Maylene and Tyler and Sam."

"Quite right, James," Geoffrey agreed. "And you, of
course. But there
is
even more. I don't know if it's feng shui, or
terrific joss, or merely a thinning of the ozone layer, but the Royal
Observatory has predicted that the summer rains are a month away—perhaps
longer."

"Meaning no rain until late July?" Cynthia asked.
"That would be very unusual, wouldn't it?"

"Very," Geoffrey affirmed. "But every year the
seasons shift a little more. Even the typhoons have started arriving later in
the fall. A dry summer would be good for you, wouldn't it, Sam?"

"I'd be a happy man if I could pour the hotel's foundation
into rock-hard earth."

"And how about you, Allison? I would assume dry weather's
easier for taking photographs."

"Yes, although I can always find rainy day projects. But it
would be wonderful if the air stayed just the way it is a little longer."

"The way it is? You mean unbelievably humid?"

Allison blushed at Cynthia's shocked query. "It
is
because
of the humidity, I suppose, because of all the water in the air. But the effect
is remarkable. Brilliant yet shimmering. Magical." Her blush deepened.
"Anyway, it photographs very well. I hadn't planned to begin taking
pictures this soon, but I had to see."

"You hadn't planned to take pictures this soon?" Cynthia
repeated. Putting off till tomorrow what could be done today wasn't the way of
Hong Kong. It couldn't be.

Allison shrugged. "I'd intended to spend more time just
wandering around."

"Wandering? By foot?"

"By foot, by ferry, by train—and soon, I hope, by air."
Allison looked at James. "Mrs. Leong said she'd arrange for me to borrow
one of your planes. I hope that's all right."

"Of course. My planes and my pilots are entirely at your
disposal."

"Thank you. I won't need a pilot, though, until I'm ready to
take pictures. I'm going to fly a few reconnaissance missions on my own."

"You're a pilot, Allison?" The question was Eve's, her
first words of the entire meal.

"Yes."

"That's very impressive. Don't you agree?" Eve's
question was to James, but it was Allison who replied.

"I'm afraid I haven't exactly impressed James with my ability
to walk," she said. "So he's probably not too sure about my ability
to fly."

"What's wrong with the way you walk, Allison?" Sam
teased. "Too Texan?"

"Too American. Too accustomed to cars traveling on the
right-hand side of the road." To James, Allison said, "Since I saw
you last, I've mastered crossing streets."

His eyes glittered slightly, a private smile. "I didn't doubt
for a moment you would."

"Are you planning to drive in Hong Kong, Allison?"
Cynthia asked.

"Drive? I—"

"No," Maylene interjected. "I don't think you
should, Allison. Even for those accustomed to driving on the left, it's...
tricky."

"I agree," Geoffrey concurred. "And there's no
need, is there? You have an entire fleet of Trade Winds limousines to choose
from."

"Are you going to stand for this, Allison?" Cynthia
wanted to know. "If you were a
male
Texan—like Sam—this
conversation wouldn't be happening. I, for one, am confident that if you can
fly in Hong Kong's crowded airspace you can easily manage its roadways. What
about you, James? We all know Maylene drove your car here tonight. Surely you'd
trust Allison to do the same."

It had nothing to do with trust, and James happened to agree that
there was no point to Allison's driving in Hong Kong. But her embarrassment
about her misstep in Murray Road persisted, and it seemed to matter—to her—that
he believe her capable of navigating the most congested traffic on earth.

"I trust you to drive my car, Allison. Absolutely." That
was all he needed to say. With his words, her uncertainty disappeared. But he
added, "I'd like to be a passenger when you do."

"I'd like that, too."

"It's a date, then. We'll make it a celebration. In December,
while your photographs are being made into murals for the hotel, you can
chauffeur me across the island. We'll dine at a floating restaurant in
Aberdeen."

"You can hold him to that, Allison," Geoffrey said.
"It's a gentleman's promise and you have a table full of witnesses. In the
meantime, since we'll have to wait until December to hear about your driving
adventure with James, tell us more about your reconnaissance missions over Hong
Kong. Do they need to be solo flights?"

That would be best, so she could concentrate, but... "Would
you like to accompany me, Sir Geoffrey? I'd be delighted, and I could certainly
use a guide."

"Thank you, Allison. That's a very a tempting offer. Actually,
I wasn't thinking about myself." Geoffrey looked at his wife. "You'd
enjoy soaring above Hong Kong with Allison, wouldn't you, my love?"

"Yes," Eve answered swiftly. It was the gracious reply.
And Lady Lloyd-Ashton even smiled. "I'd enjoy it very much."

Geoffrey's caressing gaze left Eve and returned to Allison.
"Unfortunately, she won't be able to. My beloved Eve has a terror of
flying. We discovered her fear when we flew here to be married. She's never
flown since, and I'd never want her to."

"But being at Peak Castle
feels
like flying."
Allison glanced from Geoffrey to Eve. "The invitation's always open, Eve.
And if you became the least bit frightened, we'd land right away."

"That's terribly generous of you, Allison," Geoffrey
said. "But why don't the two of you do your flying from here? As soon as
the weather changes, why don't you join Eve for lunch?"

"That would be lovely," Allison replied to Geoffrey,
then turned to Eve.

"I'll look forward to it, Allison." Eve's words this
time were more than a gracious reply. Indeed, she was sorry their lunch would
be at least a month away. But Geoffrey had spoken. She and Allison would get
together when rain clouds shrouded Hong Kong... and not before.

***

"What an evening!" Cynthia raved as Tyler walked her to
the Wisteria Gardens condominiums on Arbuthnot Road. "I loved every minute
of it. Didn't you?"

"Not every minute, Cynthia."

"I suppose I shouldn't have made an issue about Allison
driving but—"

"You know I'm not referring to that."

Cynthia did know. "I can't believe you're still annoyed! I
said nothing to Lady Lloyd-Ashton that wasn't undisputed fact. I thought she'd
be
flattered.
She knows she's the Princess of Peak Castle. That's what
she
wants."

Was it really what Eve wanted? Tyler wondered. Was the life she
was living everything she'd hoped? It appeared perfect. And yet...

"Her only purpose in life is decorative," Cynthia
embellished, pressing her advantage as the harsh lines of his face softened at
some unspoken thought. "She volunteers one morning a week at Children's
Hospital, undoubtedly for show, and beyond that
nothing!"
The
harshness returned, and Cynthia saw cold fury. "You're not coming upstairs
with me, are you?"

"No."

Cynthia felt her own fury at Tyler's enchantment with the faux
princess. But there was nothing to be gained by provoking him further. Instead,
she consoled herself with the memory of a tête-à-tête she'd had with Sir
Geoffrey. He'd suggested they meet for drinks, on the pretext of her learning
about Hong Kong from its most powerful citizen. There'd been a subtext, too.
Geoffrey Lloyd-Ashton might treasure his princess, but the meager offerings of
Eve's pale, thin body weren't enough to satisfy him.

"I guess this is goodbye then, isn't it, Tyler?"

Dragon's Eyes

Sunday, June 20,1993

Two
in the morning. The princess was alone. The other half of Hong
Kong's fairy-tale couple was spending the remainder of the night with a
mistress.

He'd be gentle, Eve supposed. His sexual violence was spent—on
her.

Eve had known, before the evening began, that the night would end
with brutal passion. Evenings like this always did. Geoffrey loved putting her
on display, showing the world that she belonged to him. But what he loved most
of all was reminding Eve of that possession.

He'd played with her this evening, as he often did in public,
trapping her in a game only he could win. When he'd asked if she'd like to go
flying with Allison, it was with tenderness for all to see. Eve
had
to
say yes; politeness demanded it. But she knew Geoffrey would never permit it.

Did he really believe she'd share her shame with Allison— with
anyone? Or that she'd involve Allison—or anyone—in an attempt at escape?

Of course he didn't. The man who'd made his wife so well-known her
every move was watched by over five million pairs of eyes wasn't worried that
Eve would ever try to flee. He merely enjoyed tormenting her with the fantasy.

Tonight, after their guests were gone, he'd punished her for the
"yes" he'd forced her to say.

"You wanted to go flying with Allison, didn't you?"

"No, Geoffrey," she'd whispered as his lips crushed
hers.

And no, no,
no!
her body had pleaded as he claimed her.

Eve scarcely heard the frantic pleas. As always, her mind floated
far away. And now, in the aftermath of his violence, her wounded flesh still
cried—and was still unheard.

Eve was thinking about a younger version of herself, so desperate
to be loved she'd been blinded to what Geoffrey wanted—her beauty. And nothing
else...

***

Eve knew the story of her conception. As a little girl she'd never
been allowed to forget it, as if she'd chosen to become the despised symbol of
her mother's betrayal... as if she'd asked to be born.

Her mother, a barmaid at the White Horse Tavern in a seaside
village near Weymouth, had been feuding with her bar-keep lover. She'd taken up
with a local longshoreman, Eve's father, a pub regular who liked the ale and
enjoyed flirting with her.

The affair with the sexy dockworker had all the desired
results—jealousy, reconciliation and marriage—and an unwanted one. Pregnancy.
For perverse and punishing reasons, both the barmaid and her barkeep husband
let the pregnancy stand.

It was Eve who was punished most by their decision. Even her name,
the temptress from Eden, was a punishment. Her stepfather loathed her. He saw
his enemy in her face and harangued her for her ugliness. Her mother despised
her, too, revising history in a way that cast her longshoreman father as a
villainous seducer.

Eve spent most of her childhood wishing she were dead. She
believed herself ugly and unworthy of being loved. She never looked at herself,
but wouldn't—couldn't—have seen her beauty if she tried. She would've seen only
the object of ridicule she'd become, the thin, hunched creature who was so
desperately sad, desperately fearful—desperate.

***

"Get away from the edge! Please! You might fall!"

The voice behind her was as compelling as were the calls of the
sea that implored her to jump.

Eve came often to this grassy spot on the limestone cliff above
the sea. The remote corner of a sprawling estate, it could be found by
following paths known only to her and the deer. She'd never before encountered
another soul.

But on this summer day that marked the beginning of her fifteenth
year on earth—a day she'd decided would be her last—she'd been discovered. It
wasn't too late. She could jump.

It was just a voice, and surely its owner would have neither the
courage nor the inclination to dash to the cliff's edge. Except that above the
shouts of the sea that were urging her to jump—
quickly!
—Eve heard rapidly
approaching footsteps. Turning, she beheld the outstretched arms of Lady
Gweneth Frances St. John.

There were times, for fun, for show, when Gweneth rode sidesaddle.
She had an extravagant outfit for such occasions, a lavish reminder of Regency
England: green velvet, with ruffles and lace, and a hat to match, jauntily
perched and garnished with a long curving plume. Other times she rode astride.
Then, as she competed for blue ribbons and gold trophies, she wore a thoroughly
modern riding habit. Today, for galloping through the meadows above the sea,
she wore jeans, a T-shirt and scuffed riding boots.

"Please come to me," Gweneth said, stopping her own
charge toward cliff's edge not because of fear for her own safety but because
of what she saw. The girl had been planning to jump. Further narrowing the
distance between them might compel her to make the fatal leap.
"Please?"

Eve had come to this cliff, intending to jump, many times. Always
before, she'd been stopped by the sheer beauty of her surroundings. She would
become lost in the grandeur of sky and sea, an escape so splendid she'd decide
to go on, for no reason other than the chance to marvel yet again at nature's
glorious tableau.

Eve hadn't found escape today. She'd been focused on the despair
within. But she saw splendor now, a glory she'd never before witnessed—the
generosity of a human heart.

She moved toward Gweneth with the first graceful step of her life.

"You scared me," Gweneth whispered when Eve was safe.
"Maybe this isn't true for you, but when I stand near a ledge like
that—especially if I look down—I get a little dizzy, a little confused, and
fear I might fall... or even jump."

"I come here often. I'm used to standing near the edge. But
today, I admit, I was feeling that dizziness."

"But you're all right now."

"Yes, I am. Thank you."

***

It was unlikely that they'd become friends, the barmaid's symbol
of faithlessness and the beloved daughter of an earl. But they did, and it
wasn't a one-sided friendship.

The moment they met was the neediest in Eve's life. And in
Gweneth's. To that point, her life had been blissfully unblemished, untouched
by sadness and cloaked in love. Everyone proclaimed her to be a rock—an easy
role when one's life was solid as stone.

Until her father was crushed beneath his favorite polo pony,
Gweneth had never been tested. The earl would survive, but the entire St. John
family, her father included, turned to her for comfort.

Gweneth needed her own rock—Eve.

By summer's end, when the earl was fully recovered and Gweneth left
for West Heath, the two were best friends. "You should apply to college,
Eve. With your grades you'd win a scholarship. You could become a doctor or a
nurse or a social worker, some career in which your compassion could be put to
best advantage."

Eve had different ambitions, and though modest to Gweneth, they
exceeded anything the girl who'd almost leapt into the sea would have dreamed.
Leaving behind the home that had caused such irreparable damage to her sense of
self, Eve moved to London. She found a tiny flat, worked as a teller in the
Bank of London and Hong Kong, and devoted her free time to visiting children in
a hospital nearby. She was at peace, living outside herself, helping wherever
she could and finding joy in the world around her.

Eve didn't feel part of that world. She believed herself
invisible, an appreciative observer, grateful for the privilege of being
allowed to watch. With great pride, she watched her confident, vivacious
friend. Gweneth excelled at Cambridge, taking a first in English Literature,
and because of her stylish, clever way with words, she launched a successful
freelance career writing articles for magazines.

Gweneth was in Milan, covering the fall collections for British
Vogue,
on the day Sir Geoffrey Lloyd-Ashton strode into the Bank of London and
Hong Kong. The taipan of Hong Kong's premier trading company was in England on
business, the acquisition of three more ships for his fleet. The negotiations
for the freighters had gone well. He was on his way to the races at Ascot, and
since luck was with him, decided to withdraw extra cash from his account.

At first he was only vaguely aware of the young woman in the
teller's cage, an awareness that, for Geoffrey, was far from pleasant. He was a
connoisseur of beauty, and from what he could see, she was quite wretched. Her
long hair was unrestrained, her clothes unstylish. She hunched, as if trying to
become smaller—or even disappear. And, as she counted out his money, Geoffrey
noticed with disgust the fingernails chewed to the quick.

Then she spoke, to thank him for using the bank, and although her
accent was miserably common, the voice itself was hauntingly familiar. He
stared, willing the curtain of sable hair to part, and when it did, he saw a
ghost.
Rosalind,
the only woman he'd ever wanted—and the only one who'd
dared tell him no.

She'd been dead for sixteen years. A defiant death. She'd died
before he had the chance to punish her for leaving him.

But here was her twin. With work, this wretched creature could
become an exact incarnation. In fact, Geoffrey mused, she could be
better.
She
already was. Meek, insecure, delightfully submissive. Subservience was what
Geoffrey had always had in mind for Rosalind—if only he'd had more time to
break her.

This woman was broken. She merely needed to be taught to act like
a princess, and her hair, already Rosalind's shade, needed to be cropped to
reveal her exquisite face.

And this time, she would not get away.

***

Eve fell in love with him, of course, the dashing older man who
claimed to adore her. Within weeks she was in Hong Kong, in the suite at the
Mandarin Oriental hotel where she'd make her improbable metamorphosis from
lowly bank teller to worthy mistress of Peak Castle. Eve had no idea how to
accomplish such a transformation, but Geoffrey did. After personally overseeing
the changes in her diction and posture, he hired experts to whom he gave
specific instructions regarding clothes, makeup, hair.

Eve was a model pupil, grateful to be loved and eager to please.
Geoffrey promised to make her "his fair lady," and Eve, an innocent
yet willing accomplice, remained unaware that her fiancé was more Svengali than
Pygmalion.

On their wedding night, wearing the negligee he'd chosen for her,
Geoffrey made her stand before the mirror in their bedroom.

"Do you see yourself, my beauty? You're a princess now.
People will watch you. This is the way you must always look."

Gazing at the image in the mirror, and knowing she looked exactly
the way Geoffrey wanted her to, Eve expected to see something wonderful and
new. But even on her wedding night, and beside the man who'd pledged to love
her, she saw only what she'd always seen. Despair. Indeed, her sadness was more
apparent than ever. Deprived of its concealing curtain, her face was unveiled.

Eve saw neither beauty nor happiness. But Geoffrey was pleased
with her looks—and that was what mattered.

"Undress for me, Eve. No, don't turn away. I want to watch
you." She obeyed, standing naked before him, an anxious virgin, as his
eyes raked over her thin body. "Don't ever gain any weight, Eve. Not an
ounce."

Eve and Geoffrey never made love, not even on that first night.
They had sex—at least he did—and Sir Geoffrey Lloyd-Ashton was rarely gentle.
His passion damaged her, even when he took her between satin sheets. And when
his desire wouldn't wait for bed, and he crushed her against the castle's
marble floors, her skin bore bruises for weeks.

Geoffrey's desire was dark, bewildering, frightening—and so was
the way his personality changed once they were married. Gone was the charming
man who'd courted her. Oh, he existed in public, and in private when it suited
him. But there was another Geoffrey, for her alone. Very cold... and very
cruel.

Eve blamed herself. She tried to please him. How she tried. In
bed, and in the eyes of Hong Kong, she seemed to succeed. But the facade wasn't
enough. Geoffrey had obviously realized what had been hammered into her brain
since birth.

She was unworthy of being loved.

That explained his treatment of her—or so she thought....

***

"I say, Eve, Nigel and I think you're a terribly good
sport."

The words came from Beatrice, wife of Nigel Lloyd-Ashton,
Geoffrey's cousin. The couple was visiting from Gibraltar, where Nigel oversaw
Lloyd-Ashton Trading Company's Mediterranean operations. Eve and Beatrice were
at the Museum of Tea Ware in Flagstaff House, admiring a tea set from China's
Jiangsu Province.

"Good sport, Beatrice?"

Beatrice frowned. "Oh, dear. Nigel warned me not to mention
this to you, but it can't be a coincidence that you look exactly like her.
Surely Geoffrey showed you her picture, and you offered to style your hair like
hers and wear her sort of clothes, and... oh, dear. You know nothing about
Rosalind, do you?"