Stone, Katherine (14 page)

"No."
Except that sometimes, when his eyes are dark
with conquest, Geoffrey calls me his "rose."
"Beatrice,
please tell me."

"It was such a long time ago. It hardly matters
anymore."

"Please."

Beatrice sighed. "Well, I've come this far, haven't I? All
right. It really
doesn't
matter, Eve. Your looks may be identical, but
in every other way—well, it's obvious Geoffrey vastly prefers your reticence to
Rosalind's wildness. Oh, she was an untamed one, spirited like a thoroughbred.
She was highborn. Not that that was enough for her. She insisted the man who'd
raised her as his daughter wasn't her father. She was descended from royalty,
she said, the love-child of some minor European monarch. That made her a
displaced princess, you see, a modern-day Anastasia. Nigel and I never believed
that claim, though Geoffrey did. And she certainly
acted
like a
princess. Not as subdued, mind you, as she should've been. But always
imperious. We forgave her, of course. She was quite marvelous really, a
whirling dervish who swept everyone in her path right along with her."

"Including Geoffrey."

"Oh, yes. Theirs was a volatile relationship, but a
passionate one. They adored each other." Beatrice shook her head.
"Even after they were engaged, Rosalind's flair for the dramatic didn't
wane. A month before the wedding, she told Geoffrey she'd fallen in love with
someone else and the marriage was off." Beatrice tugged briefly at her
lower lip. "Geoffrey has no idea I know that. We were at a weekend party
in Scotland. Everyone was outside, except for Geoffrey, Rosalind... and me. I
was resting, and their room was across the hall, and I overheard their row.
They'd have gotten back together, I'm
certain
of it, had she
lived."

"She died?"

"That day, just moments later. She rushed out of the house,
got into her car and started to speed away. She was looking over her shoulder,
to make sure Geoffrey was in hot pursuit, I suppose. She didn't see the truck
coming up the drive. Everyone shouted to her, warning her, but she didn't hear.
She was killed instantly—as we watched. She was only twenty-six." After a pause,
Beatrice forged ahead with the obvious. "Stunning, isn't it? You were
twenty-six when you and Geoffrey met. He must have believed he was seeing a
ghost. The resemblance is truly uncanny, Eve. In your looks, your remarkable
beauty, you and Rosalind could have been twins."

Remarkable beauty.
Of all Beatrice's words,
those two haunted Eve the most. She'd spent her life trying to be invisible, to
shield her ugly face and pathetic body from the ridicule she'd been subjected
to since birth. She'd felt detached from her physical being, yet protective of
it.

Now that outer shell had betrayed her—by possessing a beauty she
couldn't see... but which had beckoned to Geoffrey. She was desired—and
punished—because of her resemblance to Rosalind.

In truth, Geoffrey had all but forgotten Rosalind. His desire was
for Eve alone. He wanted to possess her wholly— and, in a manner more
infuriating than Rosalind's drama, Eve defied him. Her core of privacy wouldn't
be owned... and that made Geoffrey want to possess her, and hurt her, all the
more.

Geoffrey had forever to achieve his goal. Unlike Rosalind who,
save for a tragic accident, could have fled to freedom, Eve couldn't escape.

Yes, Kai Tak was one of the busiest airports on earth, with daily
flights to every major city on the planet, but Eve couldn't board any of them.
Her passport was in a locked vault in Geoffrey's office, and if she applied for
a replacement, the news would travel swiftly to him, as all news about her
invariably did.

The only country with which Hong Kong shared a border was China.
The eighteen-mile national boundary was marked by barbed-wire fences and
patrolled by heavily armed soldiers. Admittedly, the wire and border guards
were intended to keep refugees from escaping Communist China, not from fleeing
capitalist Hong Kong, but Eve would be detained nonetheless.

Eve could neither fly away nor run away, and there was little hope
of escape in the shark-infested waters of the South China Sea. She was
physically trapped, and she'd come full circle, returning to the isolation and
despair of her childhood. Indeed, despite the grandeur of her new home, the
perch atop Victoria Peak was reminiscent of the seaside cliff where she'd stood
as a girl. From any of a hundred places, Lady Lloyd-Ashton could take a single
lethal step.

She never would. She'd learned other lessons from her
childhood—how to float away from pain and find joy outside herself. That, not
death, would be her escape.

The natural splendor of Hong Kong was hers, and there were other
joys. Wanting his princess to be admired, Geoffrey supported her wish to
volunteer at Children's Hospital. And there was the joy of Gweneth. Eve's
friend lived far away, but calls and letters kept her close.

"I'm getting married, Eve, can you believe it? He's a confirmed
bachelor and you
know
how I feel about my career. But we're getting
married—married!—and we're already talking about a house full of children. Can
you come to the wedding? As my matron of honor? I can't wait for you to meet my
James, and I'm dying to finally meet your Geoffrey."

Eve didn't attend Gweneth's wedding. Geoffrey didn't want to go
and wouldn't permit Eve to leave Hong Kong without him. Eve doubted she'd ever
see Gweneth again— until another phone call and more joyous news. James and
Gweneth were coming for a visit. And if Gweneth liked Hong Kong—"Which I
will, Eve, because James does!"—they'd make Hong Kong their home.

For Eve, every second of the Drakes' Christmastime visit was
filled with hope. As always, Geoffrey was charming— and loving—in public. But
for those two weeks, his charm didn't vanish when he and Eve were alone. He was
wonderful to her, as if courting her anew, and as happy as she was that James
and Gweneth would be part of their lives.

While Geoffrey introduced James to the power brokers of Hong Kong,
Gweneth and Eve wandered the festively decorated streets. Despite Hong Kong's
worldwide reputation as
the
shopper's paradise, Eve knew very little
about its offerings. Her clothes arrived at Peak Castle by chauffeured
limousines, a never-ending and unsolicited array from Hong Kong's top fashion
designers, each competing to become Lady Lloyd-Ashton's exclusive choice.
Geoffrey selected the clothes he wanted her to wear and returned the rest.

When it came to the odds and ends for the castle, trinkets that
would add her personal signature to her home, Geoffrey greeted her first few
attempts with such scorn for her taste that Eve stopped making even the
smallest purchases.

Eve didn't know where to shop in Hong Kong. But Gweneth did. Never
questioning Eve's lack of experience, she simply led the way.

"Before leaving London, I made an appointment with Juliana
Kwan herself," Gweneth explained as they crossed Des Voeux Road and made
their way to the Landmark. "She has boutiques in Kowloon, at the Regent
and in Ocean Terminal, but this is where
she
is. Have you really never
heard of her, Eve? Or of Pearl Moon? Her designs would look absolutely smashing
on you."

The designs Gweneth wanted were maternity clothes. She'd be five
months along when she and James moved to Hong Kong, definitely showing—and
definitely in need of stylish yet comfortable mother-to-be outfits for the
tropics.

She'd have them, Juliana promised. They'd be ready on her return.

But Gweneth never returned to Hong Kong. One week before that
joyously anticipated day, she died in an explosion in their country home in
Wales. Eve learned of the tragedy from Geoffrey. The moment the grim news
reached the teletype machine at
The Standard,
Geoffrey was notified. He
drove to Peak Castle immediately, his unexpected midday arrival filling Eve
with fear even before he spoke. Always before, such a visit meant he wanted,
suddenly and urgently, to possess her—and hurt her.

Geoffrey's news on that day hurt Eve terribly, but Geoffrey
himself was gentle. And three weeks later, when a gravely wounded James arrived
in Hong Kong, it was Geoffrey who vowed they'd help Gweneth's bereaved husband
any way they could.

James resisted their help. His solemn face sent a clear warning to
stay away, and he resolutely refused to talk about Gweneth or his pain.

Eve helped James in the only way he would permit—without his
knowledge. She went to Juliana's boutique, to make certain a call to James's
office, a polite reminder that his wife's maternity clothes were ready,
wouldn't be made.

Eve was greeted by Juliana, a smile that faded to concern as
Juliana saw Eve's sadness.

"Come in here," Juliana urged, guiding Eve into one of
the boutique's private fitting salons. "What's wrong, Eve?"

"Gweneth... died."

***

Gweneth died. But she left with Eve the indelible memory of her
generous heart. And, because of Gweneth, Eve had two friends in Hong Kong.
Juliana and James. No matter how distant James was, how unwilling to discuss
his pain, his expression always softened for his wife's best friend. Eve knew,
as James did, that they'd be bonded forever by their love for Gweneth.

Eve's friendship with Juliana began as her friendship with Gweneth
had, at a time of great need. And as it had been then, the need was reciprocal.
Eve's sadness was obvious—her grief about Gweneth, her worries about James. But
Juliana's sadness over the daughter she'd lost was buried deep—and, until her
friendship with Eve, unshared.

Juliana told Eve about Maylene's father, his love, not his name,
and Eve told Juliana that despite the facade, her marriage to Geoffrey wasn't
as idyllic as Hong Kong believed it to be.

Juliana had never sent unsolicited designs to Peak Castle. She
refused on principle to participate in such a contest. Nonetheless, and once
again because of Gweneth, Juliana became Eve's exclusive designer. The day
after ordering her maternity clothes, Gweneth had returned to Pearl Moon with
another request. She wanted Juliana to design a gown "—something
incredibly romantic—" for Eve.

Geoffrey's eyes darkened with pleasure when he saw the gown
Juliana had designed. He'd been selecting the wrong clothes for Eve—Rosalind's
clothes, confident and sleek. Juliana's designs were better. Creations of
hope... for the princess who had none.

Geoffrey loved commanding Eve to undress before him. She always
took such care not to damage the clothes Juliana made, as if by preserving the
hopeful garments she'd preserve the hope.

The silk gown Eve had worn to the party in celebration of the Jade
Palace lay on the chaise longue in the master suite. It was unharmed, a witness
to the night's violence. As Eve rose from the bed to return the gown to its
hanger, her body screamed with pain.

As always, Eve ignored the cries. She no longer felt protective of
her body. It was a separate thing, and a hated one. Her body, her beauty, had
betrayed her. The bruises on her flesh were trivial compared to the bruises of
her heart.

Unexpectedly, Eve's thoughts returned to memories of tonight's
violence.
Why?
With the answer came a memory of gentleness, not
brutality, and the image to which her mind had floated while Geoffrey ravaged
her.

Usually she envisioned colors, soft pastels. But tonight her
floating mind had seen a man. She knew his reputation for fast cars and faster
women. Yet there'd been no restlessness in the eyes that held hers.

And it felt as if he was looking beyond the exquisite shell to the
invisible woman inside... looking and seeing and caring.

Causeway Bay Children's Hospital

Monday, June 21, 1993

"Lady Lloyd-Ashton?"

The voice belonged to one of the nurses on Ward Three. As Eve
turned to answer, she cringed inwardly at how tentative the voice was, how
deferential. For seven years, Eve had spent every Monday morning on this ward.
It was she who felt humbled by the experience, grateful for the opportunity to
help if she could and admiring of the nurses and doctors. But because of who
she was—who she was married to—she was treated differently from the other
volunteers.

Eve smiled at the nurse. "Yes?"

"Lily Kai was admitted over the weekend. She's all right, and
will be going home this afternoon, but... she knows Monday's your day and asked
me to tell you she's here. I know your visit is nearly over, but she's been in
radiology all morning and has only just returned. If you don't have time, I can
tell her—"

"Of course I have time."

"Oh, good." The nurse finally smiled. "She's in her
usual room."

As Eve walked toward Lily's room, she thought about the brave
little girl. They'd met a year ago, two days before Lily's fourth birthday....

***

No, no, no! Please!

Eve rushed into the hospital room—and found a tearful little girl
and a sympathetic but slightly frustrated nurse... who became overtly anxious
at the sight of Eve.

"Lady Lloyd-Ashton!"

"I'm sorry," Eve apologized. "I heard her cry and—
Is there anything I can do to help?"

"I don't think so. No. But thank you." With a sigh the
nurse explained. "Her intravenous has come out, and she really needs her
medications. Her parents make a point of being here whenever there are needle
sticks, but this was unexpected. I'm just about to ring one of them at
work."

"I'm
trying
to be brave." Lily looked at Eve, her
glistening eyes beseeching and earnest. "But it
hurts.
They always
tell me it doesn't, but it
does!"

"I'm sure it does," Eve said, kneeling. "Hello,
Lily. My name is Eve."

"Have you ever had an IV?"

"No," Eve admitted. Then, with a smile, she suggested,
"Why don't I have one right now?"

Lily's eyes widened—as did the nurse's—but it was Lily who asked
the obvious. "Why?"

"Well, that way I can see how much it hurts and maybe
together we can think of a way to make it hurt less."

"How?"

Eve hesitated before answering. She was an expert on pain. She'd
perfected the technique since her marriage to Geoffrey, but as a little girl,
younger than Lily, she'd taught herself to float elsewhere when the harangues
of her parents became too much to bear. "Why don't I tell you what I do
when something hurts me? First of all, I
admit
it hurts. Then, in my
mind, in my imagination, I go far away. I think of things that make me
happy."

It took the nurse, the best venipuncturist on the ward, several
attempts to get the needle into one of the veins on Eve's hand. Throughout the
process Eve smiled reassurances to the nurse as she spoke to Lily.

"It does hurt, doesn't it? Now, help me find a happy
thought." Eve didn't have Lily's full attention. She was fixated on Eve's
hand. "Lily? Help me find a happy thought. Tell me something you love to
do."

"Fly my kite."

"Good. Tell me what your kite looks like, its color and
shape, and how it dances in the wind."

Eve had never flown a kite. But Lily's description of flying
hers—a pink-and-blue butterfly with a long silver tail— made Eve forget the
sharp then oddly aching pain in her hand. Eve was a life-master at
extinguishing pain. Was it pure folly—and totally unfair—to imagine that a
visualization technique might work for a frightened four-year-old?

Eve's technique probably didn't work for Lily. As the nurse
inserted the intravenous needle, Lily's eyes glistened again, and her lips
trembled, and the fingers of her free hand dug into Eve's palm. And when Eve
reminded her that yes, it did hurt, Lily whispered, "Ow, ow,
ow."

But Lily didn't pull away. She listened to Eve describe the
butterfly kite soaring in the sky, and her fear floated elsewhere—to Eve.

That night, Eve and Geoffrey attended a gala at Government House.
Privately, Geoffrey was displeased with the purple bruises that marred the
pristine whiteness of Eve's hand, as if he alone had the right to violate her
fragile flesh. At the gala, however, he displayed Eve's bruises proudly, badges
of his wife's compassion.

Geoffrey's displeasure with the skin-deep legacy of that day at
the hospital would have paled into insignificance had he realized the more
far-reaching consequences, the beginning of the special relationship between
Eve and the little Chinese girl. Lady Lloyd-Ashton always requested that even
the most casual acquaintances call her Eve. At Children's Hospital, only Lily
Kai, too young to understand matters of propriety, honored Eve's request.
Indeed, Lily was one of the few people in Hong Kong who addressed her ladyship
with such informality.

Eve learned from the nurses that Lily's medical problem was an
atrial septal defect, a congenital heart anomaly that would require surgical
repair. The doctors wanted Lily to grow as much as possible before performing
the necessary surgery. They'd hoped to wait until she was six, or even seven,
but recent blood flow studies, combined with an increase in respiratory
infections, had forced their hand.

Lily's open heart surgery was scheduled for December. It was only
June, and she'd already been hospitalized again.

The nurse had said she was fine, going home today, but Eve's chest
tightened with worry as she neared Lily's room— and exhaled with relief when
she reached the open doorway.

Lily sat on the edge of her hospital bed, her legs dangling over
the side. When she caught sight of Eve, her face lighted with happiness.

"Eve!"

"Hello, Lily." Eve sat beside her. "How are
you?"

"Fine! I have a cough, but it's not bad."

"I'm glad." As Eve watched, a transformation took place.
The ever-brave Lily started to crumple. Her head bent, and her hands twisted
together. Her dangling legs moved, too, swinging nervously against the bed.
"Lily? What's the matter?" "My operation."

Had the surgery date been moved up? Or was the bright little girl,
who always talked so matter-of-factly about the hole in her heart and the
surgery to fix it, finally beginning to understand the seriousness of what lay
ahead? "What about your operation, Lily?"

Lily's legs answered first, moving even faster. "I was just
wondering..."

If you might die?
Eve hid her fear and smiled.
"What were you wondering, Lily?"

"Could you... if you... I
know
if you were here and I
saw you right before I went to sleep, I'd be fine!"

"Oh, Lily," Eve whispered. "Of course I'll be
here."

The small head lifted. "You will?"

"Yes. I will. I'll see you just before you go to sleep, and
I'll be right here when you wake up."

"But my operation isn't until December. Will you still be in
Hong Kong?"

"Of course I will. I live in Hong Kong. Did you think I'd be
moving away?"

To Eve's utter amazement, Lily Kai nodded.

"I'm not going anywhere, Lily. And I'll be right here, with
you, on the day of your surgery."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

***

The Excelsior Hotel's second-floor restaurant afforded an
excellent view across Gloucester Road to the Causeway Bay Typhoon Shelter. In
the foreground, at harbor's edge, stood the Noonday Gun, immortalized in song
by Noel Coward, but a Hong Kong legend long before the famous lyrics.

The polished brass Hotchkiss gleamed beneath the midday sun, a
shining symbol of Hong Kong's colorful past. In the middle of the last century,
Jardine Matheson, the newly formed colony's premier trading company,
established the practice of firing twenty-one-gun salutes every time one of its
clippers arrived safely in port. The colonial governor, incensed such
ceremonial pomp was being extended to merchant vessels, especially ones
undoubtedly loaded with opium, ordered Jardine's taipan to cease the unseemly
practice immediately. Moreover, in punishment, he proclaimed Jardine Matheson
to be the colony's official timekeeper. Every day, precisely at noon, they'd be
responsible for announcing the time by firing a single shot.

The century-old tradition continued. The original cannon had been
replaced in 1901 by the Hotchkiss, and midnight on New Year's Eve had been
added to the list of permissible times for firing, but it was still Jardine
Matheson that provided Hong Kong with its daily noonday boom.

It was almost noon. A man in a white uniform loaded the gun as
interested tourists congregated nearby. Juliana sat across Gloucester Road, in
the Excelsior's restaurant, sipping tea while she waited for Eve. It would be
another half hour before Eve arrived, and Juliana knew she might well be late.
Her friend never left the hospital early, and sometimes there was a child who
needed her to stay longer.

The Noonday Gun fired then, an event Juliana witnessed rather than
heard. The cannon-like blast was muted by the typhoon-proof glass, but she saw
the puff of white smoke, a perfect fleecy cloud, disintegrate in the breeze.

For most Hong Kong residents, the Noonday Gun signaled the future,
a booming reminder that there were only so many days left until 1997, and that
time was rapidly becoming Hong Kong's most precious treasure of all.

To Juliana, who saw only the disintegrating cloud, the explosion
triggered memories of the past where dreams vanished before her eyes....

***

Eight days after Juliana defied destiny by calling Garrett, the
fates meted out their revenge. Vivian suffered a second heart attack, this time
fatal. Even as Juliana tried to deal with the loss—and her guilt—more
devastation was gathering. Vivian's success had come long after her husband's
death, and with money she'd earned herself, but the family of the husband who'd
been dead for forty years laid claim to her entire fortune.

Everything was rightfully theirs. Nothing should go to the young
woman with no blood ties whatsoever. Juliana Kwan was a gold digger, pure and
simple. Not so pure, the relatives amended swiftly. Her green-eyed baby offered
shameful proof of the type of woman she was. She'd been with her lover, not at
Vivian's bedside, during Vivian's first heart attack. And on her return, she'd
taken advantage of the frail woman, convincing her to defy centuries of
tradition by bequeathing her worldly goods to an outsider.

Vivian Jong's fortune was substantial. The family she hadn't seen
for decades pursued it with a vengeance. They retained British barrister Miles
Burton, imploring him to settle the matter before the lunar new year began.

By ancient Chinese tradition, one greeted the new year with a
clean slate—crisp new clothes, a brightly scrubbed house, a clear conscience.
All debts were to be repaid, all quarrels resolved.

During the week-long festival itself, Hong Kong became a bouquet
of the symbolic flowers of prosperity. Celebrants feasted on melon seeds,
chocolate coins, lotus stalks; bright red
lai see
envelopes filled with
lucky money were lavished on family and friends. And everywhere was the
familiar invocation
Kung Hei Fat Choy
—Rejoice and grow rich!

In the weeks leading up to the celebration, much attention was
paid to Tsao Kwan, the Kitchen God. Since the kitchen was the center of family
life, that was where Tsao Kwan lived. His presence was commemorated with a
special shrine, a monument as simple as his name in gold characters on red
paper, or as elaborate as a figurine of porcelain or jade.

It was the Kitchen God's duty to observe each family, their
behavior and deeds, and prepare a dossier to present to the Jade Emperor in
heaven. Because an unfavorable report from the Kitchen God could result in a
new year filled with bad luck, and a glowing one would augur prosperity, much
effort was expended to ensure that Tsao Kwan's assessment would be very good
indeed.

The Kitchen God's seven-day journey to heaven commenced on the
twenty-fourth day of the twelfth moon—one week before the lunar new year began.
Prior to his departure, offerings were placed at his shrine, sweets, usually,
in hopes of encouraging him to say sweet things. Cane sugar was placed at his
feet or even on his lips, and sometimes his impending journey was fortified
with opium to blur—yet make pleasant—his memories of the family.

The Kitchen God's presence in Vivian's house overlooking Happy
Valley was commemorated with a porcelain figurine. Year-round, Vivian placed
fresh flowers at his shrine, and as the new year approached, she burned
perfumed joss sticks. But she never smeared his porcelain lips with sugar.
"He knows we've been good," she explained to Juliana. "He knows
how much love there is in this family."