Stone, Katherine (21 page)

The Trade Winds

Thursday, September 2, 1993

For
the second day in a row, Maylene and Allison returned to the Trade
Winds at the same time. Today as yesterday Maylene looked model-perfect despite
the rain, and today as yesterday Allison's hair was a barometer of Hong Kong's
weather. Lightly misted yesterday, it was dripping wet now.

"I've just made a mad dash from Cat Street," she
explained as they strolled through the hotel lobby toward the elevator.
"Feel free to pretend you don't know me."

Maylene smiled. "I took a long walk myself this morning. The
concierge made a not very discreet point of looking the other way when I came
back."

The elevator whisked them to their floor, its polished doors
opening to the hotel's chief of security. His expression became grave when he
saw Allison and his plans to board the elevator were abandoned. "Miss
Whitaker."

"What's wrong?" Maylene demanded as a glance down the corridor
revealed Allison's wide-open apartment door. "What's happened?"

"I'm afraid there's been an act of vandalism in Miss
Whitaker's apartment," the security chief explained as they walked down
the hallway. "It was discovered two hours ago, when the butler let himself
in to restock the kitchen. He notified me and I called Mr. Drake and the
police."

"The police?"

"They haven't found anything helpful. No fingerprints. The
vandal undoubtedly wore gloves. You must've been away since before the
apartment was cleaned at nine this morning."

"That's right. I have. What was vandalized?"

Allison's question was answered by James. "Your photographs,
Allison."

"Oh, no." She swept past him and into the living room.

The colorful clutter was gone, the gifts to her family shipped
early this morning, and in its place was a confetti of photos and film. The scattered
bits of her talent had been neatly sliced, victims of a sharp blade
meticulously applied.

The living-room clutter was the end of a trail of destruction that
began in her darkroom. Allison followed the trail, searching for even a lone
survivor. But everything was destroyed. Even the asbestos cabinets, which had
protected the negatives from an unlikely blaze, were gaping, as if shocked by
the carnage.

"Oh, Allison," Maylene whispered. Then, with hope,
"You sent photographs to your family."

"Only a few, and without the negatives it would be impossible
to do quality enlargements." Allison shivered, a natural response of
rain-drenched skin exposed to air-conditioned chill—and a natural response,
too, to the emotional chill of such destruction.

"Why don't you take a hot shower?" James suggested.
"The police are almost finished. As soon as they're gone, I'll give
housekeeping a call. Everything should be cleaned up by the time you're
through."

"No. Thank you, James, but I'd really prefer to do the
cleaning up myself."

"After a hot shower."

Allison nodded, a gesture that caused a splatter of raindrops,
like the iciest of tears, to spill to her cheeks. Embarrassed, her gaze fell—to
his tuxedo—and she remembered something he'd told her over dinner, on Tuesday,
at Lai Ching Heen. "This is the night you're addressing the Chamber of
Commerce. You'd better go. You're probably already late. As soon as I get
warmed up, I'll be fine."

"And I'll stay, Allison, if you like," Maylene offered.
"I could make a pot of tea."

Allison's trembling lips curved into a wobbly smile. "Thank
you, Maylene. That would be very nice."

***

By the time Maylene returned with the tea, the living room was
silent and dark. The storm had imposed an early nightfall on Hong Kong, and the
room was cast in shadows. Maylene saw in the shadows the sliced remnants of her
sister's art. Who could have done something this cruel?

Maylene almost posed the question aloud. But as her eyes adjusted
to the darkness, she saw she wasn't alone. James stood by a window, staring
out, absolutely still. Only his coal-black hair held any color, reflected
glitter from the city lights. Maylene couldn't see his face, but his body spoke
eloquently of his rage. Even in its motionlessness, the power was immense.

"I thought you'd gone," she said, wondering if her voice
would startle him.

James wasn't a man easily startled. He turned slowly, a motion of
grace despite his fury.

"There's something I need to discuss with Allison." He spoke
from the shadows, his voice as cool—and dangerous— as his body.
"Privately."

Maylene understood his fury. She felt fury, too. But why did he
want to speak with Allison in private? Why was he dismissing
her?

Because he thinks you're responsible.
The
taunt came from a hungry ghost. The ravenous phantoms had been taunting her all
day, deriding her foolish search for coziness in the rain and the even greater
foolishness of imagining she and Allison might become friends.

Her ghosts tasted blood. They weren't going to relent until her
foolish longings were crushed forever. James remembers your vehement opposition
to his selection of Allison for the Jade Palace. And it won't have escaped his
notice that the destruction of Allison's photographs was impeccably neat—like
you— and executed with something like an X-Acto knife, an architect's favorite
tool. James also knows you arrived at work late today— after noon—because today
of all days he left a 9:00 a.m. message that he wanted to see you as soon as
you came in.

And let's not forget that James, himself an expert on rage— and
the cruelty that can escape from it—has sensed the rage and the cruelty within
you.

Maylene had spent the morning chasing illusory memories of love.
Yes, the concierge had seen her return, but that proved nothing. Mere minutes
in the downpour—like the time required to dispose of an X-Acto knife and
gloves—would have left her utterly soaked. And anyone who'd happened to catch a
glimpse of her, a madwoman in quest of an illusion, would deem her fully
capable of such wanton destruction.

Maybe she was wrong about James's suspicions.
Please.
There
wasn't any doubt about his fury. But was it for her, or some nameless vandal?
She couldn't tell. She needed to see his face. With trembling fingers, she
switched on a nearby lamp.

The glow was too bright for her. And it cast in darker shadows the
place where James stood.

"I didn't do this, James," she pleaded blindly.
"Yes, in the beginning, I was opposed to having Allison as part of the
Jade Palace. But that was
before
I met her. I thought the photographer
should be either British or Chinese. You have to believe—" Maylene spun as
she sensed a new presence. There weren't shadows in the arched entryway—only
her sister. "Allison."

Her bathrobe was cinched tightly at her waist. Her hair was damp,
and her face freshly scrubbed. She might have been an innocent girl ready for a
bedtime story—had it not been for her stricken eyes.

"Maylene isn't responsible, James. She may not have wanted me
to be the photographer for the Palace but..." Allison faltered. She'd been
right all along. There'd been something personal in the glowers she'd seen. And
something personal, too, in the gratitude she saw as she came to Maylene's
defense. "Maylene did
not
do this."

"I know that." Leaving his fury in the darkness—at least
the fury that could be seen—James stepped from shadows to light. He
had
considered
the possibility that Maylene was to blame. Given the facts, he had to. But he'd
dismissed it, a decision of the heart. It was a decision, he realized, that
also mattered very much to Allison.

"I never suggested she did," he said to her. Then, to
Maylene, "And I never would have."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. The question remains—who did?"

"I was thinking about it in the shower," Allison
replied. "I must have taken a picture of someone who didn't want to be
caught on film."

"You've told me you always get permission."

"I do, from anyone whose face could be seen well enough to be
recognized. But maybe there was someone in the distance who felt an invasion of
privacy that wasn't really there. It's the only thing that makes sense, and it
does
make sense."

"Except that everything was destroyed."

"Whoever did this was obviously very annoyed. He or she was
teaching me a lesson. Now I've learned. In the future I'll be even more careful
about figures in the background. And I'll keep copies of the negatives in the
vault downstairs." Allison stopped with a shiver. All gentleness had
vanished from James's eyes. She shivered again. "I guess I'm still a
little cold. Tea will help."

Maylene, too, saw the change, and she remembered James's tone when
he said he wanted to speak with Allison privately. Maylene also wanted to speak
privately with her, to explain what she'd overheard and make sure Allison knew
she'd never have done something so cruel.

Maylene didn't want to go. But she owed that much to the man who,
from the very beginning, had such faith in her— and who hadn't permitted his
faith to shatter. "I think I'll leave you two alone. I'll be in my
apartment, Allison, if you'd like help cleaning up...."

***

When James returned from walking Maylene to the door, he found
Allison standing amid the devastation, seeing it anew and truly understanding
the magnitude of what had been lost.

As her tears began to spill, he drew her into his arms. She was
wrapped in a bulky robe, but she felt his heat.

James felt her warmth, too, and her softness. "Oh,
Allison."

She'd never heard such a whisper, such longing. She looked up, her
lips trembling with joy as they waited to welcome him.

James didn't kiss her.

"I want you to leave Hong Kong."

Allison wasn't certain what happened next, whether he released her
or she backed away. But suddenly they were apart.

"Leave Hong Kong, James?" Leave
you?

"Whoever did this is still out there. You must go, Allison.
It's far too dangerous for you to stay."

"The danger's over! Every photograph is gone."

He didn't seem to hear her words. "You have to go. If
anything ever happened to you.

"You blame yourself for Gweneth's accident, don't you? You
blame yourself for not being able to save her."

"Yes."

"But you
shouldn't,
James. There was absolutely
nothing—"

"Gweneth's death wasn't an accident, Allison. She was
murdered. I was the intended victim, but she was the one who died."

"Oh, James. I had no idea. Neither Maylene nor Eve—"
"They don't know."

"The murderer hasn't been caught," she said as
comprehension dawned. He was hungry for revenge, starving for it. "You
believe he's in Hong Kong. That's why you're here."

"Yes, Allison." His voice was stark, as empty as death.
"That's why I'm here."

"Who is he, James? Do you know?"

"No. I don't know. I've assumed he was a developer who felt
threatened by my moving to Hong Kong. I've spent the past four years trying to
get him to show his face, but he's remained in hiding."

"Maybe he isn't here."

"He's here." He focused beyond her, on his prey, his
expression deadly.

"Is that why you want me to leave?" Allison asked.
"Because you think he might responsible for destroying my
photographs?"

Allison's question drew James from his future vision of death, but
it was a few moments before he answered. Earlier, when he'd walked into her
apartment and seen the slashed remnants of her art, he'd felt as if the
knife-sharp blade had carved his heart, too. And for the first time ever, he'd
wondered if, on that night in Wales, Gweneth had been the intended target after
all. By killing her, the murderer had also killed him—her death far more
devastating than his own would have been.

Had the monster come out of the shadows to harm another woman he
loved?

No. No one knew he'd fallen in love with Allison. It was a truth
he'd tried very hard to hide from myself.

But it
was
the truth.

"My guess is it's not him. But it's still too dangerous for
you to stay."

"I'm not afraid, James."

James saw the breathtaking proof of Allison's courage. She wasn't
frightened of the vandal, even if he was a murderer, but that was a trivial
conquest compared to the rest. She wasn't afraid of James himself.

"Oh, Allison," he whispered.

His emotion gave her hope. "I'm going to stay, James."

James had believed no one in Hong Kong knew he'd fallen in love
with Allison. But it wasn't true.
She
knew. For one indulgent moment,
James allowed himself to see a joyous future—for them—through her eyes. Too
swiftly, the image was engulfed in flames and slashed with knives.