The Russian Concubine Part 30

He breathed lightly and felt a sharp unmistakable flicker of anger rise up in him. The dance and the music were strange to his senses, but Lydia Ivanova's actions were clear. She was moving the way a young female cat moves in front of a likely male when she's ready to mate, swaying and seductive, seeking out his advances, rubbing and purring and twitching her flanks.

The man was acting uninterested, his body soft and boneless in the strip of yellow light from the window, but he didn't leave. His eyes hooked into the dancing girl in such a way that it made Chang want to skewer him on the tip of a fis.h.i.+ng spear and watch him writhe. It was not only the Black Snakes that slithered toward her. The boneless man's hands forgot to smoke the cheroot between his fingers, but his half-closed eyes did not forget to watch each graceful dip and rise of her hips. He stayed there.

Like the shadow stayed. The one by the steps up to the terrace, the one merging with the bulk of a water b.u.t.t, deeper black against black. The one whose breath would end. A gleam from a window glinted on the metal of a shuriken shuriken in a poised hand. in a poised hand.

Chang drew his knife. He watched over her.

25.

'Mama, is it true my father played the violin?'

'Where did you hear that?'

'At the soiree. Is it true?'

'Yes, it's true.'

'Why did you never tell me?'

'Because he played it so badly.'

'Did he once throw a violin into a fire in anger?'

Valentina laughed softly to herself. 'Ah yes, more than once.'

'So he had a temper?'

'Da. Yes.' Yes.'

'Am I like him?'

Valentina turned back to painting her nails. Her glossy new bob swung over her cheek, hiding her expression from Lydia's sharp gaze. 'Every time I look at you, I see his face.'

'Get out of bed.'

'No.'

'Darling, you drive me crazy. You've been lying in bed all week.'

'So?'

'I don't understand you. Usually you're in such a rush to be out and doing things but now . . . Oh dochenka dochenka, you make me spit, you really do. Just because the school term is finished and you've got yourself a mountain of books there, it doesn't mean you can read the rest of your life away.'

'Why not? I like reading.'

'Don't be so wretched. What is that big fat book anyway?'

'War and Peace.'

'Oh gospodi! For G.o.d's sake, make it Shakespeare or d.i.c.kens or even that imperialist pig Kipling, but please not Tolstoy. Not Russian.' For G.o.d's sake, make it Shakespeare or d.i.c.kens or even that imperialist pig Kipling, but please not Tolstoy. Not Russian.'

'I like Russian.'

'Don't be silly, you know nothing Russian.'

'Exactly. Time I did, don't you think?'

'No, I do not. It's time you got out of bed and went over to Polly's to eat some of her lily-white mother's plum pie that you always sing the praises of. Go out. Do something.'

'No.'

'Yes.'

'No.'

'You must.'

'Why do you want me out of here? Because you want to jump into bed with Antoine?'

'Lydia!'

'Or is it Alfred now?'

'Lydia, you are a rude and impertinent child. I just want you to be normal, that's all.'

'What is normal, Mama?'

'Anyway, I've finished with Antoine.'

'Poor Antoine.'

'Poof, he deserved no better.'

'And Alfred? What have you decided the Englishman deserves?'

'Alfred is a very kind man with a generous heart, and I would remind you that G.o.d says the meek shall inherit the earth.'

'I thought you didn't believe in G.o.d.'

'That's got nothing to do with it. Now come on, tell me why you lie here in this stifling pit and won't go out anymore.'

'Because I don't want to.'

'You're odd, Lydia Ivanova. Do you know that? Any girl who lies in bed day after day with a white rabbit on her chest and reading about war is odd.'

'Better odd than dead.'

'What?'

'Nothing.'

'Oh darling, you make me spit.'

She knew. The moment they invited her to come with them to the restaurant, she knew why. She washed her hair, put on her apricot dress and satin shoes, as instructed. The restaurant was not La Licorne this time. It was Italian and had little private booths with leather-padded banquettes and low lighting from candles overflowing the necks of stubby wine bottles wrapped in raffia. Lydia pushed the strips of something called linguini around her plate and waited for Alfred and Valentina to get to the point.

Alfred was smiling a lot, so much she thought his cheeks must ache. As if he'd swallowed a smile machine.

He poured her a gla.s.s of wine and said cheerfully, 'This is jolly, isn't it, Lydia?'

'Mmm.' She wouldn't meet her mother's eye.

'I hear you're still studying hard even though school is over for the summer. That's excellent, my dear. What is it you are concentrating on?'

'Russia and Russian.'

She saw a slight flicker of surprise at the back of his eyes, but his smile didn't waver. 'How interesting for you. After all, it is your heritage, isn't it? But Josef Stalin is doing brutal things to his people now in the name of freedom, distorting the very meaning of that word, so the world you are reading about in your books no longer exists in Soviet Russia, my dear. It's barbarous what's going on there. The kulak kulak farmers and peasants are starving to death under this new Communist regime.' farmers and peasants are starving to death under this new Communist regime.'

'Like they did under the tsar, you mean?'

A faint groan escaped from Valentina.

'Come now, Lydia,' Alfred said with quiet determination, 'let's not get into that discussion this evening. Tonight is a time for celebration. ' He glanced almost shyly in Valentina's direction. 'Your mother and I have some news that we hope will make you very happy.'

Valentina made no comment. Just looked at her daughter with watchful eyes.

Lydia started to talk. Somehow it seemed to her that if she could fill their little booth with her own words, stuff them into every spare corner, there would be no room for Alfred to squeeze in his news.

'Mr Parker,' Lydia said with a show of concern, 'I think you said my headmaster, Mr Theo, is a friend of yours, didn't you? Well, I need some advice because he was acting very strangely toward the end of term. You see, he would set us all some work to do in cla.s.s and he'd put his head in his hands on his desk and stay like that for absolutely ages, as if he were asleep, but he wasn't because sometimes I caught his eyes staring straight at us behind his fingers, and Maria Allen thinks he must be having trouble with his beautiful Chinese mistress and is suffering from a broken heart but . . .'

'Lydia.' It was Valentina.

' . . . but Anna says her father behaves like that when he has a hangover, and one day Mr Mason burst into the cla.s.sroom all red in the face and dragged Mr Theo out of . . .'

'Lydia!' Sharper this time. 'Stop it.'

For the first time Lydia looked at her mother's face. She uttered no more words, but her eyes pleaded.

Valentina turned away. 'Tell her, Alfred. Tell her our good news.'

Alfred beamed at her. 'You see, Lydia, your mother has done me the great honour of agreeing to become my wife. We are going to be married.'

They waited expectantly for her response.

Lydia made a huge effort. She forced a smile, though her teeth stuck to her lips. 'Congratulations,' she said. 'I hope you'll be very happy.'

Her mother leaned forward and kissed her briefly on her cheek.

26.

Chang An Lo found the note. He knew it was from her before he opened it and he delicately fingered the paper to seek out the touch of her skin on it. The note was crammed into a small gherkin jar and placed on the flat rock at Lizard Creek, the one she liked to sun herself on. A leafy branch had been placed over the jar to make it less obvious to any eyes but his, and the thin silver leaves of the birch tree had curled and dried in the heat. She had been careful. No names. Just a warning.

'Kuomintang elite troops on their way to Junchow,' it read. it read. 'To wipe out Communists. Leave now. Urgent. You and your friends. Go.' 'To wipe out Communists. Leave now. Urgent. You and your friends. Go.'

The word Go Go was underlined in red. At the bottom of the folded piece of paper she had added a sketch of a snake with its head sliced off and blood dripping from the wound. was underlined in red. At the bottom of the folded piece of paper she had added a sketch of a snake with its head sliced off and blood dripping from the wound.

The night was demon black. No moon. Just unrelenting drizzle that deadened any sound. The house was grand and well guarded. Sentries almost invisible under the upturned eaves. High outer walls with no windows, and each courtyard lit by coloured lanterns even in the middle of the night. In every doorway that faced the courtyards wind chimes tinkled ceaselessly, warding off evil spirits and evil-minded intruders alike, but the main threat to Chang came from the broad-headed chow chow dog that roamed the innermost courtyard. Its sharp ears picked up what human ears missed.

Chang's footsteps on the roof tiles were m.u.f.fled. His felt shoes moved with slow patience, edging nearer, one silent step at a time. It was not the large inner courtyard that was his aim, but the previous one, the one with the fountain spurting from the dolphin's gaping mouth, the carp moving like white ghosts in the ornamental pond at its base and in the corner the plum tree laden with ripe fruit. The tree was old and its branches leaned against the house the way an old man leans on his stick. Chang was all in black, waiting, crouched in the shadows on the roof. Eyes and mind focused on one window.

The patrol guard did his job thoroughly, jabbing his heavy cane into the shrubs and under the delicately carved benches. Chang heard the thwack thwack of the stick as it skewered some night reptile on the marble floor, and a low growl came from not far away. The lantern on the veranda threw light down one side of the guard's face, keen eyed and alert, hungry for something or someone to relieve the tedium of his nightly routine. Chang had no intention of doing so. Not yet. of the stick as it skewered some night reptile on the marble floor, and a low growl came from not far away. The lantern on the veranda threw light down one side of the guard's face, keen eyed and alert, hungry for something or someone to relieve the tedium of his nightly routine. Chang had no intention of doing so. Not yet.

Eventually the guard strode away to the shadows of the next courtyard where the dog offered a servile whimper of welcome, and while the animal was distracted, Chang moved fast. Wet tiles, slick under his feet. Along the top ridge. More tiles, moss-covered and treacherous. The tree, as easy as stepping stones. Over the veranda. The open window. A low light glimmered behind the curtain. Chang stepped over the sill.

It was a large room. In the centre stood a ma.s.sive black-oak bed, silk canopied and deeply carved with the shapes of bats with wings spread wide and fangs bared and long-necked birds devouring scorpions and frogs. To one side of the bed a candle burned in a jade holder and around it lay a confusion of fallen gla.s.ses and bottles, leather thongs, pools of spilled beer and a small bra.s.s burner. A long-stemmed pipe of stained ivory had been thrown on top of it all. The air smelled sweet and sickly.

Chang stood in the fold of the curtain for just long enough to make out three figures on the sheets. Two lay still and silent, eyes wide with fear. Staring at the knife in his hand. They were two young concubines, wrists bound with cords of leather to a hook attached to the headboard, and both were naked. Their smooth skin glistened with fragrant oil. One had what looked like a whip mark across her small b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Between the young concubines a large male figure lay sprawled on his back, slack-jawed and snoring, a yellow trail of vomit on the side of his face and the pillow. He wore nothing but a belt of snake teeth around his waist, which was thick and muscular, and his stomach was covered in dense wiry hair.

Chang fixed his eyes on the girls. It was a long time since he'd had a woman. The one with the whip mark was very beautiful, eyes like sloes and b.r.e.a.s.t.s that swelled soft and inviting, tilting upward with pink bud nipples. He moved closer, slowing his breathing, and stood at the foot of the bed. In one swift leap he was kneeling on it, between the man's naked legs. The man's closed eyes were quivering behind his eyelids but otherwise he did not move a muscle, unaware of anything except the drugged chaos of dreams beyond control. Chang reached over and removed a pair of chopsticks from the bedside table, sending both girls scurrying into a tight huddle on the pillows, the thongs pulled taut around their wrists. They were trembling, their long black hair flickering in the candlelight.

'A demon of the night,' one whispered.