The Master of Rain Part 61

"Come on," she said. "Don't be silly. It's about time you relaxed. That's why you came here, isn't it? The comfort of family." She took off both shoes, then whipped off his socks, tickling the bottom of his right foot as he withdrew it.

Penelope refilled the gla.s.s and handed it back to him. "Geoffrey is just like this. Doesn't like to talk about things."

Field took the gla.s.s, looked at it for a moment, then downed it in one again. Penelope followed suit, smiling at him. She held up the empty gla.s.s. "To the comfort of family," she said. "Look at your shoulders." She put her gla.s.s down and moved around behind the sofa. She ma.s.saged his neck and back expertly.

"You're hurt." She came around to the front. "What happened to you, Richard? Your girl let you down?"

Field didn't answer. "Do you know Charles Lewis well?" he asked.

"Charlie?"

"Yes."

"One knows him."

"Would you say he is the most powerful man in Shanghai?"

There was a mirror opposite, and Field watched Penelope tilt her head to one side, frowning slightly. "I suppose so. I've never really thought about it."

Field's mind was now so overrun by questions that he shut his eyes again.

"Do you know who killed the Russian girl?" she asked him.

"We're getting close."

"Tell me. Who is it?"

Field didn't answer. He didn't want to think about it and he knew she was only making small talk.

Penelope released him. She took his gla.s.s and refilled it again. She placed a hand against his cheek. "Drink up, soldier." She poured herself another, too, and they faced each other and drank. "Ooh . . . I feel quite drunk now. Geoffrey hates me drinking whiskey."

Penelope bent down, her breath warm against his ears. "Relax, Richard. Let it go."

Field closed his eyes.

"Has she hurt you, Richard? Is that what it is? Has the Russian princess betrayed you? They always do, you know." He felt the gla.s.s against his lips. "Drink, Richard."

Field stood. "I just need to excuse . . ."

"Upstairs, I'll show you." She held his hand.

"Actually, I should . . ."

"Geoffrey will want to see you. You can talk to him about it."

She was still holding his hand, leading him up the stairs, and then they were in her room and she was turning, slipping the dress from her shoulders, so that she was naked from the waist up, wearing nothing but a garter belt and stockings below.

Her mouth was warm and sweet, despite the whiskey, her skin soft. She reached down and took hold of him through his trousers, releasing her grip only to brush against him, moving her hips from side to side.

He staggered, trying to pull away, but her grip was strong. "I know you came for this," she hissed. She kissed him with sudden ferocity as she unb.u.t.toned his fly.

Penelope sank to her knees and took him into her mouth. He could feel her tugging at his trousers, taking her lips from him only long enough to free them, the wetness soothing as she took him to the base of her throat. She stood again, unbearably close as she took off his holster and unb.u.t.toned his shirt.

She led him back toward the bed and lay down, legs slightly apart, so that he could see the pink lips glistening beneath the dark hair. She took his head and guided it there, the smell of her filling his nostrils. He tried to pull away, but she grabbed his hair savagely and pulled his face toward her own, taking hold of him and forcing him into her.

Penelope suddenly pushed him over again, onto his back. Her nipples were erect and she put a hand over his and pulled it to her breast. She pressed down against him, so that he found himself grunting, half in pain, half in anger.

His remorse was instant. Field waited perhaps ten seconds, but as soon as she was off him, some of his s.e.m.e.n dripping back onto his stomach, he stood up and wiped it away with his shirt.

He put his shirt on, not caring how squalid that felt.

Penelope sat up, clutching her knees, resting her head on them and looking at him, her hair across her face. "Everything is not as it seems."

"Isn't it?" he said as he tried to pull his trousers on. "I suppose you're going to tell me your husband doesn't make you happy."

"The world isn't always simple."

"Well, it is to me."

"You don't have to blame yourself."

He stopped and looked at her. "One of the things my father-my lower-middle-cla.s.s father, the disgrace to the family-one of the things he always said was that you should take responsibility for your own actions."

Field thought about the way Penelope had draped her arm affectionately over her husband's shoulder on the first night they'd all met up.

"You don't have to be chippy, you know. I don't care about all that."

"All what?"

"The family."

"Great. Fine." He did up the b.u.t.tons on his shirt.

"Don't blame yourself, Richard," she said, sitting up on her elbow and looking at him, the sheet falling away from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "No one will know."

"No one will know," he repeated. "I will know." He stood. "It was a mistake."

She glared at him. "A mistake?"

"A mistake, yes." He gave a hollow laugh. "Don't tell me you think it wasn't."

"Just a mistake, that's it?"

Field sighed.

"This is why you came here, and don't you deny it."

"Fine."

Her face was small and angry as she thrust it toward him. "You were intent on f.u.c.king me the moment you came through that door."

"It wasn't a mistake, then."

"You were trying to get even, is that it?"

"I'm going to go."

"Determined to get back at the family because-"

"Oh please . . ."

"Well, you've succeeded. Are you happy now?"

"It has nothing to do with-"

"Your girl. Is that it?"

"Look . . ."

"I can see it in your face: it's the Russian princess. Another b.l.o.o.d.y Russian princess."

Field frowned.

"Oh, don't worry, Richard, she'll find out. I'll make sure of that and then your love will wither on the vine." Her eyes flashed. "You're all the same: you think you can get away with it, but you can't."

Field raised his hand, suddenly tired and wanting to leave with the minimum possible rancor. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"What will she think when she knows?"

"I'm sorry if I upset you."

Her anger disappeared in an instant. Her smile was sickly sweet. "Do you want me to get Chang for you?"

"I'll get a rickshaw."

"Will you give me a kiss, Richard?"

"Penelope, please . . ."

"You just f.u.c.ked me, Richard. Be polite, if nothing else."

He walked forward and leaned over. She kissed him with an open mouth, briefly grasping the back of his neck. "I'm sorry if I've hurt you," she said.

Field hesitated. He looked at the gold Buddha beside her, then walked away.

"Richard?"

He didn't stop.

Field went to the Happy Times block and stood beneath the line of trees, but there were no lights on the top floor.

He tried to walk away, but got only a few paces before he turned back.

He moved quickly through the light and shadow, the heat of the night bringing sweat to his brow as he climbed the stairs again to the darkened hall. He knocked, quietly calling her name, but there was no answer.

Forty-five.

The first glimmer of dawn awoke him and Field lay still, every muscle in his body screaming at the discomfort of the night. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was. He lifted his cheek from the cold marble floor and rubbed his eyes. His shoulder was cramped against her door.

Natasha had not been home.

He turned and paced from one side of the hall to the other.

Field took the notepad from his pocket and his father's fountain pen. For a moment, as he tried to think what to say, he wondered if this is what his father had felt for his mother. Was it love that ruined you?

Field wrote: Please call. I will be in the office. Central 26522, extension 79. Please call. I will be in the office. Central 26522, extension 79. He almost added, He almost added, I know about the boy, I know about the boy, but thought better of it. He did not sign it. but thought better of it. He did not sign it.

Slowly, he opened the door to the stairwell and began to descend to the street. It was still early, a hint of color on the rooftops, the air heavy and close. He felt the stubble on his chin. He thought he could still taste Penelope in his mouth and it disgusted him. His clothes were a mess.

Field pa.s.sed a line of bodies huddled against the wall of the race club and then stopped by its entrance and turned back one last time. As he swung around, a short Chinese in a pinstripe suit and black trilby stopped about twenty yards behind him.

Field looked at him, but the man made no attempt to hide, or to pretend that he was doing anything other than following him.

Field began walking again, listening to his own footsteps and the echo behind him. He felt for his revolver.

He kept a steady pace, skirting the race club and waiting for a solitary tram to pa.s.s before crossing the road. His pursuer maintained his distance.

In Carter Road, Field had thought to try and lose him, but as he walked past the church, the graveyard of which he would have used to shake off his pursuer, he saw another man reading a newspaper on the far side, and a third standing at the intersection ahead.

He slipped his hand inside his jacket and took hold of his revolver, then stopped. The footsteps halted behind him, but neither of the men ahead moved. He was ten yards beyond the church. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest.

His brain was clear. They would have shot him by now if that had been their intention.

He started walking again. The man on the far side of the road continued to read his newspaper; the one at the intersection ambled away down the street.

Field kept going until he reached his quarters, standing silently in the hallway beyond the porter. He took out his revolver and checked that all the chambers were full before turning into the common room and forcing himself to breathe more normally.

He poured himself a cup of coffee from the jug on the sideboard, took the copy of the North China Daily News North China Daily News next to it, and sat at one end of the dining room table in the middle of the room. next to it, and sat at one end of the dining room table in the middle of the room.