Heart of Lies (13 page)

“Yes, my friend, I managed to survive the rubber debacle. And I have another piece of news for you. I think I’ll be staying in Shanghai for some time.”

“Really? Taken a liking to the place, have you?”

“It gets into your blood, doesn’t it? All this luxury—” Leo made an expansive gesture, taking in the club, its marble floors, the mahogany bar, the attentive waiters—“available for so little. And the anonymity to enjoy it.”

“So the anonymity appeals to you, does it?”

Leo contemplated his answer, aware that he had let down his guard. But surely there was no harm in admitting he’d come to Shanghai for the same reason as so many others. He lifted his glass.

“Yes. Here’s to Shanghai, Lawrence. The miraculous place where broken lives begin anew.”

As Leo offered his toast, Cosgrove gave him an odd look, as if he knew something that Leo did not, but elected to keep it to himself. Yet he raised his glass to Leo’s, and, as the crystal goblets rang out their accord, the older man gave Leo his good wishes.

“Very well then. To your new life. May it be a long and happy one.”

“For me and my wife.”

“Your wife?”

“I mean, the woman I hope will soon be my wife. If she’ll still have me.”

“My word, all sorts of secrets are pouring out of you tonight, Leo. Is this lucky lady here in Shanghai?”

“Not yet. I’ll let you know when she arrives. I don’t even know if she
will
come.”

Six weeks later her telegram arrived. Martha was on her way.

At night Leo trembled with anticipation at the thought of having Martha in his arms, alongside him in his bed, rising to greet him in the morning.
She had not given up. She was coming to Shanghai.
And now he had the money he needed to take care of her, to protect her. And oh how he would spoil her; nothing was too good for Martha. Nothing.

Every day he toured the Bund, aching to see her. He knew she could not possibly arrive for weeks, yet still he prowled the docks, unable to keep himself away. He could sense her. She was coming to him.

Martha stepped onto the dock and felt it lurch beneath her feet. Dazed, she reached out and clutched a pylon to steady herself. The wood felt moist but solid. She realized that the pier she was standing on had not, in fact, moved. The motion of the sea still tormented her brain, that was all: the unrelenting motion of the loathsome ocean.

During her voyage the attentive captain had assured Martha daily that as long as she was able to keep down some of what she ate and drank, seasickness would not kill her. More than once during the past five weeks she would have preferred a quick, painless death to the torment she’d experienced during her journey. The nausea subsided once they reached the China Sea, and she thought the worst was behind her. Until the earth started moving, too.

Another wave of dizziness hit her. She took a deep breath and placed her hand over her mouth as the newness of Shanghai assaulted her senses: the stench from the river; the voices of the coolies unloading cargo with their unfamiliar, rhythmic chants; the horns and bells
of the ships, bicycles, and automobiles; the pleas of the beggars and the hawkers; the sticky heat; the sunburned foreignness of the faces staring at her with inquisitive admiration.

It was too much. She was too weak. She stood still, unable to move any farther than the five thousand miles she’d traveled to be there.

Then she saw him, and burst into tears.

In two long strides Leo reached her. Sweeping one arm under her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, he lifted her off her feet and carried her as one would a small child, holding her close to his chest and murmuring comforting words as the anguish of the past nine months poured out of her in a rush of sobs and stuttered sentences. He carried her down the dock toward the shade of one of the trees on the thin stretch of park lawn that separated the river from the hot pavement of the Bund, and sat down on a small public bench, still holding her in his arms, heedless of the curious and critical glances of their public audience. He stroked her silken auburn hair and rocked her, until she pulled her head away from his shoulder and looked at him, her eyes begging for reassurance.

“I love you, Martha Levy,” he said.

It was enough.

She said nothing for a moment, then started to talk again, wiping away her tears with the palm of her hand. “I can’t believe I fell apart like this. It’s just that I’ve been so sick. The voyage was horrendous. I don’t care if I never set foot on another boat as long as I live. Were you seasick?”

He smiled down at her, his heart so full of love he could not speak. Then he enveloped her in another huge hug.

“I promise. No more boats.”

“Good,” came the muffled reply. She squirmed to get free and, with one last sniffle, looked around.

“Goodness. What a spectacle I’m making. I’m sor—”

Leo touched a finger to her lips to cut her off. “You have nothing to be sorry for, my darling.” His face then drew closer to hers, until their lips met. The warmth of her mouth instantly ignited his passion and he pulled away, acutely aware of their surroundings and his overpowering need for her.

“Come on, my love,” he said, standing up and easing her to her feet.

“Let’s go home.”

They collected her one small suitcase from the dock, then returned to the busy traffic of the Bund, where Leo hailed a rickshaw. With Leo’s assistance Martha stepped up and sat down in the peculiar little cart, her eyes wide with amazement as she took in the small, grinning man who seemed delighted to have been chosen to take them to their destination.

“He can’t possibly carry us both.”

“Of course he can. Especially you, you tiny little thing. The wheels carry most of the weight.”

“But it’s barbaric, being toted about by a human being.”

“Not as barbaric as letting him starve to death, which, I assure you, is a common alternative. I’m sure that this man considers himself quite lucky to be able to lease a rickshaw. We do him an honor by getting in it and helping him feed his family. Or buy his opium.” Leo chanted an address in Chinese. The coolie picked up the handles of his vehicle and trotted off at a brisk pace. Martha was relieved to find the regular, swaying motion of the rickshaw oddly soothing after the unpredictable movement of a ship at sea.

“Did you say opium? Is it true they all smoke opium? Leo, were you speaking Chinese? What is that man selling? My goodness, but it’s hot.” Despite her queasiness, the exotic panoply passing by filled her mind with dozens of questions. She gave Leo’s arm an excited squeeze.

Leo felt a surge of joy at Martha’s touch. He shifted to face her and covered the small hand gripping his arm with his own, never taking his eyes off her face.

“Martha, my darling, I hear you speak and I think I must be dreaming. I’ve dreamed of you so often. Day and night. I can’t believe you’re really here.”

He looked at her like she might vanish. With that look he offered himself to her, all he was and all he would ever be. Martha read his gaze, and understood. All of her doubts settled like dust in an attic corner, far away from her heart.

“I love you, Leo. I will always love you.”

He seized her fingers and kissed them, each tip, one by one. After he’d planted a fervent kiss upon her thumb, she brought his hand to her lap and gripped it there.

“Don’t ever let go,” he said quietly.

“I won’t. Never again. Never, never again.”

They sat silent for a while, basking in the sweet pleasure of their reunion. Leo could feel the heat of Martha’s body as she pressed his hand against her thigh. He would have to wait. Until they were home. Or longer. She might need some time, he chided himself. She’d been through so much on his account. Patience. He should tell her something about her new home.

“Well,” he said, “as you can see we’re heading into the nicer residential neighborhoods. Shanghai isn’t all cargo and beggars and noise.
I know this must seem strange, to find me living on the other side of the world, but I hope you’ll grow to like it here.”

“It all seems so foreign, yet familiar at the same time. Most of the buildings don’t look the least bit oriental.”

“Not in this part of town, but wait until you see the old section of the city, or some of the Chinese palaces in the French Concession. By that I mean—”

Martha interrupted proudly. “I know all about the Concessions. And extraterritoriality, and the nationalists and the communists, and Sun Yat Sen, and war lords, and the White Russians, and hundred-year-old eggs—”

“And where did you pick up all this expertise?”

“From the ship’s captain.”

“I see. So you turned the captain into your own private tutor? That must have been very informative.”

“Leo, please.” Martha was more amused than insulted by this subtle accusation. “I was so seasick I had to spend a lot of time on deck, and the captain would come up and chat with me. I made clear that I was going to Shanghai to meet my…my…husband.” Her face flushed with a touch of embarrassment. “But there was nothing ‘private’ about it. He was just passing time, and I wanted to find out something about the place where I was going to live. And he was old enough to be my grandfather.” She did not mention that being under the captain’s unofficial protection conveniently kept the other men on the ship from making unwanted advances.

Leo’s pout evaporated. “Your husband?”

Martha blushed outright this time. “Well, you did ask me to marry you. Or don’t you remember?”

Earnestness replaced Leo’s lighthearted expression. “Martha, the thought of making you my wife, legally my wife, has never left my mind. That’s the whole reason I came to Shanghai.”

At that moment the rickshaw pulled up in front of a glorious Georgian mansion. Black shutters accented the cream stucco walls, and the front portico extended from the massive front door in a wide semi-circle, punctuated by four Doric columns. The rickshaw driver laid down his load in front of the main gate and waited patiently for Leo to hand him his fare. Martha did not move.

“Why are we stopping?” she asked. “Who lives here?”

“I do. And so will you, at least as of today,” replied Leo, playful again. He leapt down from the cart and extended his hand to help her down. Martha remained motionless.

“What? Here? In this house? This mansion? You’re not serious.”

“Well, if you don’t like it, say so, and I’ll buy another. Although I did negotiate a rather good deal on this one. The man who built it was in the shipping business. He lost his fortune a little over a month ago, when a typhoon demolished most of his fleet. Seems there was some scandal involving the maritime insurance. Sold me all the furnishings as well. The interior of the place is quite nice. If you would just come in and take a peek around, then you can pass judgment.” He said all this cheerfully, but he was quite serious. He would sell the place as quickly as he’d bought it, lock, stock, and barrel, to please Martha.

Martha stared at the house a moment longer, then her eyes returned to Leo. She gave him a look that could convey only one meaning, and then stepped down from the rickshaw.

In his haste to get her inside Leo forgot to pay the driver, whose loud howls of betrayal forced him to return and hand over the fare. By this
time the head household servant, Duo Win, had opened the gate to greet them. The rest of the staff, inherited directly from the previous owner, waited in a dignified line just inside the front door. Dressed in their best white cotton uniforms, they respectfully bowed in turn, to their new mistress.

Seven Chinese faces moved before her in a blur. Martha was conscious only of Leo’s arm around her waist, the warmth of his body, the firmness of his thigh as it brushed up against her hip.

“Tea ready. Please to come,” offered Duo Win politely, after everyone had been introduced.

“No, thank you,” Leo responded. “Madame would like to rest now.”
This was taking forever.

“Very good. Will turn down bed for Madame.”

“Never mind that. We’ll manage.” Leo escorted Martha up the wide marble steps of the double staircase that led to the second floor. Seven pairs of eyes watched with barely concealed amusement. He reached the landing and paused.

“Duo Win, everyone take the rest of the day off.”

“Sir?”

“I said everyone is off duty for the rest of the day. Leave the house. Go shopping. Take a holiday.”

“All?”

“Yes, damn it. Everyone.”

“Cook too?”

“EVERYONE. RIGHT NOW.”

Leo’s roar scattered the group in the foyer. Taking Martha’s hand, he led her down the hall to the master bedroom suite. He did not point out that the rosewood four-poster bed had been carved in Siam, or that
the antique mirror over her marble-topped vanity came from Venice, or that the silk carpet on the floor had once belonged to an Indian Maharajah. He brought her to the center of the room, released her, then walked back to the door and shut it, determined to shut out the rest of the world.

Words were no longer necessary. She reached out to him and he came to her, locking her in his arms as their hungry mouths met and opened. Martha moaned, and the sound of her yearning inflamed him even more. Dropping his embrace he seized her face in his hands. He kissed her chin, her cheeks, her temples, her eyes; then returned to her lips, seeking and demanding. With trembling fingers Martha stroked the corners of his mouth as his tongue claimed her again. She stroked his ears, his neck, and his back, urging him onward, lost in an abyss of desire.

He could have taken her immediately, tearing off only the pieces of clothing that barred their essential coupling, but he wanted to relish all of her. He tried to reach behind her and unclasp the top of her dress; after one unsuccessful effort his ardor refused to let him waste any more time on buttons. Turning her roughly he ripped them off in a single effort. Martha’s crumpled linen chemise fell to the floor, instantly forgotten.

Martha brought his hands to her breasts. Still behind her, he cupped one in each hand and massaged them upward, fondling her nipples beneath the silk of her short slip. Then he pulled that garment over her head and flung it away. Martha quickly kicked free of her shoes, and turned to face her lover. She stood before him with no thought of modesty or embarrassment, rendered completely comfortable in her nakedness by the force of her need for him.

Leo dropped to his knees and slowly removed her panties, then her stockings. When she was completely undressed, he began to nibble and kiss her inner thighs, first one, then the other, while stroking the backs of her legs with long, fluttering caresses.

Martha rewarded him with a series of short moans, and buried her hands in his hair. He kissed his way up to the small, pointed bones of her slender hips. She rocked them gently, as if he had already entered her. He could not wait much longer. He picked her up and laid her across the bed, threw himself on top of her, still fully clothed, then pinned her hands close to her head and pushed himself against her.

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

She wanted to answer him but a groan of passion was the only sound she could make. Leo kept talking to her, whispering close to her ear.

“You are mine, Martha. Mine forever. Do you know how much I love you?” He stood up and kicked off his pants. Martha tried to sit up, but he guided her back down onto the bed.

“Don’t move. Not yet.” Still standing, he leaned over the bed, pulled her body toward him, and entered her with one smooth thrust. Martha cried out again, an exclamation of pure joy. She wrapped her legs around his lower back and tilted her pelvis up, encouraging him to enter her more deeply. Holding her hips he pushed further, until their bodies bonded completely.

Leo stood motionless, possessing her, pulsing inside her. He did not move. He wanted this moment to last forever.

Martha’s hand traveled toward the point where their bodies became one. She stroked her lower abdomen, welcoming his presence there. She then rocked her hips one time.

Leo exploded. His back arched and he pressed even deeper into her as spasm after spasm rocked his body. A low growling moan escaped him, answered by Martha’s cries of delight as she shared his pleasure.