Stone, Katherine (18 page)

Pearl Moon

The Landmark

Thursday, July 15, 1993

"Please be careful, Eve."

"Thanks to you, Juliana, no one will recognize me."

It was the perfect disguise—pure tourist. Its vividness, typical
of summertime visitors to Hong Kong, would blend into the crowd. The peacock-blue
T-shirt Juliana had purchased from a street vendor featured a junk, its sails
unfurled, with
Hong Kong
emblazoned in fuchsia in both English and
Chinese. Juliana had made walking shorts in matching fuchsia, and to hide her
friend's familiar face she'd bought a broad-brimmed hat and large sunglasses.

Eve would carry a striped beach bag. Her Lady Lloyd-Ashton attire
was inside, as was a Pearl Moon shopping tote. Before returning to Peak Castle,
the brightly clad tourist would walk into the lobby ladies' room at the Hilton
on Garden Road and moments later the well-known image of subdued elegance would
emerge.

"No one will recognize me, Juliana," Eve repeated.
"No one will even notice me."

"I wasn't worrying about that."

Eve's expression became thoughtful. "You don't need to worry
about Tyler. When I'm with him, I'm—"

"Safe?" Juliana offered.

"Yes," Eve replied with quiet amazement.
"Safe."

Juliana smiled as she remembered a time when safe was what she'd
felt, amid other wondrous feelings, with Garrett. As Vivian had said to her
that long-ago day, she said to Eve, "I won't worry about you, then."

***

Tyler's
Seven Seas
was moored in Causeway Bay, in a slip in
the typhoon shelter allotted to the Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club. The varnished
mahogany sloop bobbed in welcome as Eve arrived.

"Eve," Tyler greeted her. "I'm so glad you could
make it."

"So am I," Eve said, still a little disbelieving.

She'd phoned him Monday afternoon, from Juliana's private line at
Pearl Moon, to make plans for today. But until this morning, she hadn't known
if Geoffrey would have his own agenda for her on this Thursday away from the
castle.

He hadn't, and she'd been floating ever since. She'd hardly
breathed until now—and now, as his eyes searched for hers behind the enormous
sunglasses, she was breathless again.

"Let's get out of here," Tyler said, wanting to see her
and knowing she couldn't shed even the tiniest part of her disguise until they
were away from port.

They sailed east out of Victoria Harbour, beyond North Point and
Junk Island and Cape Collision and Joss House Bay, finally reaching the South
China Sea.

Eve's hat came off first, and she smiled as the breeze ran gentle
fingers through her hair. Then, although the sun shone brightly, she took off
her sunglasses, because he wore none and they wanted to see each other's eyes.

"Tell me everything about yourself, Eve, from the moment you
were born."

She did. Everything—including the day the never-loved girl would
have jumped from the limestone cliffs of Weymouth were it not for Gweneth St.
John. Eve felt safe, ever safer, as Tyler embraced her every confession with
concern. A wistful smile touched her lips as she spoke of her friendship with
Gweneth, her own bold move to London, the solitary peace she'd found there.

The smile faded, and she stopped speaking, as if the story of Eve
ended in London seven years ago.

"You met Geoffrey in London?" Tyler asked.

"Yes. At the bank. I told you how I looked then—hunched,
unstylish, my hair concealing my face, my fingernails chewed to the quick."

She'd made a point of telling him how she'd looked, wanting him to
know who she
truly
was. Tyler already knew. From the first moment at
Peak Castle, he'd seen the real Eve, haunted by sadness—and who, despite her
striking beauty, longed to be invisible.

"You told me." And was she now going to tell him that,
like him, Geoffrey had seen the most striking beauty of all, the loveliness of
her heart—and, like him, had fallen in love? Eve's frown didn't suggest that
Geoffrey had done what Tyler wished he'd been there to do, cradle her hunched
body in his arms and kiss the fingertips she'd mercilessly gnawed. "What
happened?"

"Despite the way I looked, Geoffrey was able to see my
uncanny resemblance to a woman named Rosalind. She was his fiancée, Tyler. She
died a month before they were to be married. The resemblance was only
skin-deep, of course. She was elegant and refined—an aristocrat, perhaps even a
royal. With work, with a complete makeover—"

"You became Rosalind."

"Yes. I became Rosalind."

It was a great shame: that she'd been so desperate to be loved,
she'd permitted Geoffrey to re-create her in another woman's image. Her
expression told him she accepted the blame, had been a willing accomplice in
the ultimate destruction of self.

"You didn't know about her, did you? You had no idea what
Geoffrey was doing to you—to Eve?"

"No. I didn't know until much later." Much too late. Eve
shrugged, then smiled. "I like the new way I speak. When I hear myself, my
accent and my words, I hear Gweneth. And my posture is much healthier."

"And your hair?"

"I prefer it long." Eve shrugged again, then smiled
again. "Now tell me about you, Tyler. Everything from the moment you were
born."

She isn't going to talk about her marriage, Tyler realized. But
what more was there to tell? For the past seven years, she'd been lost inside
the picture-perfect princess Rosalind would have been.

I've found you, Eve. I know you're there. And, my Eve, I know how
lovely you are.

It was too soon for Tyler to say the words, and she was waiting to
hear about him.

"I was born restless, and with a compulsion to fix things. My
parents had too little love, too many children, and not enough money. For a
long time, because I was too young to know any better, I tried to fix the love
part. When I learned that was impossible, I did what I could about the money. I
quit school, got a job as a mechanic in a gas station, and contributed everything
I made to the family coffers. The extra income didn't help. It merely provided
more fuel for the fighting. When I couldn't stand it anymore, I left home,
hitchhiked across the country and found work as a mechanic at a speedway. After
a couple of years, I convinced someone to let me race."

"And you won everything there was to win."

It was almost true. He'd set records no one else was ever going to
touch. "I won a lot of races."

"But you no longer race, do you?"

"No."

"I'm glad you stopped," Eve whispered. "It's so
dangerous."

Most of the women Tyler had known—
all
of them—had been
thrilled by his racing. They wanted to be on the sidelines when he raced, to
watch the lethal speed. Most of them, he'd decided, anticipated with equal
pleasure the drama of a crash or the glory of a win.

He no longer raced. But here was Eve, worried about past dangers
he'd encountered.

"It's not that dangerous. Not if you're confident and
decisive."

"But what if someone crashes in front of you?"

"If you're good, you can usually drive around—or through—a
crash." A wry smile curved his lips. "Of course, sometimes such
actions have major consequences. In my case, the consequence was Grand Prix
Shipping."

"What happened?"

"I was racing at Monte Carlo. I was in the lead, but there
were cars in front of me, ones I was lapping. A rookie driver lost control. To
avoid hitting him, I had to veer off a fairly steep part of the course."

"And if you hadn't made that decision?"

"He would've been killed, and I would've been fine—except
that I couldn't have lived with myself."

"Were you badly injured?"

"I had a few broken bones," Tyler admitted, underplaying
the injuries that had nearly cost him his life. "I also had a hospital
room in Marseilles overlooking the port and endless hours to watch the activity
on the loading docks. And guess what? The more I watched, the more I saw things
that needed to be fixed. One small Mediterranean fleet was particularly
inefficient. To keep my mind busy, I thought about the changes I'd make if it
was mine. The idea became so appealing I did a little research. Not
surprisingly, the company was in financial trouble."

"So you bought it?"

"Eventually. I had my earnings from racing, but I needed
more. When I couldn't find a banker who'd finance a race-car driver with no
business experience, I ended up making a private deal with the owners. I
promised to pay them from the profits I made. Fortunately, there were
profits."

Eve smiled at the understatement. Grand Prix was a stunning
success. Under Tyler's guidance the small Mediterranean fleet had become a
major global shipper.

Her smile faded as she repeated softly, "I'm glad you don't
race anymore."

***

"What do you wish for, Eve?"

They'd been sailing for hours, flying across the waves. West of
Lantau Island, they'd soon have to come about. Eve needed time to become
Geoffrey's princess again before returning to Peak Castle.

As Tyler saw surprise at his question, he realized she'd never
been asked what
she
wanted—and that the woman whose sense of self had
been battered from the moment of her birth had never before made wishes of her
own. "Don't think about it, just tell me whatever comes to mind."

"I wish Gweneth were alive."

"I wish that, too."

They sailed in silence for many heartbeats before Tyler spoke
again.

"Tell me more wishes, Eve."

Tyler Vaughn was enough of an idealist to believe that, given an
infinite list of wishes, most human beings would eventually articulate ones for
the world as a whole—health, happiness, peace for all its creatures, great and
small. But with the exception of specific wishes for happiness for Juliana,
James and a little girl named Lily, that was where Eve's list began.

When she'd finished her wishes for the world, Tyler urged,
"Now tell me a
personal
wish, something just for you, something
selfish, if you possibly can."

She can't, he thought as he waited. And waited.

Finally she whispered, "I wish we could sail like this
forever."

That was his wish, too. "We can, Evangeline. We can sail
until your hair is as long as you want it to be. We can leave right now."

It was a dream, Eve knew. On this glorious day, when the breeze
caressed her skin like whispered kisses and aquamarine waves were trimmed in
gold, she was living a dream. Glorious... but impossible. Yet, on this day,
even as she shook her head
no,
there was a joyous
yes,
as if the
hair swirled by the wind was already long and free.

Impossible.

"I shouldn't have said that," she told him.

"Yes, you should have. It's what I want, too."

She shook her head again, and there was no illusion of long hair
dancing in the wind. Looking toward the horizon to which they'd never sail, she
said, "I can't."

She'd been Eve this afternoon. And Evangeline. Now she was Lady
Lloyd-Ashton again, Rosalind again, imprisoned in a life she could not see
beyond.

There were obstacles, Tyler knew. Huge ones. But none that
couldn't be overcome—Geoffrey included—once Eve believed in his love. Which she
couldn't until she believed in herself. Loved herself.

Until Eve could see her own loveliness, he decided,
he'd
be
her eyes. She'd see herself through him—if she'd let him.

Despite his many flirtations with death, for the first time ever,
Tyler felt fear. And it was the greatest fear of all—living the rest of his
life without Eve. Even the balmy breeze felt cold.

"Why don't we just take day sails, then? We'll sail whenever
you want, whenever you're free." And someday, my Eve, my Evangeline, when
you trust my love, we'll sail forever.

Eve stiffened, as though she, too, felt an icy breeze.

Free? The word pierced her very soul. She'd never be free, and she
should end this torment now....

"Evangeline? Will you sail with me?"

She heard fear in his voice, as if he was afraid she'd say no, as
if
he
was uncertain of
her
feelings for him.

"Yes, I will sail with you... whenever I can."
For as
long as I can.

The Trade Winds

Tuesday, July 20, 1993

"It's Allison Whitaker, Mrs. Leong. I just got your
message."

The message to phone James Drake's administrative assistant had
been given to the hotel operator at 11:00 a.m., and the message light in
Allison's apartment had been flashing ever since. She'd returned to her
apartment at 2:00, but had been so focused on getting ready for her meeting
with James that it wasn't until 3:30 she'd noticed the blinking light.

"Oh, Miss Whitaker, good. I'm sorry to say Mr. Drake won't be
able to meet with you at 4:00 today, after all."

"Well, that's fine. It doesn't really matter," Allison
murmured. "As I told you when I called to schedule, it wasn't an
emergency. I just wanted to show him some of the photographs I've taken. If I
drop them by the office sometime, perhaps you could let me know if he thinks
they're all right?" Or
not
all right.

Penelope Leong waited politely for Allison to finish. "Mr.
Drake hoped you'd be free to have dinner with him this evening."

"I am. Yes. But he doesn't have to do that."

"Naturally." Mrs. Leong's voice eloquently communicated
the fact that James didn't have to do anything unless he chose to. "Would
it be convenient for you if he arrived at your apartment at 7:00, to look at
the photographs before your dinner at the Blue Lantern at 8:00?"

***

"These are sensational, Allison," James said as he made
his way through the photographs she'd decided to show him.

"Thank you. I just wanted to be sure I was on the right
track."

The eyes focused on her photographs turned their full force on
her. "You are, Allison. These are magnificent."

His intense gaze seemed to be saying he was
still
beholding
something quite magnificent.

"You've just seen a few. Maybe the rest are disasters."

James smiled. "I doubt that."

But to allay Allison's worry, and because he wanted to touch her
too much, he returned to the photographs that were proof of her hopeful vision
of the world.

The images of Hong Kong were familiar, yet unique. Imaginative—and
sensual. A feast for the senses. The intoxicating fragrances of perfumed joss
sticks and salty sea air drifted from the satiny paper. And he could taste the
coconut snowball dim sum, and hear the
click-click
of mah-jongg tiles in
Kowloon alleyways, and feel the soapstone chops sold in the Lanes.

In a world where eagles shared the sky with jumbo jets, and
ancient temples nestled beside skyscrapers, and fortune hunters and
fortune-tellers found myriad ways to thrive, Allison had captured—and
celebrated—the contrasts.

In Mah Wa Lane, a shopkeeper made lightning-swift calculations
with his abacus, while mere blocks away, in a vast room resembling
"mission control," brokers at the Hang Seng Stock Exchange sat at
computers launching Hong Kong into a prosperous future.

A Hakka woman tended her precious acre of farmland in the New
Territories, while across the waters, on Hong Kong Island, stable hands cared
for prize racehorses in the high-rise, air-conditioned stables of Happy Valley
Racetrack.

In Statue Square, Allison had zoomed in on the flag bearing Hong
Kong's coat of arms. The warrior's shield, etched with images of nineteenth-century
trading ships, was held by a lion and a dragon. A second lion, wearing a crown,
clutched in its paw a gleaming pearl. The flag, symbolizing Britain's dominion
over "The Pearl of the Orient," flew in the shadow of the Bank of
China—on a wall of which she'd found an eight-sided mirror strategically placed
to deflect evil spirits.

The second-to-last photograph was a collage of Star ferries, a
visual image embracing the spirit and energy of Victoria Harbour.

"This is very nice."

"Probably too whimsical for the hotel," Allison said.
"But once I discovered the names I couldn't resist. I had to find a way of
memorializing them all."

"You've lost me."

It was a remarkable confession for a man like James to make, but
he appeared untroubled by it. Indeed, he didn't seem to mind being lost with
her at all.

"The ferry boats," she murmured. She was lost, too, in
the smoky promises of his eyes. "Their names."

James heard her words, but lingered in her smile—until he
remembered that he was in Hong Kong for a single purpose, to find and destroy
the man who'd stolen his dreams. He'd been waiting for his chance to kill,
not
to love.

James broke the spell. Returning to the photograph, he read the
names painted on the bows of the famous ferries. Charming names, all ending with
Star—Twinkling, Morning, Silver, Meridien, Day, Shining, Northern, Lone,
Golden
and
Celestial.

"I'd forgotten about the names."

He'd known them once. As a boy. The ferries had been
friends—spirits alive in the tropical air. Riding them had been a joy. But in a
Hong Kong tainted by the menace of a mortal enemy, they were merely another
form of transportation. The Hong Kong he'd loved had become shrouded. And now
Allison was showing him anew the splendor that had rescued him from the cold,
empty life to which he'd been destined from birth.

The hands that were trained to kill, were
eager
to kill,
set aside the Star ferry collage to reveal the final picture she wanted him to
see.

How did she know? The question swirled as he stared at the image.
No one, even Gweneth, had ever known. He'd been planning to share it with her,
a secret he'd been saving.

"The view seemed unique," Allison began haltingly. What
had she done? She'd been so sure he'd like the photograph. But he was frowning.
Glowering.
"Quite different from other city views."

"More dragon's eye than bird's eye?"

"Yes. You've been there, haven't you?"

"On Po Shan Road in the Mid Levels? The rocky ledge near the
first switchback? Yes, I've been there, but not since I was a boy. I spent
hours on that ledge. From age eight, I was sent to boarding school in Scotland.
I didn't want to leave Hong Kong, but it's a centuries-old tradition for young
male aristocrats to be educated at spartan, disciplinarian schools."

But not
your
son, Allison thought as she heard edges of his
fury. You would never have sent your son away.

"Po Shan Road was always my last stop before returning to
school. I'd memorize the view, vowing to hold it in my mind until I came back.
Somehow," he said softly, "you discovered my favorite place in all of
Hong Kong."

***

At the Blue Lantern, in a secluded corner illuminated by
candlelight and city glow, Allison found herself in the rare position of having
James's undivided attention. His calls were being held and not once did his
mind wander to the responsibilities of his empire of buildings and land.

She was center stage, all by herself, where James wanted her to
be. As for the script for this command performance, James wanted to hear the
story of her life. Keeping the promise she'd made to talk to him, just
talk,
she described—without apology—her undazzling life.

"When did you discover your gift for photography?"

Allison didn't even attempt to amend "gift" to
"aptitude." She knew James wouldn't let her. "When I was ten,
the year I developed rheumatic fever."

James searched his well-read memory. "Rheumatic fever? You
were living in Dallas at the time?"

"Yes. Rheumatic fever was considered very unusual. Because of
the routine treatment of strep throat with penicillin, it has become rare in
the United States. I'd had a sore throat, but..."

"You didn't complain about it. You didn't want to worry your
family."

"It wasn't really that bad. Of course, by not telling them, I
ended up causing far more worry."

She'd already told him about the infant who'd almost died at birth
and the eighteen-year-old whose reaction to a blood transfusion had nearly been
fatal. Her life had been visited by a fair amount of unwanted drama. James
guessed he was about to hear more.

"You didn't have a mild case of rheumatic fever, did
you?"

"I didn't develop any neurologic complications
whatsoever." With a wry smile, she added, "But I did manage to have
both arthritis and carditis."

"Which meant staying in bed?"

"For almost eight months."

"That must've been difficult. I bet you were a model
patient."

"I suppose. I understood how necessary it was and for the
first few months I was so weak that all I wanted to do was sleep. Once I became
stronger, I spent the days reading and playing board games with my family.
Eventually I was permitted to take short walks around our property. That's when
my father bought me a camera. I loved it immediately. I forgot about the horses
I wasn't riding, the hopscotch I might never play again."

"You did ride again, didn't you? And play hopscotch. And fly
airplanes."
And become engaged to be married.

"Yes, all of those things."

"Are you all right now? No long-term consequences?"

"I'm fine." The hand that wore the silver-and-crimson
bracelet gave a graceful wave. "My joints get a little creaky when I'm in
one position for too long or when I overdo."

"Like when you spend all day every day walking around Hong
Kong?"

"Maybe it would be a problem, James, if I were anywhere else.
But here, with the tropical warmth, it's been very easy." "And your
heart?"

Allison's heart was, in fact, far stronger than she'd
imagined—especially given the intimacy with which it was being examined.
There'd been intimate probes before. In order to assess potential sequellae of
her rheumatic carditis, tiny plastic catheters had been inserted to explore all
four chambers in search of flaws. None had been found. The cardiac cath
findings had been terribly important to Allison.

But they paled in comparison to what she'd discovered
herself—because of James. Her heart could flutter all day in anticipation of
seeing him and double its pace when the moment arrived. Triple it if need be.
Fatigue wasn't an issue, nor was fuel. Joy sustained the soaring heartbeats—and
it came from a well of happiness deep within.

"My heart's perfectly fine. No valve damage whatsoever."

"Do you expect your fiancé to materialize at any
moment?"

"No! Did you ask that because we were on the subject of my
heart?"

"I guess so."

"He's not going to materialize, James, and neither my heart
nor I want him to."

"Are you sure? You look uncertain."

"Not about that. But there
is
something I feel you
should know."

As James realized what was troubling her, he felt a mixture of
regret and relief. He'd planned to tell her, but he'd dreaded the revelation.
He knew it would make her sad.

James saw her sadness and knew she'd already been told. "You
know about Gweneth."

"Yes."

"Did Eve tell you?"

"No. Maylene did."

James scowled. "I wonder why."

"Because of something I said. I'd assumed the two of you
were... involved."

"And what did Maylene say?"

"That you were friends." Until now, the fluttering had
been slow motion. "And that you were committed to your work— and to
Gweneth's memory."

"That's right, Allison." I have nothing to offer you. I
have only my nightmares, my rage, and a deadly enemy who may one day appear
from the shadows. "That's how I've decided to live my life."

James knew how his expression must look—as desolate as his heart
would have been, were it not for Hong Kong... and intent on the destruction of
the monster who'd murdered his wife and son. In the face of such fierceness,
Allison should have looked away.

She didn't. Her gaze held his without wavering.

Don't care about me, Allison.
The silent warning
was fortified with remembrances of the fiery night in Wales. It would be dangerous
to care, the warning continued.
And futile.

Her gaze held, determined and unafraid. Its message was clear.

I understand the rules, James. You're married to Gweneth and
always will be. But we could be friends..
. couldn't we?