The Palace of Heavenly Pleasure (34 page)

Her body arched and shuddered, not with cold, as his tongue traced a snail's trail down her belly, lingering on her Mount of Venus, firing the warm wetness below. ‘Oh.' She groaned, clenching her fingers in his hair. ‘Kiss me again, Henry. Kiss me again, before either of us regrets this.'

As his hot lips descended on hers she felt his hands exploring her body, running over her thighs, her arms, brushing over her breasts. Their tongues touched briefly, then his mouth was over her breast again. She felt the touch of his teeth and a languorous warmth suffused her limbs. His fingers fluttered over her stomach, pausing in the groove between her loin and thigh, darting to the other thigh, alighting like a firefly, tingling where it touched, and moving again. She felt as if she was being wound in filaments of soft silk. His fingers lightly brushed the fine hairs above her mound, then his hand cupped her below and she experienced a sensation she had never felt before, not in her imaginings, as the sensitive fingers entered her most private places, pausing, exploring, tantalising, at every touch plucking a new note of pleasure in an unbearable symphony which she wanted, at the same time, to end because it was overwhelming her and to go on for ever because she could not bear it to stop.

Her own hands brushed over his chest, his shoulders. She pressed her cheek against his, and heard his deep breathing as if from inside herself. Her hand felt the hard muscle behind the soft, soft flesh of his shoulders. Hardly daring to breathe she reached below and enclosed him, gasping as she felt the hard, heavy weight in her hands. ‘Yes,' he whispered, ‘my darling,' brushing with his lips her forehead, her nose, her eyes. ‘Oh, my love.' She felt the touch of his breath in her ears.

‘Yes, yes,' she murmured. ‘Oh, yes, my darling. Please. Please.'

She felt the weight of his body shift. She opened her legs, guiding him with her hand towards the fires that had been lighted by his fingers. It seemed the most natural thing to be doing in the world. She felt a pressure, then a bursting pain, which made her scream; she heard the echoes round the stone walls, but very quickly the tone of the screams changed as the pain gave way to ecstasy, and with her legs and her arms she tried to wrap this man to her and keep him inside her for ever.

*   *   *

Lao Zhao, squatting naked by his smaller fire at the other end of the cave, drying his quilt jacket on the end of a stick, heard the sounds and smiled.

The sharp cry of pain. For his money that was the hymen. So she had been a virgin. He was usually right about these things. Then the rhythmical movements, the grunts and the sighs; there, she was moaning again, good; screaming with pleasure, excellent. His master must have a very good technique. It was not often that a woman achieved the clouds and rain so satisfactorily on her first attempt. A fortunate coupling.

He stretched to his feet and walked naked out of the cave, squatting on his heels at the edge of the precipice, admiring the scenery. The storm was over, and he could make out traces of blue sky. There was a reddening in the west as the sun began its decline, crimsoning strands of cirrus that were sharing the sky with the few black rainclouds which were all that remained of the tempest. Now the weather was clear again, he could make out exactly where they were and how they had become lost in the storm; he even believed that he could identify the tent site far below. It would not take them long to get down again. Because of the storm the others might consider sending a search party up here—the rat-eating doctor was a fussy man—so he would remain out on guard to give the couple plenty of warning of anyone's approach.

They had more than an hour to spare. That would give them at least one more chance to achieve the clouds and rain, maybe two.

She was an ugly woman, he thought; skinny, with odd colouring. He had observed her closely when she had worn that transparent dress by the river. Funny how the hair below was crimson-coloured like the hair above. Not for him. Barbarians were only made for other barbarians, he thought philosophically; give him a human being for choice, a big smooth-skinned northern girl for preference—but the thought of the coupling going on in the cave nevertheless made him feel lecherous. Not much he could do about it here in this cold, he decided, eyeing his shrivelled frog, even if it wasn't undignified to use his hand at his age—although, that said, he grinned at the thought, fountaining off the edge of the cliff and showering those turtles' eggs in the valley with his fragrant essence appealed. But no, he would probably stop over in the room behind Ren Ren's dumpling shop tomorrow evening on their return to Shishan. He assumed that his master would be going to the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure, as he did most evenings. He doubted whether having had his way at last with the foreign girl would change the habits of a man like Ma Na Si. He could understand why a barbarian might want to keep his hand in with a barbarian girl from time to time (one never lost one's taste for home cooking), but having been fortunate enough this last month or so to have tried a human girl—especially one of those high-class ones at the Palace of Heavenly Pleasure—Ma Na Si must even now be thinking back to more delicate meats. Then again, one never knew with ocean devils, even half-human ones like Ma Na Si. It made working for them such an intriguing pastime. One just never knew what they were going to do next.

Seven

Mother wept when we left. The wind bites through my coat;

Little Brother's feet bleed, yet we have only gone 10 li.

 

They arrived back at camp shortly after sunset. There had been no undue concern over their absence, despite the violent thunderstorm. The story that they had found refuge from the rains in a Taoist temple was accepted without comment. In fact, the doctor, his children and Sister Elena were far more interested in relating their own adventures in the storm. Bubbling with laughter they described their helter-skelter scramble down the mountain in a tumble of Hong Kong baskets, tables and chairs, and how Charlie, railing against the heavens for spoiling his long-planned picnic, had missed his step, rolled alarmingly off the path and ended up unhurt but shaken in the branches of a pine tree. The party had spent a sodden afternoon working out ways to bring him down from his perch. ‘Can you imagine a more forlorn sight,' chortled the doctor, ‘than a wailing Chinaman, in all his colourful regalia, squawking like a drenched parrot on top of a tree? It gave a new meaning to the term Celestial! I shouldn't laugh. It will be some time before poor Charlie recovers his sense of dignity. We've sent him to his tent where he's consoling himself with a bottle of claret and a Gruyère cheese!'

Helen Frances smiled politely, a little stunned that back in the world she had left a few hours before (or was it several aeons ago?), everything appeared still to be so normal, as if nothing had happened. She was amazed that nobody could perceive any change in her. How could they fail to notice that she was not the same person any more? That she was transformed? A woman now. Her body tingled; her breasts and her loins ached. How could they not be aware of the glow of happiness that was shining from the pores of her skin and radiating from her eyes? It took all her willpower not to clutch and kiss Henry's hand in full view of them, in fact to smother his whole face and body with kisses—she didn't care, she wanted to shout out her joy to the world—but he stood relaxed beside her, laughing quite naturally at the doctor's story, and winked at her as he lit a cheroot.

Only Nellie had listened to their story carefully, observing how fortunate it was that they had been able to find a small temple in the middle of nowhere that could not only give them shelter but also apparently provide a laundry service to dry their clothes.

‘Yes, weren't we lucky?' said Henry calmly. ‘Helen Frances was led off by the nuns to sit on a warm
kang
in their living quarters, while Lao Zhao and I had to make do huddling by a stove in the porter's lodge. But they were very kind. Very kind. And it was all a bit of an adventure, wasn't it, Helen Frances?'

Seeing Henry's eyes twinkling at her conspiratorially, Helen Frances experienced a rush of total abandonment. ‘Yes, Mrs Airton,' she cried. ‘It was a wonderful adventure. And educational too,' she added, smiling sweetly. Henry turned his head away to disguise a grin.

‘Indeed?' said Nellie, raising her eyebrows.

The evening passed in an eternity of frustration. All Helen Frances wanted was to be with Henry, but the children pulled her arm to play with them, and when she was finally free again after Nellie had gathered them off to bed, she found that Dr Airton and Herr Fischer had already ensnared Henry in the men's talk over brandy and cigars which she knew would go on into the night. She sat on her campstool half listening to Sister Elena chattering beside her, and gazed through the fire at the flickering figure of her lover.
Her lover
. She relished the word. Occasionally he would turn his face towards her and smile, and she would feel the blood rush to her face. When it was time to sleep, she followed Elena reluctantly to their shared tent, feeling Henry's burning eyes boring into her back.

She remained awake until dawn reliving every sweet moment in the cave, and when she did sleep she dreamed that a panther was licking her body, and then she was riding him over the plains, leaving Countess Esterhazy, sitting on a donkey, far behind.

They trotted ahead of the convoy the next day, their horses close together, their knees touching, holding hands when they could. When they saw the hill leading to the mission they cantered forward, leaving the others temporarily out of sight. Henry leaned over and kissed her. She pressed her head against his chest. ‘I can't bear for you to go,' she said.

‘Tomorrow,' he answered. ‘I'll see if I can get away. I'll get word to you. We'll ride to the ruined tombs.'

But the following morning it began to snow. Helen Frances looked out at the grey skies and the whitening lawn, and began to despair. She only relaxed when she saw Lao Zhao's smiling face outside her window holding up a letter—but even after the details of the assignation were fixed she experienced fears that he would not come, and the minutes ticked by endlessly, endlessly, and lunch was a nightmare.

‘How can you possibly go out on an afternoon like this?' exploded Nellie. Helen Frances was already dressed in her riding clothes, awaiting Henry's arrival.

‘Henry's
mafu
brought a message this morning,' said Helen Frances. ‘There's a temple by the river…'

‘Temples!' snorted Nellie. ‘Is it really temples you're so interested in, girl? Or something else?'

‘I don't know what you mean,' said Helen Frances, flushing.

‘I'm not sure if I mean anything,' muttered Nellie. ‘I only know I'll be glad when your father and fiancé return.'

Helen Frances glared at her angrily. ‘If you would like me to pack up and return to the hotel now, Mrs Airton…' she began.

‘Oh, get away with you,' said Nellie. ‘Don't talk nonsense. These airs don't become you, young lady. And, anyway, here comes that charmer of yours. Why do I bother? There's no common sense in the pair of you. Go on out to him, then. Freeze to death, for all I care. What I'll tell your father I don't know.'

Two hours later she was lying in Henry's arms in the stele hall of an ancient tomb. Five hundred years ago it had been built for a Chinese general who had died in battle against the barbarian tribes. It had been modelled on the Imperial tombs in Peking, although on a smaller scale befitting a lower rank. In its unruined state it must have been magnificent. Even today it possessed a wild, romantic beauty. Two snow-filled courtyards led up to a tall tower. Its roof was crumbling, the tiles and rafters collapsing in a tangle of moss. Behind it was the overgrown mound covering the grave. It was ringed by a crenellated wall, which was also showing signs of dilapidation. Trees and roots were growing out of the stones. In the tower was a large oblong slab resting on a carved tortoise on which the death name and the deeds of the brave warrior were inscribed. By the side of this stele Henry had laid out his wolf furs as a makeshift bed. In their soft speckled warmth Helen Frances and he had made love, and now she was lying in the crook of his arm, gazing at the snowflakes that swirled in through the open arch. One landed on her nose, and she laughed. She snuggled against Henry, who kissed her eyes and her chin.

‘I could lie here forever,' she whispered. ‘With you.'

‘Not sure what the general would say about that,' said Henry.

‘I think he'd be very happy,' said Helen Frances, nuzzling Henry's breast. ‘If he's very good I might let him share me with you.'

‘Oh, might you?' laughed Henry. ‘Well, there's a minx. Thinking of other men already.'

‘Only when I've tired of you,' she whispered. ‘And that won't be for hundreds and hundreds of years.'

‘Poor general,' said Henry. ‘He'll be very frustrated.'

Helen Frances giggled. She rolled on to Henry's chest and kissed his lips. As she did so the furs slipped off her so her naked back was open to the elements. The wind flurried in and blew snow on to her behind. She squealed, and turned to pull back the wolfskins. With a shock she saw Lao Zhao's grizzled head, smoking a long-stemmed pipe, peering in through the arch. He smiled at her and nodded. With a shriek, she buried her head under the furs.

‘
Ta made,
Lao Zhao, you
wangbadan
. What are you doing here?' shouted Henry.

‘Sorry, Master,' said Lao Zhao. ‘The horses are getting cold. Well, bugger it, so am I. And the snow's drifting up. I was wondering if you could—well—hurry up a bit with the clouds and rain, so we could get on home.'

With an oath, Henry reached for one of his boots and hurled it at Lao Zhao's head. Lao Zhao scurried away.