Raw Silk
Autore
Anne Mather
Letto da
15,2K
Capitoli
14
CHAPTER ONE
THE sunset was spectacular, spilling its crimson light over clouds that already had a tinge of purple about them. It wasn’t gentle, and it wasn’t peaceful, but its sombre, brooding presence mirrored Oliver’s mood.
He stood at the apartment window, long legs braced, shoulders set, hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets, gazing out at the view that encompassed half the Tsim Sha Tsui peninsula. It should have soothed him, but it didn’t. By anyone’s reckoning it was impressive, with the hillside falling away to give an uninterrupted view of the harbour. And there was the Hong Kong skyline rising across the water, acres of solid real estate in concrete, steel and glass. But Oliver was not impressed; he scarcely even saw it.
‘But, darling, you have to come with me!’
Behind him, Rose Chen’s voice persisted in its persuasive refrain. For over an hour the delicate Chinese girl had been trying to convince him that she couldn’t go to England without him, and for equally that long Oliver had been insisting that she must.
‘Why?’ he asked again, for at least the tenth time. ‘You’re not a child, Rose. You don’t need me to hold your hand.’
‘Oh, but I do!’ With a little cry, Rose Chen abandoned the provocative position she had been sustaining on the wide, oriental-quilted bed, and came to drape herself about him. With the sole of one foot sensuously caressing his calf, and her arms wound around his waist, her soft cheek pressed against his spine, she repeated her assertion. ‘Darling, I’ve never been to London. You have. I need you to come with me. They’re going to hate me, aren’t they? I need your support.’
Oliver withstood her concerted attempts to arouse him with admirable restraint. It would be so easy to succumb to her allure, so easy to relax and give in to everything she asked of him. Rose Chen was nothing if not dedicated in everything she did, and the sinuous little body, clad only in a silk robe, arched against his back, was undeniably tempting. Even though he was dressed, he could feel her pointed little breasts through the thin silk of his shirt.
But unfortunately for Rose Chen Oliver had a strength of will that equalled her own. And he also knew that the Chinese girl wasn’t half as helpless as she liked him to think. Rose Chen could be quite ruthless when it came to business, and he had no doubt at all that she could handle her London relations without any assistance from him.
And that reminded him that he had to stop thinking of her as being wholly Chinese. She wasn’t. She was half English. Amazingly, she had been James Hastings’ daughter. Not his mistress, as his own government had believed, but the illegitimate offspring of a liaison Hastings had had before Oliver had thought of crawling through the stinking jungles of South-east Asia. Which had altered the situation considerably…
‘You’ll make it,’ he assured her now, removing the slim hand which had been attempting to unzip his fly, aware as he did so of the half-hearted arousal she had achieved. Obviously, his body was not as easy to control as his mind, which was some justification for the frustrated cry his action solicited.
‘Don’t you want me?’ she exclaimed, her oval eyes narrowed and appealing, and Oliver wondered, somewhat ruefully, why he’d let it get this far.
But when he’d been recruited by a United States government agency to carry out a surveillance operation on James Hastings he had found a small irony in attracting and seducing the woman he had believed to be the Englishman’s mistress.
Rose Chen had worked with James Hastings. She knew him well. When he had visited the Colony, he had stayed in the same apartment building she did. Not in the same apartment, as Oliver now knew, but that was splitting hairs. The fact remained that James Hastings had treated her rather well, and Rose Chen lived in vastly superior surroundings to those her salary at the import and export company Hastings had run would warrant.
Besides, it had seemed such a satisfactory solution to the problem of getting close enough to James Hastings to find out his comings and goings. No one, least of all the arrogant Englishman, had suspected Oliver of being anything more than the war-weary veteran he appeared. Hong Kong was full of drop-outs from one part of the world or another, and it was true that when Oliver had arrived in the territories he had been nothing more nor less than any of his fellow exiles.
In the beginning he hadn’t much cared about anything or anybody. He was still escaping the horrors of a war that had gone so dreadfully wrong. He didn’t care about the future. He tried not to think about the past. He lived his life from day to day, seeking oblivion with any kind of anaesthetic available.
Of course, his family had expected him to return to the United States when his term of duty was over, but Oliver hadn’t done that. Not then. He couldn’t bear the thought of returning home to Maple Falls, where life was so clean and simple. His mind was still trapped in the jungle, with the poor, pathetic victims of someone else’s conflict.
Ironically enough, it was the army that had eventually rescued him, and restored his self-respect. Or his retired commanding officer, to be precise. Colonel Archibald Lightfoot had swept him off the streets—where he had been living since his severance pay ran out—and installed him in a rehabilitation clinic. And by the time his system had been laundered his mind was clear as well. That was when he had returned to the States—but only for a visit. The colonel had persuaded him he could be some use to him in the territories, and instead of becoming the youngest district attorney in his home state of Virginia he had returned to Hong Kong.
Naturally, his family had been disappointed. His father, once an attorney himself, but now a Supreme Court judge, had expected his eldest son to follow in his footsteps. His younger brothers and sisters were all employed in one aspect of the law or another, all safely married and settled, and a credit to the family. Only Oliver had refused to conform; only Oliver had let them down: first, by volunteering for Vietnam, and then by returning to live in South-east Asia.
These days his family knew better than to criticise his motives. His work for the Hong Kong government, and for the United States agency involved in the control of narcotic substances, had enabled him to amass a fairly substantial bank account, and although his job required him to live in fairly modest surroundings he owned an apartment in Kowloon just as comfortable as Rose Chen’s. He was a valued member of Colonel Lightfoot’s staff, and when he eventually chose to return to the United States he had the necessary contacts to find suitable employment there.
Of course, Rose Chen knew nothing of his involvement with the agency. So far as she was concerned, Oliver lived by his wits, making enough money from so-called ‘deals’ the agency sent his way to enable him to support the lifestyle he maintained. The fact that he seldom discussed his own affairs had convinced her that what he was doing wasn’t exactly legal, a belief he nurtured on every possible occasion. He had wanted Rose, and James Hastings, to think he was corruptible. It suited his purposes very well.
Not that Oliver was thinking of this now as he watched the glittering display of neon that was emerging as the lights were turned on in the tall buildings lower down the hillside and across the water. Darkness gave the city a different kind of energy, an energy that masked the abject poverty found on the streets below.
‘I’m not coming to London,’ he stated flatly, moving out of her embrace. ‘I’ll take you to the airport, but that’s as far as I go.’
Rose Chen’s rose-tinted lips took on a sulky curve. ‘Suntong will take me to the airport,’ she declared shortly, and Oliver inclined his dark head.
‘Of course he will,’ he agreed, acknowledging her new authority over her father’s massively fat chauffeur. ‘So…’ He spread his hands. ‘When are you planning on leaving?’
‘Soon.’
Rose Chen regarded him with dark hostile eyes. The evidence of her frustration was there in every line of her slim, provocative body. Rose Chen generally got what she wanted, and right now she wanted him. Wanted him so badly, in fact, that she had even risked the wrath of her employer.
No, not her employer, Oliver reminded himself yet again. Her father! The father she hadn’t known she’d had until his death in England had necessitated the news to be conveyed to her. It had been there, in his will, all along. As well as the son, who had expected to inherit his father’s company, James Hastings had at last acknowledged the existence of his daughter. Rose Chen was to share everything he had left, including half his assets in London.
‘Please, Lee,’ she begged now, and Oliver realised that, while he had been considering what this new development might mean to his investigation, Rose Chen’s face had undergone another change of expression. ‘Please,’ she said again, ‘change your mind. This is all so new to me. Jay-Jay never even hinted that he might be—that he was my—’ She broke off and wrung her slender hands together. ‘You can’t know what this means to me. If only I’d known…’
Oliver’s sympathies were stirred. He knew, better than anyone, how persuasive Rose Chen could be if she set her mind to it. Images of her naked body entwined with his were all too vivid a memory when she looked at him that way, and in the pearly evening twilight her sexuality was almost irresistible.
‘And what am I supposed to do while you deal with these new relatives of yours?’ he enquired softly, as the obvious reaction Colonel Lightfoot would have to her sudden change of status forced him to reconsider. It was almost certain that the colonel would consider the opportunity for a closer look at the London end of Hastings’ operation too important to miss, and, while Oliver had no real desire to accompany her, the prospect of an expenses-paid trip to England was not unappealing.
Rose Chen’s oval eyes widened. ‘You’ll come?’ She caught her breath and started towards him. ‘Oh, Lee—’
‘I didn’t say that,’ he stalled her, holding up a warning hand. ‘I was just curious to know how you would introduce me. I don’t think your brother will welcome an intruder.’
‘You mean another intruder,’ said Rose Chen shrewdly, and then snapped her fingers. ‘What do I care what—Robert,’ she said the name experimentally, ‘thinks? He hasn’t even responded to the fax I sent him when I was first informed of Jay-Jay’s death. Before I even knew Jay-Jay was my father.’ Her lips twisted. ‘It was a shock even then.’
Oliver shrugged. ‘I doubt it’s been easy for Robert either,’ he remarked drily, but Rose Chen’s expression showed no compassion.
‘No,’ she answered, her tone mirroring little concern for her half-brother’s feelings. She looked pensive for a moment, and then, as if dismissing what she had been thinking, she looked at him again. ‘So—will you come with me? It would mean so much to me if you would. You’re the only person I care two figs about.’
Oliver’s mouth thinned. ‘What about your mother?’
‘Her?’ Rose Chen looked contemptuous. ‘She’s never cared about me, so why should I care about her? Besides, she doesn’t approve of me. She never wanted me to work for Jay-Jay in the first place. Now, I know why.’
Oliver frowned. ‘Does she know about—?’ He paused and arched his brows with obvious intent. ‘Have you seen her since the lawyer contacted you?’
‘No.’ Rose Chen pushed her hands inside the wide sleeves of her robe and hugged them to her. ‘It’s nothing to do with her. Jay-Jay didn’t care about her. He cared about me. If only he’d told me. If only I’d known.’ Privately, Oliver doubted James Hastings had cared about anyone but himself. Why else had he kept Rose Chen’s identity a secret from her all these years? Her mother, a frail old woman whom Oliver had only seen once, and then only by chance, probably had more feelings for her estranged daughter than James Hastings had ever had. And his reasons for acknowledging his daughter now might have more to do with safeguarding his reputation than any sense of justice.
As for his wife and son in England…
Oliver could well imagine this turn of events had been a salutary blow to them. They couldn’t have known of Rose Chen’s existence either. But what did they know of James Hastings’ dealings? That was the question. What did Rose Chen know, for that matter? How closely had she been trusted?
* * *
‘You’ll go with her, of course.’
Colonel Lightfoot’s reaction was predictably positive. The burly professional soldier looked positively delighted at the prospect, his brows jerking excitedly, his bushy moustache quivering as he licked his fleshy lips.
‘Will I?’ Oliver leaned back in the chair across the desk, and propped one booted ankle across his knee. ‘What if I don’t want to go to England? What if I have other commitments here in the Colony?’
‘Your only commitment is to me, Lynch,’ began the colonel brusquely, and then, as if remembering that coercion had never worked with this particular operative, he allowed a cajoling note to enter his voice. ‘Come on, Oliver,’ he urged. ‘We can’t let the bastard get away with it. And until we know for certain how they’re dealing with the stuff in England, we don’t stand a rat’s ass of making a conviction stick.’
Oliver considered the older man’s words for a few moments, and then said, ‘You believe Rose is involved, don’t you?’
The colonel looked grim. ‘Don’t you?’
Oliver swung his leg to the floor and got up from his seat. Then, scowling, he paced across the floor. ‘I suppose so.’
The colonel regarded him dourly. ‘It doesn’t bother you, does it?’ He paused. ‘You’re not—’ his mouth compressed as if he disliked having to ask the question ‘—in love with the girl, are you?’
Oliver’s expression was sardonic now. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘No, I’m not in love with her, Colonel. But—I suppose I care about what’s going to happen to her. You can’t sleep with a woman for almost six months without feeling some responsibility.’
The colonel’s brows lowered above broad cheekbones, and he tapped an impatient finger on his desk. ‘Might I remind you that Rose Chen probably knew exactly what she was doing? You may feel that you seduced her, but our sweet little dragon lady was desperate for your body.’
Oliver’s lips twisted. ‘You know that, of course.’
‘I know that Hastings didn’t trust you. I know he’d have separated you if he could.’
Oliver frowned. ‘He knew about us?’
The colonel sighed. ‘Yes. Didn’t I tell you?’ But Oliver could tell from his manner that he’d made a mistake.
He came to rest his hands on the colonel’s desk, pushing his face close to that of his superior. ‘No, you bloody well didn’t,’ he retorted, his stomach tightening at the risks he had been taking. ‘God, Colonel, if Rose had been his mistress, Hastings could have had me killed!’
‘Oh, I think you’re exaggerating,’ muttered the colonel, but they both knew life was cheap among the criminal fraternity of Hong Kong. And if Hastings had been the man they’d thought him, disposing of a possible rival wouldn’t have proved at all difficult.
Oliver swore, loudly and succinctly, before withdrawing his hands from the desk. Then, pushing them into the pockets of his trousers, he gazed long and hostilely at his employer. ‘I’m dispensable, is that it?’ he asked at last, and Colonel Lightfoot uttered a frustrated oath before getting up from his desk.
‘No,’ he said wearily, coming round the desk. ‘For God’s sake, man, if I’d thought there was the slightest danger—’
‘Did you know Rose Chen was Hastings’ daughter? I mean—before his will was read?’
‘I—suspected it.’ The colonel sighed. ‘Oliver, I’m sorry if you think I should have been more honest with you. But I couldn’t risk your saying something that might have jeopardised the operation.’
Oliver’s mouth curled. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ Colonel Lightfoot gazed at him unhappily, and then, when it became obvious that Oliver wasn’t going to buy that, he added heavily, ‘We wanted Hastings to show his hand.’
‘By killing me?’ Oliver found he was amazingly indifferent to the suggestion.
‘No, not by killing you.’ Colonel Lightfoot conversely was growing increasingly desperate. ‘Oliver—there was always a chance, a hope, that Hastings might attempt to recruit you.’
‘To recruit me?’
‘Of course.’ The colonel nodded. ‘If Rose Chen is involved, and, as I’ve told you, we think she is, isn’t it a natural progression? She wanted you; she wants you. If, as we surmise, she refused to give you up, Hastings must have realised it was the only way to guarantee your silence.’
Oliver was silent for a moment. Then, he said, ‘You hoped he would, didn’t you?’ He expelled his breath disbelievingly. ‘You gave me this assignment because you thought I’d be the fall guy. Hey,’ his voice harshened as he imitated the colonel’s voice, ‘why not give this one to Lynch? He’s an ex-junkie, isn’t he? He came out of Vietnam so screwed up, he didn’t know what day it is. So what if Hastings grinds him down? Once a junkie, always a junkie, that’s what I say!’
‘That’s not how it was,’ insisted the colonel heavily. ‘Dammit, Oliver, you know what I think of you; what I’ve always thought of you. You’re a fine man, and a damn fine soldier. I gave you this assignment because you were the best man for the job. And if Hastings hadn’t bought the farm we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
‘No, we wouldn’t.’ Oliver flinched away from the reassuring hand the colonel attempted to lay on his shoulder. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, he added, ‘OK, Colonel, I’ll go to London. I’ll do what you want this time, but don’t fix any more assignments for me, right? Suddenly I’ve got a yen to see Maple Falls again. And, you know what? Even the idea of taking that job as an assistant district attorney doesn’t sound so bad after all. I guess I’m getting old. Too old to be—jerked off—by someone like you!’
