She had stared at him for several seconds, amazed at his audacity, and drawn to his gray eyes. But she quickly recovered.
‘How much?’ she asked.
‘How much what?’
‘How much cotton can you deliver, how fast and at what cost?’
‘I’ll have to figure that up. I don’t do that kind of thing in my head.’
‘Neither do I,’ she heard herself say.
‘Lunch tomorrow. Strictly business. I’ll have the figures, you bring the check. No managers, no accountants, no lawyers, just you and me.’
‘I warn you, I don’t compromise.’
‘Neither do I,’ he said. ‘Everybody, loses in a compromise. I negotiate. When you negotiate, everybody wins.’
‘Oh? How so?’
‘You decide up front what you don’t really care about. Narrow it down to what’s important. That’s your line. I’ll do the same. Trust me, we’ll deal fast a7zd have time to do a lot of laughing before the meal is over.’
‘How come laughter is so important to you?’ she asked.
He smiled. ‘Laughter is the key to heaven,’ he said.
And to her surprise, she had agreed to lunch.
There had never been any cotton deal between them.
But he had made her laugh — a lot. And he was right, it was the key to heaven.
‘I’m going back to my room,’ Cohen said from the living room. ‘My side is beginning to act up a little.’
They ignored him. He shrugged and went off toward the rear of the house.
There was an awkward minute or two when neither Daphne nor Hatcher knew exactly what to say. She broke the ice.
‘What happened to your throat?’ she asked, staring at the scar on his neck.
‘I was in a very bad prison. I spoke when I shouldn’t have. A guard decided to discourage me from ever speaking again.’
‘Is it painful?’
‘Not anymore.’
‘I am glad,’ she said, then raised an eyebrow. ‘Your voice is very sexy.’
‘Merci. Wasn’t it always?’
‘Not like now,’ she said. Then after a pause, ‘What happened to you? You just vanished. Everyone thought you were dead.’
‘I went back to America to do a job and got in trouble. Three years’ worth of trouble. In a prison where everything was forbidden.’
‘And what of the other three years?’
He shrugged. ‘I figured I was history by then, Daffy.’ She threw back her head and laughed, a throaty laugh that set off bells in his memory.
‘Daffy,’ she said. ‘I have not heard Daffy for so many years. No one else would ever call me Daffy.’ She let the laugh die and then said quietly, her green eyes flashing, ‘No, Hatcher, you were never history. Not for me.’
He let it pass.
‘Is Cohen serious?’ Hatcher asked her. ‘Can you really help me?’
‘Straight to business,’ she said. ‘So it’s going to be like that, eh?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I feel a little awkward. I know I owe you —‘
She put her fingers against his lips. ‘You owe me nothing. We made no promises. I shared my bed with you . . . with anticipation. Sometimes even . . . impatience.’
He remembered, the words conjuring moments of delirious joy, but he pushed the thoughts away again.
‘I owed you at least a proper good-bye,’ he said.
‘Is that why you came back? To say good-bye to the friends who thought you were dead?’
‘Perhaps,’ he whispered huskily. Then, trying again to avoid the inevitable, he said jokingly, ‘Besides, I could use a sauna treatment at the Estoril. And the Thai massage there —,
She turned and walked to the bedroom door. ‘You don’t have to go to the Estoril Hotel to get a massage, Hatcher,’ she said. ‘And you must say jo sahn properly before you say joi gin again.’
He followed her into the room.
‘How can you help me, Daffy?’ be asked.
She walked to the other side of the bed. ‘I told China I would help — but only on my terms.’
Hatcher looked at her suspiciously. ‘Uh-huh, and what are they?’ his frayed voice asked.
‘You must stay out of Macao.’
‘I have no reason to go over there now.’
‘And we must do this thing exactly as I say.’
Hatcher smiled. ‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ he said.
‘Agreed?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
‘What is this about a prison camp, anyway?’ she asked. ‘I’m trying to find someone,’ he said. ‘We were comrades in the Navy together. 1-fis father is a hero in America. He may have been in a prison camp in Laos. It was called Huie-kui. The commandant’s name was Taisung, or something like that. I figure somebody must have done business up there during the war. Maybe they’ll remember something.’
She turned her back to him and stared out at the bay, shaking her head. ‘You’re looking for one man?’ she said.
‘It’s why I came back,’ he said. ‘All the rest of it — you, China — that’s all a bonus.’
‘Perhaps we can sneak upriver and avoid Sam-Sam, maybe I can set that up. There is only one man I think who might help you. You remember Samuel Anstadt, the one they call the Dutchman?’
‘I never met the Dutchman.’
‘That’s because he operated in Laos and North Vietnam. I buy material from him new. But ten years ago he sold drugs, guns, clothing, everything, to the Vietcong.’
‘Can we get him down here?’ Hatcher asked.
She shook her head.
‘He is wanted by the Hong Kong police. They would recognize him in a moment. But there is a place called Leatherneck John’s in Tsang, forty miles upstream.’
‘An American joint?’ Hatcher interrupted.
She nodded. ‘A lot of dealing and drinking is done there,’ she said. ‘Drug deals are made and so is the exchange. It is a kind of — free spot. We can meet the Dutchman there, but only if we’re sure Sam-Sam Sam is out of the area.’
‘You’re not going,’ Hatcher said.
‘Of course I’m going. They will only talk to you because I ask them to. I will have to make the deal.’
A forgotten shard of mirror glittered in the corner, reminding him of the night before. He had put China’s life at risk. Now he was about to do the same to her. Once again, he was taking, not giving, like the old times.
‘Maybe—’ he started.
She whirled and glared at him with flashing green eyes.
‘No maybe. Yes.’
They were almost nose to nose, her eyes demanding agreement. They stared at each other.
‘There is one other thing. . . .‘ He stared down at her, the brash smile she remembered playing at his lips.
‘Yeah?’
He reached out cautiously with one hand, stopped an inch from her mouth, then slowly moved his fingers to her mouth, touching her lower lip with his fingertips, exploring it with his forefinger, squeezing it with his thumb and middle finger until it pointed toward him. Her tongue glistened an eighth of an inch from his finger, flirted with it and finally swept across it, and his finger, moistened, slipped more easily across her lips.
‘Hai . . .‘ she said.
Her eyes closed and she tilted her head back and he leaned to her, gently squeezing her mouth as his touched hers. Her breath came out in a rush and she bit his lips, explored them with her tongue until finally the tease was no longer a tease but a passion.
She reached up and slipped her jacket off, let it fall to the floor as they kissed.
He reached up with his other hand and untied the slender string on one shoulder, then the other, but she pressed against him, keeping the dress from falling. She slid her hand between them, pressed the flat of it on his stomach. Her fingers nimbly unbuttoned his shirt. She slipped her hand inside, sliding it across the hard muscles, her thumb encircling his navel. She slid her fingers under his belt, turned her hand toward the floor, slid it down until she felt him rising to meet her hand.