‘Really?’
One word. That’s all. But the unguarded eagerness in it told Lydia everything. So that was it, her brother and Antonina. It made her own loneliness even sharper, but she nodded and squeezed the hand under hers. ‘He’ll come. I know he’ll come.’
‘You’ll tell me when-’
‘Yes, of course.’
Lydia was aware of Dmitri’s tall figure approaching their table. So this was the man who for the last few years had controlled the brutal camp where her father was imprisoned. How could she bring herself to speak to him? How could she bear even to look at him?
‘Here you are, my darling,’ Dmitri said as he placed a glass of red wine in front of his wife. ‘And for you, young Lydia, a glass of champagne.’
‘Champagne,’ she said stiffly.
‘Yes. To celebrate.’
‘What am I celebrating?’
He studied her face for a moment and his expression struck her as sad, as if he knew he’d lost something. ‘The Chinese delegation has arrived.’
Lydia rose to her feet, her legs suddenly clumsy. She looked around the crowded room and made it seem as if it meant nothing to her. ‘Where are they?’
‘Some of them are over there with General Vasiliev. The others are…’
Antonina’s eyes widened as she focused on something over Lydia’s right shoulder. Lydia’s mouth went dry.
‘Behind you,’ Dmitri finished.
Lydia spun round, expecting Kuan. Her breathing stopped. Her heart split open. All the happiness stored inside it flooded through her veins. She was looking straight into the beautiful dark eyes of Chang An Lo.
There are times, Lydia knew, when life gives you more than you ask for. Oh yes, this was one. She wanted to shout a thousand spasibos to all his gods, to make it echo from the glass roof. Their abundant generosity took her breath away. She’d asked for Kuan tonight, but instead she was given Chang An Lo.
He was real. Not a figment this time. Her eyes feasted greedily on him. His lithe figure was tall and supple as a bamboo tree, his black hair longer than she’d seen it before but just as thick and energetic. And yes, he possessed that same stillness at his core that pulled at her heart. But his eyes… the eyes she’d kissed and bathed and even brushed with her own lashes, dark and intent and able to see right inside her soul… those black eyes had changed. They were more guarded and aloof. Withdrawn into himself.
He stood in front of her in a tunic and black trousers and she wanted to touch him so badly her hands were shaking. She forced them together in front of her and performed a polite bow of greeting.
‘It is good to see you again, Chang An Lo.’
Good to see you. How did she find such restrained words on her tongue? How did she speak at all when her heart was thundering in her throat? And that was when he presented Kuan to the gathering and Lydia felt something crack inside her. Kuan, dressed in a similar black tunic and trousers, possessed solemn brown eyes, hair cropped to jaw level and a determined, capable mouth that made Lydia wary. But worse – far, far worse – she possessed a piece of Chang An Lo. Her arm rested against his as if their flesh was fused.
30
Chang An Lo thanked the gods. He wanted to drop to his knees and touch his forehead to the floor nine times in gratitude to them for granting him the impossible. His fox girl was safe. Alive and safe.
Yet as he observed the two people standing either side of her, the man with the fox hair and the woman with the wounded eyes, he had a sense that they were gnawing at her, wanting a piece of her. It was in the way their glances kept skimming her, reluctant to leave her, a hunger in their eyes that she seemed unaware of.
He bowed respectfully in Chinese custom to Lydia, but shook hands with the man and the woman in the expected manner. For the first time he understood why Westerners chose to shake hands on meeting instead of the cleaner and more civilised habit of bowing to each other. A handshake reveals the secrets of a man’s heart whether he wishes it or not. This man with the fox pelt and the wolf’s eyes had a handshake that was firm, too firm. He was trying to prove something to himself. And to warn Chang off, even though his smile of welcome was so genuine Chang couldn’t spot where the fake began and the real one ended. This Russian, this Comrade Malofeyev, knew well how to control his smiles – but not his handshakes.
The woman was a different matter. Her hand rested so briefly in Chang’s it barely touched his skin, as meaningless as the casual look of detachment she gave him. She saw a Chinese, nothing more. But as his fingers brushed against her gloved ones, he could feel the tremor in them. Was it revulsion… or pain? He couldn’t tell. She hid it too well.
‘I am honoured to be in this great city,’ Chang said, ‘and my delegation humbly anticipates learning much from our Soviet comrades.’
He didn’t look again at Lydia. Wouldn’t let himself. Didn’t trust himself. Instead he introduced his two companions.
‘This is Hu Biao, my assistant.’
Hu Biao bowed low. ‘I am honoured.’
‘And this is Tang Kuan, my invaluable liaison officer.’
He heard Lydia’s breath. Faint as the beat of a butterfly’s wing but so tied to his own he could not mistake it.
Kuan neither bowed nor shook hands. She nodded her head in greeting and said in the perfect Russian he had taught her, ‘It is a privilege to be here in Moscow. It gives us all hope to see the impressive strides Communism has made in our comrades’ great country.’
‘I would be proud to show you around our city,’ wolf-eyes said so smoothly it was as though there were oil on his tongue.
Kuan nodded. ‘Spasibo, comrade, tovarishch. I would very much like to inspect some of the new communal housing.’
‘And the industrial and technological developments,’ Chang added. ‘Perhaps a tour of some of your new factories?’
‘Of course. I believe that has already been arranged.’
‘We would all be honoured to visit Lenin’s Mausoleum in Red Square. To view the greatest man in history, a man whose ideas will change the whole world.’
‘It would be my pleasure to-’
‘Comrade Chang.’ Lydia interrupted the exchange, forcing him to look at her. Her amber eyes glittered brighter than sunlight as she asked, ‘Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?’
His chest tightened. What was she doing, trailing her fingers through the fire? The two Russians stared at her in surprise but she ignored them and smiled at Chang in a way that robbed him of caution.
‘My humble apologies,’ he said, ‘but I do not know your dances.’
‘Then I shall teach you. It’s not hard.’
He bowed. ‘As our intention in coming to Russia is to learn as much as we can of your ways, I thank you and accept with pleasure. ’ The words sneaked out before he could put a chain on them.
At his side Kuan frowned and opened her mouth to say something, but at a look from him shut it again. Under her breath she murmured a few words to Hu Biao who gave a brief nod. Hu Biao would stay close and watch who talked to whom.
Lydia turned with a determined little flounce and walked on to the dance floor. Chang followed.
Her hair smelled of tobacco. As if she’d been breathed on by too many men. Chang felt a twist of jealousy in his gut. Other men in the room were looking at her, and not just because she was breaking unwritten rules by dancing with a Chinese. He could feel their gaze yet she seemed unaware of it. She didn’t pout or preen or toss her head self-consciously, as women so often did when they felt the heat of admiration. She was herself in her green skirt and her plain white blouse.
She floated, weightless as sunlight in his arms as he moved with her in time to the music, fitting herself with ease to his unstructured steps. Neither spoke. If he did, the words would never stop. He let his eyes take their time, let them dwell on each precious part of her face. The delicate balance of its bones, the arch of each eyebrow, the full soft sweep of her lips. The nose that was too long for Chinese taste and the chin too strong. A tiny white scar on the angle of her jaw was new, and a hollow-ness under her cheekbones.