Beautiful Lies (8 page)

She was dead. She felt dead inside. And yet Tom insisted on breathing life into her, life she wasn't worthy to feel. Something like anger stabbed at her, and that made her feel alive, too. “And what must I do for your help? The things I was to do for Bobby Chinn? The things he would have sold me for?”

He cocked his head. “How long were you at Chinn's, Willow?”

“Long enough to die.”

“Why were you alone in that room?”

“A man was to give him much money for me. Chinn kept me away from other men.”

“Then Chinn didn't…” He shook his head. “Do you really believe I came to get you because I want something from you?”

“This is something all men want.”

“All men may want, but all men don't take. I would never touch you, unless that was what you wanted, too.”

“I want nothing! I am—”

“Dead. Yes, I know you think so.”

The anger jabbed at her again. “You think you know? You are a man. I am nothing. I am alone!”

“No, you're not. You have me, and I'm not going to let you starve yourself, or sell your body, or allow this to defeat you.”

“I want to die.” The anger was gone, and she felt such a profound sadness that she could hardly bear it. She rested her head in her hands and began to sob again. Not hopeless tears, as she had shed at Bobby Chinn's, but tears wrenched from a soul still encased in her unworthy body.

Tom joined her on the bed and pulled her into his arms. “Go ahead, sweetheart. The last days were terrible. But I promise, things are better now.” He brushed his hands over her hair, soothing her. “I won't let anyone hurt you again. Not ever again. I'll take care of you. I promise. I promise.”

“Why?”

He didn't answer.

“Why you did come to look for me? Why you did fight for me?”

He still didn't answer.

“Why?” she repeated.

“Shh…Isn't it enough I did? That I found you and I'm going to help you?”

She pushed against his chest until he let her go and she could see his face. “What did you hope for?”

“This won't make things better.”

“Tell me!”

He sighed, and his face was sad. “I thought of you often while I was at sea. I knew I shouldn't, that you were to be married. But I couldn't forget you. So when I came back, I just had to be sure you were gone. Then, I thought, I could let you go.”

“You have
not
let me go. I am dead, but you have not let me go. Not even now.”

“No.”

She was disgraced and undeserving. But this man, this handsome American man with the kind eyes and the peace
ful soul, did not care. He had come to find her. He had risked his own safety, and he was asking for nothing in return.

Yet he wanted her. She could see he did. And this was something good, something to wash away the sickness of Bobby Chinn and the other man, who had stripped her naked and gazed at her breasts with cold, hard eyes before he offered Chinn money. She was dead to her own people, but she was not as dead inside as she had believed.

“I will do for you the things I did not do for Bobby Chinn and the man who was to pay for me,” she said softly. “I will do them for you because you would not let me go, even when you should.”

He shook his head, but his hands tightened on her shoulders. “No. You don't even know me. And you're a good woman, despite what you believe about yourself. You deserve marriage, and I don't know if I'll even be allowed to marry you here, or what kind of life I could give you. There will be another man who'll overlook what happened to you, a man who will take you as a wife, despite Chinn.”

“No, there will be no man like that. Because what I did not do for Chinn, I will do with you.” She leaned toward him before he could protest and pressed her lips against his. He was warm, and his chin was smooth and smelled of soap. He groaned against her lips and tried to push her away. She lifted her head and saw in his eyes what he denied. “You say I am not dead, Tom Robeson. If this is so, then you must show me.”

“Willow…”

She kissed him again, and he said her name once more. But this time differently. She felt his hands under her hair, warm and strong through the thin cloth of the robe. She pressed against him, pressed the breasts the men had stared at against Tom's chest, until she was cleansed by the hot sweetness of his body.

“I will give you what they would have taken,” she whispered.

He groaned and pulled her closer.

And she found she was alive after all.

A
rcher kept an eye on Viola for the rest of the evening, but Freddy Colson interested him more. Colson was a colorless man with thinning hair he slicked back so rigorously that strands clung like leeches to his scalp. He had an odd habit of repeating the final words of a sentence, as if he thought no one he spoke to was really listening, and an even odder habit of staring reverently at Sebastian Somerset. Colson could quote facts and figures like a textbook on the pearling industry, but he had no conversational skills beyond discussions of the weather—with emphasis on how it related to business.

“You seem to enjoy yourself here,” Archer told Colson when the string quartet and warbling soprano had finished for the evening. “Tell me, is there anything in Broome that could make life more pleasant these next months?”

Colson looked shocked, as if a pleasant life was the first step on the road to degradation. “I work long hours for Mr. Somerset, and I find that rewarding enough. Rewarding enough.”

Bringing Colson to his knees had been a business proposition at first, but now Archer decided he was going to enjoy it. “Really? You don't drink? Gamble?” He lowered his voice. “You don't chase the ladies? A man with such prospects for the future? I was sure you would be in high demand.”

Colson flushed. “I work too hard to worry about such things.”

“You know what they say about all work and no play. Why don't you spend the rest of the evening with me? I'm new in Broome, and I don't know where a gentleman spends his time.” Archer lowered his voice. “There aren't many true gentlemen in town, are there?”

Colson succumbed to temptation. “There aren't too many places where you'll feel comfortable.”

“That's why I need your help.”

“I suppose it wouldn't hurt. Wouldn't hurt,” he said.

“Good man.” Archer clapped him on the back. “Then shall we say our good-nights? I believe Miss Somerset is coming our way.”

Viola moved gracefully toward them, as if she had come to help. “Did you gentlemen enjoy the music?”

“I'm a great admirer of Stephen Foster's songs, particularly when they're sung on key,” Archer said with a grin.

Viola made a face. “My mother's choice. She has a tin ear.”

Colson looked shocked. “That hardly seems like something you should say about your dear mother.”

“Freddy, my dear mother is always more concerned about her performers' pedigrees than their talent.”

“Mr. Colson has agreed to show me a little of Broome,” Archer said.

“I'm sure you'll be in excellent hands. Freddy won't lead you astray, will you, Freddy?”

Freddy looked mildly shocked that Viola would even know such a thing was possible. “Mr. Llewellyn is interested in a proper look at our little burg.”

“Mr. Llewellyn strikes me as a man whose interest in what's proper is…” She hesitated with a smile hovering at her lips. “Words fail me.”

“Acute?” Archer offered. “Heartfelt?”

The smile blossomed. “Are words just one of your many talents?”

“We'll see.”

Archer and Freddy said their goodbyes, and Archer made a particular point of thanking Viola's parents for the invitation. Then he and Freddy set off for town on foot.

“Miss Somerset seems quite taken with you,” Archer said, once they were on the road.

Freddy sounded unsure. “Did you think so?”

“From long experience I'd say all the signs are there.”

“I rather thought she was trying to humiliate me.”

Archer gave a conspiratorial chuckle. “As lovers so often do.”

“Her father would like us to marry.”

“Then what could stand in your way?”

“I owe Mr. Somerset a great deal. I'll marry Viola, if it pleases him.”

Archer considered wringing the man's neck right then and there, but he knew he would be the first suspect, since they had left the Somersets' together. “It doesn't sound as if marrying Miss Somerset is your own preference.”

“I suppose it makes sense to solidify my place at Somerset and Company.”

“Of course a man like you would be in high demand, Freddy. I'm sure every business in town wishes it had someone of your talents.”

“I've considered…considered—”

Archer could hear him struggling. “Moving? Taking another offer?”

“Others have wanted me, of course. But I owe Mr. Somerset my allegiance.”

“You're a loyal friend and employee.” Archer clapped him on the back. “Worth your weight in gold.”

“Yes, I suppose. I suppose.” Freddy sounded pleased with himself.

Archer was pleased, too. Now he knew exactly how he was going to bring Freddy Colson to his knees.

“We'll start over at the Conti,” Freddy said. “It's the place for men like us.”

“Lead on,” Archer said. “I'm certain I can count on you to show me everything I need to know.”

 

Willow was sleeping when Tom heard Archer return to the room beside his. She didn't awake when he rose. She was so exhausted, nothing would wake her for hours. He pulled on his pants and a shirt and went to Archer's room, rapping softly before he opened the door.

“Did you just get in?”

“I made a long night of it.” Archer beckoned him inside. “I went on a tour of the local bars with Freddy Colson, Somerset's assistant.”

“There must be more to the man than meets the eye.”

“Precisely,” Archer said with a grin. “What did you do this evening?”

Tom wasn't sure where to start. “Look, Archer, something happened while you were gone. Something you need to know about.”

Archer stripped down to his underwear and poured water from the pitcher into a pottery bowl. “Is Garth back?”

They had beat Garth to port, and Tom knew Archer was anxious for the rest of his money. “No. It's something else.” He took a deep breath and launched into the story of the night's events.

Archer mopped his face with a hand towel. “Let me get this straight. You and the crew went to Chinn's and stole the girl? Are the others all right?”

“They're all fine. They were waiting outside by the time we escaped. Just a few bruises.”

“What happened then?”

“I brought Willow here.”

“You brought her here and took her to bed?”

“That wasn't my intention. It just happened.”

“She's Chinese! There's no telling what you can pick up from a woman like that.”

Tom felt anger knotting dangerously inside him. “There's no chance I picked up anything. She was innocent.”

Archer just stared at him.

“This complicates things,” Tom said. “I'm sorry.”

“Things? It complicates everything. She's a Chink! You can't trust those people, Tom. I know you have some romantic notion that she's good and pure. In some twisted way she probably reminds you of home. But she'll exploit that. And for God's sake, what will your parents say if they find out you have a Chinese lover? Do you think they'll let you come home?”

Tom told himself that this was Archer, and that Archer cared about him. Archer had saved his life. “Chinese
wife.
”

“Oh, tell me you're not going to marry her! Have you lost your mind? Where would you go? Where could you live?”

“Here, I think. Maybe some people will cut us, at least for a while. But that hardly matters, does it? We'll make friends. And we'll raise our children to be good citizens.”

“And who will they marry? Chinese? White? Maybe they'll try something new and different! Can you do that to them? Don't you want better?”

“I want
her.
”

Archer fell silent.

“I want you to get to know her.”

Archer shook his head. “No. I know everything I need to. You've been without a woman for a long time. You've found a virgin who let you take her to bed, and you think you're in love. She's going to destroy your life.”

“She's going to make me happy.”

“Have you given any thought to what this will do to me?”

Tom frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Everyone knows you're my partner. Any chance I have for respectability will be destroyed.”

“You don't want to settle here. You just want to make enough money to buy a place in Victoria.”

“And I can't do that unless people in Broome trust me!”

Tom didn't want to see Archer's side, but he was nothing if not fair. “Do you want to stop being partners?”

“I want you to think about what you're doing. Other white men probably keep an Asian girl on the side. People will look the other way if you keep a mistress, but you'll destroy us both if you marry her. If you're going to do something that stupid, wait until I'm out of the picture. We're partners. Mates, the way they say it here. Doesn't that count for something?”

“You know it does.”

“Will you think about this?”

Tom didn't like it, but Archer's concerns were not unreasonable. Tom's actions
would
reflect on his friend. And he owed Archer his life. That, coupled with his own insecurity about whether he and Willow would be allowed to
make a real life together, forced him to nod. “I'll think about it.”

“Good.”

“She's everything a man could ask for in a wife, Archer.”

“No. She's not white. Somehow you completely skipped the most important criteria, Tom.”

 

Tom settled Willow in a bungalow in a section of town where a mixture of people lived. The house had three rooms, but there was a tiny garden and a lattice-lined veranda that looked over it. She was as pleased as if he had built a castle for her.

The day he moved her in, he went to see Bobby Chinn at his store. He chose broad daylight as a precaution.

Chinn stepped around the counter when he saw Tom. “You have girl belong to me. I take back what's mine.”

“Do you? That would be unfortunate. I have all manner of information about you that I could share with the local police. Interesting facts, like how much opium you've brought into the country, and how many immigrants you've smuggled in. I even heard a story about some men being put ashore north of here and dying in the wilderness.”

“Nothing you tie to me.”

“Don't you think so?” Tom took a thick envelope out of his jacket pocket and rattled it in front of Chinn's nose. “I have statements here from people who were involved in all those operations, people you cheated. They were more than willing to help me. Now, I'll keep all this to myself unless my hand is forced. But since I despise you, Chinn, I'd be happiest if I could give this right to the police.”

Chinn didn't look upset. He regarded the envelope the way he might have regarded any business transaction. “What I have to do?”

“Just leave Lian alone. You aren't to speak to her. You aren't to go near her. Someone will be watching over her, even when I'm out to sea. And if you or your people bother her, the police will have this in a matter of minutes.” He rattled the envelope again.

Chinn considered. “I could find you better girl,” he said at last. “Younger. Prettier. You like Chinese girl.”

Tom grabbed him by his shirtfront and hauled him closer. “You are despicable. And I will kill you myself if you ever, ever speak to me or mine again.”

Chinn shoved Tom away and straightened his shirt.

“Do we understand each other?” Tom asked.

Chinn didn't nod, but clearly an understanding had been reached. Tom, who had nothing in the envelope but a written account of rumors everyone had already heard, had won.

Archer was winning, too. Every time Tom saw his friend, he heard stories of successful bets and money pocketed. His favorite game was ninepins, played more often than not with champagne bottles from cases that had to be emptied by the willing participants before the game could start.

Archer was spending more hours with Freddy Colson than with him, but Tom suspected this was because of Willow. Most of the time Archer refused to visit the house he and Willow shared, and except for the mornings he spent overseeing repairs to the
Odyssey,
Tom spent most of his time with her. He was happiest in her arms, happiest watching the nightmare of the past weeks recede from her eyes. He didn't want to shut out his old friend, but the current arrangement suited him. If Archer refused to visit, Tom had that much more time alone with her.

On the day John Garth finally returned to Broome, Tom headed off to the Continental Hotel to meet Archer and celebrate the relative success of the season. Although Garth
had been laid low by a fierce gale and forced to pull into an inlet for extensive repairs on his ship, he had collected good shell. Better yet, he was well pleased with what the
Odyssey
had collected.

By the time Tom arrived at the hotel, Garth was giddy from too much liquor and too many overblown plans for the future.

“I'll be adding a lugger to the fleet next season. No, two.” He poured Tom a drink from a half-empty bottle of square-face gin and topped off Archer's. “Maybe three. I'll sell the
Odyssey.
She's seaworthy, nothing better. Small, she is. Too small.” He shook his head. “Not good enough for my fleet.”

“I like her,” Tom said. “She's small, but she's sleek. She sails over the roughest waves like they aren't even there.”

“She's yours, if you can afford her.”

Tom looked at Archer, whose face was completely expressionless. Tom knew his friend well. The only time that Archer's considerable range of feelings was secret was when he was gambling. “Name your price,” Tom said.

Garth did, and Tom's heart sank. He had paid six months' rent in advance on the cottage for Willow, and he had hired a girl to help with the cleaning and gardening. There wasn't much left from what he had earned in half a season on the pearling grounds. He had sent for the last of the funds he could access in San Francisco, a small trust left by a grandmother and the remains of his bank accounts there. But even combined with the money Archer had made during his recent lucky streak, they wouldn't have nearly enough.