Fortune is a Woman (35 page)

"Shall I see you at dinner?" he asked, looking anxiously at her as she left him, and she nodded, wishing shyly that she didn't blush.

But back in her stateroom she worried about what to tell him. She was an imposter, traveling as the widowed Mrs. Harrison, and she'd bet that if he knew the truth he wouldn't even want to speak to her. She told herself a hundred times she would have supper in her stateroom. She paced the floor watching the clock ticking slowly toward eight. At seven forty-five she gave in. She threw on a slender ice-blue silk dress with a deep V-neckline and long, tight sleeves. She pinned a huge cream silk rose at the shoulder, dabbed the French jasmine scent lavishly at her throat, brushed her blond hair into a shiny knot at the nape of her neck and checked her appearance in the mirror. She told herself nervously that no one could ever accuse her of having dressed to please him; she had gotten herself together in exactly ten minutes and looked as businesslike as any businesswoman could in clinging ice-blue silk. Throwing an aquamarine lace wrap over her shoulders, she made her way to the dining saloon.

She didn't encounter a single other person on her way there and when she walked down the broad stairway into the saloon there were only half a dozen others present, all of them men. Captain Laird greeted her personally. "Please sit at my table, Mrs. Harrison," he said, cheerfully. "There are so few of us left tonight and we'll be glad of your charming feminine company."

The dining room looked forlorn with its empty tables cleared of their glasses and silverware to avoid breakage, but the captain's table was as beautifully arranged as ever, with everything anchored firmly into place. Captain Laird seated her on his right and Edward Stratton sat next to her.

"I thought you weren't going to make it," he whispered with a grin.

Despite herself, she laughed. "I almost didn't," she confessed, although she didn't tell him it wasn't because of the storm; it was because of him.

Captain Laird glanced knowingly at them; he was an old seafaring man, he had captained his own ship for more than twenty years and he had seen everything. He knew the beginnings of a shipboard romance when he saw one and he hoped, in a fatherly way, that young Mrs. Harrison knew what she was doing. Still, Edward Stratton was a gentleman, so he hoped for the best.

Francie was enjoying herself; she sipped a little champagne and nibbled at the caviar, listening wide-eyed to the captain's tales of storms at sea, to the French diplomat's stories of political skulduggery in wicked Shanghai, and to the businessmen's sagas of double-dealing in Hong Kong and Singapore. They were all so sure of their masculine importance and she knew they thought of her as a decorative accessory, of as much value to them and their business world as the roses in the center of the table.

And then Edward turned to her and said, "And what is your reason for going to Hong Kong, Mrs. Harrison?"

"Oh," she replied innocently, "I'm going to buy a ship."

Silence fell around the table as half a dozen pairs of masculine eyes looked up at her.

"A ship, Mrs. Harrison?" Captain Laird asked politely.

"Why, yes." Francie flashed them a dazzling smile. "A cargo vessel. I need it for my business, you see."

"And may I ask exactly what business are you in, Mrs. Harrison?" the French diplomat sitting opposite asked, gazing admiringly at her. In his opinion, women who

looked like that didn't need to be in business, any man would be happy to give her as much money as she wanted just to be able to claim she was his.

"I am a merchant, Monsieur Delorges. The L. T. Francis Company. Import and export, to and from the Orient."

The men around the table suddenly looked at her with new respect—they had heard of the L. T. Francis Company and knew it was sound.

"Congratulations, madame," the Frenchman said, "you are a clever woman to be so successful in the face of so much competition."

"I must confess that I have very good advice." She glanced around the table with a faint smile and added, "From a man."

They all laughed and she pushed back her chair and wished them good night. "It was a delightful dinner, gentlemen," she said, smiling. "I enjoyed your company." And picking up her little blue silk evening purse, she bestowed another dazzling smile on them and swept from the room, leaving a hint of jasmine perfume scenting the air.

Edward Stratton watched her go. If he had been the Frenchman he would have said it was a
coup de foudre,
but in his own language he was bowled over. He was madly in love with Mrs. Francesca Harrison.

***

Edward Stratton had been a devoted husband. After his wife died he had grieved for more than two years, sequestering himself at his Scottish castle with his memories of their youthful love, and their growing years with their young family. Their life together had been a peaceful one where season followed season, each with its predictable round of social events with the same faces they had known since childhood. He had thought their lives would progress on the same happy, even keel as he and Mary grew old together and welcomed their own grandchildren to Strattons, just the way his grandparents had welcomed him. Nothing much had changed in the Stratton family for centuries; life had always been this way: secure, predictable, and uneventful. And that's why Francesca Harrison had knocked him all of a heap.

Sitting alone at the bar after dinner, four weeks out into the voyage, he asked himself, Why? Of course, she was beautiful with that blond, simple, almost classical beauty that overwhelmed him every time he looked at her. And she was unpredictable, one moment shy and insecure, and the next a confident businesswoman. She was a lady, a widow, and a mother, yet she had the innocence of a young girl. And she was a mystery; she seemed to tell him everything and yet when he analyzed it later she had told him nothing but the barest facts about herself and her life. She was beautiful, elusive, and independent. And all those elements added up to the fact that Francesca was
different.

Edward was a seasoned traveler; he had been around the world many times, he had sailed on great liners and on private yachts and he knew all about the dangers of shipboard romance. He thought of his three children; he was a loving and devoted father and their welfare had always been his most important concern. However much he loved someone he would never remarry without their approval. They came first, that was the way it had always been in the Stratton family.

He smiled as he drained his glass of whiskey, gazing out at the twinkling stars and the crescent moon, imagining it shining down on the gray stone-turreted Stratton Castle, more than seven thousand miles away. How could his children not love Francie as much as he did?

There was just one more week left of the voyage and he meant to spend as much time as possible with her. He had already offered to show her Hong Kong, but she had been in one of her more elusive moods and had put him off. He thought about that, puzzled, because he could swear she was as attracted to him as he was to her.

He lay awake for a long time that night, wondering what was wrong. Finally he decided it was because she had this newfangled idea of being a businesswoman. Probably her late husband's partners did the real work, and if not, once they were married he would find her a good manager to take care of things so she would be free to devote her time to him and the children and Strattons.

Francie was also lying awake, thinking of Edward. The stateroom was in darkness and the smell of the fresh flowers put there that morning by the steward was overpowering. Stifled, she sat up and turned on the lamp.

She told herself for the hundredth time it was just a shipboard flirtation on his part, and that, anyway, nothing could ever come of it. She could only pretend to be the widowed Mrs. Harrison for the length of this voyage and then it was back to reality. A reality Edward Stratton would not like. She thought longingly how too easy it would be just to let him take charge of her life, to be looked after by him. Then she told herself that Lai Tsin had made her strong and yet here she was acting like a weak, silly woman all over again, ready to give it all up simply because she was in love.

The ship's bell struck four and she sighed. Sleepless hours stretched in front of her because the problem she had was unsolvable. Meanwhile she was aware that everyone on board was talking about them. She felt their eyes on them at dinner, she felt them follow her when they walked together on deck and she knew she could not afford to be the object of scandal a second time in her life.

There was no answer to her problems. She decided there were only a few days left of the voyage and she would be more discreet. In future, she would keep her distance from Edward Stratton.

***

The night before the ship docked in Hong Kong the captain gave a gala farewell reception and dinner. For a week Francie had barely left her cabin except to go for an occasional stroll when she was sure Edward would be otherwise occupied. She had taken all her meals in her room and had passed the time with her nose buried in a volume of Dickens borrowed from the ship's library, reading and rereading each paragraph endlessly because her mind simply wasn't on
David Copperfield.
Edward had sent a dozen messages and she had finally written back that she was tired and was resting in preparation for her arrival in Hong Kong.

But she couldn't refuse Captain Laird's special request for her to sit at his table, and she wore her most beautiful dress. The cream chiffon felt like gossamer against her silk-stockinged legs, and the gold lace tunic with its wide, low neckline and long, tight sleeves reached to her knees, so the skirt swirled prettily as she walked. She wore no jewelry, just a fresh cream rose pinned at her shoulder and another in her hair. She squared her shoulders as she walked down the corridor, determined to stay cool and composed as she said good-bye to Edward.

The saloon was festive with red, white, and blue buntings strung from pillar to pillar and stewards in white mess jackets serving champagne.

"Mrs. Harrison," the captain's voice boomed across the room and people turned to stare at her. "Glad to see you back. Feeling better, I hope?"

He kissed her hand gallantly and she smiled, quickly searching the room for Edward, but he wasn't there. She sipped champagne and made polite small talk with the French diplomat who was staying on for the remainder of the voyage to Shanghai. "But tonight is the real farewell," he said, "when our most charming businesswoman departs our ship. I fear without your lovely presence we might sink beneath a wave of boredom."

Francie laughed. He was charming and nice and she felt sure he flirted with every pretty woman who came his way. But still Edward wasn't there. -

Half an hour later, when they went in for dinner and he still hadn't arrived, she thought half-angrily that she needn't have bothered dressing up for him, then suddenly she heard him apologizing for his lateness, and he was there, next to her.

"Francesca," he said in a low voice, "I've been so worried about you."

"There's really no need," she said coolly, turning away to speak to the captain.

She thought the dinner would never end as gala course followed gala course, and immediately after it was finished she said a quick good night, and with barely a glance at Edward hurried back to her stateroom. She paced the floor thinking of him, and then, unable to bear her thoughts or her own company any longer, she went out on deck.

All the storms had been left behind as they sailed into the South China Sea and the night was warm and calm. A languorous breeze blew from the land, bringing with it a heavy musky smell instead of the crisp invigorating salt air she had become used to. The sky sparkled with a million jeweled stars and the sounds of the string quartet playing Mozart in the main saloon drifted across the water.

She leaned on the rail searching the darkness for the shores of China, telling herself that this was the end of her little fantasy. Suddenly she felt him beside her and she turned her head to look at him.

"You've been avoiding me," he said quietly.

She shrugged her shoulders delicately. "It's the end of the voyage. Isn't that the usual time for these little shipboard flirtations to break up?"

"Flirtations?" She could see the hurt in his eyes. "It was more than that to me," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "I'm in love with you," he said. "I want you to come back with me and meet my family. I want to show you Strattons. I know you'll fall in love with it and then you won't be able to say no to me."

He kissed her and she closed her eyes, feeling the roughness of his chin against her skin, breathing the faint citrusy scent of his cologne. Her body was melting into his with ripples of pleasure; she wanted to run her hands through his hair, to hold him even closer. She wanted Edward Stratton and she couldn't have him. It was as simple as that.

"I must go," she said, pulling herself away from his arms.

"Say you'll see me again," he begged. "I'll be in Shanghai for two weeks and then I'll be back in Hong Kong. Please let me see you, Francesca?"

She shrugged again, hurrying away from him. "Maybe," she called over her shoulder.

The S.S.
Orient
anchored in Hong Kong Bay early the next morning and the smart little white launch from the Hong Kong Hotel sped toward it to pick up its guests and transport them to Pedder's Wharf. Francie felt Edward's eyes on her as she stepped into it and she glanced up. He was leaning on the rail, smart in a tropical white suit and panama hat and so handsome and serious-looking, it tugged her heart. He raised his arm in farewell and she lifted her hand in return. And then she turned her face toward Hong Kong and her real life again.

CHAPTER 27

The Hong Kong Hotel was on the corner of tree-lined Pedder Street, overlooking the harbor. To the right was the Praya, a long esplanade with the palatial offices of the hongs, the great merchant trading companies. Their house flags fluttered importantly in the breeze and their smart launches were moored in front, ready to transport the powerful taipans to and from their ships. A one-hundred-and-fifty-foot-tall clock tower dominated Pedder Street, though its clock was said to suffer from "indispositions" because of the climate and no one ever set their watches by it. The steep green hills hung behind the waterfront like a painted backdrop, dotted with pines and eucalyptus and huge white marble villas. The blue bay was crammed with ships of every sort: old sea-going junks and enormous white steamers jostled for space with shabby sampans and smart launches, and a line of coolies waited on the jetty ready to haul baggage to the hotels. And behind them, waiting for Francie, was Lai Tsin. He was wearing his usual blue robes and round silk hat and she thought that, for the first time, he looked as though he belonged.