Meet Me in Venice (4 page)

“Finally, when she was ill and knew she might die, your mother came to me. ‘Take this, keep it for my daughter, Lily/ she said. ‘Its all I have to leave her. But do not give it to her until she reaches forty years because only then will she be smart enough to know what to do with it, and not allow a man steal it from her just because she thinks she is in love.’

“Your mother also left the letter for you. In it she tells the story that came with the necklace. It is the true history.”

Listening to him, Lily had clasped the long dark red jewel case to her chest. Tears had stung her eyes. Her mother had given her the only thing of value she possessed in the world. The only thing she had left. She had saved it all those years, for her.

Lily knew about her French family, the Hennessys, and that she had a cousin who, her mother had said, was called Precious Rafferty. But that was all.

Later, when she was alone, she had read the story of the necklace, painstakingly pieced together from the information her grandfather had known but had discounted as some sort of fairy tale, about the pearl and the Dragon Lady Empress. She’d investigated further, and found photographs and evidence that it was the truth. And now the notorious pearl was Lily’s to do with as she wished. But it must be kept a secret. If the authorities found out about it, she would end up in jail.

M
ARY-LOU had several “little secrets,” only one of which was dealing in stolen jewelry. Another was that she spied on Lily. And that morning when Lily sent her off on an errand, instead she followed her and hid in the cellar’s shadows. She saw Lily press the button that sent the wooden panel sliding away, revealing the old iron safe.

Mary-Lou already knew all about that safe. She’d found out about it several months ago while keeping watch on Lily. Lurking in the cellar she’d crept silently closer, holding up her cell-phone camera, photographing the combination code as Lily dialed the numbers. Then she’d stolen back up the stairs, soft-footed as a sparrow.

Later, when Lily was out, she’d walked back down those steep wooden stairs, past all the crates of plaster copies of Qin Dynasty
warriors and the Maos and the Buddhas. The panel slid away as she pressed the button. She dialed the combination, the safe opened and its contents were hers.

Up until now it had contained only money.
Only money,
Mary-Lou had thought.
My lifeblood.
Then she’d realized she had found Lily’s stolen stash, the place where, unable to put it in a legitimate bank, Lily kept the profit from her dealings in plundered antiquities. The money was in neat bundles but Mary-Lou was almost certain Lily never counted them. Why should she, when she believed no one else knew about the hidden safe and its combination?

Mary-Lou had helped herself plentifully over the months, confident that if Lily did check, she could never accuse her of stealing, because how could she possibly know about the safe, or its combination? And anyhow she had no compunction about stealing from her friend. She needed the money so she took it.

This morning, however, always attuned to Lily’s moods, she sensed something was going on, and instead of setting off on the errand Lily had dreamed up for her, she lingered on the cellar stairs, thanking fate that Lily had reminded her to remove her shoes. In her bare feet she made no sound as she crept closer. And, as she had done before, she took a photograph as this time Lily removed the flat jewelry case from the safe.

Lifting her cell-phone camera, Mary-Lou snapped quick silent pictures as Lily opened the case, but she was scarcely able to hold back a gasp of astonishment when she saw what it contained.

She had never seen jewels like that: the massive emeralds, diamonds and rubies, and the pearl the size of a robin’s egg. Where, she wondered, astonished, had Lily gotten her hands on it?

She stole silently back up the stairs, her pulses throbbing with excitement, adrenaline flowing. The necklace must be worth a fortune. All you needed was the right buyer. Hah! Of course, that was the call Lily had been waiting for. She had a buyer in mind!

Mary-Lou hurried out onto the street where her little car was parked. She got in and drove quickly away so Lily wouldn’t come out and find her still there and suspect her of spying. She drove aimlessly, her mind ticking over. It would be easy to steal the necklace, but first she needed to find a buyer.

THE NEXT DAY WHEN LILY
was out, Mary-Lou went down to the basement and opened up the safe. She took out the necklace, letting it slide through her fingers, marveling at the weight and clarity of the jewels, and the size of the glowing creamy white pearl. Her eyes opened even wider when she read Lily’s note about the provenance. It would be worth even more than she had hoped.

The fact was that the necklace could end all of her woes; it would give her the millions she needed for the good life she waited and believed she deserved. It was worth any risk. If Lily gave her any trouble, she would deal “appropriately” with her. Mary-Lou had no fear of that. Her only problem now was to find that buyer.

A
few days later, Mary-Lou was coming out of the diamond cutter’s office, on the second floor of a mean little building in a bad quarter, sandwiched between a cheap “massage parlor” and one of those half-hidden stores where gamblers came to buy lottery tickets, hoping for the big win.

The building was shuttered behind double steel gates and the narrow street flickered with vivid neon signs hung, sometimes three deep, over tacky bars and teahouses that smelled of fried eels and sheeps’ brains and of rice swimming in a thin pungent broth. Ragged men down on their luck or simply drunk or stoned, squatted on the sidewalks, their backs pressed up against the building, smoking and staring into space, occasionally hawking and spitting up gobs of phlegm.

Mary-Lou’s perfect nose curled in disgust. She hated coming here. She knew she attracted attention with her exotic looks, that was why she always dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt, no jewelry, not even a watch. Even so, she feared for her car, small and cheap though it was. Nothing was safe on these streets and it made her nervous, especially with what she had hidden in her pocket. Two diamonds each of about four carats, stolen from a wealthy family, that had just been reçut by the backstreet diamond cutter, losing some of their carat weight in the process but it meant they were now untraceable. Using Lily’s money, she had made a deal with the thieves and now the diamonds were hers to sell on.

Putting on her dark glasses, she stepped into the street. She had parked her car right outside the building but now an old truck was parked in its place. She let out a howl of rage and swung round, glaring accusingly at the street bums. They glared back at her, laughing, and one hawked up his phlegm and spat it at her.

“Jesus!” She stepped back, disgusted, and felt her heel strike a foot. A man’s arms snaked around her and she screamed. A crowd was gathering, staring and grinning. Furious, she swung round and let the man holding her have it with a right to the face. He caught her arm before the punch connected.

“Careful,” he said. “You could hurt somebody like that.”

Mary-Lou stared up at the best-looking man she had ever seen. Tall, broad-shouldered, rangy in that American way, dark-haired and with intense unsmiling blue eyes that linked sexily with her own. And she knew him. Or rather she knew who he was. Not long ago, the stories about the accidental death of his wealthy wife had dominated the media for several weeks.

“I know you,” she said, still scowling.

“And I would like to know you,” he said. “That is if you promise not to grind my foot with your heel and not to keep on punching.”

Mary-Lou looked into his eyes for what seemed a long time. “Okay,” she said finally.

He let go of her arm. “So what happened?”

“Someone stole my car.”

He nodded. “I’m not surprised. They’d steal the teeth from your mouth around here. You should always bring a guard, let him stay with the car while you take care of whatever business brings you here.”

He did not ask her what that business might be, nor did she ask why he was there. Direct questions about why you were in this shady area were off-limits. Everyone kept their “business” to themselves.

“My car’s just down the street,” he said. “How about I give you a lift, then you can contact the police, tell them the details.”

“Much good it’ll do,” she said bitterly, making him laugh again.

“Hey,” he said, “It’s only a car. I assume it was insured.”

“Yes,” she said gloomily, “but it’ll be ages and mountains of paperwork before they settle. I know how they are too.”

“For such a beautiful woman, you’re a true cynic,” he said, motioning the guard to open the car door for her.

Mary-Lou got into the camouflage green Hummer. He walked around to the other side and got in next to her. “Where to?” he asked. She turned to look at him, a long deep look. “To the nearest good bar,” she said in her throaty whisper.

B
ENNETT
Yuan took her to the Bar Rouge on the Bund, not too far from where Mary-Lou lived. It was a chic modernist place with huge blowup photos of pouting red-lipsticked Asian beauties framed in matching red-lacquered wood that also acted as screens, giving privacy to the booths and tables. Dozens of ruby red Venetian chandeliers spilled a muted pink light, and the windows and terrace offered views of the Shanghai skyline.

He sat opposite, not next to her as she had expected and she pouted prettily. “I can see you better this way,” he explained. “Do you know why I brought you here?” She shook her head.

“Because you are more beautiful than any of these girls on the walls.” He looked her in the eyes, a long deep look that made Mary-Lou shiver right down to the pit of her belly. “You
haven’t yet told me your name,” he said. “Or do you prefer to be anonymous?”

“It’s Mary-Lou Chen. And I know your name, I’ve seen your picture in the newspapers.”

He shrugged, dismissively. “Then I’m the one who would prefer anonymity. And what would you like to drink, Mary-Lou Chen?”

He summoned the waiter as Mary-Lou thought for a minute. “I’d like a glass of champagne,” she decided, but Bennett ordered a bottle.

They sat in silence, still looking deep into each other’s eyes, recognizing the possibility of what might happen between them, until the waiter reappeared with a silver ice bucket on a stand, and the champagne. He wrapped the bottle in a white cloth then uncorked it expertly with hardly even a pop, just a wisp of air floating from its neck. He poured a little for Bennett to taste and when he nodded his approval, the waiter filled the two flutes. A second waiter brought a dish of tiny biscuits and then left them alone in their screened booth under the hazy glow of the red chandelier.

Bennett Yuan picked up his glass. He lifted it to hers and said, “Here’s to us, Mary-Lou Chen.”

“Yes,” she said, suddenly nervous. There was an intensity about him she had never encountered in a man before. He was, she thought, a man who knew what he wanted and who knew that he would always get it. And she was a little afraid of him.

“So, tell me about yourself.” Bennett leaned back, one arm spread along the top of the booth.

Suddenly disconnected from her eyes, he seemed to take on a
different persona. More casual, comfortable, a man completely at ease with himself. And so handsome Mary-Lou could see no flaw. His dark hair brushed smoothly back; those intense deep blue eyes under straight dark brows; a nose almost too perfect for a man, the square jaw and a wide firm mouth that made her wonder what it would feel like to kiss him.

She shook her short swinging bob of black hair, took a sip of champagne and began to talk about her work and about Lily.

“So, who is this Lily Song?” he asked, refilling her glass.

“An old school friend. She’s always dealt in antiques but mostly she makes and sells the tourist stuff. You know, the Mao memorabilia, the warriors, Buddhas.”

“And is that profitable?”

She sipped the champagne and gave him a deep look. “Some of it is.

“And which part would that be?”

Mary-Lou laughed, shaking her head and sending her short black hair swinging again. “I can’t tell you that,” she said, peering at him from under her bangs. “Why are we talking so much about me anyway? I want to know all about you.”

‘There’s not much to tell that I suspect you don’t already know. I’m involved in the furniture components business.” He shrugged again, impatiently, as though he disliked what he did for a living. “I’m based here in Shanghai, but I travel a lot. Keeps me busy.” He filled up their glasses and signaled the waiter to bring a second bottle.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” she said, thinking about his dead
wife, Ana Yuan. “Considering what happened . . . . I mean you keeping busy so you don’t have to think . . . .”

He gave her a cold look and she stopped, conscious that she was, quite literally, getting into deep waters. She drank down the champagne.

“And what are we going to do about your car?” Bennett said. She’d forgotten all about the car being stolen. He handed her his cell phone. “Here, better report it,” he said.

Reporting it took longer than she’d thought, and by the time she was finished, so was the second bottle of champagne. Feeling deliciously woozy, at that moment Mary-Lou didn’t give a damn whether she saw the car again or not.

“I live just down the road,” she said, inviting him with her eyes.

He nodded, understanding. He paid the waiter, took her arm and walked her to the elevator. They stood apart, not talking, she with her head down staring at her red suede mules, thinking of what was to come, he gazing at the ceiling, his face expressionless.

The guard was waiting with the Hummer and they drove a few short blocks to Mary-Lou’s building.

Bennett eyed the modern skyscraper appreciatively. Asking the guard to have the car valet-parked, he dismissed him. “Tell me, Mary-Lou Chen,” he said, “how can a woman who sells copies of Mao and Buddha and some sort of ‘antiques’ afford to live in a place like this?”