Meet Me in Venice (6 page)

He removed his hand from her grip and sat back with an indifferent shrug. “You ask too much,” he said, summoning the waiter for the check.

He heard her take a deep quavering breath. Then, “It’s my partner, Lily,” she admitted. “She has the necklace. It’s been in her family for generations. I don’t know how, or why she has it now. I swear she didn’t before, otherwise she surely would have sold it. I know she’s looking for a buyer though, and that’s why I—
we
—have to get in before it’s sold.”

Bennett thought about Lily, the woman Mary-Lou had implied she was prepared to kill if she had to. He wondered whether he might not be better off with Lily than with Mary-Lou. After all, Lily had the necklace legitimately, though from the provenance it seemed to him to be likely it would be confiscated by the government if it ever resurfaced. Still, it was worth exploring.

“I’d like to meet Lily,” he said, paying the check and adding a generous tip. Even when he was running short of money Bennett was still a big tipper; he found it paid off, it always guaranteed him a good table and the best service, and it created a good impression.

Mary-Lou watched him, puzzled, asking herself why he would want to meet Lily. As if in answer to her question, he said, “I need to know exactly who we’re dealing with, if we are to be in business together.” He got up from the table and held out his hand to her. “Come on, partner,” he said, “let’s call Lily and take her out to dinner.”

Mary-Lou’s smile lit up the bar as they walked together out of Cloud 9.

L
ILY
was in her peaceful courtyard garden, feeding the gold fish. The gentle slide of water over the smooth copper surface of the wall fountain was the only sound, until the ringing phone jolted her out of her Zen state of mind. Resentful, she thought for a moment of not answering it, but then she checked and saw it was Mary-Lou. Sighing, she pressed the talk button.

“I don’t want to discuss business,” she said abruptly. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“Oh, Lily, I don’t want to talk business. It’s just that I’m with someone special, someone I want you to meet . . . .”

Mary-Lou’s voice was sugary-sweet and Lily guessed whomever this special “someone” was, he was standing right next to her. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” she asked, thinking of a cool glass
of wine and sitting on her terrace with the sound of the wind chimes like temple bells and the trickle of the fountain, and of the little canary in its bamboo cage, who always sang so charmingly when she came to sit near him. Then all thoughts of desecrated tombs, and of the wrath her ancestors would surely inflict on her if they knew what she was doing, would slide temporarily to the back of her mind. Sometimes she couldn’t sleep at night because of those thoughts, but “rich at any cost” was her mantra, and like Mary-Lou, she lived by it.

“We want to take you to dinner. Come on, Lily, it’s important.”

To you it is, Lily thought, but Mary-Lou sounded excited, as though she needed her approval. And after all, she was her friend. “Oh, all right,” she sighed, “just tell me where and when.”

“The Italian restaurant at the Grand Hyatt, in half an hour.”

“Forty-five minutes,” Lily said, thinking of the traffic.

In fact it was an hour and they were already seated at a discreet table, half-hidden behind a screen, waiting for her. The restaurant had been Bennett’s choice because he knew that most of its clientele would be foreign businessmen and tourists, and he was unlikely to be recognized.

Lily had chosen to wear a jade green knee-length cheongsam that showed off her pretty legs, and she carried a vintage embroidered satin bag fringed with jade and beads. She looked cool and self-assured, neither of which she was feeling. She was wishing she had not bothered to dress up and battle the traffic all the way through the tunnel under the river to Pudong just to meet Mary-Lou’s latest beau, when she could have been comfortable at home, on her own terrace, alone with her thoughts.

Bennett got to his feet as she approached. She was not smiling and in her Chinese dress he thought she looked like a businesswoman trying for the feminine look. He had no doubt Lily Song was a tough cookie but he’d never yet met a woman who didn’t fall for his special brand of charm.

“Lily,” he said, smiling deep into her eyes in that very personal way he had of greeting women. “Mary-Lou has talked about you so much I feel I already know you, but I must confess I didn’t expect you to be so beautiful.”

She raised a skeptical dark eyebrow, studying him as he held her hand for slightly longer than was necessary. A professional charmer, she thought, and just the sort of guy Mary-Lou would fall for.

Mary-Lou was watching them anxiously. She saw no sign of recognition on Lily’s face and thought she was probably the only woman in Shanghai who did not recognize Bennett Yuan. But then Lily rarely watched TV or bothered with the news; she was too wrapped up in her own small world of business.

“This is Bennett Yuan,” she said, and caught the flutter of response that crossed Lily’s face. It seemed she was wrong, and even Lily had heard of the tragic death of Ana Yuan.

“Good evening, Mr. Yuan.” Lily removed her hand from his. She knew the story all right, and also knew it was only just over six months since his wife died. Glancing sideways she caught Mary-Lou’s eye, wondering what she was doing with the newly widowed Bennett.

“Bennett’s the man who helped me when my car was stolen,” Mary-Lou said. “Remember, I told you?”

‘Ah, yes, I remember.”

Bennett asked what Lily would like to drink and she decided on San Pellegrino water with lemon. Then the waiter arrived with the menus and began to tell them the night’s specials, and the talk turned to food.

After that, though, Bennett put himself out to be amusing: he asked about her home in the French Concession, saying it was a place he had always wanted to live, and that he enjoyed its French Colonial history.

“So do I,” Lily said. “Especially since my mother was French. That is, her parents were American and Austrian, but she was born and brought up in Paris and always considered herself a Frenchwoman.”

Bennett had ordered a bottle of good Italian wine, a Chianti from the Frescobaldi estate. The waiter filled their glasses and she took a sip. She noticed that for some reason Mary-Lou was watching Bennett like a hunting dog, ready to spring; while he was Mr. Cool, the seasoned traveler, talking about Shanghai and Paris and New York.

“Since your mother lived in Paris, you must know the city well,” he said, but Lily said she had never been there, and then she found herself telling him about how her mother had run away from her family to marry Henry Song.

‘“Not
great thinking,” she added caustically, “but then my mother never was a great thinker. I believe she was spoiled rotten by her father and always wanted her own way. Nothing ever changed,” she added with a grim smile. “She should have stuck with the Hennessys. She told me they were very rich. There was
Grandmother’s castle in Austria and fabulous old furniture and paintings, and of course the antiques store. Too bad she gave it all up.”

“And is it all still there?” Bennett toyed with his grilled
branzino.
“The antiques store? And the castle?”

“I believe so. Hennessy Antiques it was called then, though now it has probably changed, on the rue Jacob. My mother had a sister, you know. She married and had a daughter too, younger than I, Mother said. Grandmother’s family was rich, and all the aunts and uncles too. I imagine they left my cousin the family money, and probably Grandmother’s Austrian castle as well.”

She gave Bennett a knowing glance, thinking of his marriage to the rich Yuan girl, and with a little dig at Mary-Lou who was looking far too pleased with herself, said, “Her name’s Precious Rafferty. Maybe you should go visit her next time you’re in Paris, Bennett. I’ve heard you’re always keen to know women with money.”

Mary-Lou gave her a furious kick under the table but Bennett laughed and said what was the point of knowing people “without”? After all they could do nothing for you. “I can tell you and I are alike, Lily,” he said admiringly. “On our own and determined to get on in life.”

“To get rich,”
Lily said, lifting her glass in a toast to Mary-Lou and their old mantra. Bennett lifted his glass too, thinking that the only words she should have added were “at any cost.”

He thought about the necklace that Lily supposedly had inherited, wondering if that were true or whether she had simply stolen it. Mary-Lou’s story was so flimsy he had a hard time believing it,
and desperate though he was to make money, the idea of dealing in stolen jewels did not appeal. His thoughts turned instead to Paris and the rich Hennessy granddaughter, the one who had inherited all the money, as well as the castle. An heiress was more his style.

Claiming she was tired, Lily left before dessert. She thanked Bennett, who again held her hand too long, something she suspected he did with all women, young or old, attractive or not. He was simply practicing his charm. Bennett said he hoped they could get together again, and then Mary-Lou insisted on walking her to the door.

“Well?” she asked, eyes glowing. “What do you think?”

“He’s Ana Yuan’s widower and I think he’s out dating awfully early after her tragic death, if you want the truth. Which,” she added, looking at her friend’s furious face, “I suspect you do not.”

“He can’t be expected to just sit home, a man like that, he needs a woman . . .”

“I’m sure he does.” Lily was suddenly serious. “But I urge you to ask yourself, do you need a man like Bennett?” And with that she stepped into the elevator and was gone.

Mary-Lou flounced back to the table where Bennett had already paid the check and was ready to leave. She’d expected them to linger over drinks and coffee, but he seemed in a hurry. He wants to get me into bed, she thought with that thrill in the pit of her stomach that she always got when she thought about sex with Bennett.

But no, Bennett dropped her off in front of her apartment with only the briefest kiss, and said he was tired and needed sleep.

“But we need to talk,” she said desperately.

“Not tonight. I’ll call you,” he said, and he got in the car and with a wave, drove off.

She watched his Hummer weave into the busy traffic along the Bund, feeling suddenly very much alone. And she had thought the evening had gone so well, first the discussion about the necklace and her proposal that they work together; then the meeting with Lily. Until Lily made that dumb remark about Bennett going to Paris and liking rich women. Even though the last part was true.

And then the next day, Bennett didn’t call. Nor the day after that. And when she tried to call him, there was no answer. A week went by and she had still not heard from him. Mary-Lou did not know what to think, or what to do. He was her only hope. And besides, she was in love with him.

PARIS

P
RESHY
was happy. Daria was visiting Paris with her professor husband, on business, and though Tom couldn’t make it, she was looking forward to seeing her friend alone for dinner. Sylvie could not make it either, because of course she had her restaurant to ran. She’d opened it two years before and with its emphasis on freshness it was an immediate hit.

They were meeting at seven at the Deux Magots just around the corner on the boulevard St. Germain, where they would have a drink and decide where to go for dinner. “Somewhere simple,” Daria had said. And Preshy knew just the place.

So it was on with the little black dress again, the heels, and the “rich girl” diamonds. Late, as always, she ran down the steps and into the street, where she noticed a man looking in her shop window.
His back was toward her and quickly, before he could notice her, she checked the blue light signaling that the alarm was on, then dashed off across the street to meet Daria. She wasn’t about to open up the shop and discuss antiques with anyone tonight.

The Deux Magots was named for the two antique figurines of plump Chinese commercial agents—the
magots,
displayed inside, but mostly the customers liked to sit outdoors and indulge in the national sport of people watching. The cafe’s popular terrace swept from the busy boulevard into the cobbled square with its simple church, the oldest in Paris, the Èglise St. Germain-des-Prés.

As always the café was packed, but Daria had gotten there early and had snagged one of the tiny tables and a couple of rather rickety chairs, plus she had already ordered two glasses of the house champagne, Monopole, which arrived just as Preshy did.

She dropped a kiss on Daria’s cheek and said, “You’re looking very Parisian tonight.”

“I had my hair cut.” Daria swung her head for Preshy to look and her Nordic blond hair swung with her in a smooth shiny fall.

“Fabulous. Just never cut it short, that’s all.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I was tempted but Tom would never forgive me. He always said he fell in love with my hair before he fell in love with me.” Daria leaned forward, smiling. “You want to know what else he said? This is the truth now. I’ve never told anyone before because I wanted you all to think he fell for me ‘hook, line and sinker’ as they say. Only I’m not so sure that anyone ever really falls like that.”

“So what did he say that was so terrible?” Preshy took a fortifying sip of the champagne. It was crisp and clean on her tongue.
Daria had also ordered a dish of olives; they didn’t go with the champagne but Daria loved them anyway.

“He said how could anybody fall in love with a spoiled preppie tomboy like me. Of course, this was after I’d beaten him at soft-ball, whupped him at tennis and then won the swim race across the bay he’d challenged me to. Oh, and I’d stripped him down to his undershorts at poker.”

Preshy was laughing. “So how’d you get him to stay?”

“I took one look at him in those undershorts, looking all sort of pale and professory and the tiniest bit vulnerable, but you know . . . sort of sexy at the same time and I wanted him so bad I’d have done anything to keep him. So I simply capitulated, gave in all the way. Here’s my secret to a happy marriage. Let him win. You name it . . . backgammon, chess, poker, tennis—he wins. Except for swimming. I have to allow him to think I can do one thing well, otherwise why would he still love me?”