Tell Me No Lies (23 page)

Catlin's breath came out with a harsh sound. "Are you sure?"

"I-"

He waited, seeing both her distress and her confusion. "Lindsay?" he asked finally, softly.

Almost wildly she looked away from Catlin, back toward the magnificent dragon who watched her in return. "I want it to be genuine," she said raggedly. "It's magnificent," she whispered. "Just…magnificent. I would never have believed that a fraud could be so compelling, so alive."

"But you're sure it's a fraud?"

Slowly, sadly, Lindsay nodded.

"Why? What's wrong with it?" he demanded.

She spread her hands helplessly.

"The designs are right for the period," said Catlin. He wasn't asking for her opinion. He knew.

Again, Lindsay nodded. "They're very like the rhinoceros."

"What?"

"A bronze found in Hsing-p'ing. Extraordinary. The same dense, sinuous designs worked in gold. The same profound realism in the details of anatomy. Unmistakable. Very powerful. Very masculine. The rhinoceros was by far the most stunning piece of bronze I'd ever seen – until today."

"Go on," said Catlin.

"But unlike the rhinoceros, there were no models in real life to take this dragon from. This came out of man's mind, a creation from whole cloth based on thousands of years of tradition. And that's just it. The style of the dragon is wrong for the third century B.C. In Huai times, the dragon motif was little more than sinuous lines and two eyes staring outward. The Huai style worshipped a reality that was as solid and magnificent and tangible as a rhinoceros with its head thrown up to test the wind for danger. Dragons are not tangible. They're symbolic."

Lindsay sighed and brushed her fingertips over the bunched muscles of the dragon's neck. Absurdly she felt tears burn behind her eyes.

"Whoever made this was an artist of incredible skill and power," she said when she was sure of her own self-control once more. "He knew that dragons weren't real, that they lived only in the mind of man. And he knew that for that very reason, dragons are more real than anything else, because reality is what we make of it rather than what it makes of us."

Lindsay looked up suddenly, feeling Catlin's intensity as he listened to her. "Whoever created this dragon was modern," she said. "He looked at the world through the eyes of a man who has discovered that ancient Taoism and modern particle physics are one and the same pursuit, that the more closely man investigates physical reality, the more metaphysical reality becomes. That is a very modern point of view. And to me, very compelling. This art is from my own time, my own world, my own beliefs. That's why it's so incredibly moving to me." Lindsay shook her head, still unable to believe that the fraudulent bronze could hold her mind and emotions so completely. "I should hate this dragon. I hate all fakes. Why don't I hate this one?"

"Because the dragon isn't a fraud. Only this is," said Catlin, flicking his fingernail against the card that stated: "Hsing-p'ing district, Shaanxi province, about third century B.C."

There was a long moment of silence before Lindsay let out her breath and said, "I would like to believe that this bronze was created out of a need to express the nature of reality and dragons, rather than a desire to pull money out of gullible pockets. In fact, I choose to believe it."

"Reality is what we make of it, is that it?" said Catlin, repeating her words like a man turning a familiar, complex object in his hands, examining it from all perspectives.

"Up to a certain point, yes," Lindsay said firmly.

"You mean that no matter how hard you try, you can't make sand out to be wine," he said, smiling suddenly.

She laughed, feeling the last of her sadness slide away, a melancholy that had come when she had realized that the magnificent dragon was less than it seemed. And it was also more. "Exactly. Although I'm told that some people have lived who can drink sand wine."

"Do you believe that?"

With a graceful shrug, Lindsay returned her attention to the dragon. "It doesn't matter, because I know that I'm not one of them."

"How about you, Wang?" said Catlin, turning smoothly. "Can you drink sand wine?"

Startled, Lindsay looked over her shoulder. Her breath came in sharply. Sam Wang was standing not four feet away. Next to him was Chen Yi and his two Chinese comrades. From the look on Wang's face it was clear that he had overheard the discussion of his expensive, beautifully wrought and almost certainly fraudulent dragon.

12

For or a moment all Lindsay could do was stare at Sam Wang's handsome, utterly controlled face and wish that she had heard him come up behind her as Catlin so obviously had. Everything that she had said about the dragon returned to her in a rush.

Because it would have been rude to do otherwise, Wang introduced the three Chinese to Catlin and Lindsay. The woman was Mrs. Zhu. Her counterpart was Mr. Pao. Like Yi, they spoke Mandarin. Unlike Yi, they didn't understand or speak English; or if they did, they kept it to themselves. When introduced, they gave Lindsay the exaggerated facial responses of people who have no other means of communicating. Although Zhu and Pao were introduced as Yi's secretary and assistant respectively, they stood elbow to elbow with Yi, silently proclaiming that they were his equals. Lindsay thought that odd; despite the carefully enforced equalities of the modern People's Republic, nuances of position and power were adhered to with a cultural tenacity that was the result of five thousand years of obsession with face. No matter what role Pao and Zhu were playing, they would not position themselves as Yi's equals unless they were.

With the directness possible only to a nonnative Chinese, Wang raised the subject of the dragon as soon as the introductions were complete.

"So you don't like my dragon?" he asked Lindsay, but there was no real doubt in Wang's voice. Obviously he had overheard more than he had wanted to.

"I like it very much," countered Lindsay.

"But not as a Huai bronze?"

"It's every bit as finely crafted as a Huai," she said, wishing that the subject would be closed.

"But it's not a Huai?" pressed Wang.

Lindsay sighed. "Mr. Wang – " she began.

"Sam," he corrected, glancing approvingly at the picture Lindsay made in her simple black dress and unusual ivory jewelry. "In California, only enemies and outlanders use last names."

She smiled unwillingly, appreciating both Wang's quickness and his approval of her as a woman. "I can't be positive without tests, of course, but there is something about the dragon that is very modern. At least to me," she amended.

"Certainly not the patina," retorted Wang.

"It's an excellent patina," Lindsay agreed, looking again at the rare cinnamon finish and wondering what new process had been discovered that could chemically age bronze to that color.

"It shows the marks of being cast by the cire perdu method, as all Huai bronzes were," pointed out Wang.

With a sense of being led into a trap, Lindsay nodded. She, too, had noted the very subtle marks of the lost wax casting process. As with the best of such bronzes, the casting marks had been incorporated into the design itself, enhancing rather than detracting from the final result.

"The clay core that the dragon was cast around passed the thermoluminescence test. Third century B.C. plus or minus a century," Wang continued. He waited half a beat and added smoothly, "Would you like to see the lab report?"

Even though she was watching Wang, Lindsay felt Catlin's sudden scrutiny. She knew what he was thinking. The thermoluminescence test was the benchmark of authenticity for all articles made of fired clay. The test was based on the fact that tiny crystals within the clay absorbed background radiation at a known rate. When heated by firing, the crystals gave up all their stored radiation in tiny flashes of light. Then the crystals began storing radiation all over again. When a sample of clay was reheated centuries later in a modern lab, the crystals once more gave up their stored energy. The energy that was released was measured, compared to a time scale and a date was assigned to the clay used in creating the objet d'art.

"Was a thin section of the bronze put under a microscope to see whether the patina has penetrated the bronze itself rather than simply being applied to the surface of the metal?" Lindsay asked quietly. It was the one test that men hadn't learned how to get around. Only time could root the patina deeply in the bronze itself.

Wang shrugged. "Why bother? The test I used is the standard in the field."

"For fired clay, yes," agreed Lindsay, her voice both pleasant and firm. "But a modern clay object can be irradiated until it will appear to be old on a thermoluminescence test."

"But you'd need very expensive X-ray equipment and a really thorough knowledge of modern testing to pull that off," objected Wang.

"It's been done," Catlin said dryly, entering the conversation for the first time. "Caused quite a stir, if I remember correctly. A museum participated in the X-raying just as a way to prove that copies and forgeries couldn't make it past their experts."

Wang shot Catlin a single look, then returned his attention to Lindsay.

"I can give you the name of two labs that specialize in testing the age of metal artifacts," Lindsay offered.

"Hell, that would take weeks," muttered Wang, shaking his head. Then he circled back on the argument from another angle. "Why would someone buy hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of X-ray equipment just to irradiate a bronze?"

"Is that how much it costs to fake a bronze?" Catlin asked, raising his eyebrows.

Wang's mouth thinned to a flat line at the implication.

"The why of it is simple," Lindsay said quickly, wanting to keep the discussion as pleasant as possible under the circumstances. "If the dragon is Huai, it's automatically placed in a very old, very valuable artistic tradition. On the other hand, if the dragon is modern, in terms of the marketplace its value is problematical. There is no definable market for a modern Chinese bronze, no matter how exquisitely made and artistically superb that bronze might be. Put another way, a modern bronze is worth whatever someone will pay for it."

Surprisingly, Wang's expression softened for an instant. He looked at the dragon. "Artistically superb, huh? So you liked it?"

"Very much," said Lindsay, hearing the wistfulness in her own husky voice. "But I won't bid on the dragon for the museum, Catlin, or myself. Not as long as the bronze is being sold as third century."

Silence stretched while Wang brooded over the crouching dragon. Then he pulled a pen from his pocket, turned over the card that proclaimed the dragon was more than two thousand years old and printed NFS neatly across the back of the card. Not For Sale. He propped the card up against the dragon's long, curving claws.

"That isn't necessary," Lindsay said softly, knowing that the gesture was costing Sam Wang a literal fortune. "I wouldn't have said anything to anyone who didn't ask. And if someone did ask, I would tell them exactly what I'm telling you – I could be wrong. That dragon could be as old as it is magnificent."

Wang gave her a sideways look. "It could be, but the damage is done either way. When Mr. Chen discovered that you were one of the people here tonight, he asked to meet you. Your reputation has preceded you, as they say. We overheard what you said." As Wang shrugged, his smile turned down at the corners. "What's that old saw about eavesdroppers never hearing good news? Well, it's true in this case. Until I get a test run on that dragon's patina, I don't have a chance in hell of getting a decent price for it."

"I'm sorry," Lindsay said quietly. "Not for my opinion, but that you would suffer a loss because of it."

"The dragon's on consignment from Vancouver," Wang said carelessly, "so I'm not out more than the cost of insurance and shipping. Besides, I suppose it was worth it to see you at work. I've heard about your feel for bronzes, but frankly, I didn't believe it. Chen Yi was right. You're the best."

When Lindsay glanced at Yi, he bowed slightly, acknowledging her status as a respected expert.

"You do me great honor," murmured Lindsay, bowing her head in the Chinese fashion.

Mrs. Zhu burst into rapid Mandarin, asking Chen Yi what was being said.

Lindsay started to answer in Mandarin, then realized that just as she was supposed to pretend that she had never before met Yi, perhaps she shouldn't reveal her knowledge of Mandarin, either. The thought of such concealment was so foreign to her that she literally froze. In the end she waited silently, eyes downcast, trying to reassure herself that by not speaking she was actually being polite. The questions, after all, had been addressed to Yi, not to her; he was the respected male, while she was merely the foreign female whose status, no matter how great, could not equal that of any Chinese man, no matter how humble.

Catlin put his hand in the small of Lindsay's back. "If you will excuse us?" he asked politely, looking from Wang to the three Chinese. "There are other bronzes we should look at before the auction begins."

As they walked away Lindsay could feel the glances of the Chinese following her and Catlin. When they turned the corner and went back into the larger part of the L-shaped room, she made a sound of relief.

"Yeah," Catlin said into her ear. "Comrade Zhu could stare holes in bronze."

Lindsay sighed and relaxed against the warm hand that was guiding her. "Women rather like her must have sat in public squares knitting caps while the guillotine sliced its way through the French aristocracy," whispered Lindsay.

"Don't underestimate good old Comrade Pao at chopping time," Catlin said in an equally discreet tone. "I suspect he understands English quite well."

"Really?"

"When you and Sam were talking, Pao's eyes followed the conversation, not the speaker," explained Catlin. "When Sam was arguing about patina, Pao looked at the dragon. When Sam was arguing about thermoluminescence tests, Pao looked at you for your reaction."

"You mean Pao already knew I'd tagged the dragon as modern? He didn't have to wait for Yi's translation?"

Catlin nodded. "They had been standing there for nearly all of our conversation about the dragon. As none of them said a word to each other until I turned around and said hello to Wang, there was no opportunity for Yi to translate your words for his comrades.''

"Oh. Suddenly I feel better about not translating for the good Mrs. Zhu," Lindsay murmured. She glanced up, catching Catlin's eye. "Should I let on that I speak Mandarin?"

"Why not?" he said softly against her hair as they bent over a bronze. "Your background as a child in China is part of your value as an appraiser, so your knowledge of the language is hardly a secret. Go ahead and speak Mandarin. You have enough lies to keep straight without worrying about that."

"Well, at least these aren't among the lies," muttered Lindsay, gesturing to the inlaid bronze ovals resting on a black velvet cloth.

Like the oval harness pieces that Jackie Merriman had shown to Catlin, these bronzes were Ordos. Some were in the Coiled Beast motif, others were in the Animal Combat motif, with two animals locked together to make the obligatory circle. The inlay work was unusually well done, and unusually well preserved.

"Does your collection have similar pieces?" asked Lindsay.

Catlin made a sound that could have signified interest, disinterest or anything between. It was the sort of all-purpose noise collectors and connoisseurs used when they didn't want to be disturbed in their study of an objet d'art. Without irritation, Lindsay took the hint and stepped slightly to one side, allowing Catlin free access to the small table.

The long decorator mirror hanging on the wall in front of the table reflected not only the bronzes, but also Catlin's features as he moved from side to side in his study of the small oval pieces. Lindsay watched the shadows change on his face as he turned, the midnight shine of hair and mustache, the steeply arched eyebrows, the metallic glint of gold as light pooled in eyes surrounded by a thick frame of black lashes. It was not a peaceful face. The line of cheekbone, nose and jaw was too hard, too unforgiving. It was, however, an arresting face, a study in masculine planes and strength relieved only by the unexpected sensuality of full, sharply defined lips beneath the midnight gleam of mustache.

Gradually Lindsay became aware that she was not the only person studying Catlin's face in the mirror. On the other side of the table, at the same angle as she was but ten feet farther back, an Asian man stared at Catlin's reflection like someone who was confronting his imminent death. The man's skin was pale, glistening with sweat, and his mouth was slack. He turned away suddenly and retreated straight across the room, brushing by people and bronzes as he went.

Moving aside slightly to change her angle of view, Lindsay kept the man in sight as he reached the far end of the long room. He went straight to a group of Asian men, one of whom was Hsiang Wu. Lindsay couldn't hear the conversation, but from the agitated gestures of the man's hands and the startled turning of heads, it was clear that Catlin was the subject.

"Do you recognize anyone in the group besides Wu?" asked Catlin in a quiet voice. Then, harshly, "No. Don't look at me. Just answer."

Lindsay would have sworn that Catlin hadn't looked up from the bronzes, but his words made it clear that he had seen at least as much in the mirror as she had.

"They're too far away for me to tell, unless I study them openly. I could find out later from Wu if you like," she added, wondering how important it was.

"I don't think so," murmured Catlin, picking up and handing to her one of the small bronze ovals. "Yi will find out for us if we can't wangle an introduction from Sam."

"At least one of them won't need an introduction to you," Lindsay said, her voice low. She looked at the bronze Catlin had put on her palm, but it was the man's shocked, terrified face she was seeing. "He knows you, Catlin," she said flatly. "And he's scared."

Catlin's mouth curved into a small, chilling smile as he turned the bronze over on her palm.

"Do you recognize him?" Lindsay asked tightly.

Catlin took the bronze again, replaced it on the velvet and guided her to the next table, which lay in the direction of the man who had taken several long looks at Catlin and then fled as though hell had opened up before him.

Lindsay bit her lip against the temptation to repeat the question. She had seen fear too often in the past not to recognize it on the man's face now. That kind of fear was contagious at some primal level, making her heart beat faster. With each step closer that Catlin came, the man flinched and subtly drew back, putting more of the group between him and Catlin.