Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [211]
Francie and Buck flew over with her and the Chen family were at the airport to greet them.
“You never change, Philip,” Francie said, hugging him. “You still look like the serious bespectacled young man who used to help Ollie with his homework.”
“Would that the gods had been kinder and Ollie were still with us,” he said gently. “But you, Francie, you are not a day older and even more beautiful.”
She shook her head ruefully. “Even I can’t ignore the white hairs, Philip.”
“Wisdom arrives with the white hairs, and wisdom enhances beauty.”
“Careful,” Buck laughed. “I won’t be able to keep up with all these Chinese compliments.”
“It’s true though.” Lysandra looked admiringly at her mother, as slim and chic as she had been twenty years ago. Her full, cream silk shirt and little navy jacket showed off her still-small waist, and she wore a shady-brimmed navy straw hat with a silk gardenia pinned to one side. “Mom gets even prettier as she gets older.”
“And so does Aunt Irene,” she said, hugging the diminutive Chinese woman, equally smart in a red shantung shirt dress with the newly fashionable full skirt. “And no white hairs either,” she added admiringly. Then she hugged her again, and said, “Oh, am I glad to see you.”
Only Robert was different. He was standing back waiting for his elders to greet each other and Lysandra thought how grown-up he looked. “Robert,” she said, hurrying over to him, both hands held out to take his. “You look … She paused, assessing him while he smiled down at her. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his hornrimmed spectacles half-hid his blue eyes and he had the same thick shock of black hair. But there was something else about him and she hesitated, still searching for the right words. There was an air of confidence, as though he knew exactly where he was going in the world—but then he always had. “You look ‘distinguished,’” she said with a grin, “like a famous neurosurgeon.”
He laughed. “And you look exactly the same, only even skinnier.”
“I am not,” she cried indignantly. “I am fashionably slender.” She laughed. “Dammit, you always knew how to get a rise out of me.” She put her arms around him and hugged him. “Are we still friends?”
“Always,” he promised. “You can count on me.”
The taipan had come to claim her rightful heritage and there was a celebration party in the grand hall at the Lai Tsin headquarters that week. After the long formal dinner Francie watched her daughter proudly as she stood up to make her speech. She looked very young in a deep-blue cheongsam, but she spoke in flawless Mandarin, promising to guide the company as surely and firmly as her grandfather, telling them that she prayed one day she would be as wise as he, but that meanwhile she would need their help, and that the Lai Tsin hong would continue to be known for its fair and just business throughout the world.
“Oh, Buck,” Francie whispered, clutching his hand with a pang of misgiving, “I only hope the Mandarin knew what he was doing. She’s so young, shouldn’t she be out enjoying herself like other girls her age?”
“Lysandra isn’t ‘other girls,’” he whispered back. “The Mandarin molded her when she was still just a kid. Pius she’s got your backbone and determination and this is what she wants. And believe me, should the day ever come when she decides she doesn’t want it, she’ll be just as determined and sure of her decision.”
“I hope you’re right,” Francie whispered.
A week later she and Buck returned to California. “I’ll miss you,” she told Lysandra as she said good-bye.
“Not half as much as I’ll miss you,” her daughter said, hugging her tightly, tears springing to