Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [79]
Lai Tsin had decided it was proper for Little Son Philip Chen to be brought up with a Chinese family. “He must be like the other Chinese boys and learn their ways,” he said. “When he is older and wiser he will learn Western ways, too, but now he must understand his heritage.”
And that left only Francie with nothing except her bad memories of the past and her fear of the future. And she dare not even tell Lai Tsin or Annie about the baby, she was so ashamed.
There was a sudden tap at the door and she ran to open it. A small boy looked quickly up at her, pushed a piece of paper into her hand and darted back down the stairs.
She stared after him, puzzled, and then she closed the door and looked at the crumpled piece of paper. On it was written, “If you still love me, come to Gai Pao’s alley at nine o’clock tonight.” And it was signed, “Josh.”
The blood rushed from Francie’s face and her heart thudded in her chest. She told herself it couldn’t be true, it must be some kind of cruel joke. But no one knew about Josh—only Lai Tsin and Annie, and they would never play tricks on her. There was a sudden flutter in her belly and she put her hand there, feeling her child for the first time. Maybe it was an omen and meant Josh was still alive after all. If you still love me, the note had said.
Panicked, she stared at it, wishing the others were there, but Lai Tsin would be working and Annie was at a meeting with the architect and wouldn’t be back till late.
She paced to and fro, telling herself she wouldn’t go, and then she thought of Josh lying in the ruins and thought maybe he really wasn’t dead after all. And she knew she must.
She left a note telling Annie where she had gone and then she made her way through mean back streets, searching for Gai Pao’s alley, and when she found it, it was just a dark deserted little dead-end. It was pitch-black with just a faint glimmer of light at the very end and she hesitated, frightened. She wanted to turn and run but the note was like bait, luring her on. She stepped nervously down the alley, hugging the broken walls and peering over her shoulder. A dim light burned over a curtained doorway and she hesitated again. She knew she should just turn around and run, but she couldn’t. If you love me, the note had said, and it was love that made her pull back the curtain and step inside.
The cramped room was lit by a nickering kerosene lamp. It was noisy with the clatter of mah-jongg tiles and the shouts of the gamblers and it reeked of tobacco, paraffin, opium fumes, and sweat. The Chinese at the gambling tables turned to stare at her, muttering angrily, and she shrank timidly against the wall. At a counter on the left a man was serving rice wine in gourd-shaped pots. He beckoned to her and said quickly, “Come with me, missee. Hurry. This way.”
She followed him through another curtained doorway, stumbling after him down an endless labyrinth of ruined passageways until they came to a small square room. Only half the walls remained standing, there was no roof and the moon glimmered from behind the clouds, silhouetting the empty doorway and blank windows. Francie suddenly realized that her guide had gone and she was alone. A thrill of fear shot up her spine as she stared around her. She could just make out a shape in the middle of the floor—it was a chair. And there was someone sitting on it. The blood sang in her ears and her heart was thudding so hard against her ribs, she thought it would burst.
“Josh?” she whispered.
“I thought you wouldn’t be able to stay away from him,” a familiar voice said. A lamp shone in her eyes, dazzling her, and she froze. It wasn’t Josh’s voice she was hearing, it was Sammy Morris’s.