Raw Silk. Anne Mather
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Oliver shrugged. ‘I doubt it’s been easy for Robert either,’ he remarked drily, but Rose Chen’s expression showed no compassion.
‘No,’ she answered, her tone mirroring little concern for her half-brother’s feelings. She looked pensive for a moment, and then, as if dismissing what she had been thinking, she looked at him again. ‘So—will you come with me? It would mean so much to me if you would. You’re the only person I care two figs about.’
Oliver’s mouth thinned. ‘What about your mother?’
‘Her?’ Rose Chen looked contemptuous. ‘She’s never cared about me, so why should I care about her? Besides, she doesn’t approve of me. She never wanted me to work for Jay-Jay in the first place. Now, I know why.’
Oliver frowned. ‘Does she know about——?’ He paused and arched his brows with obvious intent. ‘Have you seen her since the lawyer contacted you?’
‘No.’ Rose Chen pushed her hands inside the wide sleeves of her robe and hugged them to her. ‘It’s nothing to do with her. Jay-Jay didn’t care about her. He cared about me. If only he’d told me. If only I’d known.’ Privately, Oliver doubted James Hastings had cared about anyone but himself. Why else had he kept Rose Chen’s identity a secret from her all these years? Her mother, a frail old woman whom Oliver had only seen once, and then only by chance, probably had more feelings for her estranged daughter than James Hastings had ever had. And his reasons for acknowledging his daughter now might have more to do with safeguarding his reputation than any sense of justice.
As for his wife and son in England …
Oliver could well imagine this turn of events had been a salutary blow to them. They couldn’t have known of Rose Chen’s existence either. But what did they know of James Hastings’ dealings? That was the question. What did Rose Chen know, for that matter? How closely had she been trusted?
‘You’ll go with her, of course.’
Colonel Lightfoot’s reaction was predictably positive. The burly professional soldier looked positively delighted at the prospect, his brows jerking excitedly, his bushy moustache quivering as he licked his fleshy lips.
‘Will I?’ Oliver leaned back in the chair across the desk, and propped one booted ankle across his knee. ‘What if I don’t want to go to England? What if I have other commitments here in the Colony?’
‘Your only commitment is to me, Lynch,’ began the colonel brusquely, and then, as if remembering that coercion had never worked with this particular operative, he allowed a cajoling note to enter his voice. ‘Come on, Oliver,’ he urged. ‘We can’t let the bastard get away with it. And until we know for certain how they’re dealing with the stuff in England, we don’t stand a rat’s ass of making a conviction stick.’
Oliver considered the older man’s words for a few moments, and then said, ‘You believe Rose is involved, don’t you?’
The colonel looked grim. ‘Don’t you?’
Oliver swung his leg to the floor and got up from his seat. Then, scowling, he paced across the floor. ‘I suppose so.’
The colonel regarded him dourly. ‘It doesn’t bother you, does it?’ He paused. ‘You’re not——’ his mouth compressed as if he disliked having to ask the question ‘—in love with the girl, are you?’
Oliver’s expression was sardonic now. ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘No, I’m not in love with her, Colonel. But—I suppose I care about what’s going to happen to her. You can’t sleep with a woman for almost six months without feeling some responsibility.’
The colonel’s brows lowered above broad cheekbones, and he tapped an impatient finger on his desk. ‘Might I remind you that Rose Chen probably knew exactly what she was doing? You may feel that you seduced her, but our sweet little dragon lady was desperate for your body.’
Oliver’s lips twisted. ‘You know that, of course.’
‘I know that Hastings didn’t trust you. I know he’d have separated you if he could.’
Oliver frowned. ‘He knew about us?’
The colonel sighed. ‘Yes. Didn’t I tell you?’ But Oliver could tell from his manner that he’d made a mistake.
He came to rest his hands on the colonel’s desk, pushing his face close to that of his superior. ‘No, you bloody well didn’t,’ he retorted, his stomach tightening at the risks he had been taking. ‘God, Colonel, if Rose had been his mistress, Hastings could have had me killed!’
‘Oh, I think you’re exaggerating,’ muttered the colonel, but they both knew life was cheap among the criminal fraternity of Hong Kong. And if Hastings had been the man they’d thought him, disposing of a possible rival wouldn’t have proved at all difficult.
Oliver swore, loudly and succinctly, before withdrawing his hands from the desk. Then, pushing them into the pockets of his trousers, he gazed long and hostilely at his employer. ‘I’m dispensable, is that it?’ he asked at last, and Colonel Lightfoot uttered a frustrated oath before getting up from his desk.
‘No,’ he said wearily, coming round the desk. ‘For God’s sake, man, if I’d thought there was the slightest danger——’
‘Did you know Rose Chen was Hastings’ daughter? I mean—before his will was read?’
‘I—suspected it.’ The colonel sighed. ‘Oliver, I’m sorry if you think I should have been more honest with you. But I couldn’t risk your saying something that might have jeopardised the operation.’
Oliver’s mouth curled. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really.’ Colonel Lightfoot gazed at him unhappily, and then, when it became obvious that Oliver wasn’t going to buy that, he added heavily, ‘We wanted Hastings to show his hand.’
‘By killing me?’ Oliver found he was amazingly indifferent to the suggestion.
‘No, not by killing you.’ Colonel Lightfoot conversely was growing increasingly desperate. ‘Oliver—there was always a chance, a hope, that Hastings might attempt to recruit you.’
‘To recruit me?’
‘Of course.’ The colonel nodded. ‘If Rose Chen is involved, and, as I’ve told you, we think she is, isn’t it a natural progression? She wanted you; she wants you. If, as we surmise, she refused to give you up, Hastings must have realised it was the only way to guarantee your silence.’
Oliver was silent for a moment. Then, he said, ‘You hoped he would, didn’t you?’ He expelled his breath disbelievingly. ‘You gave me this assignment because you thought I’d be the fall guy. Hey,’ his voice harshened as he imitated the colonel’s voice, ‘why not give this one to Lynch? He’s an ex-junkie, isn’t he? He came out of Vietnam so screwed up, he didn’t know what day it is. So what if Hastings grinds him down? Once a junkie, always a junkie, that’s what I say!’
‘That’s not how it was,’ insisted the colonel heavily. ‘Dammit, Oliver, you know what I think of you; what I’ve always thought of you. You’re a fine man, and a damn fine soldier. I gave you this assignment because you were the best man for the job. And if Hastings hadn’t bought the farm we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’
‘No, we wouldn’t.’ Oliver flinched away from the reassuring hand the colonel attempted to lay on his shoulder. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, he added, ‘OK, Colonel, I’ll go to London. I’ll do what you want this time, but don’t fix any more assignments for me, right? Suddenly I’ve got a yen to see Maple Falls again. And, you know what? Even the idea of taking that job as an assistant district attorney doesn’t sound so bad after all. I guess I’m getting old. Too old to be—jerked off—by someone like you!’