Peter May - The Fourth Sacrifice

It was dark outside, and Margaret was making progress on her second vodka tonic in the bar of the Ritan Hotel when Michael appeared. She had almost forgotten about him, so focused was she on the spectre of Li, and the prospect of his returning to haunt her on a daily basis until this crime was solved. Of course, she realised, he would probably feel that he was the one being haunted. She had contemplated refusal to co-operate with the embassy. She could have insisted that she wanted nothing further to do with the investigation and got the next plane back to the States, as originally planned. They had no means of forcing her to stay on. But she hadn’t. And she wondered whether it was simply that she was more afraid of what the future held for her back home, than of the barren status quo here in China. It was easier to do nothing and drift with the tide, than to fight against it. Better the devil you knew.

‘I’ll have what the lady’s having.’ Michael’s voice startled her out of her reverie. The barman moved away to prepare another vodka, and Michael perched on a bar stool beside her. ‘Can I get you another?’

‘You’ve heard then?’

‘Heard what?’

‘Three vodkas and I’m anybody’s.’

‘And one more for the lady,’ he called after the barman.

She smiled. ‘Of course, it’s not true.’

‘Oh.’ He feigned disappointment.

‘It takes at least four.’ She looked at her watch. ‘You’re early.’

‘I never keep a lady waiting,’ he said.

‘Never?’

He shrugged. ‘Well, of course, that all depends on the circumstances. There are certain things you wouldn’t want to rush.’

‘I agree.’ She drained her glass. Then, ‘It’s a long time since anyone gave me flowers.’

‘Did you like them?’

‘They were beautiful. I’m just not sure what they signified. Men always have such ulterior motives.’

‘And, of course, women never do.’

‘Of course they do. But women are more subtle. Flowers are a bit … how can I put it? … in your face.’

He thought for a moment. ‘Let’s just say they were an expression of my pleasure at hearing you were staying on — at least for another couple of days. I was just getting to know you the other night when you did your disappearing act. Like Cinderella.’

‘And you wondered if I’d turned into a pumpkin?’

He laughed. ‘That was her carriage, wasn’t it?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I’m not very up on my fairy tales.’ Their drinks arrived and they raised and touched glasses. ‘Cheers,’ she said. Then, ‘Oh, I know, she shed a glass slipper on the way out. That was it, wasn’t it? Then he went round trying it on all the women.’ She pulled a face. ‘I reckon he was a foot fetishist. I mean, how come he didn’t recognise her face?’ She took another gulp of vodka. ‘It’s like Lois Lane and Superman. He puts on a suit and a pair of glasses and she doesn’t know who he is. I mean, it’s ridiculous.’ She caught his expression and stopped, and laughed. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just so refreshing to be able to sit here and talk absolute crap. And be understood, and not have to worry about giving offence, or losing face, or breaching protocol … I’ve had nearly three months of it. You have no idea.’

He smiled. ‘Oh, I think I do,’ he said. ‘I love China and the Chinese dearly. But after six months here I just can’t wait to get home, see a movie, have a hot dog, take in a baseball game. And, yeah, talk crap and have people know what I’m talking about.’

‘Oh, my Ga-ad,’ a voice drawled excitedly. Michael and Margaret turned to find Dot McKinlay and a group of her Travelling Grannies arriving at the bar. Her face was flushed with excitement. She put her hand on Michael’s arm, almost unable to speak. ‘Do y’awl know who you are?’

Michael smiled. ‘Well, I did the last time I looked.’

Dot turned to Margaret. ‘It’s Michael Zimmerman. He’s on TV.’

‘Actually, he’s not,’ Margaret said, and Dot’s face fell. Michael looked puzzled.

‘What d’yawl mean?’ Dot said.

Margaret shook her head seriously. ‘Michael Zimmerman’s his twin brother. Well, actually, sister. But that was before she had her sex change. Or should I say “he”? Anyway Daniel and Michela — that’s what she called herself before she became Michael — they don’t get along. And Daniel doesn’t really like being mistaken for her — him.’ She finished her drink and took Michael’s arm. ‘Anyway, we were just going.’

Michael let himself be led away from the bar. He smiled and nodded at Dot’s Travelling Grannies, who looked at him as if he had two heads. They were almost at the door before Dot recovered herself and called after Margaret, ‘I thought y’awl were leaving today, Miss.’ There was the hint of accusation in this.

‘Had to stay on unexpectedly,’ Margaret called back. ‘To meet a man who’d lost his head.’

They made it through the front door and down the steps before their pent-up laughter exploded into the floodlit forecourt.

‘Jesus,’ Michael said. ‘So now I’m a sex-change twin!’

‘It’s OK,’ Margaret said, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. ‘It doesn’t show.’ Which sent them into a fresh fit of giggles. With the vodka, and the endorphins, Margaret hadn’t felt this good in a long time.

‘Do y’awl know who you are?’ Michael mimicked.

‘Oh, my God,’ said Margaret. ‘We’re being watched.’

And Michael turned to see Dot McKinlay’s Travelling Grannies glaring at them from the window of the bar. He took Margaret’s arm and hurried her out of the gate, past the brown-uniformed guards who were watching them suspiciously. A taxi driver looked hopefully in their direction, and on a wave from Michael jumped in and started up his car.

‘Have you eaten?’ Michael asked.

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘In return for my doing an autopsy for them, the embassy treated me to a slap-up meal. In the canteen. Which I had to pay for myself.’

‘Wow. These guys really know how to show a girl a good time.’

‘Don’t they just.’

He paused for a moment. ‘So how long are you staying on?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Could be a day, could be a week, could be a month.’ And she saw that this pleased him. ‘So where are you taking me?’

He opened the door of the taxi. ‘Somewhere a little special,’ he said, and he slid into the back seat beside her, then leaned forward to speak to the driver in what sounded to Margaret like fluent Chinese.

As he sat back she looked at him with admiration. ‘Your Chinese is fantastic,’ she said.

‘Not really.’ He shook his head solemnly. ‘Actually the driver speaks English. I briefed him before I came in to look like he knew what I was talking about.’

She was taken aback. ‘You’re kidding!’

He turned to her, straight-faced. ‘Yeah, I’m kidding.’ And then he grinned. ‘When I decided to specialise in the archaeological history of China at Washington University in St Louis, I figured I should really learn the language, too. There were more than twenty-five students when I started the class. At the end of the first year there were seven left — and I was the only non-ethnic Chinese among them.’

‘Everyone says it’s an incredibly hard language,’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘On paper it’s quite easy. The grammar couldn’t be simpler. Basically it’s all present tense. I go there today, I go there yesterday, I go there tomorrow. The problem begins when you start trying to speak it.’

‘It’s all in the tones.’

‘Yeah. You can apply four different tones to the same word and it’ll mean four different things. I used to practise a lot with this girl whose spoken Chinese wasn’t really very good. But she was a real doll, so I figured it was worth the sacrifice. Anyway, one day she says to me, “Do you want to have sex?” And I can’t believe my good luck. But there’s something about the way she says it that doesn’t quite convince me that’s what she means. That and the fact that she’s peeling an orange at the time.’ Margaret laughed. ‘So I ask her to repeat what she’d said. And she says it again. “Do you want to have sex?” To be honest, all I really wanted to say was “yes”. But I asked her to write it down instead. Sadly, there’s no ambiguity in written Chinese.’ He smiled to himself.