Peter May - The Fourth Sacrifice

She took a forkful of soft white flesh and crispy skin, dipping it in the juices before taking her first, tentative taste. The flavours filled her mouth, rich and spicy and sweet. ‘It’s wonderful,’ she said, and washed it over with a sip of wine. ‘So … you do this often, do you?’

‘I’ve made the trip a few times,’ he said. He paused before adding, ‘But this is the first time I’ve had company.’

‘So what’s it like?’ Margaret asked. ‘Xi’an.’

‘Ah,’ said Michael, his eyes widening. ‘Don’t get me started on my favourite subject or we’ll be here all night.’

‘We’re here all night anyway,’ Margaret said. And, then, with a twinkle, ‘Unless you had something else in mind.’

He met her eye very directly, and held her gaze for what seemed like a very long time. The butterflies that had earlier fluttered in her breast were now swarming in her stomach, and she felt the first faint stirrings of desire. ‘Xi’an,’ he said suddenly. ‘Capital of Shaanxi Province. The beginning, and the end, of the Silk Road. Founded before the birth of Christ, and the capital of China for more than eleven hundred years. Once known as Chang’an — the city of everlasting peace — it became the city of western peace, Xi’an, more than six hundred years ago.’ And his eyes shone. ‘All my life, Margaret, I have wanted to reach out and touch the past, to feel history and run it through my fingers. Like desert sand. In Xi’an I can do all that at a single point in space and time.’

Margaret said, ‘Yes, but do they have a McDonald’s?’ And for a moment she wondered if she had misjudged his sense of humour. Then he burst out laughing.

‘You know, for everything I know about Xi’an, that’s one thing that’s escaped me. They do have a Kentucky Fried Chicken, though, I can tell you that. The Colonel and I go back a long way.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ She stuffed some more fish in her mouth. ‘The fish is fantastic, by the way. Don’t think I don’t appreciate this.’ She took another sip of wine. ‘What’s the Silk Road?’

‘It was a trade route,’ he said, ‘covering thousands of miles across some of the most barren and inhospitable terrain in the world.’ He refilled their glasses. ‘The peoples of the Middle East and Central Asia sent great caravans of traders to bring back the mysterious silk from China. Only the Chinese knew how to make it. The route was flourishing at a time when the Chinese and Roman empires were in full bloom, each with only the vaguest notion of the other’s existence. Before the Silk Road ultimately led to Rome, the Romans thought the Chinese grew silk on trees. Their name for it was serica, and they called the people who made it the Seres, or Chinese. The silk people.’ By now he’d forgotten about his fish. ‘The thing about the Silk Road is that it brought all manner of culture and literature and religion to China. Chinese Buddhism took root in Xi’an, carried from India on ancient scriptures. At one time the old city had a population of more than two million, including foreigners from Arabia, Mongolia, India, Malaya. You will see the influence of their facial features tomorrow in the faces of the Terracotta Warriors.’

‘Your fish is getting cold,’ Margaret said, nodding towards his plate.

‘Oh. Yes.’ He awoke almost is if from some distant dream, and began attacking his fish again.

‘I guess that must be why you’re not married,’ she said, and he looked at her, frowning his consternation. ‘You reserve all your passion for your history and archaeology.’

‘Not all of it,’ he said, and took another mouthful of fish. ‘Anyway, what makes you think I’m not married?’

Her fork paused midway to her mouth, and the piece of fish on it fell back to the plate. She blushed, caught completely unawares. He leaned forward and gently wiped her blouse with his napkin where soy had splashed from her plate. ‘That’ll stain,’ he said.

But Margaret was oblivious. ‘You’re married?’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Who told you that?’

‘You bastard!’ She grinned and blushed again, only this time with embarrassment. ‘Never?’

‘Never. I did live with someone for nearly ten years. She was an actress.’

‘Anyone I’d know?’

‘I doubt it. She had bit parts in movies and TV shows, but mostly she worked in theatre. She did well for a few years. We hardly saw one another. It was only when she started getting unemployed and we got to spend more time in each other’s company that the relationship started falling apart. Turns out we never really knew one another at all. The relationship had been … how can I describe it? … convenient. But there comes a time when you look for more than that.’

‘And are you anywhere near finding it?’

He shrugged. ‘Who knows? I’m still looking.’

Their eyes held again for a few moments before hers flickered back down to her plate and she picked the final pieces of fish from the bone.

He said, ‘What about you? I see you’re wearing a ring.’

Her right hand went instinctively to the band of gold on her wedding finger. She wasn’t sure why she still wore it. For protection, perhaps. Men were more guarded in their approach to a woman wearing a wedding ring. ‘I was married for seven years,’ she said. ‘His name was Michael, too.’

‘Oh,’ he said. And she saw the colour rising on his cheeks this time. ‘I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that.’

‘You’re not supposed to feel anything. You’re nothing like him.’

‘Divorced?’

‘Separated,’ she said. And then, after a long moment, ‘By death.’

He was clearly shocked. ‘Oh. I’m so sorry, Margaret. I had no idea.’

‘Don’t be. I’m not. It’s history. And I don’t really want to talk about it.’

They concluded their meal in silence then. Somehow a spell had been broken. Margaret declined the cheese, saying she was too full. But they finished the wine, sitting staring out into the darkness, trying to focus beyond their reflections in the glass. Margaret was angry at allowing herself to be ambushed again by the man who had already brought so much pain and misery to her life. She wondered if she would ever be able to excise him finally from her mind, to prevent him from creeping up on her when she least expected it and dumping all his misery on her once more.

The champagne and the wine was having its effect. She felt sleepy and sad, and when Michael slipped across the compartment to sit beside her, she allowed him to pull her gently into his shoulder and close his hand around hers. It was comforting and warm, and she smelled his patchouli, and something in its musky sweetness was distantly arousing. She felt his breath on her forehead and she inclined her head to find his face very close to hers. His eyes, earnest and deep, seemed somehow filled with genuine concern, and she felt safe in his arms, and contented in a way she had not known for a long time. He lowered his head and kissed her. Not a kiss full of passion, but a long, lingering soft kiss full of care and tenderness. She responded, savouring the taste and the smell of him. She ran a hand through his fine, shiny brown hair, and was alarmed suddenly by a sexual awakening that came from somewhere deep inside her. And she remembered Li’s firm, hard body pressed into hers in that distant railway carriage.

She pulled away, flushed and a little breathless. ‘I’m sorry, Michael. I don’t think I’m ready for this.’

He looked at her for a long moment, then smiled and brushed her hair out of her face. ‘It’s OK, Margaret,’ he said. ‘If there’s one thing you learn as an archaeologist, it’s patience. It can be a lifetime, or a millennium, before you finally get what you’re looking for.’ He paused. ‘You tired?’ She nodded.