Stephen Knight - White Tiger

“Yes, I heard. I’m Maggie Shi.” She glanced at him again, but didn’t offer to shake hands. Manning let it go.

“Pleased to meet you. What’s your birth name?”

“My birth name?”

“Your Chinese name. I’d imagine Maggie isn’t your real name, right?”

She glanced at him again. “Most Americans wouldn’t ask that question,” she said. “They’d take what I gave them at face value.”

“I guess I’m not like most Americans.”

“Meihua,” she said after a moment.

“Beautiful Flower,” Manning said. “Or maybe, Beautiful Plum Blossom, depending on the interpretation.”

“Well done. You are certainly a scholar when it comes to names, Mr. Manning. Is this how you ingratiate yourself with Chinese ladies?”

She didn’t look at him when she said this, so he had no idea if she was joking. He glanced at her, but she rewarded him with only her profile.

“I spend most of my time in Japan, so there’s not a lot of opportunity to ingratiate any Chinese ladies, Ms. Shi.”

She stopped suddenly. Manning came to a halt and turned back to her. She looked at him speculatively, her features illuminated by the wan light sconces attached to the columns supporting the archway overhead.

“I did not mean to be rude,” she said suddenly. “If I sounded that way, I apologize. I don’t have much time for…for social interactions, I’m afraid.”

“It’s not a problem.” Manning offered his hand. “Let’s try again. I’m Jerome Manning.”

She smiled after a moment and accepted his hand. Her grasp was strong and warm.

“Shi Meihua,” she said. “You may call me Maggie, if you prefer.”

“Which do you prefer?”

Her smiled deepened after a moment, and she released his hand. “Shi Meihua would be interesting,” she said. “I never hear my name from foreigner’s lips.”

“An interesting way to phrase it, but very well-Shi Meihua it is.”

“Do you prefer Jerry or Jerome?” she asked.

“Either will do, and are preferable to Da Sha Gua ,” he said, using the Chinese expression for big fool. She laughed suddenly, eyes wide.

“Do you know what that means?” she asked incredulously. “Oh-of course you do. It’s so odd, hearing a foreigner say things like that!”

“I’m sure you’ve met your share of whites who speak Mandarin. It’s not a rarity these days.”

She nodded. “True-but very few of them try to use humor. Especially self-deprecating humor. The foreigners Ren Yun associates with are usually high-level businessmen looking to make inroads into China, or those who have to sustain the inroads they’ve already built.”

Manning nodded back the way they had come, where the two men were only vaguely visible. “He’s like Lin? A corporate exec?”

“No. He’s nothing like Lin Yubo.”

Manning raised an eyebrow. “Government service, then? A vice minister, perhaps?”

She adopted a fey expression and turned her face away from him slightly. “I’m really not able to say. What is it you do for Lin Yubo, Jerry?”

Manning grinned. “Whatever he tells me to do.”

She clasped her hands in front of her and looked at him again. “And is that difficult?”

“It depends on what he asks me to do.”

“You said you spend most of your time in Japan? Do you live there, or…?”

He nodded. “I have a residence there, but I also live over in San Francisco. Lots of flights to Japan from here, so it makes for a good home base. I presume you live in China?”

“Hong Kong. Have you been there?”

“Of course. I enjoy it there. Hong Kong’s a bit easier for a foreigner than Japan. It’s more like New York City, only the MTR tends to run on time.”

Meihua laughed. “That it does.” She looked past his shoulder at the big mansion. The courtyard was filling up now as people made their way to the bar.

“It’s interesting that even wealth as great as this is never enough to buy happiness,” she said after a pause.

“You think Lin Yubo is unhappy with his life?”

She looked at him again but didn’t answer immediately. She smiled softly after a time and took a step toward him.

“Do you intend to stay for dinner, Jerry?”

He shrugged. “I hadn’t planned on it, nor do I think I’ve been formally invited. It seems more of a closed affair.”

“I won’t be staying either,” she said. “Ren Yun has already informed me he will not be requiring any additional translation services tonight, as he will remain here with Lin Yubo.”

“Really.” Manning met her gaze for a moment, trying to get a read on her. He presumed that her occupation was a lonely one, as man like Yun Ren required much but usually gave little in return. And for the uninitiated, America could seem a cold, forbidding place.

“Have you seen much of San Francisco?” he asked.

She only shook her head, her eyes still on his. He caught a trace of her perfume, a subtle scent that reminded him of lilacs. The aroma was suddenly arousing, leaving his senses tingling.

“We should find the opportunity to change that, then.”

Ryker stopped his Malibu beside the guard station at the end of the gated driveway and handed the invitation to the security guard on duty. The man checked it against whatever was written on his clipboard, then motioned toward the driveway.

“Valets will take your car,” he said.

“Any chance they’ll lose it?” Ryker asked dryly.

The guard smirked and stepped back into his shack. Ryker took his foot off the brake and accelerated up the winding driveway. It was a long one, and it was not lost on Ryker that Lin had likely chosen the villa for its remoteness. He pulled up at the end of a long covered walkway and stepped out of the car. A Hispanic man in a red vest hurried toward him, and handed him a small card with the number 16 on it. Ryker wondered if a tip was in order, but if it was, the valet didn’t wait for it. He hopped inside Ryker’s car and drove away immediately. Ryker put his hands in his pockets and watched the taillights fade away for a moment, then slowly turned and regarded the mansion behind him. That it was huge and impressive was not surprising. He ambled up the walkway and showed his invitation to the man at the door, and was immediately granted entry. Ryker nodded his thanks and stepped inside the gigantic mansion.

The outright affluence of the entry hall alone was enough to take his breath away. Gleaming marble floors, gold lame on the ceilings, artful wainscoting abounded. Partygoers reveled deeper in the house, and a tuxedoed butler waved Ryker on.

“You’ll find most of the guests in the courtyard, sir.” With his pallor and accent, he could only be British.

“Thanks,” Ryker said. “Is Lin there, as well?”

The butler looked at him with vacant eyes. “Mr. Lin is also present, of course.”

Ryker nodded and headed down the long hallway, hands still in his pockets. He glanced at the artwork on the walls, and found he recognized some of the signatures. It appeared that Lin favored the finer things in life, even if some of those things were mere decorations. It was not lost on Ryker that his entire net worth might not even be enough to fill a simple 6 inch by 6 inch frame.

What the hell am I doing here, he asked himself, for the thousandth time. He knew the answer, of course. He just didn’t want to articulate it to himself. Still, it rose in his mind, completely against his will.

Because she might be here.

Slowly, his reluctant feet delivered him to the sprawling courtyard where most of the revelers had congregated. Some of them regarded Ryker with expressions that ranged from near-dismissal to outright interest. From his suit alone, it was obvious he did not fly in the same rarified air as they did. It didn’t take much to determine he was an outsider.