Jack Higgins - Year Of The Tiger

“How I agree with you, comrade,” Captain Tsen said feelingly, “but the Central Committee in Peking has ordained other methods for the time being.”

“Then more fools they.” Chavasse got to his feet. “If you’ve no more questions for the moment, I’d like to make a move. I could do with a hot bath and some decent food.”

Captain Tsen looked bewildered. “But where do you intend to go? I shall naturally have quarters provided for you here.”

Chavasse allowed himself to thaw a little. “That’s very kind of you, Captain, but I’ve been hoping that Hoffner would put me up. After all, he’s the man I’ve come to see.”

A great light dawned for Tsen and he jumped to his feet, his face wreathed in smiles. “Ah, but I see now! You have come to Changu to do an article on the good doctor for your newspaper?”

“I can’t think of anything else that would have brought me here,” Chavasse told him. “I heard about Doctor Hoffner in Lhasa and he seemed to me to be a most extraordinary man.”

“But he is. He is indeed, comrade,” Tsen said. “The peasants worship him, and this helps our cause enormously.” He reached for his cap. “I will conduct you to his house personally.”

Chavasse found himself frowning. “The good doctor approves of your work here then?”

Tsen nodded. “But of course. He is a great humanitarian. He and the colonel are close friends. They play chess together.”

They paused in the office and he spoke rapidly to the corporal, who grabbed his cap and ran at once from the room. “I have sent him on ahead to warn Comrade Stranoff that we are coming.”

“Stranoff?” Chavasse said with a frown as they went downstairs.

“Doctor Hoffner’s housekeeper,” Captain Tsen explained. “Her father was Russian, her mother Chinese. A wonderful woman.”

There was a sudden warmth in his voice and Chavasse stifled a smile. “I shall look forward to meeting her.”

He managed the briefest of nods to Joro as the Tibetan climbed into one of the rear seats to make room for Tsen and they drove out of the courtyard and through the narrow streets. They passed through the bazaar, where merchants sat with their carpets and bootmakers and silversmiths worked in the open at their trade. People scattered hurriedly as Chavasse sounded his horn, and sullen, unfriendly glances weredirected towards them.

Hoffner’s house was one of the largest in town. It was a three-storeyed, flat-roofed building surrounded by a high wall, and Chavasse drove through the gate at Tsen’s direction and braked to a halt in the courtyard.

He switched off the engine, climbed from behind the wheel and started up the steps to the front porch, Tsen just behind him. At that moment, the door opened and a young, slightly built woman stepped out to greet him.

She wore narrow quilted pants and a Russian-style shirt in black silk edged with silver, buttoned high about her neck. Her hair was quite fair, but her skin had that creamy look peculiar to Eurasian women, her lips an extra fullness that gave her a faintly sensual air.

She had the breathtaking beauty that one always associates with simplicity and Chavasse shivered suddenly and for no accountable reason, as if somewhere, someone had walked over his grave.

She stood before him looking steadily and gravely into his face and then she smiled and it was as if a lamp had been lit within her.

“It is good to see you here,” she said in Russian.

Chavasse moistened dry lips. “I am glad to be here,” he replied, and as she led him into the house, he was surprised to find that he genuinely meant it.

The room was obviously one of the best in the house. The walls were covered in painted plaster and sheepskin rugs were scattered across the wooden floor. Most important of all, the bed looked extremely comfortable.

Immersed in hot water up to his neck, Chavasse leaned back in the large wooden tub by the open fireplace, smoked one of his Russian cigarettes and thought about Katya Stranoff.

She was certainly one hell of a woman, but he was going to have to tread carefully. It seemed quite evident that she was pleased to see him, mainly because the Russian element in her nature was uppermost and she considered herself to be a Westerner, an alien in a strange land.

He wondered how she managed for suitable male companionship. Heaven knows, Hoffner was too old for her, but Captain Tsen had made no secret of his regard, and there was always Colonel Li, an unknown quantity in more ways than one.

The door opened and Joro entered, carrying a neat bundle which he placed on a chair. He squatted beside the tub and grinned. “The woman told me to bring you fresh clothing.”

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” Chavasse said. “Are they treating you all right?” Joro nodded. “I’m sleeping in the kitchen, which is warmer than the stables at least.” He frowned and shook his head. “There have been changes since I was last here.”

Chavasse reached for a towel, stood up and started to dry himself roughly. “In what way?”

“There’s no longer anyone here I know, which in some ways is a good thing, and I’d never met the Stranoff woman before today. There are only two servants now, a man and his wife.”

“And why should that worry you?”

“Because they’re both Chinese and they don’t care for Tibetans – they’ve made that plain enough already.”

“And you think they’re working for Colonel Li?”

Joro nodded. “One can’t be certain, but I think you’ll have to be very careful.”

“Don’t worry,” Chavasse said with feeling. “I intend to be.”

He dressed quickly in the clothes which Katya Stranoff had sent up. There was a black silk Russian shirt like the one she had been wearing, a pair of quilted pants and a heavy woollen sweater.

He examined himself carefully in the mirror, combed back his hair and turned to Joro. “How do I look?”

Joro grinned. “Very pretty. I’m sure she’ll be impressed.”

“Let’s hope so,” Chavasse told him. “It might prove to be important. You’d better go back to the kitchen now. I’ll see you later.”

As Chavasse was going downstairs, a door clicked open and Katya Stranoff crossed the hall. She paused as she heard his foot on the stairs and glanced up, and her eyes sparkled in the lamplight.

She was wearing a Chinese sheath dress of heavy black silk embroidered with scarlet poppies, which fitted her lithe body like a second skin. It buttoned high about her neck, and two discreet vents on each side of the skirt gave him a glimpse of slender legs as she moved to greet him.

“You certainly look better for the bath. All you need now is a drink and a decent meal.”

“I’d love both,” he said, “but first, would it be in order for me to compliment you on that astonishing dress?”

He could have sworn that she blushed, but in the lamplight it was difficult to be sure. She took his arm and smiled. “Doctor Hoffner is waiting to meet you.”

She opened the door and led the way into a large and comfortable room. The walls were shelved from ceiling to floor and packed with books, and a table in the centre was laid for a meal. A pleasant fire burned on the large open hearth and flames danced on the shiny surface of a grand piano which stood against one wall by the window. The whole room possessed a wonderful air of peace and tranquillity.

The man who had been sitting reading in a chair by the fire turned and got to his feet. Wearing an old corduroy jacket and an open-neck shirt, he was one of the largest men Chavasse had ever seen, with a great breadth of shoulder and hair like a snow white mane swept back behind his ears. But it was the remarkable eyes which most impressed Chavasse. They were dark and deep and full of a tremendous serenity.