Lucy Gordon: And the Bride Wore Red

Norah had been eighteen when she’d met Edward, a young army-officer, nineteen when they’d celebrated his promotion by becoming engaged, and twenty when he’d died, far away in another country. She had never loved another man.

The bleak simplicity of the story shocked Olivia. Later she learned to set it beside her own parents’ superficial romances, and was equally appalled by both.

Had that lesson hovered somewhere in her mind when she too had fallen disastrously in love?

Looking back, she could see that her life-long cynicism about emotion, far from protecting her, had left her vulnerable. She’d determinedly avoided the youthful experiences on which most girls cut their romantic teeth, proud of the way her heart had never been broken because she’d never become involved. But it meant that she’d had no yardstick by which to judge Andy, no caution to warn her of signs that other women would have seen. Her capitulation to him had been total, joyful, and his betrayal had left her defenceless.

She’d fled, seeking a new life here in China, vowing never to make the same mistake again. From now on men would no longer exist. Neither would love, or anything that reminded her of ‘the whole romantic nonsense’ as she inwardly called it. And so she would be safe.

On that comforting thought, she fell asleep.

But tonight her sleep was mysteriously disturbed. Phantoms chased through her dreams, making her hot and cold by turns, causing her blood to race and her heart to pound. She awoke abruptly to find herself sitting up in bed, not knowing when it had happened, not knowing anything, except that suddenly there was no safety in all the world.

THE next day Olivia felt down from the moment she awoke. The sight of herself in the bathroom mirror was off-putting. Where was the vibrant young woman in her twenties with a slender figure, rich, honey-coloured hair and large blue eyes that could say so much?

‘I don’t think she ever really existed,’ she informed her reflection gloomily. ‘You’re the reality.’

She wondered if she might still be in shock from her nasty fall, but dismissed that as just making excuses.

‘I’m a hag,’ she muttered. ‘I look older than I am. I’m too thin, and my hair is just plain drab. I’ll be going grey next.’

The woman in the mirror stared back, offering not a glimmer of sympathy. Normally Olivia wore her wavy hair long and bouncy but today she pulled it back into an efficient-looking bun. It suited her mood.

The day continued to be glum for no apparent reason. Her students were attentive and well-behaved, lunch was appetizing and her friends on the staff made kindly enquiries as to her health. Mrs Wu even tried to send her home.

‘It’s a reaction to that fall,’ she said. ‘Go home and rest.’

‘Dong doesn’t seem to need rest,’ Olivia pointed out. ‘I actually had to stop him trying to climb that tree again.’

‘It’s up to you,’ the headmistress said sympathetically. ‘But feel free to leave when you feel like it.’

She stuck it out to the end of the day, tired and grumpy, wanting to go home yet not looking forward to the empty apartment. Finally she delivered some papers to the headmistress and slipped out of the building by a side door, instead of the main entrance that she would normally have used. Then she stopped, arrested by the sight that met her eyes.

Dr Mitchell was there.

Now she knew that this moment was always meant to happen.

He was sitting on a low wall near the main entrance. Olivia paused for a moment just as he rose and began to pace restlessly and look at the main door as though expecting somebody to come through it. Occasionally he consulted his watch.

She backed off until she was in shadow under the trees, but still able to see him clearly. She realised that her view of him the day before had been constricted by the surroundings of his office. He was taller than she remembered, not muscular, but lean with a kind of casual elegance that yet hinted at tension and control.

Yesterday he’d been in command on his own territory. Now he was uncertain.

She began to walk towards him, calling, ‘Can I help you?’

His face brightened at once, convincing her that she was the one he’d been awaiting. Mysteriously the day’s cares began to fall away from her.

‘I thought I’d drop in to see how my patients are,’ he said, moving towards her.

‘Do you always do follow-up visits from the clinic?’

He shook his head. His eyes were mischievous.

‘Just this time,’ he said.

‘Thank you. Dong has already gone home, but he’s fine.’

‘But what about you? You were hurt as well.’

‘It was only a few scratches, and I was cared for by an excellent doctor.’

He inclined his head in acknowledgement of her compliment, and said, ‘Still, perhaps I should assure myself that you’re really well.’

‘Of course.’ She stood back to let him enter the building, but he shook his head.

‘I have a better idea. There’s a little restaurant not far from here where we can talk in peace.’

His smile held a query, asking if she would go along with his strategy, and she hurried to reassure him, smiling in return and saying, ‘What a lovely idea!’

‘My car’s just over there.’

To her pleasure he drove to a place that had a look that she thought of as traditionally Chinese. Much of Beijing had been rebuilt in a modern style, but she yearned for the old buildings with their ornate roofs turning up at the corners. Here she found them glowing with light from the coloured lamps outside.

The first restaurant they came to was full. So was the second.

‘Perhaps we should try-’

He was interrupted by a cheerful cry. Turning, they saw a young man hailing him from a short distance away, and urgently pointing down a side street. He vanished without waiting to see if they followed him.

‘We’re caught,’ her companion said ruefully. ‘We’ll have to go to the Dancing Dragon.’

‘Isn’t it any good?’

‘It’s the best-but I’ll tell you later. Let’s go.’

There was no mistaking the restaurant. Painted dragons swirled on the walls outside, their eyes alight with mischief. Inside was small and bright, bustling with life and packed.

‘They don’t have any tables free,’ she murmured.

‘Don’t worry. They always keep one for me.’

Sure enough the man from the street reappeared, pointing the way to a corner and leading them to a small, discreet table tucked away almost out of sight. It had clearly been designed for lovers, and Lang must have thought so too, because he gave a hurried, embarrassed mutter, which Olivia just managed to decipher as, ‘Do you have to be so obvious?’

‘Why not?’ the waiter asked, genuinely baffled. ‘It’s the table you always have.’

Olivia’s lips twitched as she seated herself in the corner, but she controlled her amusement. Dr Mitchell was turning out to be more interesting than she would have guessed.

The restaurant was charming, the lanterns giving out a soft, red light, the walls covered in dragons. She regarded them in delight. Dragons had been part of her love affair with China ever since she’d discovered their real nature.

Raised in England, the only dragon she’d heard of had been the one slain by St George, a devil breathing fire and death, ravaging villages, demanding the sacrifice of innocent maidens, until the heroic knight George had overcome him and become the country’s patron saint as a result.

In China it was different. Here the dragon had always been the harbinger of good luck, wealth, wisdom, a fine harvest. Delightful dragons popped up in every part of life. They danced at weddings, promenaded in parades, breathing their friendly fire and spreading happiness. They were all around her now.