The Last Rose of Shanghai(44)

“A supper would be lovely.”

“Marvelous. Where would you like to meet?”

“How about in the Cathay Room?”



The next day, I arrived at the Cathay Room, embellished with a golden coffered ceiling and walls of intricate carvings, which many believed was the most luxurious restaurant in Shanghai.

Sassoon ordered a twelve-course meal. He chatted about his charity balls and fundraising parties, bemoaned the lack of beautiful-women attendees, and then boasted about a famous singer who shared his bed.

“What about the Japanese customers in your hotel? Have they bothered you?” I asked.

He dabbed his mouth with a black napkin and shook his head.

When the eighth dish, curry chicken, arrived on the table, I decided to talk about business. “I’ve been thinking about your proposal, Sir Sassoon. Your affection honors me so much. This is a dream for all girls in Shanghai, and you have made me the luckiest girl. I have no words for it.”

“A yes will be sufficient.”

I smiled. “I wonder, Sir Sassoon, if you would ever consider another type of partnership with me. A business partnership. I’ll sell you forty percent of the ownership of my club for one hundred thousand American dollars. It’s a fair price.”

He put down a bottle of chilled Bass pale ale and frowned.

I said, before he grew sour and unleashed a barrage of questions regarding my refusal of his proposal, “To express my gratitude for the partnership, I shall also be glad to consider a photo shoot, if you’re still interested.”

He picked up his ale, the frown loosening. “A photo shoot.”

“You’re still interested, aren’t you? This is to show my goodwill, and I shall ask for your goodwill, too, to pledge the photos will never appear in front of other people’s eyes.”

“Of course people will see them. I put my photos up for display. It’s art.”

I nearly dropped my fork. Imagine. Nude photos of me hung on a wall for everyone to see.

Sassoon sighed. “Fine, darling, if you insist. I shall honor your wish. Your photos will be private. I shall be glad to be your business partner even though you break my heart. You’ll still consider being my marriage partner in the future?”

I nodded. “Of course I will. When will you consider drafting the contract?”

“I shall have it drafted in a few days. And you know my penthouse is the safest place in China. No one could enter it without my permission.”

That I believed.

He extended his hand, and I shook it. “I’ll see you when the contract is ready.”

I had just let go of the chance to become Asia’s wealthiest woman, yet I had no regret. With the contract, I would be able to protect my business and Ernest. If Yamazaki threatened me to turn in Ernest, I could refuse.





34


ERNEST


On a late afternoon, he was about to enter the hotel when he saw Jyo’s familiar giant figure on the sidewalk, his hand on his Webley, watching two Japanese soldiers hopping onto a motorcycle. Before Ernest could call out, Jyo turned around and disappeared.

The Sikh police had been ordered to disband, Ernest was aware, and he wondered how his friend still possessed his gun. At least Jyo was safe.

Ernest slipped through the revolving door and headed toward the Jazz Bar at the end of the lobby. He stopped midway, catching that lovely face of hers standing in front of the elevator wearing the black mink coat with tuxedo collar, her hair styled in neat ringlets around her face, her lips—the lips he had longingly kissed—the color of a red rose. Her quiet beauty was catching light, attracting the gaze of the guests, but her most avid admirer, it appeared, was Sassoon, who took her arm, his mustache flying wide like wings, and ushered her inside the elevator. Ernest faintly heard the murmur of studio across the lobby.

He wouldn’t have given it a second thought had it not been for Aiyi’s nervous smile, the unusual jittery movement of her hands, and the triumphant look on Sassoon’s face, like the one he often had when he marched toward the elevator with those scantily clad Russian dancers. The thought jumped into Ernest’s head, blinding him, like a camera’s flash.

Suddenly he disliked the Briton, his fine black suit; his long, thick eyebrows; his suaveness and confidence; and even his friendliness. Ernest skidded toward the elevator just as it started to close, just as she raised her head and caught sight of him. No! Come back.

As if hearing his thoughts, Aiyi took a step forward inside the elevator, but the door clicked shut.





35


AIYI


I was glad the door was shut, glad Ernest couldn’t stop the elevator. And the look in his eyes, as if he knew. For a moment I thought to confess my plan to him. Yet that would be a disaster. What man would like to imagine his lover naked in front of another man?

“He saw us,” I said.

“Ernest? He plays good piano but also has a sharp mind. One day he’ll be a great businessman,” Sassoon said.

“Did you tell him anything?” I asked.

“Of course not. You must trust me, darling. I am a man of my word.”

The elevator stopped at the eleventh floor, and Sassoon, in his usual intriguing manner, held the door open with one hand. “Shall we?”

I stepped into his penthouse, the safest place in Shanghai.