'Thank you.' He sat down and folded his arms across his chest. Now they were on the same level.

She waited. He took his time.

'Lydia, what you did last week was very wrong and your mother and I are deeply upset about your behaviour. You should be ashamed.' His brown eyes studied her. 'But I don't think you are. I have spoken to Wai and he tells me he hardly saw you all week and that you were always in the shed or in your room.' He glanced around him as if he might yet find Chang behind the door. 'Clearly you were with your Chinese friend. Is that correct?'

She nodded.

'And your friend is a fugitive Communist?'

She was more wary now.

'I do not intend to ask about the degree of . . . intimacy between you,' a red flush of embarra.s.sment made him pause, ' . . . but I trust you sufficiently to know that you . . . well . . . that you would not do anything unwise. Immoral or unchristian,' he added with sudden intensity.

'Alfred, he was ill. I nursed him. Is that unchristian?'

'Of course not, my dear. It is to be commended. The Good Samaritan, eh?'

'The Good Russian.'

It made him smile. 'Exactly.'

He was showing signs of beginning to relax. Only a little, but it was something. She picked up the coffee.

'Mmm, it's good,' she said. 'Thank you.'

He leaned back in the chair and unfolded his arms. 'What we have to discuss is where we go from here. I don't want to cause any of us unnecessary grief.'

She controlled her relief, keeping it from her eyes and her face. He was coming around.

'So I feel I must remind you of the promise you gave me in the teashop. Our bargain.'

Her relief ebbed away. She brushed a hand across her face to hide her disappointment. 'So what orders are you giving me?'

'Lydia, I don't like that tone of voice. I do not consider the word orders orders to be appropriate, but I am saying that you must not see this Chinese Communist again. It is too dangerous for you.' to be appropriate, but I am saying that you must not see this Chinese Communist again. It is too dangerous for you.'

'No. Please.'

'I insist.'

Lydia could feel her face slowly fall apart. She hid it in her hands.

There was a long silence in the room. Then he was on the bed beside her. 'There, there, my dear. It's for the best. Don't cry.' He patted her shoulder.

She wasn't crying. Just dying.

'Alfred,' she said through her fingers, 'how would you feel if I said you must never see my mother again?'

'That's different.'

'It's not.'

'Oh Lydia, my dear girl. You are too young to be going through such despair.'

'Please, Alfred. Let me see him.'

He stroked her head, and she knew by the touch of his hand he was going to say no. She sat up and suddenly smiled at him.

'Mama told me you want a baby.'

He blushed fiercely and looked away, at the snow on the sill outside where a sparrow was fluttering, its feathers ruffled against the cold.

'I think it's wonderful, Alfred.'

'Really?'

'Yes, I do.'

'Excellent.'

He was delighted. She could see it in his eyes, and it touched her that he should care what she thought.

'So how about another bargain?'

'Pardon?'

'A bargain again. I'll do everything I can to persuade Mama to come around to the idea of having a baby, if you . . .'

'No.'

'Let me say it. If you let me visit Chang An Lo while he's at Mr Theo's house.'

'Look, Lydia, I . . .'

'Mr Theo can always be in the room. We'd never be alone, I promise. Please. I need to see that he's getting better and is still safe.'

'I'm not happy about it.' He frowned at her, but his eyes were softer.

'It matters to me so much,' she said quietly.

He took a deep breath. Teetered on the edge.

'A baby would be lovely,' she urged.

His mouth widened into a smile, despite himself. 'You are a very persuasive young lady, you know.'

'So I can see him?'

'Oh, very well, Lydia. You can see him. No, don't look so elated. I will permit you only one visit and not until tomorrow when you are at school. To say good-bye.'

Lydia said nothing.

'I will speak to Willoughby and arrange it,' Alfred continued. 'Now, let that be an end to the matter.'

Lydia reached out and gently touched his hand on the eiderdown. 'Two visits, Alfred. Please let it be two visits?'

He surprised her by laughing. 'You are a strong-minded miss, aren't you? Very well. Two visits. Under Willoughby's strict supervision.'

'Thank you.'

He kissed the side of her head, less awkward than before. 'Right.' He stood up.

'And you'll speak to Mama? Make her say yes to my visits?'

'Yes, of course.'

'And I'll get her to agree to the baby. If you bought her a piano it would help.'

For a moment their eyes met, and both knew a bond had been formed. Alfred nodded to her, not quite certain what to say.

'Alfred,' Lydia said, 'for someone who has never been a father, you are very good at it.'

He blushed again and rubbed his chin self-consciously, but he was smiling as he left.

'Mama.'

No answer.

Valentina was holding a newspaper up in front of her face, but Lydia doubted that she was reading. It was her way of finding privacy. At intervals her foot in its velvet slipper would tap impatiently. Supper had been a stiff and stilted affair, but in the drawing room afterward Alfred had asked, 'Lydia, do you play chess?'

'Yes.'

'Would you like a game?'

'Yes.'

'Good show.'

He'd brought out a superb set of ancient ivory figures and proceeded to outmanoeuvre her with ease, but she learned from it. About the game. About him. And about herself. His patience was impressive but his mental discipline was too rigid, whereas she was impetuous. It was both her strength and her weakness. She needed to slow down.

'Thank you,' she said when her king lay flat on the board.

'You've the making of a good player, my dear, if only you would . . .'

'Think more before I move. I know.'

'Exactly.' He smiled at her, his brown eyes warm behind his gold spectacles. 'Exactly.' He left the room to put away the box of chess pieces.

'Mama.'

Slowly Valentina lowered the newspaper and looked coolly at her daughter.

'Did Liev Popkov know your family in Russia?'

Valentina's expression did not change, but Lydia could tell she was not pleased.

'He worked for my father. A long time ago,' Valentina said shortly and raised the paper again. Subject closed.

48.

Chang An Lo opened his eyes and saw her face. For a second he was sure it was another of the dreams of her that the G.o.ds granted him in his sleep, but he could feel her hand firm on his wrist and the tickle of her hair brushing the skin of his cheek as she bent over him.

'You are real,' he whispered.

She smiled, that wide wonderful smile that stole his heart from his chest, and instantly he knew this was no dream. She bent closer and kissed his mouth, her lips soft and inviting.

'That's to prove I'm real,' she murmured.

He held her close for a moment, felt her cool cheek against his hot face, breathed in the fresh outdoor smell of her hair and her skin, heard her blood pounding in his ears. So alive. So full of flames. To lose her would be like drowning in mud.

'How are you feeling?'

'Better.'

'You look feverish.'

'Inside I am better.' He reached out and touched the fires in her hair. 'The sight of you drives away the fever.'

She laughed and laid her head lightly on his chest. She kept it there. His fingers stroked the silky, unruly hair that any Chinese girl would have oiled and fixed flat with clasps or bound into tight knots. He loved the freedom of her hair.

'Lydia,' he said softly.

She lifted her head. 'We don't have long,' she murmured and glanced over her shoulder at the door.

It was open and the tall elegant figure of the schoolmaster in his black academic gown was leaning against it, but he was standing with his back to them, one of his foul-smelling cigarettes in his hand, a student's exercise book in the other. He made a point of reading it intently to indicate his ears were closed. Nonetheless they spoke in low voices.

'Your parents?'

'They have forbidden me to see you more than twice while you are here. But I didn't mention what might happen when you leave.' Her amber eyes were full of light. 'I have a suggestion.' Suddenly she was shy. But excited.