“Then what about tonight? Do you plan to attend the dance? Sometimes it’s easier, with a crowd.”
Marissa turned, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I only mean . . .” (but the problem was no one just said these things, especially not to strangers) “. . . that a buffer can be welcome, on these vacations where one is trapped in such close quarters with one’s husband. I would welcome your company, and I’m sure Laurence would love to talk more with Mr. Grodescu.”
“You’re very kind, Mrs. Li.” Marissa watched her as if from a far distance. “Too kind. Sticking your nose into business that is not yours is a very sure way to break it.”
“I don’t mean—”
“I’m sure you don’t.”
The bartender returned with their drinks and Marissa walked away, leaving Yukying to trail behind in misery. She’d insulted Marissa, surely. Assumed too much, pushed too hard. What if she’d ruined her chances? Worse yet, perhaps Marissa would go back and tell her husband?
As she worried herself into a state, the table played four more rounds until the staff announced the room needed to be turned over for the next activity. Yukying was the last to leave, picking up after everyone so the waiters had an easier time. As she stacked glasses, she heard a low voice to her right.
“What are you planning to do?”
Marissa hovered just behind her. Yukying kept facing the table, sweeping up peanut shells with her hand.
“Whatever I can to help my brother,” Yukying said honestly.
“Do you know what my husband does?”
“Yes.” Their voices barely rose above a whisper, though none of the men filing into the room had any interest in them. “Do you?”
Marissa’s laugh was jagged. “More than most.”
Yukying swallowed, then straightened and looked at the other woman. “Do you help him?”
“Never.” In her eyes Yukying saw the same anger that had overwhelmed her in bed yesterday: that cold burning that had no name.
“Then . . .” Yukying brushed the peanut dust off her hands and reached out; Marissa flinched visibly, then relaxed and let Yukying grasp her arm. “Believe me, all we want is to stop him from hurting my brother, or anyone else.”
Marissa shook her head. “He cannot be stopped.”
“That can’t be true,” Yukying said gently. “Marissa, why do you think that?”
Marissa grimaced against her tears. She shook her head again, unable to speak, but that was answer enough. What had this woman seen and suffered because of this man?
“Does he . . .” Yukying stumbled, but her gaze raked over Marissa as if looking for visible proof, and Marissa understood.
“He does not have to. If you know his business, you know why.” Marissa looked around nervously at the passengers settling in to listen to the horse races, then stepped forward. “You do not understand. He knows someone is closing in. He suspects all of you. He wanted me to get closer to you to learn more.”
Yukying swallowed. “What will you tell him?”
“That you are a stupid housewife who knows nothing. He will probably believe me.”
Yukying thought about the way Lucas Grodescu moved her around the dance floor. The way he’d looked at her. She wasn’t sure he’d believe anyone but himself.
“Can you tell me anything?” Yukying asked. She gently steered Marissa back toward the stairs to the bar. “Anything at all that might help us? We’re looking for photographs he’s carrying. Do you know where that is?”
“He has many papers. No photographs.”
“Are you sure? These are . . . special.”
Marissa searched Yukying’s face. Yukying tried to channel Tinseng, thinking of his resoluteness. He’d always taken on so much for others, and she hoped to show a sliver of that strength to Marissa.
“I have not seen any photographs,” Marissa said, “but I think he plans to follow one of your group. I am not sure who, or when, just that he said a Chinese man. And he has business in Barcelona. A meeting soon after we arrive, near a post office.”
“Thank you. Thank you, Marissa.”
“Don’t thank me. You will get yourself killed.”
“If there’s anything I can do—”
But Marissa was already gone. Yukying took a deep breath and pressed her palm onto the bar counter. Adrenaline drained from her body, and she started to shake.
A drink sounds very nice, she thought, and raised her hand to order another round.
PART FOUR
MAMA SAID
CHAPTER NINE
Four Days Ago. June 21, 1963. Málaga, Spain.
That night they sailed to Málaga, and after dinner Tinseng led everyone down to Cheuk-Kwan and Chiboon’s room to drink from the bottles Tinseng had charmed off one of the bartenders and play records on Chiboon’s portable record player. Chiboon taught them to play dominos— “You have to know how to play in New York, it’s a necessity”—and told them all about America, how it was and wasn’t like the place they’d heard so much about. In turn, Tinseng shared stories of Paris—sanitized for the crowd, of course, but fun nonetheless. Then Yukying asked Shan Dao about stories from Bern, and shockingly Jinzhao obliged her, painting a picture of the Swiss Alps that had them all making a pact to rent chalets next year.
