And the Bride Wore Red. Lucy GordonЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.
Perhaps that was why she suddenly felt better than she’d done all day. There surely couldn’t be any other reason.
Looking at a dragon painted onto a mirror, she caught sight of her own reflection and realised that her hair was still drawn back severely, which no longer felt right. With a swift movement she pulled at the pins until her tresses were freed, flowing lusciously again, in keeping with her lighter mood.
The dragon winked at her.
While Dr Mitchell was occupied with the waiter, Olivia remembered a duty that she must perform without delay. Whenever she was unable to make computer contact with Norah she always called to warn her so that the old woman wouldn’t be left waiting in hope. Quickly she used her mobile phone and in a moment she heard Norah’s voice.
‘Just to let you know that I’m not at home tonight,’ she said.
‘Jolly good,’ Norah said at once, as Olivia had known she would say. ‘You should go out more often, not waste time talking to me.’
‘But you know I love talking to you.’
‘Yes, I do, but tonight you have more important things to think of. At least, I hope you have. Goodnight, darling.’
‘Goodnight, my love,’ Olivia said tenderly.
She hung up to find her companion regarding her with a little frown.
‘Have I created a problem?’ he asked delicately. ‘Is there someone who—’ he paused delicately ‘—would object to your being with me?’
‘Oh, no! I was talking to my elderly aunt in England. There’s nobody who can tell me who to be with.’
‘I’m glad,’ he said simply.
And she was glad too, for suddenly the shadows of the day had lifted.
‘Dr Mitchell—’
‘My name is Lang.’
‘And mine is Olivia.’
The waiter appeared with tea, filling Olivia’s cup, smiling with pleased surprise as she gave the traditional thank-you gesture of tapping three fingers on the table.
‘Most Westerners don’t know to do that,’ Lang explained.
‘It’s the kind of thing I love,’ she said. ‘I love the story too—about the emperor who went to a teahouse incognito with some friends and told them not to prostrate themselves before him because it would give away his identity. So they tapped their fingers instead. I don’t want to stand out. It’s more fun fitting in.’
When the first dishes were laid out before them, including the rice, he observed her skill using chopsticks.
‘You really know how to do that,’ he observed as they started to eat. ‘You must have been in China for some time.’
He spoke in Mandarin Chinese and she replied in the same language, glad to demonstrate that she was as expert as he.
‘About six months,’ she said. ‘Before that I lived in England most of the time.’
‘Most?’
‘I’ve always travelled a lot to improve my languages. They were all I was ever good at, so I had to make the most of them.’
‘How many languages do you speak?’
‘French, German, Italian, Spanish…’
‘Hey, I’m impressed. But why Chinese?’
‘Pure show-off,’ she chuckled. ‘Everyone warned me it was difficult, so I did it for the fun of proving that I could. That showed ‘em!’
‘I’ll bet it did,’ he said admiringly, reverting to English. ‘And I don’t suppose you found it difficult at all.’
‘Actually, I did, but I kept that to myself. You’re the only person I’ve ever admitted that secret to.’
‘And