Part 52 (1/2)

'No, I'm not. It would be perfect. And I'd help you.'

'What do you know about babies?'

'Nothing, but I'd learn. Oh please, Mama, say yes. Tell Alfred. Yes. And he'd pay for an amah amah to do all the mucky work, so it wouldn't be too hard on you and I'd sing to him, or to her, the way you used to when . . .' to do all the mucky work, so it wouldn't be too hard on you and I'd sing to him, or to her, the way you used to when . . .'

'Stop. Stop right now, little one.' Valentina chafed Lydia's hand between her own and said with an odd little grimace, 'I had no idea. That you would react like this. Are you so lonely?'

'No. But it would be . . . special. A brother or sister to love.'

'As good as your filthy rabbit, you mean?'

Lydia grinned at her. 'Not quite. But nearly.'

'G.o.d preserve me.'

They laughed together and for a moment Lydia thought seriously of telling her the truth about the shed. But with a sudden switch of mood her mother's eyes widened in horror. She jumped to her feet and faced Lydia with hands on hips.

'It's not that Serov boy, is it?'

'What?'

'Sweet Christ, I saw him drive away as we arrived home yesterday. Tell me he's not the one who has got you wagging your tail like a b.i.t.c.h in heat.'

'Mama! Don't be . . .'

'Tell me.' Valentina seized Lydia's wrist and yanked her to her feet. 'Not him. You stay away from him.'

'No, of course it's not him.' She s.n.a.t.c.hed back her wrist and rubbed it. 'I can't stand Alexei Serov.'

Valentina narrowed her eyes again and glared at Lydia. 'Oh, dochenka. dochenka. G.o.d strike your tongue black. How do I know when to believe you? You are such a good liar.' G.o.d strike your tongue black. How do I know when to believe you? You are such a good liar.'

The doorbell rang.

Too many voices. That's what alarmed Lydia. This couldn't be a visit by one of Alfred's friends because they would all expect him to be still on his honeymoon. No, this was something else. Something worse. Silently she moved out onto the landing and peered over the polished banister rail to stare down into the hall. That's when her lungs seemed to collapse inside her. This wasn't just worse. This was as bad as it could get. The narrow s.p.a.ce was full of uniforms.

'I'm sorry, Mr Parker,' the English policeman with the pips on his shoulder was saying, 'I do understand your objections but I'm afraid we have authority to search your premises.' He held out a piece of paper to Alfred.

Alfred took the doc.u.ment but didn't even glance at it.

'This is a d.a.m.ned disgrace,' he complained sternly.

Lydia slipped down the stairs. Panic made her fast but it was impossible to sneak past them. Valentina was standing just behind Alfred and grabbed at her daughter's arm.

'Oh, Lydochka, what excitement! A whole pack of them. Like wolves.'

There were four English police officers filling up the hall, burly figures with polite manners but hard eyes, and snowflakes melting on their dark-blue shoulders. But it was what was outside that frightened Lydia. Five soldiers. Grey uniforms. The Kuomintang sun on their caps. Chinese troops. Waiting patiently out in the snow with cold, impa.s.sive faces.

Voices blurred. She had to get out. Now. Right now.

'Mama, what are they searching for?'

'A Communist, it would seem. A Chinese troublemaker.

Some malicious creature has made up a story that's he's in hiding here. In our house, for G.o.d's sake. As if we wouldn't notice. Isn't that utterly absurd?' She started to laugh but as she looked at her daughter's expression, it died in her throat. She pulled Lydia to the back of the hall. 'No,' she breathed. 'No.'

'Mama,' Lydia whispered with an urgent squeeze of her mother's hand, 'you must make Alfred keep them here. Longer. I need time.' She squeezed again, hard. 'Do you understand?'

Valentina's face was as white as the snow on the doorstep, but she stepped closer to her husband again and slipped an arm around his waist. 'Angel,' she purred, 'why don't you invite these smart officers to come into the . . . ,' she glanced at the drawing-room door but to Lydia's relief seemed to recollect what the French windows looked out on, ' . . . into the dining room for a drink and we can discuss this situation prop-'

'No, my dear.' Alfred's mouth was drawn in a straight angry line. 'Let them get this intrusion over and done with.'

'Thank you, sir,' the officer said formally. 'We will disturb you as little as possible.'

'No, Alfred, darling. I think this is . . . unacceptable.'

Something in her voice made him look at her. Even through her panic Lydia was impressed. He saw what was in his wife's eyes, frowned, and touched his spectacles as if about to clean them, but didn't. Instead he cast a quick glance at Lydia, and then did no more than cover the moment with a cough and turn back to the dark uniforms.

'On second thought, I think my wife is right. How dare you come barging into my home for no reason? This needs more discussion. '

'Sir, I have already given you the reason. We are cooperating with our Chinese colleagues, as it is out of their jurisdiction here in the International Settlement. There really is nothing further to discuss.'

Alfred drew himself up, stiff as a board. 'I must dispute that. And I will take it up in my next report for the Daily Herald. Daily Herald.' He waved a hand in Lydia's direction. 'Leave us, Lydia.' To the officer he said loftily, 'I don't want my daughter involved in this . . . fiasco.'

Mentally Lydia pulled out every single pin she'd stuck into the A on the sheet of paper last night. Without a word she left the hall.

'The soldiers. They're here. Quick.'

But he was already moving. He had risen instantly from the blankets but swayed on his feet, fighting for balance. His dark eyes blinked hard.

For one brief second she reached out and kissed him. 'That's for strength.' She smiled.

'You are my strength,' he said, then seized his jacket. He was otherwise fully dressed, even wearing his boots. Prepared for this moment.

She scooped up the satchel that she had packed with his medicines last night and put an arm around his waist. 'Let's go.'

'No.' The fever had dulled his eyes but not his brain. 'Cover our tracks.' He gestured at the blankets.