“You looked very thoughtful, are you an art lover?” he asked, still looking at me strangely.
“Not really, but I was somewhat surprised to see them.”
“I’m told he has more at his country home sixty miles to the north. Have you been there?” he asked.
“No, I didn’t know he had two houses. I know almost no one here and am not really sure why I came,” I replied, still laying on the French Canadian accent as thickly as I could.
I knew I looked absolutely nothing like the old me and, after the good doctor’s handiwork on my vocal chords, plus the voice training, I knew I sounded very different as well. No matter what Maryanne may have told Harvey, he could be excused for not actually recognising the young woman with a modest cleavage displaying herself in a stunning evening dress as the same person as that sweaty and half-dead ex-soldier whom he rescued from the firing squad.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were someone I knew,” he said, taking half a step back.
Smiling gently, and trying to look like someone he didn’t know, I shook my head.
“D’accord, these sort of functions can confuse the best of us. Are you a business associate of Mr Pho’?” I asked.
“Um, I represent a company that seeks to do business with one of his companies,” he said, as vaguely as he could.
“Oh, an arms company?” I asked, trying to look innocent.
“Not exactly, more technology based information systems. And you, what brings you here? You don’t seem like most of the others.”
“I’m a fashion journalist. Mr Pho’ expressed an interest in some of my observations at the fashion show today, so perhaps I will get an inside track to an interview with one of Vietnam’s prime movers and shakers. I am, by the way, well aware that he has interests in many different fields of industry and commerce.”
Harvey nodded, glancing around. I could tell that he was now even more confused by my admitting to being a fashion journalist, for obviously that much had been told to him.
“There seem to be many of those interests represented here. I see a deputation from the Republic of Mgombi,” he said, nodding to the far corner of the living room.
Following his direction, I looked over and to my horror saw an individual I never really wanted to see again, unless it was through a telescopic sight of a high-powered rifle - President Malcolm Mombossu and his small entourage. Mombossu was talking to a large, florid white man in his sixties and a crumpled suit. I recognised him as the Russian Federation Ambassador.
“Oh,” I said, “and who are they?” I asked, all innocent. It took everything I had to maintain an even front and to show no emotion or reaction.
Harvey was staring at me intently, with his eyes half closed.
“Are you sure we haven’t met?” he asked.
“Quite sure, I’m Julianna Blanchard. And you?” I asked, holding my hand out.
Taking the hand in a firm, but warm clasp, he shook it slowly.
There was a moment’s hesitation, as his eyes widened in surprise. It was then I knew that he knew my new name, and was now trying to come to terms with what I looked like.
“Harry Jenner,” he lied.
It made me smile because I still didn’t know what Harvey’s real surname was.
“Nice to meet you, Harry.”
He took a lengthy swig of his drink. It looked like scotch or bourbon with lots of ice.
“You look amazing,” he said, very quietly.
“Why, thank you sir, you scrub up adequately, I must say,” I replied, sipping my wine and looking at him over the top of my glass. I tried to use my eyes to warn him not to say anything untoward, as the Australians would be doubly confused and my mission compromised if he came out with anything weird.
He laughed, shaking his head.
“Have you seen the garden?” he asked.
“Not properly. I did get to glance at it some time ago, but didn’t have the time to appreciate it properly.”
“Would you care to step outside and take a closer look?”
Smiling, I nodded, so he gestured that I should precede him out of the open patio doors.
The evening was cooling off, which was a relief, as it had been quite sticky. The air-conditioning system was working hard, but as the doors were open, it was losing the battle. Outside, it was a lovely evening, with a clear sky, displaying the stars. The ambient light from the city ruined the show slightly, but it was still very pleasant.
I looked down at the garden from the veranda. Harvey stood slightly behind me to my right. Both of us took in the tranquillity of the scene. My limited experience of the garden meant that I hadn’t appreciated the full effect of its design and beauty. Many different coloured lights had been placed in strategic locations, giving it an ‘other world’ feel to it. A few of the guests were walking along the paths and one could hear their muted laughter and conversations.
“I’m told it represents the journey through life,” he said.
“You mean like the Japanese gardens?”
“I think it’s an oriental thing.”
It was very relaxing, just taking in the sights and smells. There was a small stream running through the garden, winding its way through the trees and shrubs, with a series of cascades and waterfalls. The paths went alongside and over it several times, using small, ornate bridges. The willows were particularly effective, which, with the lights intelligently placed, made them almost look sentient.
I opened my evening bag and took out a pen. I wrote, ‘WIRE – NOT SAFE TO SPEAK’ on the palm of my left hand. Putting the pen away, I turned and showed him my hand, being careful to avoid the prominent CCTV cameras and their field of vision.
He frowned slightly, but then nodded.
“Shall we walk?” he suggested.
“Sure.”
The garden was big, covering at least an acre, but due to the twists and turns, with the trees and high banks of flowering shrubs, it seemed much bigger. Finally, we reached the raked pebbled area at the end of the garden, which was obviously representing the sea. I stopped and looked towards the crucial spot by the corner.
“Isn’t it lovely?” I said.
“Sure is. Although it seems quite out of place somehow.”
I smiled, nodding. “I know what you mean. I’ve seen some real nasty places not that far from here, so this is all a bit surreal.”
Harvey was having a hard time trying to make light conversation. It made me smile again, as he hadn’t been selected for his social graces, so this was tough on him. Add it to the fact he was probably trying to come to terms with me looking like a bimbo, it was no wonder small talk was suffering.
“So, where in the States are you from?” I asked.
“I was born and raised in Detroit, but I left as soon as I could.”
“Why?”
He glanced at me, trying to assess whether I was genuinely interested or just stringing him along. Shrugging slightly, he continued.
“It’s not the nicest city in the USA. The automobile industry seemed the only career option, or the military. I chose the military. As the automobile industry is suffering right now, I think I made the right decision.”
“How long did you do?”
“Long enough.”
I grinned at him, and set off along the small path by the wall, heading down towards the corner. On reaching the spot, I stared at the gravel, hoping that the bag was still down there.
I sat on the grass and grabbed a small handful of the small pebbles, running my fingers over them.