Ben laughed. "No, I shouldn't. But I am."
The man took a step toward him, then stopped, frowning, trying, without asking, to ascertain how much Ben knew. "If you would leave now ..." "Of course. I've seen all I needed to see." The Han's face twitched. "You misunderstand . . ."
Ben shook his head. "Not at all, Tung T'an. You see, I knew. I've known for some time. But not how. Or where. All this. . ." he indicated the files. "It just confirms things for me."
"You knew!" Tung T'an laughed and shook his head. "Knew what, Shih Shepherd? There's nothing to know." "As you wish, Tung T'an."
He saw the movement in the man's eyes, the assessment and reassessment. Then Tung T'an gave a reluctant nod. "You were never meant to see any of this. It is why—"
"Why you kept the Shepherd males away from here." Ben smiled. "Wise. To make it all seem unimportant. Women's business. But old Amos wasn't quite so thorough here, was he?"
"I'm sorry?"
Ben shook his head. No, Tung T'an knew nothing of just how thorough Amos could be when he wanted to. The old town was an example of that, complete down to every last detail. But this—in a sense this was a disappointment. It was almost as if. . .
He laughed, for the first time seriously considering the idea. What if Amos had wanted one of them to discover all this? What if that, too, were part of the plan—a kind of test?
The more he thought of it, the more sense it made. The boarded-up old house, the hidden room, the enclosed garden, the lost journal. None of them were really necessary unless they were meant to act as clues—doors to be passed through until the last door was opened, the final revelation made. No. You did not preserve what you wished to conceal. You destroyed it. And yet. . .
And yet he had stumbled on this by accident. Coming here had not been his doing, it had been Meg's. Unless . . .
She had come a week early. Why? What reason could she have had for doing that. A week. Surely it would have made no difference?
Tung T'an was still staring at him. "You place me in an impossible situation, Shih Shepherd."
"Why so, Shih Tung? Think of it. You can't erase what I've seen, or what I know. Not without destroying me. And you can't do that." He laughed. "After all, it's what all of this here is dedicated to preserving, isn't it? You have no other function."
Tung T'an lowered his head. "Even so—"
Ben interrupted him. "You need say nothing, Tung T'an. Not even that I was here. For my own part I will act as if this place did not and does not exist. You understand me?" He moved closer to the Han, forcing him by the strength of his will to look up and meet his eyes. "I was never here, Tung T'an. And this conversation ... it never happened."
Tung T'an swallowed, aware suddenly of the charismatic power of the young man standing before him, then nodded.
"Good. Then go and see to my sister. She's like me. She doesn't like to be kept waiting. Ah, but you know that, don't you, Tung T'an? You, of all people, should know how alike we Shepherds are."
MEG SAT across from Ben in the sedan, watching him. He had been quiet since they had come from the clinic. Too quiet. He had been up to something. She had seen how flustered Tung T'an had been when he'd returned to her and knew it had to do with something Ben had said or done. When she'd asked, Ben had denied that anything had passed between him and Tung T'an, but she could tell he was lying. The two had clashed over something. Something important enough for Ben to be worrying about it still.
She tried again. "Was it something to do with me?" ;
He looked up at her and laughed. "You don't give up, do you?"
She smiled. "Not when it concerns you."
He leaned forward, taking her hands. "It's nothing. Really, sis. If it were important, I'd tell you. Honest."
She laughed. "That doesn't make sense, Ben. If it's not important, then there's no reason for you not to tell me. And if it is, well, you say you'd tell me. So why not just tell me and keep me quiet."
He shrugged. "All right. I'll tell you what I was thinking about. I was thinking about a girl I'd met here. A girl called Catherine. I should have met her, two hours back, but she's probably given up on me now."
Meg looked down, suddenly very still. "A girl?"
He squeezed her hands gently. "A friend of mine. She's been helping me with my work."
Meg looked up at him. He was watching her, a faint, almost teasing smile on his lips. "You're jealous, aren't you?"
"No—" she began, looking down, a slight color coming to her cheeks, then she laughed. "Oh, you're impossible, Ben. You really are. I'm curious, that's all. I didn't think. . ."
"That I had any friends here?" He nodded. "No. I didn't think I had, either. Not until a week ago. That's when I met her. It was strange. You see, I'd used her as a model for something I was working on. Used her without her knowing it. She was always there, you see, in a cafe I used to frequent. And then, one day, she came to my table and introduced herself."
A smile returned to her lips. "So when are you going to introduce her to me?" He looked down at her hands, then lifted them to his lips, kissing their backs. "How about tonight? That is, if she's still speaking to me after this morning."
BEN was sitting with Meg in the booth at the end of the bar when Catherine came in. He had deliberately chosen a place where neither of them had been before—neutral ground—and had told Meg as much, not wanting his sister to feel too out of place. Ben saw her first and leaned across to touch Meg's hand. Meg turned, seeing how Catherine came down the aisle toward them, awkward at first, then when she knew they had seen her, with more confidence. She had put up her flame-red hair so that the sharp lines of her face were prominent.
Looking at her in the half-light Meg thought her quite beautiful.
Ben stood, offering his hand, but Catherine gave him only the most fleeting of glances. "You must be Meg," she said, moving around the table and taking the seat beside her, looking into her face. "I've been looking forward to meeting you." She laughed softly, then reached out to gently touch Meg's nose, tracing its shape, the outline of her mouth.
"Yes," she said, after a moment. "You're like him, aren't you?"
She turned, looking at Ben. "And how are you7."
"I'm well," he said, noncommittally, taking his seat, then turning to summon a waiter.
Meg studied her in profile. Ben had said nothing, but she understood. The girl was in love with him.
She looked, as Ben had taught her, seeing several things: the fine and clever hands, the sharpness of the eyes that missed little in the visual field. An artist's eyes. And she saw how the girl looked at Ben: casual on the surface, but beneath it all uncertain, vulnerable.
Ben ordered, then turned back, facing them. "This, by the way, is Catherine. She paints."
Meg nodded, pleased that she had read it so well. "What do you paint? Abstracts? Portraits?" She almost said landscapes, but it was hard to believe that anyone from here would pick such a subject.
The girl smiled and glanced quickly at Ben before answering. "I paint whatever takes my interest. I've even painted your brother."
Ben leaned across the table. "You should see it, Meg. Some of her work's quite good."
Meg smiled. If Ben said she was good you could take it that the girl was excellent. She looked at Catherine anew, seeing qualities she had missed the first time: the taut, animal-like quality of her musculature and the way she grew very still whenever she was watching. Like a cat. So very like a cat.
The waiter brought their drinks. When he had gone, Ben leaned forward, toasting them both.
"To the two most beautiful women in the City. Kan Pei!"
Meg looked sideways at the girl, noting the color that had come to her cheeks. Catherine wasn't sure what Ben was up to. She didn't know him well enough yet. But there was a slightly teasing tone in his voice that was unmistakable, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. His mood had changed. Or, rather, he had changed his mood.