"Seven years," Madam Heng said, straightening up. Her peacock-blue silks looked fabulously expensive and a small fortune in jewelry rested on her fingers and about her wrists and neck. She had obviously married well the second time around.
"And your children? Are they well?"
"Very well, thank you. I have five now. ..."
"Five. . . ." Jelka stared at her, stunned, then nodded vaguely. Yet it made sense. Pang-chou had married and had her first child even before they left College. So had many of her friends. As she was finding out, the anomaly lay not in them, but in herself. She alone of her schoolfriends was unmarried, childless.
She turned, glancing at the door.
"Bachman's here," Madam Heng continued. "You remember Lothar Bachman? He's a Captain now. They say he'll make Major within the next two years."
Jelka looked back at her. Bachman? Now, where had she heard that name? Then it hit her. She stared at Heng Pang-chou, alarmed. "You mean . . . ?"
"Didn't you realize?"
She shook her head. "My father must have invited him. I ..."
Bachman. He'd been the cadet officer at the College Graduation Ball who'd tried to kiss her—the young man whose legs and arms she had broken. . . .
Jelka swallowed, then bowed her head slightly. "Forgive me, Heng Pang-chou, but I have to see to something. I'll speak to you later."
She moved away, making for the entrance arch, nodding and smiling as she went, noticing, once again, the young man who seemed to have been shadowing her all night.
Probably Security, she thought. Something my father's arranged.
Outside in the corridor it was cooler. Smiling at a pair of guests who had just arrived, she went across to the House Steward, Huang Peng, who stood beside the great outer doors welcoming each guest.
"Has he come yet?"
"Shih Ward?" Steward Huang looked across at his assistant, who hastily consulted a list, then shook his head. The Steward turned back and bowed. "I am afraid not, Nu Shi Tolonen."
"Has he sent a message?"
"We have heard nothing, Mistress. Should I . . . ?"
"No."
She turned away. He was late, that was all. He would be here soon. If he loved her he would be here.
For a moment she hesitated, hearing the great swell of voices from the Reception Hall, then turned to the right, making for her rooms. Ten minutes. No one would miss her for ten minutes. But she had to know. The uncertainty was driving her mad.
As she reached her door she heard soft footsteps behind her. She whirled about.
"You? What do you want?"
"I . . ." The young man gave a nervous bow, then swept his hair back from his eyes and offered her a smile. "My name is Emil. Emil Bartels. I—"
"Did my father send you?"
He hesitated, then nodded. She sighed. A soldier. He looked every inch a soldier.
She put a hand up. "Okay. It's not your fault. Come in. You can wait in the outer room. There's something I must do."
She went inside, not looking to see if he followed. Going through to her study, she went behind the desk and sat, the folds of the gown getting in her way. Cursing, she arranged the dress beneath her, getting herself comfortable, then leaned forward, switching on the comset.
She knew the code. As soon as she'd heard he'd bought the Mansion, she had made it her business to discover it. But she had never used it before now. Never dared.
What if he isn't coming? What if he's ill?
But he wasn't ill. She knew that. If he'd been ill, he would have sent a message. So what was keeping him? Why hadn't he come?
She took a deep breath, then pressed out the coded sequence. As the screen rose from the desk to face her, she sat back a little, trying to compose herself, to steel herself against the possibility of rejection, but her hands were trembling now and her mouth had gone dry at the thought of actually talking to him.
There was a moment's hesitation and then a face appeared. A young Han face, female, very pretty.
"Nu Shi Tolonen?"
"Yes, I—"
"I am afraid that the number you have called is unavailable. The channel is closed right now, but if you would like to leave a message, we can transmit it once the channel reopens."
"I . . ." She sighed heavily, unable to help herself, then shook her head. "No. It doesn't matter."
She cut the connection, then sat back, her face pained.
Maybe he was on his way. It was even possible that he was here already. Maybe he'd arrived while she was sitting here, fretting. She stood and crossed the room quickly, then stopped, seeing the young man standing in the doorway to her bedroom. She cleared her throat.
"Excuse me. ..." : ;
He jerked round, surprised. "I ... I was just looking." He took a step toward her, his hands out, as if to excuse himself. "I just wondered what kind of girl you were. What kind of things you liked. That's all. Girls' rooms"—he smiled uncertainly—"they reveal a lot about their owners, don't you think?"
She stared at him coldly, then answered him, her voice hard, uncompromising. "What business is it of yours who I am or what I like?"
His eyes widened, disconcerted by the harshness of her answer. "You mistake me. I ... didn't mean to pry. I was . . . interested, that's all. If we're to . . ."
"If we're to what?" She was suspicious now. She took a step toward him, as if facing an attacker. "What are you talking about, Lieutenant?"
He gave a brief, surprised laugh. "Lieutenant? No, you've got it wrong. I'm not a soldier. I ..."
Bartels swallowed, seeing the look that had come to her face.
"So what are you? And what do you want?" She took another step, her body crouching slightly. "Who invited you?"
He took a step back, his hands raised defensively. "Look, I ..." He sighed, his eyes pleading with her now. "Your father said I was to be pleasant to you, that's all. He said . . ."
Jelka stopped, straightening slowly, her whole body gone cold, all of her darkest suspicions suddenly confirmed. Her father. This was her father's doing.
That was why there had been no fuss, no arguments, about Kim's invitation. Because he had had no intention of letting the young man step inside his Mansion. Because . . .
She shivered with indignation, then, sweeping past Bartels, went into her room, slamming the door shut behind her.
"You thought I'd be fooled, didn't you?" she said with a quiet anger, addressing her reflection as she began to peel off the dress. "You thought I'd play the good daughter and not embarrass you."
She kicked the dress away, then went across and pulled the spacesuit down from its peg. For a moment she hesitated, knowing that if she did this, it would be tantamount to an open rejection of her father—that it would mean a breach with him. But that was what he'd been counting on: that she would think twice before tackling him head on.
Well, you were wrong, she thought, angry with him suddenly. Furious that he should use such tactics against her, after all that had happened.
Facing the mirror again, she rested the suit against her body, remembering how it had felt out there in the outer system; how at home she'd felt among the cold-worlders. Then, without further hesitation, she pulled it on, the familiarity of the garment—the smell and touch of it—making her shiver with a sense of recognition.
Better, she thought, smiling at the new image of herself. But the hair was still wrong. Hurriedly she took it down and combed it out with her fingers. Yes, she thought finally. That's me. Not that other creature, but this. . . .
And if Kim had come? If she'd been wrong about her father?
She laughed, then spoke softly to the mirror. "Then you'll look a fool, Jelka Tolonen, won't you?" But at least it would be her and not some twisted image of her mother—some hideous fulfilment of her father's fantasies.