When he came back with glasses, she was rocking back and forth in the rattan chair near the couch. As she sank deep into the chair, her short dress revealed a glimpse of her thighs.

He leaned against the cabinet, his hand touching the top drawer, which contained the choker of pearls.

She seemed to be absorbed in the changing color of the wine in her hand.

“Would you mind sitting by me for one minute?”

“Easier to look at you this way,” he said, smelling the intoxicating scent from her hair.

He remained standing with his glass of wine. A “nightcap.” To translate it into Chinese was difficult. He had learned its romantic connotation in an American movie, in which a couple sipped the last cup of wine before going to bed. He was intoxicated with the atmosphere of intimacy that had sprung up between them.

“Oh, you’ve forgotten candlelight,” she said, sipping at the wine.

“Yes, I could use it now,” he said, “and Bolero on a CD player, too, would be great.”

That was also in the movie. The lovers, while making love, put on their favorite record: the rhythm of ever-approaching climax.

She held a slender finger against her cheek, scrutinizing him intently, as if for the first time. She reached up, taking the elastic band from her ponytail, and shook the black hair loose. It tumbled freely down her back. She looked relaxed, comfortable, at home.

Then he kneeled down on the floor at her feet.

“What’s that?”

“What?”

His finger touched her bare foot. There was a sauce stain on her small toe. He rubbed it off with his fingers.

Her hand slid down and grasped his. He glanced at her hand, at her ring finger. There was a lighter band of flesh below the joint where she’d once worn a wedding band.

They remained like that, holding hands.

Gazing at her flushed face, he felt he was looking into an open, inviting book. Or was he reading too much?

“Everything’s so wonderful tonight,” she said. “Thank you.”

“The best is yet to be,” he said, echoing a half-forgotten poem.

He had been waiting for this moment a long time.

The soft light silhouetted her curves against the sheer fabric of her dress. She looked like another woman, mature, feminine, and seductive.

How many different women could there be inside her, he wondered.

She rocked back, away from him, and touched his cheek with the palm of her hand. Her palm was light as cloud.

“Is your mind on the case again?”

“No. Not at this moment.”

It was a true answer, but he wondered why he had been so occupied with the case. Was it because of the raw human emotions involved? Perhaps his own personal life was so prosaic that he needed to share the passion of others. Or perhaps he had been yearning for a dramatic change in his own life.

“I have to ask you a favor,” she said.

“Anything,” he said.

“I don’t want you to misunderstand.” She took a deep breath, then paused for a moment. “There’s something between us, isn’t there?”

“What do you think?”

“I knew it when we first met.”

“So did I.”

“I had been engaged to Yang, you know, before I met you, but you have never asked me about it.”

“Nor have you ever asked about me, have you?” he said, gripping her palm. ‘It’s not that important.”

“But you have a promising career,” she said, with the emotion visibly washing over her fine features. “That is so important to you, and to me, too.”

“Promising career-I don’t know-” Those words sounded like a prelude, he could tell. “But why start talking about my career now?”

“I’ve had all the words ready to say, but it’s harder than I thought. With you here, being so nice to me, it’s more difficult… a lot more difficult.”

“Just tell me, Wang.”

“Well, I went to the Shanghai Foreign Language Institute this afternoon, and the school demands compensation for what they have done for him, for Yang, you know-compensation for his education, salary, and medical benefits during his college years. Or I won’t be able to get the document for my passport. It’s a large sum, twenty thousand Yuan. I wonder whether you could say something to the passport department of your bureau. So I could get one without the document from the Foreign Language Institute.”

“You want to get a passport-to go to Japan?”

That was not at all what he had expected.

“Yes, I’ve been applying for it for several weeks.”

To leave China, she needed a passport. So she had to present an authorized application with her work unit’s approval. And her marriage to Yang, even though only a nominal one, necessitated some document from Yang’s work unit, too.

It might be difficult, but not impossible. Passports had been issued without work unit authorization before. Chief Inspector Chen was in a position to help.

“So you are going to him.” He stood.

“Yes_:”

“Why?”

“He has obtained all the necessary documents for me to join him. Even a job for me at a Chinese TV station in Tokyo. A small station, nothing like here, but still something in my line. There’s not much between him and me, but it’s an opportunity I cannot afford to miss.”

“But you also have a promising career here.”

“A promising career here-” Wang said, a bitter smile upon her lips, “in which I have to pile lies upon lies.”

It was true, depending on how one chose to perceive a reporter’s job in China. As a reporter for the Party’s newspaper, she would have to report in the Party’s interest. First and foremost, the Party’s interest. She was paid to do that. No question about it.

“Still, things are improving here,” Chen said, feeling obliged to say something.

“At this slow pace, in twenty years, I might be able to write what I want to, and I will be old and gray.”

“No, I don’t think so.” He wanted to say that she would never be old and gray, not in his eyes, but he chose not to.

“You’re different, Chen,” she said. “You really can do something here.”

“Thank you for telling me this.”

“A candidate for the seminar of the Central Party Institute, you can go a long way in China, and I don’t think I can be of any help to you here.” She added after a pause. “For your career, I mean. And even worse-”

“The bottom line is-” he said slowly, “you’re going to Japan.”

“Yes, I’m going there, but there will be some time-at least a couple of months-before I can get the passport and visa. And we’ll be together-just like tonight.” She raised her head, putting a hand up to her bare shoulder, lightly, as if to pull one strap down. “And some day, when you’re no longer interested in your political career here, you may want to join me there.”

He turned to look out of the window.

The street was now alive with a surf of colorful umbrellas. People hurrying along in different directions, to their destinations, and then, perhaps, to new ones. He had been telling himself that Wang’s marriage had failed. No one could break up a marriage unless it was already on the rocks. That a man had left this woman in the lurch was a proof of it. But she still wanted to go to that man. Not to him.

Even though it might not be so for tonight and, perhaps, for a couple of months more.

That was not what he had expected, not at all.

Chen’s father, a prominent professor of Neo-Confucianism, had instilled into his son all the ethical doctrines; it had not been a useless effort.

He had not been a Party member all these years for nothing.

She was somebody’s wife-and still going to be.

That clinched it. There was a line he could not step over.

“Since you are going to join your husband,” he said, turning to look at her, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other-this way, I mean, in the future. We will stay friends, of course. As for what you asked me to do, I’ll do my best.”

She seemed stunned. Speechless, she clenched her fists, and then buried her head in her hands.