"You're telling me that in a city where the annual income is- what?-about a thousand dollars, that I have to pay this much for a couple of rooms?"

Miss Quo smiled prettily. "These are your choices. Which one do you want?"

But this was nothing compared to the exorbitant sums that were thrown around for what he considered basic office necessities. Installing a phone line ranged from a paltry $20 to an outlandish $1,400. A fax line cost even more. If he wanted a telex machine, one could be brought in, he was assured, but this too could range anywhere from $100 to $2,800. Even basic essentials like electricity weren't fixed and depended on the building, on the development company's representative, and on Miss Quo's rapport with that person. And they hadn't even gotten to the question of a car and driver.

At four, Lo dropped Miss Quo back at the Kempinski, then edged into the thickening late afternoon traffic. David closed his eyes and dozed off into a jet-lag nap. The next thing he knew, the car had pulled to a stop and someone had opened his door. He felt cool breath on his cheek, then heard Hulan say, "Wake up, David."

As soon as they were inside the compound with the door closed behind them, David took her in his arms, burying his face in her neck. He pulled away and looked down into her face. She was beautiful. She took one of his hands, and together they wordlessly walked to her quarters at the back of the compound. In her living room they kissed. There was no need for words: they were desperate for each other's touch. Hulan pulled at his shoulders, edging him quickly into the bedroom.

Several hours later they lay entwined in one another's arms. They were parched, exhausted, and happy. Finally Hulan got up, slipped on her silk robe, wandered out to the kitchen, and came back with glasses of cool mineral water and a tray laden with grapes, slices of watermelon, and slivers of orange. She placed the tray on the sheet, puffed up the pillows, and propped herself up next to David.

"So," she asked, "how was your day?"

He told her how he'd been pushed in and out of buildings by a highly organized little demon named Miss Quo.

"You're very fortunate to have Quo Xuesheng," Hulan said, breaking off a piece of watermelon.

"You know her?" David asked rather dubiously.

"Since she was a baby. She's the daughter of the minister of the Foreign Enterprise Service Corporation. You were assigned someone very high up. You must have very good guanxi," she said in mock serious tones, then popped a grape into her mouth.

"You arranged this?"

"You have to hire someone. You might as well have a friend. After I got off the phone with you, I called Miss Quo's father. The minister was very happy to place his daughter with you."

"Do the people at Phillips, MacKenzie know?"

Hulan shrugged.

"And she's a Red Princess?" David asked.

"In two ways. Her grandfather was on the Long March, while her father has made millions in his government position."

"So she knows who I am."

Hulan smiled and nodded.

"And she knew perfectly well that I didn't need an apartment."

"Um, I don't know about that. That may have been a test for both of us." She leaned over and reached for another grape. As she did this, her robe fell open, exposing the curve of her breasts. "It wouldn't be a bad idea for you to take a small apartment just to keep gossip down."

"Will it be better for you?"

She closed her eyes and played out different scenarios in her head. When she opened them, she said, "Take an apartment, but you'll live here."

"She showed me space in the Capital Mansion."

Hulan shook her head and laughed. "That's because she lives there, just like Guang Henglai and Cao Hua did. It's very popular with the young crowd."

"Well, I'm not going there."

"No, of course not. I know a good space for you. It's not fancy, but it is close by. We'll look at it tomorrow."

"Okay, but I don't want to pay through the nose."

Hulan smiled. "It's not you. It's the firm."

"Still, I don't like to be treated like a sucker."

"You'll be treated like a foreigner no matter what."

"Which means getting fleeced?"

David told her about the prices that he was expected to pay for a fax line.

"That's not so bad," she said. "Consider this: Until a couple of years ago, foreigners could only send faxes during the day because the government surveillance people who monitored the lines all went home at five."

"But that's no longer in effect?" he asked, relieved.

"No, it's still in effect. We just have people working all night now."

"They can't possibly monitor every fax!"

Hulan shrugged again, and a little more flesh was exposed. "Believe what you want to believe." She pulled another grape from the stem. This time she slipped it and the tip of her index finger into David's mouth. "If you think that's unfair, think about what you-or rather the firm-must be paying your Miss Quo."

But David didn't respond with words, overcome as he was by the reflexive stirring he felt in his loins. Hulan let her finger languidly trace a path from his lips, down across his chest, to where the cotton sheet edged against his skin. Her voice was husky as she said, "The typical translator makes about seven hundred dollars U.S. a month of which the state-run agency receives about six hundred and thirty dollars. Then you look at someone like your Miss Quo, a Red Princess, very well connected. Phillips, MacKenzie is probably paying her a hundred thousand dollars a year." But David had heard enough. He covered her mouth with his, and they continued a far more intimate conversation.