And the Bride Wore Red. Lucy Gordon

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      ‘Why not?’ the waiter asked, genuinely baffled. ‘It’s the table you always have.’

      Olivia’s lips twitched as she seated herself in the corner, but she controlled her amusement. Dr Mitchell was turning out to be more interesting than she would have guessed.

      The restaurant was charming, the lanterns giving out a soft, red light, the walls covered in dragons. She regarded them in delight. Dragons had been part of her love affair with China ever since she’d discovered their real nature.

      Raised in England, the only dragon she’d heard of had been the one slain by St George, a devil breathing fire and death, ravaging villages, demanding the sacrifice of innocent maidens, until the heroic knight George had overcome him and become the country’s patron saint as a result.

      In China it was different. Here the dragon had always been the harbinger of good luck, wealth, wisdom, a fine harvest. Delightful dragons popped up in every part of life. They danced at weddings, promenaded in parades, breathing their friendly fire and spreading happiness. They were all around her now.

      Perhaps that was why she suddenly felt better than she’d done all day. There surely couldn’t be any other reason.

      Looking at a dragon painted onto a mirror, she caught sight of her own reflection and realised that her hair was still drawn back severely, which no longer felt right. With a swift movement she pulled at the pins until her tresses were freed, flowing lusciously again, in keeping with her lighter mood.

      The dragon winked at her.

      While Dr Mitchell was occupied with the waiter, Olivia remembered a duty that she must perform without delay. Whenever she was unable to make computer contact with Norah she always called to warn her so that the old woman wouldn’t be left waiting in hope. Quickly she used her mobile phone and in a moment she heard Norah’s voice.

      ‘Just to let you know that I’m not at home tonight,’ she said.

      ‘Jolly good,’ Norah said at once, as Olivia had known she would say. ‘You should go out more often, not waste time talking to me.’

      ‘But you know I love talking to you.’

      ‘Yes, I do, but tonight you have more important things to think of. At least, I hope you have. Goodnight, darling.’

      ‘Goodnight, my love,’ Olivia said tenderly.

      She hung up to find her companion regarding her with a little frown.

      ‘Have I created a problem?’ he asked delicately. ‘Is there someone who—’ he paused delicately ‘—would object to your being with me?’

      ‘Oh, no! I was talking to my elderly aunt in England. There’s nobody who can tell me who to be with.’

      ‘I’m glad,’ he said simply.

      And she was glad too, for suddenly the shadows of the day had lifted.

      ‘Dr Mitchell—’

      ‘My name is Lang.’

      ‘And mine is Olivia.’

      The waiter appeared with tea, filling Olivia’s cup, smiling with pleased surprise as she gave the traditional thank-you gesture of tapping three fingers on the table.

      ‘Most Westerners don’t know to do that,’ Lang explained.

      ‘It’s the kind of thing I love,’ she said. ‘I love the story too—about the emperor who went to a teahouse incognito with some friends and told them not to prostrate themselves before him because it would give away his identity. So they tapped their fingers instead. I don’t want to stand out. It’s more fun fitting in.’

      When the first dishes were laid out before them, including the rice, he observed her skill using chopsticks.

      ‘You really know how to do that,’ he observed as they started to eat. ‘You must have been in China for some time.’

      He spoke in Mandarin Chinese and she replied in the same language, glad to demonstrate that she was as expert as he.

      ‘About six months,’ she said. ‘Before that I lived in England most of the time.’

      ‘Most?’

      ‘I’ve always travelled a lot to improve my languages. They were all I was ever good at, so I had to make the most of them.’

      ‘How many languages do you speak?’

      ‘French, German, Italian, Spanish…’

      ‘Hey, I’m impressed. But why Chinese?’

      ‘Pure show-off,’ she chuckled. ‘Everyone warned me it was difficult, so I did it for the fun of proving that I could. That showed ‘em!’

      ‘I’ll bet it did,’ he said admiringly, reverting to English. ‘And I don’t suppose you found it difficult at all.’

      ‘Actually, I did, but I kept that to myself. You’re the only person I’ve ever admitted that secret to.’

      ‘And I promise not to reveal it,’ he said solemnly. ‘On pain of your never speaking to me again.’

      She didn’t have to ask what he meant by that. They both knew that the connection between them had been established in those few minutes of devastating consciousness in his surgery, and today he’d come looking for her because he had to.

      Olivia thought back to last night, to the disturbance that had haunted her dreams, waking her and refusing to let her sleep again. Instinct told her that it had been the same with him.

      They might spend no more than a few fleeting hours in each other’s company, or they might travel a little distance along the road together. Neither could know. But they had to find out.

      ‘So you came out here to improve your Chinese?’ he asked in a tone that suggested there must be more to it.

      ‘Partly, but I needed to get away from England for a while.’

      He nodded, understanding at once. ‘Was he a real louse?’

      ‘I thought so at the time, but I think now I had a lucky escape. He almost made me forget my prime directive. But when I discovered what a louse he really was, I realised that the prime directive had been right all the time.’

      ‘Prime directive,’ he mused, his eyes glinting with amusement. ‘Now, let me see—what would that be? “Only learning matters.” “Life can be reduced to graphs on a page.” How am I doing?’

      ‘You’re part of the way there, but only part. Beware people, beware relationships—’

      ‘Beware men!’

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