The Chinese Assassin Read Free

He bent and began picking up the airmail editions of The People’s Daily that had been faithfully forwarded during his absence by the little Co m munist bookshop behind the B ritish Museum. In his study he threw them on a leather chesterfield by his desk, fetched ice from the kitchen and poured himself a large measure of neat vodka. Then he sank down on the chesterfield and began removing the wrappers and glancing at the heavy black type of the headline ideograms, sipping the vodka as he read. But before he had drunk half of it the telephone began ringing again and he dragged himself reluctantly back to the ha l l.
    ‘Richard?’
    He took another swallow from the glass in his hand to fortify himself against the calculated hostility of his ex-wif e’ s voice. ‘Hello, Sarah. How nice to hear from you.’
    ‘I’m only calling to ask when you intend visiting Mathew again.’ Her tone had descended immediately to heavy sarcasm. ‘It’s nearly a month since you saw him. A boy of his age needs a father’s attention. Even if it is only very occasionally.’
    Scholefield felt his anger rising despite himself, but tried to speak slowly. ‘I’ve been very busy, Sarah. There’s been rather a lot going on in China. Mao really may be dying at last. Or have you stopped reading the papers?’
    A snort of contemptuous laughter came down the line. ‘I suppose I should have cited Mao Tse-tung and Chou En-la i in my divorce petition, shouldn’t I, instead of your Shaftesbury Avenue whore! I don’t imagine you’ve missed out on seeing her often in the past month.’
    Scholefield gritted his teeth. ‘I’ve been away in Ottawa at a military symposium on the PLA for the past ten days. I’ve got an important article for one of the monthlies to finish by tomorrow night and the BBC have asked me to script a programme by the weekend on the Peking power struggle—’
    She ignored the explanation as though he hadn’t spoken. ‘All I want to know is whether you want Jo see him on Saturday or Sunday. ‘The court granted you access once a month, unless you’ve forgotten. If you don’t intend seeing him I shall be taking him away for the weekend. That’s all I’m ringing for.’
    A cold silence lengthened between them and threatened to become interminable. ‘I’ll be over at three o’ cl ock on Saturday,’ be said at last, drawing his words out, ‘to take him out for a couple of hours.’
    Thank you. I’m sure Mathew will appreciate that enormously. It’ll be just to the zoo again, will it?’
    Scholef i e ld banged the receiver savagely back on its rest without responding and drained the remaining vodka in his glass at a gulp. He was still standing indecisively in the ha l l when the sodden ringing of the doorbell startled him. He put down his glass and opened the door. The passageway outside was empty. He leaned out to look up the stairs and found himself staring into the glowing red eyes of a hideous dragon’s head. Blue smoke streamed from its flared nostrils and the grotesque fanged jaws emitted a sudden moaning shriek. He flinched and started back just as Nina’s face appeared from behind the mask, pu ffi ng furiously on a cigarette. She snatched the cigarette from her mouth laughing uproariously, then flung an arm around his neck, pulling his face close to hers.
    ‘Did I give you a fright, darling? I’ m sorry. It is the year of the dragon, remember. I found him in Gerrard Street. Couldn’t resist him.’
    She pulled away from him suddenly in alarm and stared at his unsmiling face. ‘Richard! Are you all right?’
    He took the dragon’s h ead from her and placed it carefully on the ha l l table. He looked expressionlessly into her eyes, now clouded with worry. ‘Of course I’m all right, you crazy bitch.’ He spoke very quietly—then smiled suddenly. ‘Just a little tired, that’s all. Come here.’
    She wore flared blue jeans, a loose cheesecloth smock with nothing beneath it and a square of turquoise