for everything on this trip, knowing how tight things were for poor Nadine.
The silver-edged double doors began to open, and Eleanor rose in anticipation. Instead of Peter D’Abo, however, a Chinese lady came walking out, accompanied by Eddie Cheng.
“My goodness, Auntie Elle! What are you doing here?” Eddie blurted out before he could stop himself.
Eleanor knew of course that her husband’s nephew worked for the Liechtenburg Group, but Eddie was head of the Hong Kong office, and never would she imagine running into him here. She had specifically opened her account at the London office so that she would never run the risk of bumping into anyone she might know. Turning scarlet in the face, she stammered, “Oh…oh, hi. I’m just meeting a friend for breakfast.” Aiyoh aiyoh aiyoh I’ve been caught!
“Ah, yes, breakfast,” Eddie replied, realizing the awkwardness of the situation. Well of course the crafty bitch would have an account with us.
“I got here two days ago. I’m here with Nadine Shaw—you know, visiting Francesca.” Now the whole damn family will know I have money stashed away in England.
“Ah yes, Francesca Shaw. Didn’t I hear she married some Arab?” Eddie asked politely. Ah Ma is always worried Uncle Philip doesn’t have enough to live on. Wait till she hears THIS!
“He’s an Iranian Jew, very handsome. They just moved into a flat at 2 Hyde Park,” Eleanor replied. Thank goodness he can never know my sixteen-digit account number.
“Wah—he must do very well,” Eddie said in mock awe. My God, I’m going to have to grill Peter D’Abo about her account, not that he’ll tell me anything—that stuffed shirt.
“I would imagine he does very well—he’s a banker just like you,” Eleanor retorted. She noticed that the Chinese woman looked rather anxious to leave and wondered who she might be. For a Mainlander, she was dressed in an elegant, understated manner. Must be one of his bigwig clients. Of course, Eddie was doing the proper thing by not introducing her. What were the both of them doing in London?
“Well, I hope you enjoy your breakfast,” Eddie said with a smirk as he took off with the lady.
• • •
Later that day, after Eddie had taken Bao Shaoyen to the intensive care unit of St. Mary’s Paddington to see Carlton, he brought her to dinner at Mandarin Kitchen on Queensway, thinking the lobster noodles*7 might cheer her up, but apparently women lost their appetites when they couldn’t stop crying. Shaoyen had been utterly unprepared for the sight of her son. His head had swollen to the size of a watermelon, and there were tubes sticking out everywhere—from his nose, his mouth, his neck. Both of his legs were broken, there were second-degree burns on his arms, and the part that remained unbandaged looked as if it had been completely smashed in, like a plastic bottle that had been stepped on. She wanted to stay with him, but the doctors wouldn’t let her. Visiting hours were over. No one told her it had been this bad. Why didn’t someone tell her? Why didn’t Mr. Tin? And where was her husband? She was furious with him. She was mad that she had to face this all alone, while he was off cutting ribbons and shaking hands with Canadians.
Eddie squirmed awkwardly in his seat as Shaoyen sobbed uncontrollably in front of him. Why couldn’t she just get a grip? Carlton had survived! A few rounds of plastic surgery and he would be as good as new. Maybe even better. With Peter Ashley, the Michelangelo of Harley Street working his magic, her son would probably turn out looking like the Chinese Ryan Gosling. Before arriving in London, Eddie assumed that he could clean up this mess in a day or two and still have time to get fitted for a new spring suit at Joe Morgan’s and maybe a couple new pairs of Cleverleys. But big cracks were beginning to show in the dam. Someone had tipped off the Asian press, and they were sniffing around furiously. He needed to meet with his inside man at Scotland Yard. He needed to get to his Fleet Street contacts. Things were in danger of bursting wide open, and he did not have time for hysterical mothers.
Just when things couldn’t get any worse, Eddie saw a familiar flash out of the corner of his eye. It was damn Auntie Elle again, entering the restaurant with Mrs. Q. T. Foo, that woman what’s her name from the L’Orient Jewelry family,