Free Snakehead by Peter May Page B

watching her carefully. ‘Why don’t I believe you?’
    She smiled. ‘Maybe because it’s only over in my head, and not in my heart.’
    ‘I don’t think I understand.’
    She said, ‘You have to realise that life in China is very different, Steve. While they like to say that women hold up half the sky, it is still a society dominated by men. Women are second-class citizens. Even professionals like me.’ She paused. ‘Li Yan never treated me that way, but he was a senior police officer. He was having a relationship with a foreigner. It was frowned on by his superiors. We could not even live together officially without being married. Life was not easy.’ She flicked her hair back over her shoulders, a little self-conscious mannerism. ‘And then there were all the linguistic and cultural differences. Every time a Chinese woman even glanced at Li Yan I would feel vulnerable. How could I compete? There was so much that he couldn’t share with me that he could with a Chinese lover. And then there was the question of commitment. Was I really prepared to spend the rest of my life in China?’ She gave a tiny, sad shrug. ‘I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t. Just as I knew I couldn’t ask him to give up his country and come to America with me. Whichever way it went, one of us would be a fish out of water.’ She drained her margarita. ‘So I told him it was over, and I came home.’
    The waiter came to take away their starter. With all their talking, they had eaten less than half of it. A waitress brought their entrées. In front of Margaret she placed a plate of flame-grilled shrimp rubbed with chili spices and skewered with vegetables. Steve was having fresh chili tuna topped with an avocado fan and smooth chipotle sauce. The food smelled great, but somehow neither of them had any appetite. The waiter filled their wine glasses. ‘Enjoy,’ he said.
    They picked in silence at their food for a few minutes before Steve took a mouthful of wine and asked, ‘Any regrets?’
    She met his eye. ‘Every minute of every day,’ she said, and his disappointment this time was clear, almost tangible.
    ‘So now he’s in America, you’ll get back together?’
    ‘Not a chance.’ Her voice was strained by hurt and anger.
    Steve looked perplexed, but also relieved. ‘Why not?’
    ‘Because he’s been in Washington for nearly a year, Steve. Because he’s never once tried to contact me. I read about his appointment in January, and I spent every night for weeks sitting by the phone waiting for him to call. He never did. Obviously he no longer feels about me the way I feel about him. He got a hell of a shock today. I don’t think for a minute he expected to see me in that hangar at Ellington Field.’
    It seemed extraordinary to her that she was saying these things out loud. Things she had been keeping bottled up inside all this time. And here she was unburdening herself to a man she had only just met. But there was something in his eyes, an empathy there that was drawing her out of herself, allowing her to release the mental toxins that had been poisoning her for so long. She felt better, even as she spoke.
    ‘I’ve been wondering about that ring on your wedding finger,’ he said.
    ‘Jesus!’ She laughed out loud. ‘You like picking at sores, Steve, don’t you?’
    ‘Oh, yeah, especially when you pick off that itching scab and make it sore all over again. The good bit is that it stops being itchy for a while.’
    ‘The point being that the raw pain is better than the itch?’
    ‘Exactly.’
    She drained her wine glass and held it out for him to refill. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Here’s the raw pain. I married a guy when I was too young to know any better. A lecturer in genetics at Chicago. Good-looking, smart as hell, great future. He hanged himself after being convicted of raping and murdering one of his students.’ She took a large mouthful from her refilled glass.
    Steve was stunned to silence and took a moment or