Mrs. Wu and her granddaughter, Fai, lived downstairs in our staff quarters off the kitchen. When Li came home, if he ever did, his future was uncertain. His Chinese descent would surely keep him from playing in an orchestra. Papa had influenced the music college to take him by donating generously. But his money could only take Li Wu so far. Li had told me during his last visit home that he knew his escape to school would be temporary, but that he was enjoying every moment while he could.
“Are you hungry?” Mrs. Wu asked.
“No, thank you. I wondered if you’d put together a pot of tea for Phillip.”
Lizzie’s mouth twitched. “Are you worried he’s cold out there?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it, but yes, he might be cold.” I avoided eye contact and picked up a green apple from the bowl of fruit.
“Looking for an excuse to see him then?” Lizzie asked as she brushed a strand of her graying hair away from her face. In her mid-forties, her face was virtually unlined but recently some gray had crept into her black curls. She and Jasper had married when she was well into her thirties and had their daughter, Florence, about ten months later. Another child was born around the same time as Delphia, but he’d died in childbirth. Lizzie had taken it hard, as had Jasper. His stoic British attitude didn’t allow him to show his grief outwardly, but I could see it in his eyes when he thought no one was watching. Lizzie hadn’t been herself for at least a year. I’d found her crying down here many times, as had Mama. Eventually, though, she’d gone on, as women have to do.
I looked up from my careful examination of the apple. “Why would you say that?”
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Lizzie said.
“Cymbeline says he stares at you,” Mrs. Wu said. “With soft eyes. Like this.” She widened her eyes.
I laughed. “What was she doing talking about him to you?”
“She wasn’t,” Lizzie said. “We overheard her talking with Fiona and Fai. Those three gossip all day long.”
As did these two.
I took the gloves out of the pocket of my dress. “I made him these.”
Lizzie and Mrs. Wu exchanged amused glances.
“He’ll like them,” Mrs. Wu said. “But not as much as you bringing them to him.”
“I’m not sure what you two find so funny,” I said. “After I carried on about Walter, who proved to be a cad, I should be ashamed of myself. I mean, really, I shouldn’t be bothering with any of this. How can I trust myself? Or anyone else for that matter?” The room suddenly seemed cloying.
“One bad apple doesn’t ruin the whole bowl.” Lizzie pointed at the fruit. “He came here to win your heart.”
“How did you know that?” I asked.
“Cymbeline,” Mrs. Wu said. “She has a loud voice. Apparently, she and Mr. Phillip had quite the talk the other morning.”
“For heaven’s sake. There are no secrets in this house,” I said. What else had he said to Cymbeline? That little traitor should have told me. I’d get it out of her later.
“That’s the way it should be,” Lizzie said. “Secrets are the seeds of unhappiness.”
“You’re full of analogies today,” I said.
Lizzie picked up the teapot from the stove. She refused to use tea bags, calling them newfangled and for lazy Americans. Instead, she made a pot the same way she always had, using a strainer filled with tea leaves. I wandered over to the sink and leaned against the rim. What should I say when I came with the tea? Would he resent the interruption? I’d read that about great artists. They needed long periods of concentration.
“Whatever you’re worrying over, don’t,” Lizzie said. “He’ll be pleased to see you.”
“Lizzie, am I a fool to be thinking this way about a man we don’t know?”
“Not everyone needs to have a fifteen-year courtship like Jasper and me.” Lizzie rolled her eyes. “That blasted man.”
“Love is good,” Mrs. Wu said. “We want that for you.”
I wanted it too. I’d wanted it so much that I’d invented a love that hadn’t existed.
“You worry too much.” Mrs. Wu wriggled her fingers in front of her face. “Will give you wrinkles. See all mine. From too much worry.”
“You’re beautiful, Mrs. Wu,” I said.