“So it’s back to the capital,” said Nat, who phoned down to reception to warn them they would be checking out immediately. They arrived back in Seoul just before midnight.
“I think it might be wise if I were to visit her on my own,” said Su Ling over breakfast the following morning, “as she may not be willing to say a great deal once she discovers I’m married to an American.”
“Suits me,” said Nat. “I was hoping to visit the market on the other side of the city as I’m searching for something in particular.”
“What?” asked Su Ling,
“Wait and see,” teased Nat.
Nat took a taxi to the Kiray district, and spent the day roaming around one of the biggest open markets in the world—row upon row of laden stalls crammed with everything from Rolex watches to cultured pearls, from Gucci bags to Chanel perfume, from Cartier bracelets to Tiffany hearts. He avoided the cries of “Over here, American, please to look at my goods, much cheaper,” as he could never be sure what, if anything, was the real thing.
By the time he arrived back at the hotel that evening, Nat was exhausted and laden down with six shopping bags, mostly full of presents for his wife. He took the elevator to the third floor, and as he pushed open the door to their room, he hoped to find that Su Ling had returned from visiting her great aunt. As he closed the door, he thought he heard sobbing. He stood still. The unmistakable sound was coming from the bedroom.
Nat dropped the bags on the floor, walked across the room and pushed open the bedroom door. Su Ling was curled up on the bed, like an unsprung coil, weeping. He slipped off his shoes and jacket and climbed onto the bed beside her and took her in his arms.
“What is it, little flower?” he said, caressing her gently.
She didn’t reply. Nat held her close, aware that she would tell him in her own time.
When it grew dark and the neon streetlights began to flicker on, Nat drew the curtains. He then sat beside her and took her hand.
“I will always love you,” said Su Ling, not looking directly at him.
“And I’ll always love you,” said Nat, taking her back into his arms.
“Do you remember the night of our marriage, we agreed on no secrets, so I must now tell you what I discovered this afternoon.”
Nat had never seen a face so sad. “Nothing you found out could make me love you less,” he said, trying to reassure her.
Su Ling pulled her husband toward her while lowering her head on to his chest, as if she didn’t want their eyes to meet. “I kept my appointment with my great aunt this morning,” she began. “She remembered my mother well, and explained to me why she had left the village to join her in Seoul.” As she clung on to Nat, Su Ling repeated everything Kai Pai had told her. When she had finished her story, she eased away and looked up at her husband for the first time.
“Can you still love me now you know the truth?” she asked.
“I didn’t believe it was possible to love you any more, and I can only imagine what courage it must have taken to share this news with me.” He paused. “It will only strengthen a bond that now no one will ever be able to break.”
“I don’t think it would be wise for me to go with you,” said Annie.
“But you’re my lucky mascot, and…”
“…and Dr. Redpath says it wouldn’t be wise.” Fletcher reluctantly accepted that he would have to make the journey to New York alone. Annie was in her seventh month of pregnancy, and although there had been no complications, he never argued with the doctor.
Fletcher had been delighted to be invited back for a second interview with Alexander Dupont & Bell, and wondered how many of the other candidates had been short-listed. He had a feeling Karl Abrahams knew, though the professor wasn’t sharing any confidences.
When the train pulled into Central Station, Fletcher took a taxi to 54th Street, arriving outside the vast entrance lobby twenty minutes early. He had been told that on one occasion a candidate had arrived three minutes late, so they didn’t bother to interview him.
He took the elevator to the thirty-sixth floor and was directed by the receptionist to a spacious room that was almost as smart as the senior partner’s office. Fletcher sat alone and wondered if that was a good sign, until a second candidate joined him a few minutes before nine. He smiled at Fletcher.
“Logan Fitzgerald,” he said, his hand outstretched. “I heard you address the freshman debate at Yale. Your speech on Vietnam was brilliant, although I didn’t agree with a word you said.”
“You were at Yale?”
“No, I was visiting my brother. I went to Princeton, and I guess we both know why we’re here.”
“How many others are there, do you imagine?” asked Fletcher.
“Looking at the clock, I would suggest we’re the last two. So all I can say is good luck.”
“I am sure you mean that sincerely,” said Fletcher with a grin.