The Chinese Alchemist (11 page)

“Let’s go together,” I said, determined not to let him out of my sight. “I’ll meet you in the lobby whenever you say.”

“Good. We’ll share a cab. No, wait. I have an appointment for a therapeutic massage first thing. Spot of tummy trouble I want to get under control. It’s on the way. I think the market opens early, but why don’t we meet there at nine thirty. Does that work for you?”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll meet you there. We can divide it up and get it done in half the time. I’ll bring my copy of the photograph, and I’ll get myself lots of cards from the hotel, and just put my name on them.”

“Get the taxi driver to take you to the antique section, not the curio part of the market. I’ll meet you there. We’ll stick close together. If you have language difficulties, I won’t be far away.” I wanted to say that I was perfectly aware that the reason he wanted me close was not to help me with his Chinese, but to keep an eye on me at all times. That suited me just fine. I wanted to keep tabs on him, too. I also wanted to ask him what he was doing talking to the man in black, but that would have meant letting him know I’d been following him. I thought it best not to do that, given that at the moment I appeared to have the upper hand, ethically speaking, no matter how undeserving I might be. He hadn’t mentioned that he knew I was following him, which either meant he hadn’t seen me, or that he was being as cagey on that subject as I was.

We didn’t talk about our arrangement again that day. In fact, we were not to talk about it ever again. I did see him at the auction, however. There was a good crowd, which included Mira Tetford, who said working on this project with me had gotten her interested in Chinese art, something she was sure was going to cost her money. I told her there was no turning back.

The bidding was fierce. I had to admit, painful though it might be, that Burton was right about one thing: most of the bidders were Chinese, young, ostentatiously dressed, and doubtless buying for themselves, not a museum. Dr. Xie was the oldest bidder in the room. He was also the high bidder for the folio, paying an astounding three million dollars U.S. That went a long way to explaining why the mystery seller had decided to move the box to Beijing from New York. He or she would definitely be doing better here than in New York. I did think about bidding on some lovely porcelain, but Burton, who saw that I was about to put in a bid, stopped me. “Not worth it,” he said. Again, he was probably right. Mira, however, did bid, and managed to acquire a very lovely nineteenth-century painting with advice from both Dr. Xie and Burton. She was thrilled.

Dr. Xie was determined to celebrate his acquisition, and celebrate it we did. It was not quite the quiet glass or two of fine champagne that I’d been expecting. Rather it was a sumptuous party at his penthouse apartment. Once again, the view over the Forbidden City and the lights of central Beijing was spectacular. The apartment was gorgeous, all gold and blue, with silk carpets everywhere, and very beautiful hand-carved furniture. The art was breathtaking. I could have spent days there examining every piece. There was a cabinet of Shang bronzes, beautiful porcelain, lacquerware, and jade objects that were just exquisite, and some gold and silver objects as well. He had an entire glass cabinet filled with T’ang dynasty funerary objects, terra-cotta figures of horses and camels and riders, servants, and soldiers, glazed in yellow and green. I almost forgot to drink my champagne.

Dr. Xie was particularly fond of his collection of scrolls and folios. A nicely masculine den with dark furniture had almost every square inch of wall covered with beautiful scrolls. He joined me in that room. “You have an extraordinary collection, Dr. Xie,” I said. “I heard about the collection you donated in Canada, but I haven’t had a chance to see it yet. If it is half as beautiful as this, then the museum is indeed fortunate to have it.”

He acknowledged the compliment modestly. “I’ve been very successful both here and in Canada, and happy to have found a way to share that. I admit I’ve become somewhat addicted to collecting. Eventually I will give all of this to a museum, but I want to enjoy it myself for now. Shall I show you where I’m going to put the folio I just purchased?”

I followed him to a sort of antechamber off the den. In it was a glass case, humidity and light controlled. “This is where it will go, my little sanctuary,” he said. “Now I must join my other guests. Dinner will be served shortly.”

I was admiring the T’ang funerary figures in the living room one more time when it occurred to me that as lovely as they were, not one piece in the cabinet, and possibly the entire apartment, could really hold a candle to a set of nesting silver caskets, not because the figures in front of me weren’t absolutely top-notch, because they were, but because there was something very special about the boxes. Every now and then, there are pieces of art that somehow capture our imagination, because they encapsulate an age, perhaps, or because there is a story attached to them that continues to have resonance for us, or because they carry some symbolism that is profound. Art like this can move us deeply. Yes, the funerary figures in front of me were particularly lovely, and undoubtedly authentic. Yes, the workmanship was superb. Yes, both the funerary figures and the boxes dated to the same era and chances were both had come from a T’ang tomb. Somehow, though, the silver boxes with the rather poignant, indeed hopeful, formula for the elixir of immortality stood head and shoulders above the rest. Burton was right. It was just that kind of antiquity that a museum like the Cottingham would want to have as the anchor piece for its Asian galleries. Any museum would.

I hadn’t heard Burton come up behind me until he spoke. “Fabulous stuff,” he said. I nodded, “But not as fabulous as that silver coffret.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“We have to find it, Lara. It doesn’t matter which museum gets it, mine or the one your client plans to donate it to. But we have to find it.”

“Yes, we do, Burton. We really do.”

“And we will. Time to eat,” he said.

There were several people there I knew, and several I didn’t. Mira and Ruby were there, as were Burton and David. Mira pulled me aside and pointed out some of the people, including a gentleman on the far side of the room. “Big man in the government,” she whispered. “Very influential. Son of a close friend of Mao Zedong. Harvard educated.”

“I thought you didn’t get to leave China to go to Harvard,” I said. “When I was here twenty years ago anyway, which I suppose would be about the time the man you’re pointing to went to Harvard, you had to get special permission to leave the country, didn’t you?”

“Anything was possible if you were the son of a friend of Mao’s,” she said. “Does the term red prince or red princess mean anything to you?”

“No it doesn’t.”

“It’s the offspring of someone who was closely associated with Mao. I’d say several of the people in this room would qualify. Friends of Mao got special privileges, a better place to live, they were allowed to accumulate wealth where other people couldn’t, and yes, their children could go to Harvard.”

“Now that the country is opening up a little, maybe the concept doesn’t have as much relevance.”

“They’re still around. Ruby would like to leave the country to study. Do you think she’ll get a passport instantly? No, she won’t. I’ll do my best to get it for her, because she’s talented and should be doing more than simply assisting me. I would miss her. She found the office for me, and she deals with the bureaucracy that I don’t understand. But if she wants to go abroad, I’m going to try to get her there. I brought her tonight because I want her to meet the influential Dr. Xie. I’m here to chat up the government big guys.”

“I guess if Dr. Xie put this party together, he was pretty sure he was going to be the successful bidder on the folio. He did say he would hold a wake if he didn’t, but this looks pretty much like a victory party to me. If the people here are as important as you say, you wouldn’t just call them up from the auction house and tell them to come on over.”

“No, and you wouldn’t have food like this just sitting in your refrigerator, either,” she said, as a waiter passed some really delectable shrimp hors d’ouevres. “When you can outbid anybody in the room, and you are absolutely determined to get something, then, yes, you can plan your victory party in advance. Dr. Xie is that wealthy and that determined.”

“And the Chinese government doesn’t care if he owns all this art? I mean there are objects here that have got to be five thousand years old! That cabinet of Shang bronzes would make any museum proud.”

“As long as he keeps it in the country, and as long as he has such influential friends, I don’t think it’s a problem. Really, the government just wants the stuff kept in China, and Dr. Xie is doing that.” That pretty much confirmed what Burton had said earlier in the day.

I found myself sitting between Mira and David, which was nice, because several people were speaking Chinese. Mira whispered to me that she was going to have to chat up the man on her right, the red prince she’d pointed out to me. That left me to talk to David, who was on Burton’s right. That was fine with me. David turned out to be an interesting man.

“So how do you know Burton?” I asked. “He said you were assisting him while he was here.”

“Nice of him to say that. I met him a year ago at an auction. We chatted and spent some time together. He got in touch when he was coming here to purchase the T’ang silver box, and I’m really just tagging along. To be perfectly honest, I wanted to meet Dr. Xie, seeing as he is an extremely important man and therefore a great contact for me. Burton was good enough to suggest he’d introduce us. I was quite unexpectedly about to meet him at Cherished Treasures House, but when the silver box got lifted, there wasn’t a chance to talk about much else. Burton then brought me along tonight. It is a blatant attempt on my part to get ahead in life.”

I laughed. “Do you collect art?”

“I’d like to. I think I need to learn more about it, to say nothing of make more money, before I get into it.”

“Very wise. Most people just leap right in, and learn through their mistakes. So what do you do for a living, then?”

“I’m a lawyer by training. I went to law school in California. I work as a consultant to businesses in, I suppose, the same way Mira does, except that she is retained by the foreign firms, and I represent the Chinese firms.”

“Does law school in California mean you are one of those red princes that Mira has told me about?”

David laughed. “I suppose so. Second generation, however. Did you enjoy the auction?” I thought perhaps it had been rude of me to ask the red prince question, which was why he was sidestepping the whole issue, but we had an enjoyable chat nonetheless. Despite what he said about his relative ignorance about art, he was very knowledgeable about Dr. Xie’s collection, certainly more so than I, and I’d had a good teacher in Dory Matthews. We exchanged cards at the end of the evening, and David told me if I came back to Beijing, he’d be happy to show me around. I thought he was adorable.

We left Dr. Xie about one in the morning. I headed back to the hotel with Burton, who’d worn sunglasses the whole evening, citing a migraine. “Don’t forget,” he said, as we parted for the night. “Panjiayuan Market, nine-thirty in the morning. Be there or be square.” As if I needed reminding!

The trouble was, morning didn’t come as soon as it was supposed to. We were up very late, and I’d had a fair amount of champagne. I admit it. That morning, of all mornings, I overslept. I had tried to set the hotel telephone alarm, and had obviously botched it, because it was 9:45 when I awoke. Having spent much of the night wandering around the room, I had managed to fall asleep shortly before I was supposed to get up. Jet lag and champagne will do this to you. I leapt out of bed, and was bolting through the lobby at about five minutes after ten. As it turned out, my timing was perfect. Burton was getting into a cab. Thinking he was late too, I headed for the door, but stopped as the doorman loaded Burton’s luggage into the trunk.

The slug had lied again! I stood motionless, absolutely fuming, as the taxi pulled away. When I had recovered a measure of composure, I went to the front desk. “My colleague from Toronto, Mr. Burton Haldimand, hasn’t checked out yet, has he?” I said in what I hoped was a panicky voice. I’m not entirely sure I was faking it.

The very pleasant woman at the desk typed away at the computer in front of her. “Yes,” she said. “I’m afraid so. Just a few minutes ago. Is there a problem?”

“He’s forgotten his papers,” I said. “He’s going to a meeting in… in… I can’t pronounce it, sorry.”

“Xi’an,” she said. Xi’an is very easy to pronounce, or at least to approximate the Chinese pronunciation, which is to say more or less
see ahn,
and most tourists in Beijing would know how to say it, given its fame for the terra-cotta warriors, but I didn’t care how dumb I looked. I’d got what I wanted. “He is coming back, though,” she said. “He asked us to keep any phone messages he received while he’s away. I would be pleased to take a message from you as well. Here, I’ll get you a pen and paper.”

“This can’t wait until he gets back. I have to get him these papers.” I pulled a packet out of my shoulder bag. It actually contained my travel documents, but what did she know? “He needs them for his meeting in Xi’an. Did he tell you what hotel he’s staying in? I’ll phone him. Perhaps I could fax some of the material. You could help me do that, couldn’t you? I’d be very grateful.”

Bless her. She told me what I wanted to know. She offered to fax the documents if I brought them back later in the afternoon when Burton would have arrived in Xi’an. I didn’t, because later that afternoon I was on an Air China flight to Xi’an, heading for what was once the capital of the T’ang dynasty, and therefore quite possibly the home of Lingfei, original owner of the silver box. I was also heading for a big dustup with a slug. To say that I was annoyed with Burton would not come close to capturing my feelings, after all that garbage about how we had to find the box no matter which of us got it, how we had to work together. I was really ticked.