The Timor Man (47 page)

He had dressed in a light summer sports jacket, a soft green shirt, without tie, and charcoal grey trousers. He still felt overdressed. Coleman pushed the large bowl of cashew nuts away to the side. Small, crisp pieces of roasted pork rind followed. He avoided the bar snacks having discovered during his early apprenticeship in the East that many a stomach complaint could be traced to the prolific assortment of
hors d'ouvres
provided in such establishments. Not that he was concerned here. Another reason for his loyalty to this hotel had been its excellent cuisine. He just wasn't hungry.

Asmall group of wealthy tourists clapped as the song thankfully finished. The woman who had requested what she most probably considered to be Hong Kong's version of the national anthem, had attempted to sing the theme song before losing her way after somewhere ‘high up on the mountain'. She then attempted to completely destroy the song by joining the singer pianist only on the high notes.

The tourist wasn't drunk. But she was close to that threshold.

Another request was played and Coleman pulled his jacket sleeve back slightly, checking the time. And frowned. He accepted another Chivas and stirred the ice cubes with his index finger. Stephen turned as this song also came to a close just in time to witness her entry. Most conversation stopped as the tall slim woman glided across the floor and over to the bar.

She was stunning in appearance. Her shining black hair had been cut to a pageboy presentation, its richness absorbing yet reflecting the multitude of rays, split and redirected by the chandeliers overhead. She was tall and walked like a model, her feet dressed in Chanel satin stiletto heels barely evident as the almost floor length body-tight black chiffon evening dress faintly touched the beautifully polished nails of her stockinged feet. She wore simple jade earrings. Her neck was decorated with a matching black choker to the side of which another, but smaller, jade piece had been positioned.

She approached the bar and placed her matching clutch purse on the bar beside him. Stephen Coleman immediately thought that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her skin still displayed the softness of care with just a suggestion that she'd been briefly in the sun. Her eyes were brown. She looked Eurasian, and there was a suggestion of Chinese to her features. Whatever the genetic contributing factors had been, their perfect blend had produced a most breathtaking result.

Conversation died immediately at surrounding tables as men admired the magnificent creature who had just entered, while their ladies sat mesmerized with her appearance.

“Sorry I'm late,” she said, holding her hand out to Coleman but not so far as to indicate that she wanted it shaken. “Problems with the driver,” with which she smiled, displaying her even white teeth highlighted by the thin line of peach lipstick professionally applied across her lips.

“Do it again and you're fired,” Coleman said, returning her brilliant smile.

“Fire me and who would take care of the children?” she responded.

“I know it would be difficult but even in Hong Kong I'd probably get lucky,” he suggested.

She laughed and the stress of the past days and the long flight disappeared as he admired his date.

“I'm Angelique,” she whispered, moving close so others couldn't hear.

“Stephen,” was all he could muster, holding his tumbler up to welcome her, suddenly realizing that she hadn't been offered a drink.

The barman returned quickly and, identifying the woman, asked Coleman, “Moet, sir?”

“Of course,” he replied, almost choking in laughter at the cheek of the man. “You do drink champagne, I take it?” he asked her, still smiling at the barman's hustle.

“All the time,” Angelique laughed in reply.

They waited for the champagne to be poured then raised their glasses touching them together softly, enjoying the identifying ring of the Bohemian crystal flutes before sipping the wine. One of the older waiters serving outside the bar hobbled across and positioned the bar stool for Coleman's guest.

“Are we staying here long?” she asked.

“Hungry?”

“Famished!” she replied, touching the small of her stomach.

“Your choice then,” Stephen offered, hoping she would not select some distant destination which would take hours in the Hong Kong traffic.

“Room service?” she suggested, watching for his reaction.

For once he was at a loss for words. He was tempted to agree but there was something in her manner which influenced his decision.

“Room service it is then, but not for dinner,” Stephen said, continuing the banter. “For now, we shall sip our Moet and then I'd suggest we dine here in the hotel. ”

She was obviously pleased as she flashed another of her incredible smiles first at Stephen and then around the bar to show their observers that she was indeed, with this man.

They finished the champagne and then dined in the hotel's superb main restaurant.

“Seafood or beef?” Coleman had decided to order for them both.

“You choose,” she answered, causing her host to flip back to the menu's entree selection.

“Fine then,” he said, addressing the waiter, ”we'll both have the sultan's cream of tomato soup followed by the smoked salmon. Give us about thirty minutes and then we will have the baked crab.”

Stephen then ordered another bottle of champagne.

“The soup here is excellent,” he explained, “I have only found one other place that makes it anywhere near as well. ”

The champagne arrived and as the waiter poured he explained. “They use fresh tomatoes, none of that canned variety here, and it is cooked almost too thick in texture but that's so the cream can be poured in the shape of a small ring around the centre of the soup. Then, very delicately, they also pour a gracious serving of Gordon's Gin into the centre and serve. ”

She smiled as he talked, listening to his culinary description, without interrupting, appearing naturally attentive. They enjoyed their meal, resting between the courses, talking together as if they were old friends. Coleman had changed from the Moet Chandon to a burgundy with his meal but Angelique had politely refused, content to remain with the champagne.

Before the crab was served he'd asked her to dance. There were six or seven couples on the floor and, as they moved slowly around the small dance area, he knew that the others were admiring them as a couple.

“We're being watched,” he whispered.

“I know. They are all thinking who is that handsome man that ugly woman has managed to catch?” she whispered back like some co-conspirator.

Stephen laughed, pushing her away slightly, jokingly, to admire her face. The music finished and they returned to their seats.

“Tell me something about yourself, Angelique,” he asked.

“Only if you tell me about you, first. Okay?”

During the main course they took turns talking about childhood dreams, where they were born, where they had gone to school and other simple detail as if it all really mattered. Neither discussed the present, each sensitive to the other's unwillingness to divulge the more intimate and private aspects of their lives. They refused dessert and the coffee.

Suddenly Coleman realized that they were the last couple left in the restaurant and, glancing at his gold Omega discovered to his surprise that it was almost one o'clock in the morning. She noticed his expression and leaned across placing her hands on top of his.

“Stephen,” she said softly, “time for room service,” with which she rose pulling his hands forcing him to follow.

They rode up in the lift in silence. He could smell the tantalizing French perfume, a Guerlain Shalimar, and was conscious of the warmth in her arms as they brushed lightly together.

The suite was decorated in creams and gold borders. The double-lined drapes, when closed, displayed tastefully illustrated scenes of Chinese junks under sail, the mountainous islands surrounding Kowloon as their backdrop. He undressed as she left him to use the bathroom.

The bed had been turned down by the maid service. Stephen softened the lighting before he opened the huge and heavy drapes to gain the benefit of the harbour view.

He lay back on the bed, his head propped against his hand as he absorbed the sight of Hong Kong after dark. He heard the movement and, turning towards the sound saw her naked body silhouetted in the hall doorway, the bathroom lights behind.

She moved slowly towards the end of the bed and stood quite still providing Stephen with the breathtaking sight of her full breasts and womanhood. She moved around to where he lay and bent down, kissing him softly on the shoulder and then on the chest and finally moving her warm sweet mouth to his abdomen from where she used her tongue slowly, side to side across his stomach making a soft, almost snail like trail back up to his neck.

Finally she kissed him softly on the lips, forcing his mouth open with her tongue while pressing forward with her body, moving across to straddle his, the sudden warmth causing Stephen to groan. He lay like this as she prepared him, taking him in her hand and gently stroking his body until sensing the change in his breathing.

She stopped, rolled over onto her side guiding his length through her warm and soft gates deep into her body, moaning softly as he commenced the rhythmic pelvic thrusts while gently stroking her firm and sensitive breasts. Stephen climaxed, the jerking spasms sending an indescribable warmth of joy through his body as he emptied himself inside her.

They lay together, embracing each other until gradually falling asleep, only to awaken and make love again, this time more slowly, giving her as much pleasure as it did him.

The sun pierced through the windows as they had forgotten to close the drapes. They each bathed, ordered a breakfast of juice, toast and coffee and sat silently, sipping their black Turkish coffee together, dressed only in their white bathrobes, enjoying the quiet of early morning. Angelique noticed that he had finished.

She stood and let the robe fall back off her shoulders to the floor. In the light of day he could see that she was even more beautiful than he'd thought the evening before. They made love, again, but this time without the sense of urgency they had experienced during their first coupling. This time they kissed gently, slowly, and enjoyed each other's bodies reaching their climax together. They bathed again and dressed.

Coleman escorted the attractive woman down through the hotel lobby and, having arranged for one of the hotel's Rolls Royces to be standing by at his disposal, said his goodbyes on the marble steps and sent her away. He returned to his room and prepared for the journey to Macau.

 

He thought of Angelique as the ferry sped across the choppy sea, and the previous night of love making, her beauty and exotic smell, and the probability that he would not be fortunate enough to have her again. It was best like that, he believed, as he didn't want any complicated involvements in his life right then. Perhaps in the future he would be able to settle down into something solid, maybe. For the time being he was content to survive on the casual relationships such as the electric encounter he'd had with Angelique. If that was, in fact, her name.

As the ferry slowed to prepare for arrival, Coleman made a mental note to phone and thank Mister Lim for his excellent taste. Stephen smiled as images of their bedroom tryst danced quickly through his thoughts. She was certainly worth it, he thought, amused at himself for having gone a little overboard this time with the wining and dining routine.

As the Rolls Royce had glided away from the hotel, she waved, and immediately her client turned to re-enter the hotel. She ripped open the envelope he'd given her as she stepped into the exquisite saloon. The woman who called herself Angelique let out a squeal of delight as she counted the money. She squealed again, having come to the last note in the count, and held it tightly to her chest. Two thousand Hong Kong dollars! She could hardly believe Stephen's generosity.

Remembering the envelope, the young hostess quickly replaced the money and buried the small fortune deep inside her copy Chanel bag, one of the first to be made in Thailand for the Hong Kong market. She would not disclose the gift to her boss, Lim, as he would be furious that she had accepted such an amount from one of his clientele. Instead, she would send the money back to the Shanghai hovel where her mother remained.

Deserted by her French lover, and barely sixteen, the pregnant and destitute girl had been forced to sell Angelique to Lim when the child was but six years old. He had arranged to have her transported illegally across into Hong Kong, hidden along with twenty other young girls, their skinny and fragile bodies caked in filth from the pigs which shared the junk during the rough crossing.

Two days after her fourteenth birthday she was given to a visiting Japanese businessman for the weekend on his friends yacht. She was forced to submit not just to this man but, when he had finished with her at the end of a painful first day, she was then used by three of the others in the party.

Lim had been paid well for the young virgin and he immediately identified her potential. Within four years Angelique had been given new documents, her name, and had completed intensive training directly under the supervision of the infamous Mama Lily in Wan Chai.