Stone, Katherine (12 page)

Peak Castle

Victoria Peak

Saturday, June 19, 1993

Cynthia
Andrews had as much ambition as any taipan. It wasn't wealth she
sought, or power. What Cynthia wanted was fame. The BBC reporter had enjoyed
minor fame in London, but her stories were local and she wanted international
scope. Besides, her lifelong contempt for the monarchy made what passed for
"news" in England—the never-ending saga of the lives and loves of the
royals—quite distasteful to her.

The previous year, 1992, had been Queen Elizabeth II's
self-proclaimed "annus horribilus," the year she'd watched the
marriages of her children crumble and her favorite castle go up in smoke. It
had been the final straw for Cynthia. She wanted to report real news,
serious
news. She knew where to find it. Hong Kong's sovereignty transfer to the
People's Republic of China was only four years away. The BBC didn't want to
lose Cynthia Andrews, but she threatened defection to CNN unless she was
reassigned.

Upon her arrival in Hong Kong, Cynthia discovered an
unexpected—and entirely welcome—dividend of her move. Tyler Vaughn.

While in Monte Carlo covering a visit by the Princess of Wales,
Cynthia had watched Tyler win the Monaco Grand Prix. For the race-car driver
turned shipping tycoon, the race had been a grudge match. A few years earlier,
the course had almost cost him his life. Cynthia had been close enough to
witness Tyler's reaction to his victory—more solemn than jubilant, and not the
least bit surprised. Already his piercing blue eyes searched the horizon for
new worlds to conquer.

Tyler's victory in Monte Carlo marked the end of his racing
career. But he remained as nomadic as when he'd been on the Formula One
circuit. He roamed from port to port, overseeing his shipping empire. Because
of the Jade Palace, his wandering had come to a temporary halt. He was going to
live in Hong Kong, in a suite at the Regent, while the hotel was being built.
He'd personally ensure that the building materials off-loaded from his ships
were the best of the best.

Tyler would be in Hong Kong until January, giving Cynthia ample
time to orchestrate a meeting. She planned to add a "Newsmaker
Interview" segment to her Friday-night newscast. What better guest than
the thirty-six-year-old owner of Grand Prix, the trading company that had
become second only to Lloyd-Ashton's?

Sometime, either on-air or after, she'd ask the man with a passion
for all things fast and dangerous how he satisfied that passion now that his
livelihood depended on the slow journeys of mammoth ships. And with her most
provocative smile, she'd offer him a satisfying outlet.

Fate stepped in before Cynthia could arrange the interview. She
and Tyler met at Happy Valley Racetrack. Guests of the same Jockey Club
steward, both were enjoying a day of horse racing from the luxury of a private
box.

Cynthia knew her affair with Tyler would be over before the Jade
Palace was built. She sensed his restlessness even now. But she was
philosophical. Based purely on lust, without the slightest pretext of love,
their liaison was as steamy as Hong Kong in June. She'd savor the pleasure as
long as it lasted.

Tonight, because of Tyler, she'd be among the elite attending the
gala atop Victoria Peak. Cynthia didn't know if Tyler had planned to ask her.
When she spotted the invitation addressed to him—and guest—she'd invited
herself. The gilt-edged invitation was itself a collector's item. It bore the
golden imprint of Sir Geoffrey Lloyd-Ashton's personal chop—his name, in
Chinese, handcarved in stone and as unique as a fingerprint.

Tyler had given her the invitation as a souvenir. Now he was
giving her this evening with Hong Kong's crème de la crème—billionaires only
and the governor. The journalist within her would be hard at work. To the
wealthy and powerful dining this evening at Peak Castle, the future of
capitalist Hong Kong was paramount.

"No interviewing," Tyler warned as he slowed his
Lamborghini to a stop.

"Interviewing?
Moi?"

"I mean it, Cyn."

"I know, and I won't. Listening will be enough."

Cynthia Andrews didn't believe in fairy tales. If one were to
create a fairy-tale castle, however, Peak Castle would be it. Even the steep
ascent to its main entrance added to the mystique. One's gaze was necessarily drawn
heavenward during the climb. The castle was adorned, on this evening, with the
alignment of Venus and the crescent moon.

Cynthia had believed when she left England that she was leaving
royalty behind. But here she was, ascending castle steps. Sir Geoffrey's claim
to Hong Kong was quite legitimate. As its most powerful citizen, Hong Kong was,
arguably, his kingdom.

And Eve, who twice a week—never more, never less— deigned to leave
her castle in the clouds to wander among her subjects? Lady Lloyd-Ashton's only
apparent claim to fame was her blue-eyed, sable-haired beauty—and the fact that
she'd charmed the charmer. Only twenty-six at the time, sixteen years younger
than Geoffrey, she'd accomplished what a legion of other women had not,
seducing Hong Kong's master seducer into marriage.

By all accounts, after seven years of marriage Sir Geoffrey
remained completely bewitched.

Cynthia refused to acknowledge the emotion she felt as envy. By
the time she and Tyler met Eve face-to-face, it was safely repackaged as
contempt.

"You must be feeling terribly confident," Cynthia
greeted Sir Geoffrey's wife. "You are, after all, one of the few remaining
untarnished princesses in the British Empire. That's quite an accomplishment
these days. Don't you agree, Tyler?"

Tyler couldn't agree that Lady Lloyd-Ashton was confident of
anything, though she should have been. Her beauty was breathtaking. Her innate
riches were so bountiful, in fact, that one of her most glorious attributes had
been all but discarded. The lustrous sable hair, which might have spilled down
her back, was cut very short, rendering it merely a stylish frame for her
exquisite face.

Her eyes were sapphire. Haunting, Tyler thought. And so haunted...

"I'm sorry," he said, answering Cynthia's question but speaking
to Eve, apologizing for whatever had caused such sadness. "I have
absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Lady Lloyd-Ashton is known as the Princess of Peak
Castle," Cynthia explained. "To her credit, unlike any number of
Great Britain's other modern princesses, she's untainted by even a whisper of
scandal."

Tyler didn't want to leave Eve's eyes. He believed her sadness had
lessened a little in response to his apology.

But Cynthia had to be stopped. Tyler's chilling look did stop
her—cold. As the color drained from her cheeks, Tyler returned to Eve.
"Good evening, Lady Lloyd-Ashton."

For a moment Eve's haunted blue eyes grew clear. Hope— and
gratitude—fairly shimmered. "Good evening, Mr. Vaughn."

Sir Geoffrey joined them, extending a warm hand and an equally
warm smile. "Hello, Tyler. Delighted you could make it."

"So am I."

"And Miss Andrews," Geoffrey continued. "Hong
Kong's star reporter. Welcome to Peak Castle. You must allow me to introduce
you around. I'm sure there are people here you'd like to meet."

Cynthia cast a defiant glance at Tyler, then smiled demurely at
the dashing taipan. "Indeed there are, Sir Geoffrey."

For a fleeting moment, Tyler thought Geoffrey was going to offer
his tuxedoed arm to Cynthia without acknowledging Eve. But before whisking
Cynthia away, he turned his attention to his wife.

"You look ravishing tonight, my love." Geoffrey's
expression made it obvious that he would have been content to gaze at her
forever. But with a disarming smile, he said, "Miss Andrews? Shall we
go?"

Tyler didn't watch Cynthia and Geoffrey leave. Eve's ghosts had
returned.

He was about to try to reach her with words, when, with a single
blink, her clouded eyes became clear again. More guests were arriving and Lady
Lloyd-Ashton had to be the most gracious of hostesses... of princesses.

***

James, Allison, Sam and Maylene had planned to travel together to
Peak Castle in one of the hotel's Silver Cloud limousines. The plan began to
unravel at 4:00 p.m., when Maylene decided to borrow James's Jaguar and drive
herself, and at six, James himself had several more overseas calls to make. He
informed the bell captain that only Sam and Allison would be leaving the hotel
at six forty-five, and that he'd require another car later on.

James knew dinner wouldn't be served until nine. Eve had told him
he needn't arrive until then, needn't bother with the preliminary social
banter. But because of Eve, James arrived at seven-thirty.

Because of Eve—and Allison.

James hadn't seen her since Monday. But while he was in Australia,
her image had come to him at the most sacrosanct of times—when he should have
been wholly focused on the construction problems at the resort... and when he
was alone, thinking about Gweneth.

James needed to see Allison. Confronted with the woman, not the
fantasy, his impossible feelings for her would disappear.

He found her on a marbled terrace. Her moonlit hair shone
golden-red, and rainbows shimmered on her gown. James couldn't see her face,
but as he imagined her expression, he knew that the truly impossible fantasy
was that his feelings for her could vanish.

He posed a question more to his own heart than hers. "Are you
feeling guilty?"

Happiness flooded her. He was here and had bothered to find her.
In the days since she'd last seen him, she'd made a promise to herself that,
when they met again, she'd just
talk
to him. And if she sounded
hopelessly naive, so be it. That was who she was.

She turned to him. Talk to him. Beginning
now.
"Very
guilty," she murmured. "How did you know?"

"The first time we spoke by phone, when I said I hoped you
could be here this early, you mentioned a wedding. Wasn't it this
weekend?"

She nodded. "I'd forgotten I told you that."

"Were you supposed to be a bridesmaid?"

"No. I was supposed to be the bride."

"Allison... I'm very sorry."

"Thank you, James, but it's really okay. It wouldn't have
been what a marriage should be."
What your marriage was.

"Still, you're feeling guilty."

"Not about that. I was thinking about my family, my
grandparents especially. For... emotional reasons, they didn't want me to come
to Hong Kong. I'm sure they hoped I'd arrive, hate it and take the first flight
back to Dallas."

"But you're still here."

"Yes."

"You don't hate Hong Kong."

"Oh, no, James. I love it."

***

Sam knew the exact moment Maylene arrived at Peak Castle. He'd
been worrying about her, wondering why she'd made the decision to come alone.
When he saw her, Sam chided himself for his concern.

She'd wanted to make a grand entrance, that was all. And she did.
All eyes were riveted, and an awed silence fell, as she appeared.

She didn't wear a crown, nor did she need one. Her lustrous black
hair, swirled atop her head, glittered as if sprinkled with diamonds. Men
attending the Peak Castle gala wore tuxedos. The women wore gowns. But to this
black-tie affair, Maylene had chosen a gold lame ensemble of tunic and
trousers.

Sam was about to look away when he saw her eyes, and knew the
truth. This was how Maylene survived in a world in which she perceived
contempt. She took the offensive, drawing attention to how different she was.
How unique.

It wasn't really a celebration, Sam knew. Maylene hated being on
display. But she'd decided she had no choice. She was an exotic creature, and
people would stare no matter what she did. By giving them reason to stare, she
maintained a little dignity, a small shred of control.

Sam watched, restless and aching, while Maylene walked the
gauntlet of Hong Kong's rich and famous. As soon as she'd met everyone she
needed to meet, he rescued her.

"I need a moment with my architect," he explained before
whisking her away. Once alone, he greeted her softly. "You made it."

"Of course!" Her tone was brusque.

"I'm not them, Maylene. I'm your friend."

His words confused her, or perhaps it was his gentleness.
"Was there something you wanted to discuss, Sam? A problem with my design
for the hotel?"

"No." Sam smiled. "Sentimental journey?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I wondered where you were, why you drove yourself instead of
coming with us. I was worried about you."

A foolish part of her wanted to confess. Yes, it had been a
sentimental journey. She'd driven to Mount Cameron Road where, from a distance,
she'd viewed a certain Victorian house overlooking Happy Valley. It had been
Vivian's home—and Juliana's—when Juliana and Garrett had met; and nine months
later, Maylene had been born within its walls. Juliana lived there now, once
again, as she'd vowed she would. Her purchase of the property proved how lost
she was—still—in romanticized memories of imagined love.