I clear my throat, trying to suppress the tickling laugh caught there. ‘You and Gigi go on. Mr Lee and I can wait for the next rickshaw.’
Gigi sweeps past me before Ah Lang can try to out-polite me. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’
She’s so shameless I can’t help laughing.
‘What?’ Gigi says in mock innocence. Once Ah Lang climbs on she turns and gives me a smile so smug and satisfied it ought to be stuffed with canary feathers and dipped in fresh milk.
We watch them leave, and then Mr Lee and I are alone. I feel suddenly shy, and when he looks at me his gaze smoulders. My cheeks warm and I get a fluttery feeling inside my chest that strangely makes me feel like I need to pee.
What is wrong with me? I clear my throat, again, determined to shake off that odd sensation. Maybe it’s the champagne.
‘That was fun,’ I say, and then wince. My voice sounds too loud, too bright in the soft night.
‘Sure,’ he says, his mouth a grim line.
Did he not enjoy himself? I remember the rules from the book about winning friends. If they worked on Gigi, maybe they will work on Mr Lee. Number one was to avoid complaining – which means I can’t talk about my feet. Charm... I discard that since it’s definitely not a strong suit. I finally land on something that could work – the author said to praise achievements and encourage others to talk about themselves. Mr Lee rarely talks about himself. So I say, ‘Where did you learn to dance so well?’
‘Abundant gratitude, Lady Jing,’ he says, and I suck my teeth in mock anger. It makes a corner of his mouth lift. ‘I’m not that good a dancer, but I enjoyed dancing with you.’
‘You helped me learn the steps, much better than Brother Zhu. He just shimmied around.’ Oops – I just broke the don’t complain rule. The lessons are harder than I thought. Hurriedly, I tack on some praise in the hopes it can neutralise my faux pas. ‘Brother Zhu dances wonderfully.’
Mr Lee’s shy expression shutters. A dark cloud settles over his features, pulls his eyebrows down and douses the light in his gaze. ‘There’s a rickshaw,’ he says, turning abruptly. His voice has an edge to it, like the surly Mr Lee from earlier. He hurries down the steps to hail the coolie, leaving a chill between us.
Once in the rickshaw, surly Mr Lee sits stiff and silent. I remember the next rule from the book. Acknowledge my mistakes. ‘It’s not anything to do with Brother Zhu’s dance skills; it’s only I felt so lost. I had no idea what I was doing on the dance floor.’
He scoffs, crosses his arms. ‘Well, you certainly looked like you were having fun.’
I don’t understand the meaning in his tone. ‘I was. No one told me how fabulous dancing makes you feel.’
Another awkward silence. I look over at him, annoyed that he’s not acknowledging my efforts. I try again, not wanting such a special night to end on such a sour note. I pat his arm gently to make him look at me, then fold my hands at my waist in the old style, bowing as low as I can manage sitting in the narrow rickshaw.
‘This unintelligent one laboured your procession to take care of this troublesome woman. By your fortune has this unworthy one had the best time of her life in the last two days. Abundant gratitude for treasured Mr Lee’s kindness and friendship.’
When I straighten, Mr Lee is staring at me, surprise and shock in his wide eyes. He sputters for a moment, then whispers, ‘Treasured?’
I nod. A small smile creeps up the corner of his lips, but then he frowns again. ‘What about Brother Zhu? You said he’swonderful.’
‘He’s a complete pig.’ The words are barely out before I clap a hand over my mouth, dismayed I forgot rule number one. No criticising is hard to remember. But instead of souring Mr Lee’s attitude, I’m rewarded with a flash of dimples. He settles back into the rickshaw, the stiffness all gone.
‘You didn’t find him charming?’ he says.
Encouraged by his reaction, I try more criticism. ‘I wanted to stomp his smug face into the ground. “Feisty Celestials are my favourite”? Oh please. What a bunch of rotted turd-eggs.’
Mr Lee is grinning widely now.
‘The point is,’ I continue, ‘I need him. He has good intel. I would have to be incredibly stupid to throw that away simply because he’s full of horse farts.’
It’s cooled considerably, and a refreshing breeze plays over the back of my neck. Mr Lee leans right back so his head is pillowed by his interlocked hands.
‘Why are you so cheerful all of a sudden?’ I ask.
‘You willingly used courtly piss-fart to thank me; I’m touched,’ he says. ‘Treasured Lady Jing, these past two days have been wonderful for me too. Thank you for your friendship and your trust.’
Mr Lee’s soft gaze meets mine. His knuckle skims my cheek and he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His thumb lingers at my jaw. I’m suddenly unable to move, caught in his gaze, the warmth of his hand against my cheek. The moment stretches, and Gigi’s words float back to me.
Mr Lee likes you.
He leans in, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks. His breath feathers over my lips. I’m about to close my eyes when a crack of lightning splits the sky, followed by the deafening roar of thunder. Panic seizes me. I cringe away from Mr Lee.
