Bless the Bride

shop. I heard harsh, unfamiliar words spoken and Mr. Lee emerged again. “They say that our employer is upstairs in his residence and will receive us. This way, please.”
    He led me up a flight of steps beside the shop. He used a key to open a front door, then we climbed a long flight of stairs before we came to a second closed door. He knocked on this and it was opened by a young boy, dressed in Chinese garb, who bowed to us. Mr. Lee snapped some words to the boy, who gave me a curious glance before he scurried away, leaving us standing in a foyer. I looked around me. Another flight of stairs ascended up into darkness to our left. Ahead of us was a large, intricately carved screen, inlaid with what seemed to be semiprecious stones, depicting a mountain scene with cranes standing among reeds. It blocked my view of the interior of the apartment.
    “That’s a beautiful screen,” I commented.
    “Chinese always have something like a screen at the front of their dwelling,” Frederick Lee said. “It is to deter evil spirits from coming in. They will not enter if there is not a straight path for them.”
    “People still believe that, do they? Or is this just for tradition’s sake?”
    “Of course they believe it.” He sounded shocked. “Is it any stranger than praying to a statue in a Catholic Church?”
    “I suppose not, although we don’t really pray to statues,” I said. “Actually—” I broke off as the boy returned. He said something in Chinese to Frederick Lee.
    “My employer will receive you now,” he said, and led me around the screen and into a large living room. I almost had my breath taken away at the sumptuousness of the surroundings. The furniture was of a black wood I took to be ebony and it was intricately carved, inlaid in places with mother-of-pearl. On the floor were exotic carpets, again with designs of mythical beasts on them. There were bright red silk hangings draped around a large jade statue in one corner and more lovely pieces of jade and ivory on shelves and side tables. On the walls were hung jeweled ceremonial swords and daggers, as well as scrolls of Chinese characters and painted scenes of mountains and flowers. The air was thick with a scented kind of smoke, and I noticed in a far corner little sticks glowing in front of yet another jade figure.
    And in the midst of all this a man sat on a high-backed chair, looking for all the world like an exotic emperor on a throne. He was not young, and a long wispy white mustache drooped at the corners of his mouth. He was not wearing a skullcap and his head appeared at first to be bald, until I saw that he had hair at the back of his head, falling in a long dark queue. Although he was surrounded by these exotic objects, he was dressed in a smart Western business suit, with an immaculate white shirt and ascot. He held a cigar in one slim bony hand and puffed on it as we entered the room.
    “I bring you Miss Molly Murphy, as you requested,” Frederick said, bowing slightly before retreating behind the screen again.
    Lee Sing Tai waved the hand bearing the cigar at me. “Excellent. Excellent. I knew you would come, Miss Molly Murphy. I knew you would not let me down. Very well. Sit. Sit.”
    He pointed at a long bench, piled with brocade pillows. I perched on it cautiously because it looked extremely slippery. Also I was feeling ridiculously nervous and at the same time angry with myself for being intimidated.
    “I understand you have a commission for me to carry out?” I said. “I asked your employee about its nature but he was not very forthcoming.”
    Lee Sing Tai tapped ash into an exquisite blue-and-white dish. “You will take tea with me,” he said. He didn’t wait for an answer but clapped his hands. The boy came into the room and bowed low. An order was given. The boy disappeared.
    “Chinese tea is very fine,” he said.
    “I know. I’ve drunk it. It tasted almost perfumed.”
    “That was Lapsang Souchong,” he said. “In my household I prefer to drink Keemun. The king of teas, they call it. I am only one who imports it to this country.” He spoke English with a heavy accent, snapping out individual words rather than delivering a fluid sentence. “But important families in New York City come to me for their tea. Rockerfellers. Astors. You have heard of them?”
    “Of course,” I said.
    “I supply them tea and silk and many other things.” There was a quizzical smile on his face as he said this. “You would