Mrs. Pollifax on the China Station

Mrs.
Pollifax, then Malcolm Styles was surely going to chronically shatter Iris’s
poise. She smiled back at him, genuinely liking him for the kindness in his
eyes.
    ”Finished inspection?” he asked, amused.
    She laughed. ”A very thorough one, wasn’t it? I think you’re very
elegant.”
    His smile deepened. ”Presently I’ll be wearing a very red noisy sport
shirt—”
    In which, thought Mrs. Pollifax, you will look
equally distinguished, let us not kid ourselves.
    ”—because I’ve only flown in this morning after a business stopover in
Tokyo. And now if breakfast is buffet—as I have been told in no uncertain
terms,” he said dryly, ”I hope you’ll excuse me?”
    ”Yes, of course,” she told him, and watched him stroll toward the
buffet, pick up a tray and manage to look both friendly and unapproachable at
the same time. She wondered who would appear next, thinking how much like the
first act of a play this was becoming, with each person arriving singly, and on
cue. She looked up from her coffee to see a young girl approaching with a red,
white, and blue ribbon pinned to her collar, but her analogy was upset when the
girl turned and spoke to the older man behind her. Not singly, amended Mrs. Pollifax, and waited.
    ”Are you China ?”
the girl asked, coming to her table and pointing to her identical ribbon. She
had a pert young face, very friendly and gamine, almost overwhelmed by huge
round glasses that made her face look even smaller,- her upper lip was retrousée, not quite meeting the
lower one and exposing square white teeth. She wore a purple shirt and pink
cotton skirt that emphasized her dark hair and fresh complexion. ”I’m Jenny,”
she said. ”Jenny Lobsen.” Glancing over her shoulder she added, ”And this is
George Westrum.”
    Mrs. Pollifax stood up to shake hands this time. ”Hello to both of you.
You’re traveling together?”
    Jenny laughed and vigorously shook her head. ”Oh no, we spotted each
other’s ribbons in the lobby at six o’clock this morning, I guess we’re both
still on San Francisco time. So we went walking. It was great—we saw people practicing Tai Chi in the
park.”
    Mrs. Pollifax extended her hand to George Westrum, amused by the
difference in temperament between him and Jenny. Although he wore a boyish cap
tilted back on his head George Westrum was a very dour-looking man in his
fifties. His face was taciturn and weathered, with a tight mouth that looked
like a purse snapped shut forever, yet as he gripped her hand and looked
squarely at her Mrs. Pollifax swore that she saw a twinkle in the man’s eye.
    ”Just George will do,” he said.
    A twinkle, a baseball cap, and a tight mouth—very interesting, she
thought. ”I’m Emily Pollifax,” she told them, and mentally running over
Bishop’s list she added, ”And now we’re all here except for one person.”
    At that moment she became aware that Sullen Young Man from the nearby
table had risen and was strolling toward them, still looking as if he preferred
to be elsewhere, and also rather out of place in his ancient faded jeans and
jogging shoes. Reaching them he said, ”I’ve had my breakfast and I’m just
leaving—I’m Peter Fox.” He looked at each of them one by one, nodded, added,
”See you later,” and before anyone could speak he walked out of the breakfast
room.
    So much for him, thought Mrs. Pollifax, startled, as she gazed after him. She wondered whether
his hostility was going to infect and effect the others; she thought, too, how
unfriendly it was of him to have sat nearby for so long, watching but without
declaring himself.
    But there was research to be done on all of them, she remembered, and
with a glance at her watch she excused herself, secure in the knowledge that at
least she had met her six tour companions, however superficially. At the top of
her research list, however, she now placed Peter Fox. Assignment aside, she
found that she was intensely curious as to what had brought him here, and
apparently so unwillingly.
     
    Huge crowds surrounded the railway station, encircling it in lines ten
deep until it looked, said George Westrum, exactly like a baseball stadium at
World Series time besieged by eager fans. With Miss Chu and Mr. Li to run
interference, they made their way through line after line to a smaller queue inside
the building, where they waited with families gripping small portable fans in
one hand and food packages in string bags in the other: