Play@YSDC

Dr. Renwick has been left to himself, only occasionally does a Society man, usually Feng about some chore, appear. The Doctor is making notes for his intended lecture this evening; he spends a good half hour perusing the Society's leaflets and pamphlets, though there are lots of pictures for illiterate farmers all text has Chinese pictographs and is therefore not very informative to him. He sits at the table, pencil poised over a blank sheet of paper. His eye rests upon the library book Miss Harriet.

I pick up the dog-eared copy of Miss Harriet and with my mind confused about the content of tonight's lecture. Looking through the book I scan the pages for information ... anything that may be relevant, at least to act as a starting point.

Library use 45%

As I look at the book there is nothing that seems even remotely appropriate.

The "bookmark" flutters to the floor. Dr. Renwick reads a few lines of print, but it is impossible to follow the French beyond a few well known phrases, "mon Dieu!" he thinks wryly. He closes the book and then opens its cover; opposite the title is a library ticket and several stamped dates, the last one is today's date: the book is due back at the Bibliothèque de la Chine.

She takes the offered seat, as Lin sits she tucks her long skirt round her legs. "Thank you, sir, I would like a drink, wine, please. 'Luck,' " she laughs, "well, maybe not! You stick out like a sore toe--or is it thumb?" She adds: "Where is that pretty wife of yours?"

Santiago signals to the waiter and orders some wine. "I could almost start an export service to here, for some decent Spanish wine." He waits until the wine is poured. "I hope you don't mind if I don't join you, I find it unpalatable. Elizabeth is bathing with the others but I expect they'll be back soon. So Senorita, sorry I don't know your name, are you a free lance journalist or do you work for a paper. And am I of special interest or is it just because I look like a sore thumb?" He smiles so not to seem too harsh.

"Is Spanish wine so good?" she questions. "You're wife is bathing?" she looks across the street to the Turkish bath house, "Oh, I see. My name is Lin and I work for the North China Daily News. And you are interesting, Mr. Santiago--why are you in Chengchow?"

"Spanish wine is powerful, emotional, dramatic and exquisite on the tongue. Rather like the people." Santiago quips. "I'm afraid we are just touring; nothing exciting for the paper. We intend to visit some of your historic sites, a monastery, maybe the Pagoda of The Giant Goose if we get that far. I hope to do some game shooting too." He smiles. "We lost some of our luggage so are here to buy some more supplies and also to see some acquaintances. I expect we'll be off in a day or two. Have you seen many westerners around here recently?" Santiago secretly wonders if any of his enemies have got this far yet.

After Santiago's quip about Spanish wine, Lin's cheeks colour perceptibly. She lowers her wine glass, "I hope you realise that I'll never be able to drink the local wine again." Lin listens to Santiago and replies, "No Westerners, not wandering around town anyway--there's a few at the hospital."

Santiago looks relieved. "So, how free are you to report the truth here in China? I imagine it must be quite hard if the officials don't like your story." Santiago remembers the fabricated news story about the fire at the restaurant, wondering who was behind the lies.

"This is China!" she laughs. "I have to submit all pieces to an editor for 'political' approval; with this in mind I only report what I know will be published.

"Have you come from Peking? Did you see the restaurant and station that had burnt down?"

Santiago studies Lin with a critical eye. He reckons that she knows as much, if not more, than most on the subject already; any information he can get might help towards understanding what the hell went on that night. It looks light a 'fishing' competition is about to ensue. Santiago casts his bait.
"I know the place you mean, run by...oh what's his name? Has two daughters, I think. Didn't they have a party that night?"

"A Dr. Chee--but I think you know that already?" says Lin. "A party--yes--lots of guests, but there is a mystery: where has everyone gone? . . ." she looks intently at Santiago.

"Well, the official line that was in the papers, as you know, was that everyone died in the blaze. What makes you think that anyone survived?" Santiago returns the look.

"Someone told me so, that's why! Would you like to meet Mr. Chen from the newspaper? He'd be interested to meet you."

"I can't think why - unless he's interested in my holiday travels." Santiago shifts uncomfortably. "My wife, Elizabeth could probably fill him in on that much better than I could. Maybe we could come to the office in a few days?" He reckons on them being long gone by then. "And anyway, what makes Mr Chen better than you for ferreting out the gossip?" He smiles disarmingly.

"I'm just a messenger, Mr. Santiago,--and a reporter of course. I'll tell Mr. Chen what you said." Lin gets up to leave.

Santiago gets up also. "It was a pleasure to meet you Miss Lin. Give me your card and we may visit the offices in a day or two." He bows as she leaves and then looks around to see where the others may have got too - if they are still bathing they must have turned into prunes by now.