happened to the Nakamura woman. Watch that it doesn’t happen to you,” Mrs. Yogetsu spat beforestorming off to one of the nearby doors, presumably her private quarters. The belt to her robe caught in the door as she slammed it. The door creaked open again, and the belt was whipped inside.
I wanted to laugh, despite the gravity of the situation. But there was no place to do it.
“Come. I want you to have the autopsy,” Hugh whispered when we got upstairs
“Can’t we do this later?” I was still nerved out by Mrs. Yogetsu.
“It’s got to be now. I’m leaving at seven o’clock to ski.” He pushed me inside and locked the door.
“I don’t know why you insisted on concocting that false love scene if your reputation is so precious. What about your colleagues and Yamamoto?” As I shook out the wet robe and spread it to dry near the space heater, I answered the question for myself. The Japanese people around us would consider him virile; I’d be the tramp.
“She’s the important one. And the crucial thing is that she not know what we were up to. Here you are, Miss Prim.” He pulled a packet of papers out of his suitcase.
“Can I take this, work on it a little while?” I scanned four pages of tiny typed characters and realized how impossible it would be to translate.
“By all means. It does no good in my hands.”
“In the museum, I overheard some docents saying they didn’t like Mrs. Yogetsu. She overcharges them for flower-arranging lessons.” I sunk down on the edge of his futon. “I think she’s horribly arrogant but that’s not enough—”
“Not enough to make a murderer. Come here. If you go to sleep with a wet head, you’ll catch cold.” Hugh knelt behind me and started rubbing my wet hair with a towel like I was a dog that got caught in the rain.
“That’s not very Scottish of you. I hear your countrymen tramp around wintry moors wearing kilts with nothing underneath.” I spoke lightly to cover up the fact that his touch was making goose bumps break out all over me.
“A kilt is good cover, unlike that obscene sleeping costume you affect.”
“I explained to you earlier that this is Japanese thermal underwear. It’s indigenous clothing.”
“But you run around in it like you’re some kind of American boy! Let me advise you that you aren’t.”
I pulled away as the towel chafed my neck. “Oh, I forgot. Gaijin prefer an Oriental fantasy girl who always agrees.”
“I think you know me better than that,” he said shortly.
“I don’t think I know you at all,” I said, although in a way, I did. He anticipated my thoughts, finished up my sentences. And I knew the way his hands felt on me, which was another reality unto itself.
“If you are going to leave, do it now.” He’d taken away the towel and was stroking his fingers through my hair. “And I don’t want any changed minds or midnight visits where I have to tuck you in and lie awake the rest of the night slowly going mad—”
“That’s how you felt last night?” I twisted around and saw something desperate in his eyes.
“Yes. You were so sick and fragile, and all I wantedto do was this.” As his mouth drifted over mine, he pushed me backward on the soft mattress.
It’s what I want . That thought flashed through me as I kissed him back, my hands gripping his shoulders.
“I’m not so awful, am I?” he breathed when we came up for air.
Not replying, I offered him my neck. Yes, he remembered the spot that had sent me reeling across the taxi seat. He knew that, and more. Soon I was tugging at his starched cotton shirt and then, his belt. I couldn’t let go.
“Be careful,” he chided, disappearing beneath the quilt. “I’m too old, too Scottish…”
“But I want you anyway,” I sighed. It was chemistry, pure and simple. I stretched my hands down his body and found him the way I’d expected: rocklike.
“Say that to me tomorrow.” His mouth was on my navel.
“Do you want to, ah…” It
I wanted to laugh, despite the gravity of the situation. But there was no place to do it.
“Come. I want you to have the autopsy,” Hugh whispered when we got upstairs
“Can’t we do this later?” I was still nerved out by Mrs. Yogetsu.
“It’s got to be now. I’m leaving at seven o’clock to ski.” He pushed me inside and locked the door.
“I don’t know why you insisted on concocting that false love scene if your reputation is so precious. What about your colleagues and Yamamoto?” As I shook out the wet robe and spread it to dry near the space heater, I answered the question for myself. The Japanese people around us would consider him virile; I’d be the tramp.
“She’s the important one. And the crucial thing is that she not know what we were up to. Here you are, Miss Prim.” He pulled a packet of papers out of his suitcase.
“Can I take this, work on it a little while?” I scanned four pages of tiny typed characters and realized how impossible it would be to translate.
“By all means. It does no good in my hands.”
“In the museum, I overheard some docents saying they didn’t like Mrs. Yogetsu. She overcharges them for flower-arranging lessons.” I sunk down on the edge of his futon. “I think she’s horribly arrogant but that’s not enough—”
“Not enough to make a murderer. Come here. If you go to sleep with a wet head, you’ll catch cold.” Hugh knelt behind me and started rubbing my wet hair with a towel like I was a dog that got caught in the rain.
“That’s not very Scottish of you. I hear your countrymen tramp around wintry moors wearing kilts with nothing underneath.” I spoke lightly to cover up the fact that his touch was making goose bumps break out all over me.
“A kilt is good cover, unlike that obscene sleeping costume you affect.”
“I explained to you earlier that this is Japanese thermal underwear. It’s indigenous clothing.”
“But you run around in it like you’re some kind of American boy! Let me advise you that you aren’t.”
I pulled away as the towel chafed my neck. “Oh, I forgot. Gaijin prefer an Oriental fantasy girl who always agrees.”
“I think you know me better than that,” he said shortly.
“I don’t think I know you at all,” I said, although in a way, I did. He anticipated my thoughts, finished up my sentences. And I knew the way his hands felt on me, which was another reality unto itself.
“If you are going to leave, do it now.” He’d taken away the towel and was stroking his fingers through my hair. “And I don’t want any changed minds or midnight visits where I have to tuck you in and lie awake the rest of the night slowly going mad—”
“That’s how you felt last night?” I twisted around and saw something desperate in his eyes.
“Yes. You were so sick and fragile, and all I wantedto do was this.” As his mouth drifted over mine, he pushed me backward on the soft mattress.
It’s what I want . That thought flashed through me as I kissed him back, my hands gripping his shoulders.
“I’m not so awful, am I?” he breathed when we came up for air.
Not replying, I offered him my neck. Yes, he remembered the spot that had sent me reeling across the taxi seat. He knew that, and more. Soon I was tugging at his starched cotton shirt and then, his belt. I couldn’t let go.
“Be careful,” he chided, disappearing beneath the quilt. “I’m too old, too Scottish…”
“But I want you anyway,” I sighed. It was chemistry, pure and simple. I stretched my hands down his body and found him the way I’d expected: rocklike.
“Say that to me tomorrow.” His mouth was on my navel.
“Do you want to, ah…” It
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