Dominick’s refined head, in front of Otsubo’s legs. His eyes meeting Will’s, opening wide in panic, then deadening to gray. He didn’t stop, he just closed his eyes. Will, leaping back instinctively, yet knowing not to slam the door, having the presence of mind to conceal his intrusion.

A baby, born in the middle of the night, given away to an indifferent nurse, never seen by its sedated mother.

A young woman, just back from California, still puffy from childbirth, with empty eyes, arms filled with another’s child.

June 2, 1953

A GOOD EVENING PARTY always gave off a glow. Drinks were refilled quickly, the food was abundant, the servants silent and efficient, and the guests all secure in the knowledge that they had been chosen to attend, that many others had been excluded and might wish to be here in their place.

The Chens’ coronation party gave off such a glow, even as Claire and Martin approached the front door.

Candles set in sand in small pots lit the driveway up to the house. Uniformed men whisked away the cars. Music tinkled in the background; the Chens had hired a string quartet, installed in the foyer, three sweaty Chinese men in dinner jackets and a tiny woman with a violin tucked under her birdlike chin. Their arms sawed back and forth, making the music seem more labor than art.

The hostess at the door, holding a glass of champagne, an apparition in a dress seemingly made out of silver.

“Hello, hello,” trilled Melody. “How lovely to see you all. Scepters for everyone.” She gestured to a bowl filled with wands. “We’re all queen today.”

“You’re so wicked!” rasped a rapier-thin blonde. “Another day, another party. I’ve seen you, what, three times already this week? At the Garden Park, at Maisie’s lunch, and at that little Italian in Causeway Bay? Who were you with, you minx? That was a very handsome man.”

“A cousin, of course.” Melody winked. “Family’s very important to me.”

“What nonsense we all talk!” said the blonde and swept on inside.

Martin and Claire stood together, waiting.

“Claire!” Melody said. “I’m so glad you could come.”

“Thank you so very much for having us,” Martin said. Claire could see he was uncomfortable and she was suddenly irritated with him for it.

“Nice to see you, Melody,” she said. “What a lovely party.”

Martin got them drinks and Claire stood in the living room she had been in so often before. It was alive, different, filled with people talking, laughing, leaning toward one another confidentially.

“I don’t know a soul,” Martin said when he returned. “Makes you wonder why they invited the piano teacher and her husband.”

“Martin!” Claire said. “You don’t need to feel that way.”

But Martin was right. The other guests at the party all knew one another and were not receptive to newcomers. Claire and Martin smiled and sipped their drinks in the corner, wholly ignored.

Martin gave up and went out to the garden to look at the flowers and the view of the harbor. Claire stood by herself for a moment and then went to inspect the photographs on the mantel that she had seen before.

Trudy was still there, in her swimsuit, laughing at the camera.

There was a group of four, talking about their last trip to London, the types with feathered hats and silk suits. Claire listened to their conversation, nursing her drink.

“But it was beastly. Service there is horrible after you’ve been in the Far East. You can’t imagine what they serve you for dinner, cold and awful, and they’re not in the least apologetic about it. The idea of service is dead in England. Grim, grim, grim. Much prefer it here where they take some pride in it.”

“And Poppy’s in London now, isn’t she? I wouldn’t be surprised if she were at Westminster Abbey now.”

“Oh, she’s horrible. I’m sure she’s tried everything to get herself in. I suppose we’ll have to hear about it when she comes back.”

Claire cleared her throat. One of the women, a buxom redhead, glanced over her shoulder, and continued talking.

From her position, Claire could see the two men facing her, and the two women with their backs to her. They were all English. She would have thought the Chens would have invited more locals.

“Is Su May coming today?” the redhead asked the other woman, a younger blonde with a bob. The men left to refresh their drinks.

“I don’t think so. I think she and Melody had a falling out.”

“Really? Do tell!”

“The usual. You know”-the blonde’s voice dropped-“Melody is just impossible these days, so forgetful and rude. I had a lunch for the Garden Club on Thursday, and she didn’t let me know if she was able to come, never showed up, and then never said anything about it! I don’t know what’s going on with her these days.”

“The OBE’s gone to her head!”

Even lower. “Isn’t it funny how the most local people are the most Anglophilic?”

“I know, darling. Look around! We could be in Mayfair!”

“But you know, it’s unusual for locals to host anything at their house. I think this is the first Chinese house I’ve been in since I’ve been here.”

“Victor is good at hedging his bets. He’s having another party tomorrow, for an entirely different crew, but not at his house, at the club, with mah-jongg afterward and everything.”

“His own kind.”

“I don’t know how Melody puts up with that man. He’s the most obvious, venal person Charles has ever dealt with, he says.”

“But, you know, I’ve wondered. They say, opium…”

The two women stopped talking as another woman passed by and said hello. They swooped and rustled and pecked at one another like birds.

“Lavinia! ”

“Maude!”

“Harriet!”

Claire slipped away.

Later, she found herself talking to Annabel, a frosted champagne-blond American from Atlanta, Georgia, who was in Hong Kong with her husband, Peter, who was with the State Department.

“What’s your story, darlin’? ” Annabel asked. Her eyes were bright with alcohol, her hair in a beehive.

“I am here with my husband, who’s with the Water Department,” Claire said.

“All these departments!” Annabel hooted. “The State! Water! Make sure it’s in the pipes!”

“Er, yes,” Claire said. She never knew how to talk to Americans, who were so informal, or what to say to their odd exclamations.

“And you, what do you do to pass the time? Do you have children?”

“No,” Claire said. “Do you?”

“I have four, all under five. I keep popping them out and Peter’s ready to strangle me. I tell him, I wasn’t the only one involved here, you know? At least here, we have all the amahs. Back home, it’s not like this.”

“Have you been long in Hong Kong?” Claire asked politely.

“Three years. Had Jack here, thank God he was a Cesarean…” The woman chattered on and on, buoyed by her own effervescence, and Claire listened, glad to have an excuse to stand quietly and not look awkward.

Martin found her later, waiting by the powder room.

“Hullo,” he said. “Ready to leave soon?”

She nodded.

“I’ll be right out.” She ducked into the bathroom and splashed water on her face. She felt as if she were waiting for something to happen.

Later, she heard the redhead and the blonde, Maude and Lavinia, discuss her.

“Who was that woman lurking around?”

“I think I heard Melody say she’s the piano teacher.”

“Really?”

“Pretty, though, don’t you think?”

“In a wan, blond sort of way, I suppose.”

The sound of a light slap. “You are such a bitch!” Laughter.

“It’s that skin, you know. Drives men wild.”

“Yes, it just goes, though. It’s wasted on the young.”

A sudden commotion near the door. A maid had fainted in the heat. The houseboy was summoned and carried her out.