The Bride's Kimono Read online

  “Oh, look, isn’t that game called rugby?” Yoshi asked as we continued along. “The game that is the favorite of Hugh.”

  “Who?” my mother asked pointedly.

  “Who, indeed!” I said quickly. “Who likes rugby? I for one don’t know much about it, but I hear it can be rather violent and dangerous. I think we should steer clear of the players.”

  “No, Hugh plays that game on the mall every Sunday morning. We talked about it in the car,” Yoshi said. “I want to say hello, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not a bad idea,” my father said, surprising me until I realized he just wanted to satisfy his nosy impulses. As we walked along, I took heart in the thought that Hugh probably wouldn’t notice us because the game was fast moving and intense. We came closer to the men, and it was clear that they were a tough lot. All were wearing rugby shirts and shorts, regardless of the chill in the air. Their hair was plastered with sweat, and they seemed hell-bent on rushing each other, butting heads and bodies, and kicking. How could Hugh play a game like this, and expect to make it safely into his law office every Monday morning? Maybe this was what he needed to do to escape from the tensions of his work. There was an ambulance standing by at the edge of the field, as if physical disaster were a routine occurrence.

  I steeled myself not to look for Hugh, not to look at the group at all, despite the fact that Yoshi and Kyoko had chosen to stop at the side of a goal line and wave.

  “I hope they don’t get hit by the ball,” I said. “Well, there’s an ambulance waiting.”

  “Yes, you certainly couldn’t count on me for help!” my father said with a grin. “My emergency training is so antiquated that I don’t think I’m capable of doing more than putting a bandage on a knee. And I haven’t done that for years—not since my daughter grew up.”

  “I wish a boo-boo on the knee was the only thing I had to worry about,” I said.

  “I do, too,” my father said. “But I’ve sensed that you want to do all the bandaging yourself. You don’t need me anymore.”

  “Oh, don’t say that!” I reacted sharply.

  “No, it’s true. You’re in a very dangerous situation, a case that the police seem unable to solve. I wish you’d let us take you home to San Francisco for a while. Your museum work here is done. You’re uncomfortable spending time with Takeo. Why stay?”

  “Because I have to make sure—” I broke off when I noticed that a big, mud-streaked man was talking to Kyoko and Yoshi—no doubt asking them to move away from the field. Then I saw a second man, muddy but leaner, with red-blond hair and a rugby shirt striped in blue and green that hung a little more gracefully than anyone else’s. It was Hugh. He had stopped playing the game and had his hands cupped around his mouth as he called to them.

  “Go to the side! I’ll see you during break,” Hugh called out. He was only about twenty yards away from Yoshi, but I could tell that Yoshi hadn’t understood what he was saying, because he waved with more gusto and began to jog toward Hugh.

  Yoshi’s spontaneous movement caused a general rash of swearing and catcalls among the rugby players. Why in hell was a bloody tourist coming onto their field?

  “This’ll teach him,” someone with a rough Australian accent bellowed, and as my father and I gasped, the huge, hard rugby ball was suddenly hurtling through the air, right toward Yoshi.

  As Yoshi had pointed out, Hugh Glendinning had fast reflexes. He barreled toward Yoshi, arms outstretched to catch the ball. He caught it, but not without his feet going out from under him. His body hit the ground, and he rolled over twice, then came to a stop.

  31

  “Hugh!”

  I ran, hearing in the distance my parents calling me to stay back with them. There was a louder voice ringing in my ears: the voice of reason, the one screaming that if Hugh was seriously hurt it was my fault, because of whom I’d brought near the rugby game.

  Hugh was lying flat on his back but with his legs twisted to one side. As I tried to get a better look at him, the other rugby players arrived and shoved me out of the way. I lost my balance and fell into the mud. It wasn’t a hard fall, but enough to thoroughly soil my green wool coat—a vintage Pauline Trigère that my mother had handed down to me.

  Yoshi’s voice was behind me, mournfully saying, “I am very sorry, I am very sorry, I am very sorry—”

  “Shaddup. He just needs to catch his breath,” someone with an American accent said.

  “Where are the paramedics?” I demanded of the huge, shiny man who had talked to Yoshi.

  “We’ll signal to them if they’re needed. They’re used to our play.”

  “Yes, it’s not so bad as it looks. More a matter of little Miss Muffet falls from the tuffet,” someone with a South African accent said.

  “I think the man’s right, Rei.”

  I heard my father’s voice and looked up in confusion. I hadn’t seen him in the crowd, but sure enough, he was examining Hugh. He was holding his hand, in fact, and moving it back and forth.

  “I’m Rei’s father,” he was saying. “My name is Toshiro Shimura.”

  “Oh, Christ! I mean, oh, hello, Dr. Shimura. I apologize for my, um, condition. I’m not usually so messed up—”

  “You’re fine,” I said to Hugh, feeling a great sense of relief flow through me.

  “My clinically imperfect diagnosis is that he’s had the wind knocked out of him. But he can certainly go to the hospital if he wants a work-up,” my father said.

  “I don’t need to get any more worked up than I already am.” From the way Hugh was looking at us all, it was totally unclear whether he was talking about being angry at me, or was frightened from the fall, or something else entirely. But he took hold of my hands and gingerly pulled himself up.

  A cheer rose up from his rugby mates, who beckoned him back to the game. But Hugh shook his head. “I’m out on injury leave for the rest of the day, guys. Have fun.”

  “Can I meet you at the museum café in a half hour or so?” I said to my parents in a low voice. My mother had arrived in a swirl of turquoise pashmina and was determinedly smiling at both Hugh and me. Kyoko and Yoshi stood next to her, holding hands and looking very worried.

  “I doubt that it will take her that long to sort me out,” said Hugh, who was actually smiling back at my mother. “You must be Rei’s mother. You look even better than in those photos.”

  My mother laughed—an anxious laugh that told me she was trying to figure out whether he was sincere. My father, too, seemed inclined to hang around and inspect Hugh. He was willing to go only after a gentle comment from Yoshi, who suggested that they should head straight for the museum and meet up with me in a couple of hours. Yoshi, I thought, was turning out to be the master of diplomacy.

  “When I thought I’d finally lost you, I didn’t know what I was going to do,” I said to Hugh as we walked hand in hand along Seventeenth Street to where he’d said his car was parked. I intended to drive him home, have him change into clean clothing, and get him resting on his sofa with the ultimate therapeutic drink: a cup of Darjeeling with milk and three sugars.

  “Thanks for telling me. I only wish you’d told me sooner.”

  “I thought you didn’t want me to see me again—”

  “I was just waiting for you to make up your mind.” When I didn’t reply, he said, “You have decided, haven’t you?”

  “Yes. But I’m not ready to declare anything, beyond the fact that seeing you hurt was the worst feeling in the world.”

  “So I guess we’re still operating under the same depressing circumstance.” Hugh sat down suddenly on a park bench, as if he didn’t want to go any farther.

  “Not quite.” I sat down next to him. “I’m just taking the time to figure out the best course for everyone.”

  Hugh stared across the street and said, “There’s too much pressure, isn’t there? You’re going through a traumatic situation with Hana’s death and the missing kimono. You’ve also had only a few days to deal with the id
ea of being with me. In the meantime, everything we do is being witnessed by a gigantic audience—your parents and Yoshi and Kyoko and Takeo, not to mention the cops and our unknown stalker friends. By the way, do you know that guy, leaning against a tree and watching us? He’s been there for the last five minutes.”

  About a hundred feet away, I saw him—a tall narrow figure dressed in a long dark coat. It was too far away to make an identification, but his hair was black and thick in a way that could be Asian. He darted behind the tree when I looked at him. I had a sinking feeling that it was Takeo, who’d decided to find me in the place I’d said I was going to.

  “How far is your car?” I asked.

  “Halfway down the block. Do you have a genius Rei Shimura strategy to get us away?”

  “Just stay where you are and watch him. I’ll come back with the car and take you home. He won’t have time to react.”

  Hugh looked at me oddly but went along with the plan. As I’d thought, the man trailed me, staying far enough away that I couldn’t quite identify him, which was frustrating. I clicked the remote that unlocked the Lexus at the last possible minute and got in and quickly drove down the street to collect Hugh.

  “We should circle back and see what he looks like,” Hugh said after he settled into the passenger seat.

  “I don’t want to know. At this point I just want to get you home, put your hands around a nice warm cup of tea, and return to my parents in one piece.” I made a left turn straight onto the left side of the road, as I would have done in Japan, but quickly corrected myself before I could be a danger to anyone. It was a good thing all my Washington driving experiences had occurred late at night or early in the morning when few cars were on the road.

  “Do you think the guy watching might be Takeo?” Hugh asked.

  “Yes. He knew I was going to come to this area this morning, but he didn’t want to accompany me.”

  “Why not? Have you told him about me?”

  “I don’t know why not. And I’ve wanted to tell him, but he’s a little resistant to conversation these days.”

  “I see,” Hugh said, looking hard at me. “But he’s not resistant to other kinds of activities, I bet.”

  “I’m not sleeping with him—nor with you again,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. “All it does is confuse things.”

  He sighed heavily. “I’m sorry about what happened in my flat, then. Because of it, you must think all I cared about was pleasure.”

  “But isn’t pleasure why we have relationships?”

  Hugh’s face, under the mud, had flushed bright red. “Actually, you’re the most, er, satisfying partner I’ve had—but perfect sex doesn’t make happy endings. I’ve figured out that a good union depends on achieving happiness together in more ordinary parts of life. Sports, work, going out to dinner with friends—”

  “I agree,” I said, finally catching what he meant. “It’s because I was afraid of losing the chance to start my own business that I wouldn’t go away with you.”

  “That—and my bossiness,” Hugh added. “I made you bend to my life, and that was wrong. Now I think I should have just let you choose a flat for the two of us and adapted to your lifestyle. As you know, I’m not overly fond of green tea—but I’d drink my tea greener than the grass stains on your coat if you’d let me follow you back to Japan.”

  “Don’t talk to me like that now,” I said, fighting back tears of joy. “I’m liable to have an accident.”

  Hugh laughed. “I’ll shut up, then. Just accept the fact, Rei, that you and I both were meant to drive on the left-hand side of the road.”

  I parked Hugh’s Lexus near the corner of Biltmore Street, close to where he lived, and walked him up to his apartment. Hugh took his shower and I made a pot of tea. It was my first time in his kitchen, a pleasant enough room with old wooden cabinets, and a black-and-white-tiled floor and a stove and fridge from the 1940s. I was stunned to see hanging on the wall above his toaster oven a series of framed photos—old, grainy black-and-white paparazzi pictures of a girl on the run that had appeared in the Asahi Shinbun and other Japanese newspapers some years ago. There I was, exiting his apartment building in Tokyo in the dated Talbots suit I wore to my old job teaching English, and in another shot wearing a slinky Azzedine Alaia dress as I left the Tokyo American Club with another man. On the fridge, I saw that he’d clipped out a brief mention from The Washington Post about my upcoming lecture. So this was the article that I’d heard about. I read through quickly and saw with shock the date given for the lunchtime lecture was October 18—Wednesday of the next week coming up. No wonder there had been so few people when I’d spoken on Friday, October 13. It had all been due to a typing error.

  I finished making tea and brought the clipping out to the living room, where Hugh, in his favorite old terrycloth robe, was resting.

  “Did you notice the Post got the date of the lecture wrong?” I asked as I handed him his mug.

  “I was too distracted to read the fine print. There was a mistake?”

  “Yes, a serious one. The paper says the lecture is next Wednesday. I wasn’t even scheduled to be on this side of the world next Wednesday. I wonder—I wonder if the mistake was intentional.”

  “You mean—someone at the Post has it in for you? Listen, half the politicos in Washington will make that claim, but I hardly think you need to worry.”

  “Not someone at the newspaper. I wonder if Allison sent out a press release with a wrong date because once she met me she realized I wasn’t good enough to do the job—”

  “No, no!” Hugh said, smiling. “That notice went in to the paper four weeks ago. I know the press release was correct because I made sure that I read it. Dick Jemshaw faxed me a copy.”

  If Hugh had asked for a special favor relating to my lecture, Dick Jemshaw might very well have an inkling that his interest was more than professional. This brought up something else I wanted to hash out with Hugh. “How well do you know Dick?”

  “He’s been friendly to me. Lunch together that one time you saw us, and drinks with some other people from the advisory committee another evening. That’s about the sum of our contact.”

  “Is he a client of your firm?”

  Hugh shook his head. “I don’t think he’s got any legal troubles.”

  “And you don’t owe him client confidentiality? That’s good. Now I can ask you what I really want to know. Did he ever talk about having a girlfriend?”

  “Not at all! He’s a married man. Twenty years in or something like that.”

  “Married men can have girlfriends.”

  “Yeah, just like single women can have multiple boyfriends. Don’t hit me, darling—all right, I do recall that Dick has an eye for gorgeous young women, including you, but is having eyes a crime?”

  “What about Jamie, Allison’s assistant—you know, that tall, pretty blonde who was with me at lunch that day?”

  “He’s never brought her up. Do you think they’re seeing each other?”

  “I’m positive of it. I saw a picture of them together at her flat, which, by the way, is furnished with very lovely furniture that is quite likely from the line he sells at the Washington Design Center.”

  “Are you saying that I could furnish this flat with Dick’s generosity if only I asked for it? I’m a tall, pretty blond. A few people have said so anyway.” Hugh’s eyes twinkled.

  “But what could you deliver in return? You’re a sexy man, but would Dick care?” I said, smiling. “While you figure it out, I have to go back to get my parents off on their flight to California. I was thinking about leaving with them, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  “But they’re leaving without me getting a chance to know them! Why don’t I dress and come with you to the airport?”

  “There isn’t enough room for all of us in the car they rented. I’m sorry. But I’ll see you later.”

  “I could drive the Lexus, maybe take Yoshi and Kyoko so you have more time with your parents—”<
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  “We’re going to have so little time there, and it all sounds a bit too overwhelming. I’ll stop back and see you later tonight.” I made a move to pick up the muddied coat that I’d discarded, then stopped. “I can’t wear this in front of my mother. She’ll be distraught.”

  “Well, better borrow my Barbour. I’ll take your soiled coat to my favorite dry cleaner and have it back for you day after tomorrow.”

  Lending me a jacket was a small gesture, but one that I knew meant everything. He trusted me. He wanted me to come back.

  “I love you,” I said. It was the first time I’d said it to him since the Metro ride.

  “Great,” Hugh said, sounding grumpy. “When are you going to do something about it?”

  I came back to the museum early enough to need to round up the tour group—as I’d come to think of my parents, Yoshi, and Kyoko. The foursome was looking at the collection of first-lady dresses up on the museum’s third floor.

  “Rei-san! Did you buy a new coat?” Kyoko asked.

  “No. I borrowed this from Hugh.” On him, the coat was short, but on me, it was almost knee length. I shrugged a bit deeper into its quilted, lightweight warmth. It smelled like Hugh—a mixture of Grey Flannel cologne and his own body scent.

  “That coat is like Hana’s,” Kyoko said.

  “Hana’s was black. This coat is brown,” I said, realizing I’d made a mistake in wearing it. Kyoko, who had seemed fine during the morning, had wrapped her old cloak of misery about herself.

  “Rei doesn’t look like Hana,” Yoshi said. “Any more than Mrs. Shimura would resemble Nancy Reagan if she wore that lady’s red evening gown from the museum.”

  My mother laughed. “I wonder if I should take that as a compliment.”