Read The Jade Dragon for Free Online Page A

glittered like the jet brooch at her throat, and to my great disappointment I discerned in them no hint of welcome.
    “So you are Joanneira’s child.”
    Cradled in her arms was a glossy black cat, which regarded me with an unblinking stare—the same one, perhaps, that I had encountered downstairs in the salon. The animal’s presence discouraged me from greeting my grandmother with a kiss on the cheek as I would have liked.
    “How do you do, Grandmama?” I said quietly.
    “Does Joanneira’s daughter have the right to call me by that name?” she challenged, her black eyes stabbing at me.
    “But I am your granddaughter. Nothing can alter that fact.”
    “Hmmm.” She regarded me in silence, caressing the cat’s soft ears with quick, impatient fingers. Then she ordered abruptly, “Come child, follow me. Carlota, you may leave us.”
    I heard a hiss of indrawn breath as my aunt swallowed back her anger. I almost pitied her. In the brief time since my arrival I had seen that Castanheiros was occupied by two proud women. But although Carlota had the advantage in both age and health, her authority was trifling beside the dominant personality of Dona Amalia.
    As I entered my grandmother’s room, I was assailed by a sickly-sweet perfume that hung cloyingly in the air, somehow making me think of death. A huge porcelain bowl of lilies stood on an ebony table by one of the windows, their ivory white petals glowing in the subdued light that filtered through the shutters. They were lovely, but there were far too many of them, so that even in this spacious apartment their scent overpowered the senses.
    Dona Amalia let the cat slip to the floor as she turned to face me. “Take off your hat, child, so that I can look at you properly.” I did so, fumbling with the pins, and waited nervously for her verdict.
    “Yes,” she said at length, nodding her head judicially. “You have the look of Joanneira—something about the eyes and the shape of your chin and that fine head of hair, though the color is quite different. You must have inherited your fairness from your father.”
    I had a sense of unreality, as though this were only a dream. The condessa and I were two strangers making conversation, yet each of us was more closely related to the other than to anybody else in the entire world. How did one behave in such circumstances?
    “Your own hair is still very thick and beautiful,” I found myself saying. “Was it a deep, rich brown like my mother’s when you were a young woman?”
    I was awarded the first slight relaxing of her expression, though it could scarcely be called a smile. “My hair was always greatly admired,” she announced with pride. “It grew to below my waist. I was even able to sit on it when it was combed out. Did your mother never tell you that?”
    “Mama told me nothing of her life before she was married,” I said regretfully. “I did not even know of your existence, Grandmama. That was why I was so anxious to come and meet you before—”
    “Before I die? You need not hesitate to say it. I know full well that I have not long for this world. You had better sit down, child, while we talk. Over there, where I can see you.”
    The old lady herself chose a high-backed velvet chair with carved arms. As she sat down, a magnificent white cat sprang at once into her lap and another cat, with tortoise-shell markings, leapt up behind her shoulder. I could see now, as I glanced around me, that there were several others in the room—a huge black and silver tabby lay curled asleep in a thin shaft of sunlight, and one with fur of a lovely honey gold was perched on a marble pedestal, licking its paw in a lazy fashion. A slight shiver ran through me. Normally, I was fond of cats—the cook at Harley Street owned a ginger tom (her old moggy, as she called him fondly) that would often come up the basement stairs to greet me with a friendly rasping purr. But these cats were different. They were hostile, silent,