CHAPTER 5           Chongqing to Hong Kong

19 November, 1941[

Arnaud DeRuffe sat in club seating on the DC–2 facing the rear of the aircraft. He liked club seating because he could observe the other passengers. Most everyone was asleep except the object of his present interest. He had noticed this beauty in the CNAC departure facility at Chongqing and suspected she was Russian. In this part of the world most of the beautiful ones were. She was saying goodbye to a distinguished looking gentleman, perhaps in his fifties. From their mutual demeanor, he did not think they were intimate … probably just business associates or friends. The woman seemed to have a perpetual half smile and DeRuffe wondered if it were real or affected. He also wondered why she was going to Hong Kong. American connections? Probably … most Russians had few if any connections in Chongqing and certainly not Hong Kong. Americans that flew generally had many.

DeRuffe regarded the women. With the exception of the reading light that highlighted her features, the aircraft was dark. She was writing. All the other passengers were asleep. At the direction of the Captain, everyone had their window shade pulled down. Just as well, he thought. He didn’t want his employer’s barbarians seeing the light and shooting them down, now, did he?

Fleeting recognition flashed through his memory and as soon as it came, it was gone. The thought waned and DeRuffe resumed his surreptitious examination of this intriguing person. Young, not like his sixteen year old whores in Shanghai and Chongqing, but probably no older than twenty-three or twenty-four. Her hair was rather short and straight with a lustrous sheen…none of those tight curls affected by so many women these days. Also, she did not wear one of those silly hats slavishly worn by Western Women simply because it was “in.” This woman appeared to be one of the few who set her own fashion.

He was behind her when they boarded the aircraft. It was one of those brown winter days in China. Heavy grey clouds blew in low over the riverside airport and threatened rain, or sleet. The wind made it seem colder than it actually was and whipped the dust into swirling vortices as the passengers boarded the twin-engine airliner. Even so, she wore no overcoat, only a white traveling suit with a short waistcoat with those oversized shoulder pads. Maybe it was suitable for Hong Kong but certainly not central China in winter. White gloves completed her ensemble. Nice, but they concealed any rings she might be wearing, and DeRuffe really wanted to know her marital status. An elegant suit but foolish, he thought … there is almost no way to keep such an outfit clean while traveling in China. Typical for Americans, but not the poor fucking Russians!

As the object of his attention climbed the folding stairs of the DC–2, she held her hand at her side to keep the cold wind from blowing her loose fitting skirt too high. Luckily, the steep stair allowed the dress to raise just enough to show very nice legs. Before she sat down, DeRuffe noted an athletic figure that suggested sport or a regular physical regimen. Unfortunately, the seat in front of her was in the way and he couldn’t see her legs now. She was still writing and had taken the white silk or cotton gloves off, but now it was too dark to see if she was wearing a wedding band or not. It didn’t matter; he would check again when they disembarked.

DeRuffe was a connoisseur of beautiful women. He collected them for personal as well as professional purposes. He considered them objects to be coveted and hoarded, as others coveted money, art and precious commodities. Many émigrés were the daughters of former White Russian nobility. They were used to being at the top of their society. As daughters of destitute families who escaped the Bolsheviks with nothing more than what they could wear or carry, these girls almost always found themselves caught up in the hostess, show girl or brothel trap … a trap that he himself had set more than once. For his purposes, that made harvesting them easy, as most would do anything to escape their impoverished circumstances. The special ones managed to “be kept,” or find “suitable arrangements,” and this one was very special. The ugly ones were doomed. Perhaps this rare jewel was married or had somehow escaped. What a shame that would be. Damn the gloves and darkness! If not married, DeRuffe wondered how she had managed to escape the traps other Russian girls could not. Maybe she hadn’t! Perhaps she was a kept woman flying to Hong Kong to meet her benefactor. The thought intrigued him. If that were the case, he wondered who the lucky man was … probably a Taipan, Western magnate or such.. Émigré women did not travel, except on rare occasions, usually to escape somewhere. With no passport and no citizenship, no country in the world wanted them except maybe the Bolsheviks. DeRuffe laughed at his own wit. They would take them just long enough to line them up against a wall and shoot them. The poor goddamned Russians…they had no status at all in Chinese or even expatriate society.

He regarded her face again. All of her focus was absorbed in whatever she was writing, and he was sure she did not suspect she was being observed. The sheen of her hair in the reading light intrigued him… almost like an Oriental’s, he thought. It was cut almost like a man’s, but longer, framing her exquisite face. It looked very good on her. The shape of her eyebrows contributed to her overall different, yes fascinating look. They were thick, lustrous, and complemented her other features. They looked almost sculpted describing a high, distinct arch, tapering to a very thin line at the temples. The eyes were brown, intelligent, and rather large. The cheekbones were high with subtle definition. Her mouth and sensuous lips portrayed the half smile he had noticed before. She was still just slightly amused at the world. Because of the seat, he could only see a portion of one breast. Ample, he thought, complementing the rest of her sculpted body. He would have to check in with the Japanese barber tomorrow morning. Maybe he could tell him more about his fascinating traveler.