Chapter 11

Jen moved in with me, another first. The transition was almost seamless. Looking back, I suppose the moment I fell in love with her was the moment I lost control of my life – at least, my love-life. Perhaps surprisingly, everyone around me was happy with the development. I had wondered if Charlie might have problems with it, but no; she began a relationship with Dave Jones that had every appearance of permanence. Signora Rossi was absolutely delighted and colluded with Jen in the management of my private life. We acquired a Ducati Daytona – the desmodromic valve two-fifty cc motor bike – for Jen, though she often rode pillion with me. I adjusted to life with my petite, oriental, martial artist, live-in girlfriend. Music, chess, a companion and direct supervision when I worked out. Jen got Tiny to work with me on Judo and Tae Kwon Do, and massaged me afterwards.

My only worry was that she might up and leave, taking a large portion – or all – of my heart with her. A Grieg evening; Holberg Suite, Peer Gynt, and the A minor concerto (hearing my old vinyl LP of Artur Rubinstein, instead of the new CD of Leif Ove Andsnes). Wedding Day at Troldhaugen. Me, on my knees, asking her to marry me. Tears on her cheeks.

"Oh, Jeff. Seriously? You want to marry me?"

"Absolutely, darling. I don't want to ever be without you."

"I promise never to leave – you can have me as long as you want me. You don't have to marry me."

"But I want to, Sweetheart. Please?"

"Jeff," she held my eyes and was quiet for some time, "I'd love to be your wife, but ... there's something I need to do before I agree. Can I have some time?"

I took a deep breath. "Take as long as you like, as long as the answer is 'yes'."

She giggled, not a usual thing. "You're going to Korea soon, aren't you?"

"You know it, you made the arrangements. Middle of next week."

"I'd like to travel with you when you go. As far as Seoul. I don't know how long my ... business ... will take, so I'll travel back under my own steam."

"I thought you didn't travel in that part of the world?"

"Not if I can avoid it. I need to, now, though."

"Okay, then. But use your Company card for expenses."

"Thanks, Jeff. But it would be better if I didn't. Please trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, Darling. I'm just worried for you."

She nodded. "But I have to do this."

She was especially loving after that, but I thought there was a tension there that had previously been lacking.

A Monday morning, two days before my departure for Seoul. Gerry Marsden in my office.

"Jeff ... I ... er ... Melissa ... Miss Sharpe..."

I smiled, "Come on, Gerry; I know who you're talking about. Is there a problem?"

"Not exactly. She ... I ... we're getting married."

"Well, that's terrific! Congratulations!"

"Thanks. But, you see, Melissa told me what you did for her. I wouldn't have her but for you. I'd like for you to stand as my Best Man, if you would."

"Why, I'd be honoured, Gerry. Have you got a date yet?"

"No. We're still waiting for her father to be fit enough to walk her down the aisle."

"How is he?"

"Getting along. Having physio. Still on pain meds. We're aiming for September."

"Fine. Just let me know when. As you're here, I'm off to Seoul on Wednesday. Jen will be travelling with me, but either Charlie or Tiny will be my security. I expect Jen will organise that."

"Melissa likes Tiny and trusts him."

"I'm sure Jen will take that into account."

I expect she did, but it was Tiny who sat across from us and accompanied us to the hotel, had the second bedroom of the suite. I'd been looking forward to making love with Jen, but she changed into what I think of as her 'ninja' outfit, took her duffel, kissed me lingeringly ... and stepped back.

"I love you, Jeff Carpenter," she stated very seriously, "please remember that. I'll come back as soon as I can, but I need to get started. Don't wait for me if I'm not back before you're finished."

She wasn't. I wasn't done quickly; the discussions were amicable enough, but I was encouraged to take my time as I travelled round looking at prospective sites. I took the weekend off and was provided with a (very attractive) knowledgeable guide. Any other time I'd have done my best to get her into bed. I was pretty sure I got signals saying that would have been acceptable, but somehow I just couldn't. The agreement meant a very good deal for my company and we'd concluded matters by the Wednesday evening. There was still no sign of Jen; with a sinking heart I made arrangements to travel home the second day.

Heavy-hearted, I boarded the Korean Air flight back to Heathrow with Tiny, and Friday morning put in an appearance in the office. I handed over reams of paper-work for filing and asked to see David Jones, something I would rather have put off indefinitely.

"Dave ... did Jen ... Miss Song ... designate a deputy against her continued absence?"

"Yessir. Miss Kowalski."

I thought for a moment. "You've been with us quite a while. Are you comfortable with Miss Kowalski as your boss?"

"Oh, yes sir! I wouldn't challenge Miss Song anyway, but there's a reason Miss Kowalski's a Gunnery Sergeant and I was only a Corporal. She's got ... something. Authority. Ya know?"

"I think I do, Dave. Anyway, that was why I wanted to talk to you. I'm glad you're happy with the situation. If that's everything?"

"Well, sir..." he paused, "I wouldn't say I was exactly happy with the situation. I'm happy to take orders from the Gunny, but I'd rather Miss Song was back."

I nodded. "I'd agree with that."

"Sir ... it's not my place to say anything..."

"Oh?" I was not sure where he was going with this.

"Well, sir ... you're a good boss, and Miss Song is good to work for; she expects professional competence and doesn't ride anyone unless they don't meet her standards. I just want to say, she was much happier the last few months until just before she went with you to Korea. I ... we all ... hope it all works out ... I mean ... for both of you."

I hadn't realised our affaire was public knowledge, but I suppose it was to be expected, however discreet we may have been. "Thanks, Dave. I hope so, too. Anything else?"

"No, sir. I'll be off."

After that, matters just carried on almost as they had before. Almost. Stacey was efficient and attentive, but didn't tease me any more or make even veiled offers. Charlie was likewise doing her job, but gave no indication she'd be interested in any ... extra-curricular activities. She, Tiny and I still exercised my bikes from time to time, though.

Three weeks after I returned from Korea, I was beginning to give up hope that Jen would return. Perhaps something had happened and she couldn't return. Perhaps ... God forbid ... she was dead. I thought that unlikely in view of her experience, but had to recognise it was possible. Perhaps ... just perhaps ... I'd frightened her off and she didn't want to return. I hoped not. Then, she called.

"Jen! I was really getting worried..."

"Jeff ... dear ... would you meet me in town, please? The Winter Gardens?"

"Sure, but..."

"I'll explain when you get here. I'm sorry I've been out of touch so long."

"All that matters is you're back. I'm on my way."

It took a little more than getting up and walking out; Charlie insisted on escorting me and she wanted Dave to drive us, so it was almost half an hour before we could walk the few yards from the car to the Winter Gardens. I didn't see her immediately, but she wasn't hiding, just sitting on a bench hidden from the doors by foliage. She wasn't alone.

She saw me coming and stood, but didn't move toward me. The other woman stood behind her. Drawing near, I opened my arms to her, but she shook her head.

"Jeff, this is..." she turned slightly and pulled the other woman forward, "my mother, Song Jing-Wei. She speaks very little English."

The given name, Jing-Wei means 'small bird'. I didn't know that, but certainly my first impression was of a very small woman. Jen was small at about five foot, but she had at least two inches on her mother. The next impression was of age, as she was lined and rather stooped. I stepped closer and held out my hand. She took it tentatively. "I'm pleased to meet you, Missus Song. I'm hoping to marry your daughter," I said slowly.

Her face lit up and she turned to Jen, still holding my hand and unleashed a torrent of Chinese. (For the benefit of the academics out there, it was Cantonese, not that I knew the difference at the time). Jen responded. I don't think there's much worse, socially, than being on the outside of a conversation in a language I don't speak, but I waited patiently, trying to gather something from tone and body-language. At length, the older woman said something peremptory, and Jen turned back to me, and suddenly flung herself against me, crying.

I held her with one arm and stroked her silky, straight, dark hair with the other. "Hey, hey, Baby ... it's okay."

Jen's mother poked her and let loose a torrent of Chinese, then peered up at me. "Shì de, nǐ dāngrán kěyǐ qǔ wǒ de nǚ'ér. Yes."

Jen had moved so her forehead was pressing against my chest and she was looking down. She was shaking, but I soon realised that she was giggling now, rather than crying. She looked up. "My mother says, 'yes, of course you can marry my daughter.' Before that, she was telling me off for not accepting straight away. Would you ask me again please?"

I dropped to one knee in the traditional manner and held her hand in both of mine. "Jen Song, I love you. Will you marry me?"

She bent a little to kiss my forehead – even with me on my knee, she didn't have to bend far. "Yes, Jeff darling. I will happily marry you. Can it be soon? I don't want a big affair."

"It can't be too soon for me. We'll have to have a party for, well, people who aren't friends or family. And you must come to meet my family."

Yes, there was a lot to do. Some – a lot – involved Jen's mother. In international business, sometimes there are some murky transactions involved, but I did all I could to steer clear of them. As far as possible, I jumped through the appropriate legal hoops. Occasionally, money (or other valuable considerations) had to change hands, so I knew about such things. Jing-Wei, well, I'm quite sure Jen could not have got her out of China and into Britain on a work visa without some kind of extra-legal efforts. I didn't ask. I didn't want to know. Her almost complete lack of English meant she needed a lot of practical support. I insisted she move into my guest-room – that, at least, meant Jen lived with me – and she was introduced to Signora Rossi who took to her right away. Consolata's daughter, Maria, was a student at University, training as a teacher. She was delighted to spend a couple of hours, twice a week, helping Jing-Wei learn English, even before we enrolled her in an ESOL course.