Talk of Tokyo, First Chapter

CHAPTER ONE

April 1897

Tsukiji, Tokyo

Shaky hands and racing heart notwithstanding, Suki gave herself a fighting chance. The incorrigible rake might have accusations, threats, and plans for retaliation, but she had feminine cunning. While she lacked familiarity with the mechanics involved in that sort of cunning, she’d seen how furtive glances and teasing words reduced men to foolishness. The basics of flirtation rivaled neither the complexity of French verbs nor the convolutedness of English spellings, both of which she’d mastered with ease.

A maid hastened across the garden and opened the front gate. “Mr. Spenser is expecting you,” she said in the clear, precise English of servants in Tokyo’s foreign quarter of Tsukiji.

Suki followed the maid through Spenser’s front garden, past azalea bushes boasting radiant displays of scarlets, lavenders, and magentas. Flurries of pale pink temple bells burst forth in a graceful arrangement that bore a decidedly feminine touch.

Of course it did. Spenser’s gardens would’ve been planted by his former wife.

Suki pictured the fair-haired young woman vigorously fanning herself at last summer’s festival. She’d worn one of those heavy dresses that trapped sweat and exacerbated the summer itch. Several months later, news had traveled through Tsukiji that Spenser’s bride had returned to England for good.

As Suki stared up at the Japanese-style wooden beam home with the gingerbread trim and second-story dormer windows favored by Tsukiji’s British residents, dread once again grew in the pit of her stomach. If Spenser had seen fit to alienate the woman he’d pledged to honor and protect, what did he have in store for the woman he most certainly despised?

“The door is over here,” a man’s voice called from the house.

Had Emperor Mutsuhito been standing on the front porch, Suki wouldn’t have been more surprised. The irate gentleman she’d been expecting was looking at her with an expression of mild amusement. Up to now, she’d only caught glimpses of the incorrigible rake in passing. Closer examination revealed an angular jawline that an aspiring journalist might wish to trace with her finger and cheekbones ordinarily found on statues of world-conquering kings. Pillow-like lips, one touch of which would make a woman’s insides melt, were already having that very effect on her.

Griffith Spenser was downright handsome. But not in a way that made Suki swoon into the azalea bushes. A crease lined the middle of his chin, and his nose could be described as a bit wide, his brow as a bit too high. The caramel-colored hair atop his head hadn’t been set with a pomade but permitted its thick waves, adding a few inches of unruly height to the already tall, lean gentleman.

Given his reputation, she should have been prepared for a strong dose of masculine appeal. But her head felt light and airy, and her breath had all but disappeared. In its place, a bubbling sensation portended a spell of the giggles. Gripping her satchel, she took in enough air to restore her powers of reason. Unless she got to work, Spenser was going to be the instrument of her undoing. Fortunately, she knew his weakness. Like most foreign men who arrived on Japan’s shores, Spenser was enamored with the nation’s beauties. And although her chignon had loosened to lopsidedness, and her kimono bore the marks of a full day’s teaching, and she was, in fact, only half-Japanese, she could muster enough charm to make Spenser reconsider his plans.

Fluttering her eyelashes in a coquettish manner, which had much in common with trying to dislodge a flying insect, Suki faced the man who held her fate in the palm of his rather well-shaped hands. “I was admiring your fine home.”

“I quite like it myself.”

“Was it constructed after the quake of ’94?”

“We commissioned its construction when we arrived in ’95. I’m assured by its builders it could withstand another earthquake of that intensity. Japanese-style homes fare better than brick and stone.”

“Mother Nature has given us many opportunities to rebuild.”

“Mother Nature?” Spenser furrowed his brow. “I thought it was the giant catfish residing under Japan flipping its tail that caused all these earthquakes.” His tone was teasing, while the observation revealed Spenser as the type of foreigner who bothered learning about traditional culture.

“You know your Japanese folklore,” Suki replied.

“I like to be prepared for all the dragons and ghosts I’m certain to encounter,” Spenser said with a smile that brought out creases along his soft brown eyes. “I should introduce myself, although introductions are probably unnecessary. I’m Griffith Spenser, arrived from England, resident of Tsukiji for almost two years.”

Suki mentally added to the introduction: Spenser counted minor members of the British aristocracy among his family, although he himself had no chance of inheriting a title; his company was the most highly regarded foreign-owned trading firm in Tokyo; he’d arrived with a new bride who left him a year later; and he now graced the bed of war widow Natsu Watanabe. Also, he played lawn tennis.

The Tokyo Tattler’s job was to know these facts about Tsukiji’s most illustrious residents, and Suki needed to continue doing this job, which was why she couldn’t let Spenser’s allure compromise her defenses. The man had asked her to his home without explanation. Although she’d like to imagine he’d summoned her to discuss the modern significance of Japanese mythology, she was a realist. Spenser had a score to settle with the Tokyo Tattler, and all this pleasant banter about earthquakes was merely diversion.

“It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Spenser-san.” She bowed low and rose slowly, presenting him with downcast eyes and a curl of the lips, a pose meant to convey both shyness and carnal desire. Rakes liked that combination.

“I appreciate your coming on such short notice,” he said with a heavy sigh. “The events of the past few weeks have left me no choice. I find myself scrambling for any means to rectify the situation.”

Spenser was going to rectify her? What could that possibly entail? She’d be fortunate to leave his home in one piece. Steeling her nerves, she gave Spenser her most accommodating smile. “I’d be pleased to oblige in any way I can.”

His shoulders relaxed by degrees. “I’m much relieved to hear that.”

Was Spenser already caving to her charms? Truly, men were like flower petals in the hands of an eager child.

Stepping aside, he motioned for her to enter the house. Like a chivalrous Western gentleman, he was content to let his female companion be the first to confront whatever danger, disaster, or vengeful demon lurked inside. A Japanese man would have taken the lead, not stood so close behind her, bringing heat to her cheeks as she removed her shoes and stepped into the home’s interior.

A middle-aged Japanese woman appeared and gave a low bow before offering Suki a pair of slippers.

“This is the housekeeper, Rei-san. In the event you have any misgivings about our conversing alone, she’ll act as chaperone. I realise it’s a bit unorthodox inviting a woman I’ve never met to my home. But these days I find it difficult to present my face in public.”

Suki heard sadness—profound sadness, to be exact—weighing down his voice. How could he have been so offended by her writing? All she’d done was spread a bit of gossip. Her readers had questions as to why Spenser’s wife had suddenly departed Tsukiji and how he’d ended up with everyone’s favorite war widow on his arm. As their Tattler, Suki was duty-bound to provide answers, all of which had ample verification.

Granted, there’d been times when she’d presented a luscious on-dit based on weak sources, which had later proved false. But those incidents bore no relation to Spenser. Everything she’d written about Tsukiji’s Lothario had been obtained through trusted sources. Had she really made it impossible for Griffith Spenser to present his face in public?

Rei-san led them to a parlor at the front of the house. Here, Spenser’s former wife had left her mark in the form of rural scenes in gilded frames, luminous bronze sconces, and a carpet that resembled a field of daisies.

Spenser motioned to a high-backed chair and took the one opposite. “I’m told this is an excellent variety of green tea,” he said while Rei-san poured a cup for Suki.

“I enjoy all varieties of tea,” Suki said, her voice lilting with her best attempt at deferential sweetness. Truthfully, she preferred black tea with milk and sugar like the British, which was also how her Japanese mother took it. His people had won the tea battle; he might as well gloat.

Spenser forged ahead with his cup of Japanese tea, his nose crinkling as the earthy brew neared his lips. After a short sip, he returned the earthenware cup to its tray and sat back. “Shall we discuss the reason for my requesting your presence this evening?”

To expose her identity, to chastise her for what she’d written about him, to describe how he planned to denounce her to all of Tsukiji as the shrew who was penning their gossip.

Using flirtation to charm this rather serious, seemingly intelligent man into abandoning his plans for her demise no longer seemed the wisest course of action. Fortunately, she had other means at her disposal: apologize, grovel, offer to extol his virtues for the next five columns. Strike first with her own blistering interrogation. How had Spenser discovered she was the Tokyo Tattler? Who were his spies? How did he dare attack Tsukiji’s favorite columnist?

Spenser was a member of civil society, which meant he appreciated the idea of rights. She could plead freedom of the press and the public’s right to knowledge. Those were British notions, too.

The teacup nearly slipped from her trembling fingertips as she lowered it to the tray. Whatever it took, she’d placate Spenser. Otherwise, every word she’d written, every source she’d cultivated, every piece of journalistic advice she’d taken to heart would be for naught. “Please tell me, Spenser-san, why you summoned me to your home.”

“I asked you here to request your assistance with my wards.”

“Your…” The word fell on her ears, devoid of meaning. Did wards refer to Tokyo’s administrative districts? Why would Spenser possess urban administrative districts? And why would he need her assistance with such possessions?

“My wards.”

She stared at him, unable to fathom what he possibly meant by wards.

“I’m not planning on plundering their inheritance or any such nonsense. I’m concerned with their future care once they arrive in Tokyo.”

Wards, as in children. He was a guardian, and wards were the children under his guardianship. An entirely unexpected revelation, but not unwelcome.

Feeling compelled to provide explanation for her confused response, Suki grabbed at the first word that came to mind. “Warts. I thought you said you had warts. Now I realize you said wards. T-sounds and d-sounds at the end of a word can create much confusion for the listener.”

“Warts? You thought I’d ask a beautiful, intelligent woman of no prior acquaintance to my home to discuss my warts?”

A feather could have knocked Suki to the floor. Not only had Spenser summoned her for a most innocent reason, but he also thought her beautiful and intelligent, two words no one ever associated with her person save well-meaning family when they thought she needed a boost.

Suki, on the other hand, had associated his obviously handsome person with warts. It was a positively ludicrous explanation. But like the British say, “in for a penny, in for a pound.”

“Please understand. English is not my first language, nor is it really my second. My father spoke French with me when I was a child, and I’ve always spoken Japanese, though I never learned all the characters necessary to read and write properly. I suppose having grown up in an English-speaking household, and having spent all my life in Tsukiji, and the fact that I am an English teacher makes it my best language; but it is not my first.”

Spenser lurched forward while gurgling noises issued from his mouth. Spasms racked his torso, and his head jerked side to side. The plate of biscuits on the tea tray remained untouched, yet something substantial must have gotten lodged in his throat. The housekeeper-chaperone was nowhere in sight. Suki would have to save him from choking to death, and the only thing she could think to do was give his back a firm wallop like her sister-in-law when her son attempted to inhale a plate of tangerines.

Suki fisted her hand and rose, prepared to strike, when Spenser reeled upwards. Tears brimmed in his eyes, and his face was a brutal shade of red. The menacing grimace contorting his mouth reminded her of the angry-god statues standing guard outside Buddhist temples. But at least he was breathing.

Rapid hiccuppy gasps finally revealed the frenzied fit for what it was. Spenser was laughing.

No human being laughed in this fashion. Mirth of this degree could kill a man. What if he fell off the chair, hit his head, and ended up maimed for life, or worse? And she’d be the one responsible. Acting as though she’d heard the word “warts” instead of “wards” had been a means of rescuing the conversation. Instead, she’d caused him to produce sounds not found in the natural world, like that of a frog wrestling a turnip, which would simply never occur.

The more he laughed, the harder it was to restrain her own. Eventually, she surrendered and joined in the hilarity. Let him think she was laughing at her supposed linguistic foible, which, thankfully, seemed to be amusing him to no end.

“For the record, I don’t have any warts,” he sputtered, and another bout of laughter commenced.

That would have been her guess. Spenser didn’t appear to have any blemishes to speak of. Likely, he was as pleasing to look at in the flesh as he was fully clothed, which was the very last place her thoughts should have gone. They had wards to discuss.

“I appreciate your honesty about the warts, and the wards.” Suki tilted her head to the side. “Perhaps you could tell me more about the latter?”

Spenser dabbed his eyes once more and cleared his throat. “I apologize for not being more specific in the invitation to my home. But it is a private matter, and in this town, the truth quickly becomes twisted into all manner of gossip.”

Suki nodded her understanding.

Folding his hands, Spenser exhaled with a sigh. “A few months ago, my eldest brother passed away. An illness took him. He was a widower, and his wife was French. They met when he was working at a trading firm in the south of the country. They raised their two children on the continent and visited England periodically. My nephew Lucien is seventeen, no longer a child, really. His sister Marianne is fifteen, and I’m most concerned about her education and other aspects of a young woman’s life.”

Finally, Spenser’s invitation made sense. Suki happened to be a teacher of fifteen-year-old girls. Naturally, her name would have come up when Spenser mentioned needing assistance with his niece’s education. “That is a tricky age for a young woman.”

“I last saw my brother several years ago when he was in London on business. I informed him of my intention to marry Victoria, a family friend with whom we’d been close as children. He thought her a lovely woman, which she is, even if she didn’t care for Japan.” A pained expression settled so briefly on Spenser’s face that if Suki hadn’t been staring, she would have missed it entirely.

“My brother believed Victoria was still with me in Japan when he directed the children into my care. Since his passing, I notified Marianne and Lucien of Victoria’s absence, but they are determined to honour their father’s wishes and reside with me in Tokyo.”

“On the other side of the world. They must be brave.”

“I suppose the desire to venture abroad runs strongly in our family. A great-grandfather of many centuries ago was a pirate. His wealth bought us a title, a manor, and respectability. Nevertheless, my brother and I, along with quite a few uncles and cousins, have set our sights on places far from England.”

“How did you end up in Japan?”

Other questions begged to be answered: Why did you stay? Why didn’t you leave when your wife departed? Was it because you fell for the irresistible beauties of the Orient? Did their company ease your loneliness? Or were you already in love with Natsu Watanabe? And when might we expect your fickle eye to stray from her the way it did from your wife?

Suki chastised herself for being cynical. A real journalist collected facts before drawing conclusions.

“My company presented me with the opportunity to oversee East Asia trade at our Tokyo offices. I thought it sounded like a splendid adventure. Even with the upheavals of the previous year, I think everything turned out for the best.”

The dreamy look in Spenser’s eyes told Suki everything she needed to know about his relationship with Watanabe. He was enamored. The loving ministrations of the impeccable war widow must have been the perfect salve for the end of his marriage and the death of his brother. No wonder he was glad to be in Tokyo. Their love was something to be admired, an aspiration for Japanese women and foreign men who couldn’t resist their mutual attraction.

Suki felt a pang of guilt for the many words she’d written against the match. Henceforth, the Tokyo Tattler would refrain from malicious gossip about Griffith Spenser. Straightening her posture, she smoothed her kimono skirt and gave this exceptional man her full attention.

“How might I be of assistance with your wards?”