Strangers on the Shore - Prologue
They’d kept her waiting for over an hour now.
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Prologue
June 25, 1963. Épernay, France.
The room was cold, and Wu Yukying was beginning to worry. When she’d first arrived, they’d led her to a room with no windows, directing her to sit in the chair directly below the vent. Afraid to contradict them, she sat with air like cold fingers tickling the back of her neck. A shudder shook the pen in her hand. The shivering was becoming impossible to suppress. She set down the pen and, though she knew it would not make much difference, slid her hands under her legs to try to keep them warm.
When she’d asked, the man in the wrinkled suit hadn’t been sure of the timeline. It was busier than normal, and many people were in line to be questioned; she was just one of many. She could knock on the door if she needed anything. His smile suggested knocking would be noted in the file. She glanced across the desk to the waiting chair and wondered how much they knew.
They’d kept her waiting for over an hour now.
It had occurred to her, of course, to move to the other side, away from the vent. She was well within her rights to seek a little comfort. But who knew what might tip the scales against her? Besides, what was a few more minutes? She had her shawl, after all, well-made Irish wool, dyed blue flecked with white and gray—a gift she almost hadn’t accepted and now was glad she had. She wrapped it tighter around her shoulders and imagined it a shield. The clock ticked slowly. One minute. Another. Yukying rubbed one hand with the other, trying to encourage circulation. Her fingers felt bony and fragile; she thought about small things in cages.
The detective noticed the wringing of her hands as he walked in, and grimaced.
“Ah, yes. Sorry.” A gentle French accent curled the corners of his English. “The building is old. Survived the wars, so now the city thinks it should be preserved. I’d rather get decent heating, but what can you do? Can we get you some tea? A warm cup always helps me.”
“No thank you,” she said, and moved her hands to her lap.
“Are you sure? We have a good selection.”
“That’s a kind offer, but I would rather get back to my husband.”
“I understand,” the detective said, in the tone of unmarried men everywhere. “So, Mrs. Li.” He tapped the file in front of him. “Do you want to tell me how you got involved in all this?”