BLOOD DRAGON Freddie Peters (books to get back into reading .TXT) 📖

alone. Nancy made her way over to him. His face lit up as soon as he saw her and he looked relieved.

“I’m so glad to see you.” He bent down to kiss her cheek.

She squeezed his shoulder. “And I you …”

She steered him towards a quieter place. “How have you been?”

“I won’t lie to you, terrible. Can’t sleep. Can’t rest. The Hong Kong police have been a wall of silence.” He stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry. I know you’re here to speak to Professor Licot.”

“Don’t apologise. I’m here to help you too.” A cloud passed over her face and they remained silent for a moment. She hadn’t forgotten the reason why Philippe had left London in a hurry before her.

“Licot has just arrived.” Philippe gave a small nod in his direction.

Nancy had only seen a picture that she thought would be out of date. She would not have recognised him now … a long and thin face, surrounded by thick white hair cut in a Beatles like bob.

As he walked into the foyer, Licot was mobbed by a crowd of young men and women seeking his attention. He was the star of the event. His writings about the connections between modern and traditional art had propelled him to the pinnacle of academia.

Nancy grabbed a couple of glasses of what she hoped might be decent champagne. She handed one to Philippe and made her way towards Licot.

Her assurance and seniority over the young people surrounding the professor did the trick. Unlike their counterparts in Europe, who would have ignored her, the Hong Kong students made way for her to move closer.

When the moment felt appropriate, she extended her elegant hand.

“Nancy Wu, delighted to make your acquaintance Professor Licot. Enchantée de faire votre connaisssance.”

Licot did not recognise her, why should he, but her perfect French caught Licot’s attention. All smiles, he extended a friendly hand towards her. “Le plaisir est pour moi.” He shook her hand with a surprisingly firm grip.

“Would you have a moment for us , please? This is my colleague, Philippe.”

Philippe had just arrived at Nancy’s side. He did his best to appear keen and interested.

“Absolutely.” Licot moved away from the crowd still gathered around him, towards one of the large sliding glass doors that had been kept shut. He slid it open with ease and walked with his two guests onto a spacious terrace overlooking the gardens.

“We’ve been lucky. The weather has been the warmest I’ve ever known it to be since coming to Hong Kong for the winter.”

“It’s a magnificent building.”

“And despite the academy’s traditional background, the Dean always welcomes different perspectives about the arts.”

“A different perspective …” Nancy echoed him. “That is precisely what I’m interested in.”

Professor Licot nodded approvingly. “Contemporary is my bag, as they say, for that very reason.”

Nancy opened a large folder and came alongside him so that they could look at its contents together.

“Contemporary Art under Deng Xiao Ping.” Her voice sounded loud in this wide open space. “It is a piece that is exceedingly well researched you wrote about the Deng era.”

Despite the sparse lights that peppered the terrace Nancy noticed colour rising on Licot’s face.

“My assistant, Amy Grant, came across the paper in her research. I’d like to know whether she contacted you about it at all?” Philippe stepped closer.

Licot cleared his throat. “It’s a very old piece. I haven’t revisited its contents for rather a long time.”

“But it’s a piece that makes important assertions about how contemporary art had managed to grow and break free from the Chinese government’s claw. Your research must have meant you met some of the artists of that generation.”

Licot turned towards Philippe. “I recall an Amy Grant contacting me, but unfortunately we never managed to meet.” Licot’s voice had become strained. Nancy was now turning the pages of the document, arriving at the section she wanted to read aloud.

“To answer your own question, I met a lot of people who had moved to Hong Kong, including artists who had vowed never to go back.” Licot started moving towards the door that had been closed by Philippe. No one was coming in their direction.

“In the paper, you mention an artist called Mo Cho. Could I please ask how you knew his work, and who had introduced you to him?” Nancy forced herself to stay calm.

“I would have to refer to my notes.” Licot ran his hand over the back of his neck. “Is it important?”

“It is.”

“Why?”

“I am his daughter.”

Licot’s face changed in an instant. He looked into Nancy’s eyes and nodded.

“Let me say my goodbyes and wait for me outside the main entrance, we need to talk somewhere else.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

They almost bumped into each other. Ferguson’s thundery face jotted forward. “Did you know she’d gone?”

Pole managed to look shocked. He had expected Ferguson’s reaction barging into his office as he almost always did when arguing about a point he felt strongly about. But this time he was enraged. His lips twitched and his nostrils flared.

“What are you talking about?”

“Wu, she’s left for China.”

“Are you sure?” Pole’s voice caught in his throat. His shocked face and look of incomprehension did not stop Ferguson.

“Of course I’m sure. And can you tell me why she bothered to book two seats rather than one?”

This time Pole was genuinely at a loss. “I have no idea.” He detached each word to give himself time to think.

Ferguson pushed past Pole, the bulk of his presence sending ripples around Pole’s room. He followed Ferguson into his office and closed the door.

“She has been trying to retrace her father’s steps before his disappearance.” That much he could divulge. Yvonne Butler was also involved and she could support him in that statement.

“We are in the middle of a bloody internal investigation … People who are subject to that inquiry don’t up sticks without telling us.”

“An informal investigation …” Pole moved behind his desk and leaned on the back of his chair.

“But why not tell us? She knows the drill. And, more importantly,