The Chinese Alchemist by Lyn Hamilton

After all, this was his field. Why wouldn’t he learn the language? But it made me feel at a disadvantage for the coming bidding war. “We meet again, Burton,” I said, by way of warning my fellow visitors that the enemy was very near. Mira nodded very slightly to indicate my message had been received, and gently nudged Ruby in the ribs.
    “Indeed, we do,” he said. “This is perhaps your client?” he said, indicating Mira.
    “No,” I said. “Mira, meet Burton Haldimand of the Cottingham Museum. Burton, this is Mira Tetford. She’s helping me with the purchase.” I decided that was all Burton needed to know. “And this is Ruby, Mira’s assistant.”
    “How do you do, ladies,” Burton said. “And may I introduce Liu Da Wei. He is assisting me while I’m in Beijing.”
    “Please call me David,” he said, shaking hands all ‘round.
    Da Wei, David, I thought. I suppose that’s how they choose their English names, something close to their Chinese one. David and Ruby obviously knew each other, and I thought that might be a subject for some discussion when Mira and I were alone, just to size up the opposition, as it were.
    The formalities dispensed with, I decided to have a look around. There were a number of contemporary paintings, rather attractive ones, up for sale, as well as much older pieces. There were several folios for sale. I didn’t have a clue what they were, but they were attractive. I didn’t stand a chance of understanding the catalog, so Ruby explained that one of the folios was by a renowned seventeenth century poet and scholar.
    It was all very informal. People just came and went. The man at the desk carried on peering at his computer. He didn’t even look up when I was a few feet away. That was because he was playing a game on his computer. It was as if we weren’t there. The silver box was there, however. It looked okay to me.
    Burton was taking a cursory look, as I was, at everything else in the room, and sidled up to me when I found myself alone for a minute. “Will you tell me who your client is this time?” he asked.
    “No,” I said. “You’re getting tiresome on this subject.”
    “I wonder who was on the telephone that night,” Burton chattered on. “Now, it could have been one of the Matthews. Or it could have been Xie Jinghe.”
    “Who is Xie Jinghe?” I said. I knew perfectly well, but I can never resist the temptation to tweak Burton’s nose, metaphorically speaking. He’d be annoyed I didn’t appreciate the fact he knew Xie Jinghe. While I’d never met the man, I did know Xie was wealthy and a philanthropist, having donated a quite spectacular collection of Shang bronzes to the Cottingham. He had a fabulous home in Vancouver, featured in a design magazine I tend to favor, and an Asian art collection that was regularly referred to in magazines on that subject.
    Burton looked pained and began to explain, just as, in true speak-of-the-devil fashion, a tall, thin man entered the room. Burton looked startled for a moment, but regained his composure, and went over to talk to this new visitor. He even shook his hand. A minute or two later, Burton beckoned me over as well, although he looked reluctant to do so.
    “Lara, Xie Jinghe would like to meet you,” he said. “Dr. Xie is head of Xie Homeopathic, as I’m sure you know. I use his company’s products on a regular basis. He is a great scholar and arts patron as well. You will find him a delight to talk to. Lara McClintoch is an antique dealer from Toronto, Dr. Xie.”
    While I knew of Dr. Xie, I didn’t know much about Xie Homeopathic, but then I didn’t spend as much time on my health as Burton did. What I did know was that Burton’s fawning introduction of Xie was making me nauseous. Perhaps it was making my qi disharmonious again. I wondered how Dr. Xie himself felt about it. I was soon to find out. “Burton had no luck convincing George Matthews and his firm to sponsor his soon-to-be restored Asian