The Salaryman's Wife(8)

“Never mind. Your walking in on me may have been disgusting, but I doubt it will leave any psychic scars.” I made a movement to leave.

“I was an idiot. It’s my fault that I’m no good with those damned kanji. And when I saw you at first—your hair—I thought you were a lad. Of course, the minute you turned around, I realized my error.” He favored me with the same sexy, crooked smile he’d offered Setsuko Nakamura.

“Exactly how long have you been in this country?” I demanded.

“Nine months, something like that—”

“I’d suggest you learn to read bathroom signs if you plan to stay any longer. You are extremely lucky you didn’t walk in on a Japanese woman and offend her beyond belief.”

“But you are Japanese, more or less. Although I don’t understand the game you’re playing with your nationality.”

Steeling myself, I replied, “It doesn’t really matter where my parents come from, does it? Because I’m not bound by tradition to let you get away with things, take advantage.”

“Take advantage?” He asked, laughter flashing through his voice.

“Yes, the way you undoubtedly take advantage of people in this country who are too polite to tell you to do some things for yourself!” I ranted.

“You’re a hard woman, Rei Shimura. Here I am apologizing, when it was just as bad for me. God knows I was ashamed to be seen bare.”

“Okay,” I said, with a superhuman attempt at patience. “I understand it was an accident. And I know Japanese doesn’t come easily. It’s got to be learned.”

“Well then, I’m asking for some help! Consider me your holiday tutorial project.”

Again I noted his grin—had he ever really been embarrassed?—and said, “You already have access to a native speaker.”

“Setsuko?”

She was the one I’d been thinking of, but he could have been decent enough to mention his male colleagues. With perfect timing, the door next to his opened. The woman in question emerged wearing just a yukata and her magnificent pearls.

“What is it now, Hugh?” She spoke to him as intimately as a wife.

“Ah, just practicing my English conversation skills. Bathtime, is it?”

“Yes. How about you?” Her voice was inviting.

“Done it already. Rather hot, that water. Once burned, twice shy.” Hugh winked at me.

“Excuse me, but do you mean to wear your necklace in the water?” I interrupted, my eyes on Setsuko’s mammoth pearls. As much as I disliked her, I couldn’t stand the idea of anything precious being destroyed.

“Certainly. This particular mineral bath is excellent for pearls. It refreshes them.” Setsuko caressed the pearls. “Being an American, you probably don’t know that.”

“Americans prefer diamonds, isn’t that right?” Hugh teased.

If that was an attempt to defend me, it stank. I decided both of them deserved a short lecture of the type I used with my most unruly classes of young salesmen.

“In my museum work, I’ve learned an occasional salt water bath is relatively harmless for pearls.” I watched with pleasure as Setsuko’s posture become rigid. “However, the exact saline content of the water here is unknown. The reason I’d advise against immersing your pearls is the water will weaken the knots between them and possibly lead to a break. That’s why, when you have your pearls cleaned every year, they are re-strung.” I paused. “You do have your pearls professionally cleaned?”

“At Mikimoto.” Setsuko narrowed her round eyes before swishing off.

Hugh gave me a mocking salute. “Well done, but do you know as much about the care of textiles? I have some ironing…”

“No,” I spat. “And why don’t you go bathe with her? Maybe this time you’ll burn your problem off.”

Hugh Glendinning’s annoying foreign laughter followed me downstairs, and I cursed myself for not being able to leave well enough alone. It was a problem I needed to work on seriously. Maybe in the new year.





3


Sun filtered through the window’s shji screen and tilled my bedroom on New Year’s morning with pale, diffused light. I peered at my watch, which told me it was seven-thirty. I knew I’d better pry myself out of the quilts fast if I wanted the bathroom to myself.

Since I’d shut off the gas heater for safety during the night, leaving bed was painful. I flipped the heat up to high, gathered my clothing and raced downstairs.

The bathroom door already had the women’s sign on but stuck when I tried to open it. I fiddled with the doorjamb, and when the door swung open, I saw the dressing room had one basket filled with clothes. The pink turtleneck, ski pants, and lacy underwear could mean one of two women. I undressed but nevertheless wrapped a towel around myself before pecking in the bath chamber.