The windows in the American embassy guest cottage were open, and a soft, warm breeze billowed the printed curtains into the room, carrying a scent of orange. The late-afternoon Manila air was clear, though humid, and the ceiling fan hummed. A lark sang outside, provoking a chorus of other chirps and warbles. Nola lay back and listened to the jumbled, broken-chord music with its varied ranges and tempos. She raised her head to sip the fresh mango and guava juice and to swallow the pills the embassy physician had prescribed, and caught sight of spacious tropical gardens that stretched up to the main building. Drooping elms, clusters of banana trees, and other exotic trees flowering in purple, red and pink dotted the landscape. A forest of eucalyptus trees whose tops sparkled silvery green blocked the horizon.

She placed the juice glass on the bedside table. Daniel's miniature snuff bottle lay where she had unwrapped it. Her feverish memory of the plane ride resurfaced. The symbolism of the art form hadn’t been just the caged phoenix, or the power of the dowager queen, but more so the reverse painting, directed from the outside in, the last detail drawn first. It was so clear, Nola was amazed it had eluded her before. Having pictured the final product, Wade had worked backwards. Willingly, delighted at being the one chosen, she had gone along. Wade hadn’t deceived her; he had used the terms “product” and “brand image” all along with his vision. But he had failed to predict that one day she might grow to have a will of her own that would not conform to his design.

She held the bottle against her cheek, savoring its cool feel. From the time Daniel had met her, had witnessed the way she interacted with a foreign audience, he had seen right through to that core that needed awakening. “A woman coming into herself,” he had remarked after she had embarked on her journey.

Her knee throbbed. She tried to stretch it. Whether the movement was confined by swelling or by the ice pack, she couldn’t tell. She’d exercise it soon. Even Leslie would have agreed it was okay to rest for once. She was worried about him, though. “One’s acquaintances may fill an empire, but one’s real friends can be but few,” Daniel’s message had said. Leslie had passed the test. Now he was probably back in New York, upset, sleepless, pacing her apartment and rearranging the furniture and knickknacks in his newly acquired feng-shui spirit. He might believe that she or Lulu—or both—were dead. She would call him soon.

What if she knew Jenna's phone number? Forget it. Wherever she was, Jenna had probably shut off the TV at the first mention of her sister’s China tour.