So she was gone. It did hurt, but he quickly accepted it, even telling himself that it was for the best.

He went to the closet and then the bathroom, deciding to compare what she had left behind with what she might have taken with her. Her side of the closet was empty. She had brought so little to Bangkok that it had fit inside one small cloth bag, anyway. Over the past two days she had taken him on a minor shopping spree, but still that had amounted only to a couple of changes of clothes. Nice clothes, to be sure. Van was a woman of surprisingly good taste and decidedly large appetites. But they were all gone, as was the swimming suit.

The only thing of any value that she left behind was in the bathroom. On the counter next to the sink, just in front of the ceiling-high mirror, was a bottle of Francois Petain’s perfume. Looking at the bottle of perfume, Condley started laughing, despite himself. Van did have a wicked sense of humor, even when she was laughing at herself.

A sealed hotel envelope with his name on the outside was underneath the perfume bottle, as if the perfume had been left as a gift. Opening the envelope, he saw that she had written him a letter in her careful schoolgirl scrawl, switching back and forth between English and Vietnamese. What do I have? she asked him in the note. I am smart, I know, but so are others who have a better education. I can work hard, but doing what? For who, and where? I do have my beauty, though. When I compare myself to other people, I know that is my strongest weapon. But only for a short while, Cong Ly. You do not like this, but my beauty is my business! It is my college degree! It is all I have, and if I cannot find a good life while I still have my beauty I will have nothing! Or should I ignore the power of my beauty and grow old in Viet Nam, remembering that once a rich man loved me, and once another man took me for a week to see Bangkok?

And you, Cong Ly. I do think I could have loved you. But you love Viet Nam more than you could ever love a woman.

Someone knocked on the door. He opened it to see Hanson Muir in the hallway, looking like a sumo wrestler in a white terry-cloth robe.

“I heard you laughing.”

“I’m having a great time.”

“Glad to hear it. Since you’re going to make me work tonight, I thought I’d take a dip in the pool and then nap for a while. Is that okay?”

“Good idea, Professor.”

Muir caught Condley’s ironic smile and poked his head nosily into the room. “Where’s Van?”

“Looks like she split.”

“Then why were you laughing?”