“Who are these people?” Nina asked as she entered Tony’s office.

“Actors,” he sighed.

Tony explained that his client, a film company called Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, had asked him to find a couple of indigenous people to play the main roles in their new motion picture about China. Tony had been very reluctant to take up the job. “I’m not a casting agency,” he had told the film producers, but they promised to grant him the rights to show the films in China, and Tony had relented. After all, outside of America, Shanghai was one of the biggest movie markets, and the offer had been too tempting to resist.

“I’ve had enough of these actresses,” Tony complained as he counted out Nina’s money. “We placed an ad in the Chinese newspapers: ‘Healthy twenty-year-old men and women required for casting, fluent in English, pleasant appearance.’ And what do you think we got? The world and his wife! Pimple-faced old men, and women with bound feet who can barely walk. Hardly one of them speaks a single word of English. I don’t know what they were expecting.”

Nina put the banknotes into her purse, waved goodbye to Tony, and went out. Thank God, I have cash now, she thought. She hadn’t taken a copper of Klim’s money to spend on herself and was eager to buy something that wasn’t just a necessity item.

On her way out of the building, she came across European woman selling cigarettes, magazines, and wall calendars featuring scantily clad blondes. The seller was Russian, of course: no other European woman would have demeaned herself by working on the streets.

Nina bought a ladies’ magazine and started to flip through the pages. A new type of a cloche hat in the shape of a bell had come into fashion that season, the waistline on the dresses was still low, but the hemlines had risen markedly.

“Would you like a calendar?” the saleswoman asked. “White people seem to like them.”

Nina looked up at her. “What about the Chinese?”

“They don’t understand this sort of art. They think white girls are ugly.”

A rickshaw stopped nearby, and a young Chinese lady stepped out on the road. She wore a crimson hat and an elegant gray dress complete with a garnet necklace. Her feet were a normal size, not deformed.

“Do you know who she is?” the saleswoman asked Nina. “Her name is Hua Binbin, she’s an actress. Her first film was such a success, and she’s such a celebrity that even the British newspapers are writing articles about her.”

“What was it about?” asked Nina.

“The story is about a father who wants to marry his daughter to a wealthy official, but she disobeys him and runs off with a young student. This is a shocking storyline for the Chinese because love matches are unheard of. All their marriages are arranged by the parents.”

“I’d like a copy of each of these calendars,” Nina said. “And could you write on them which fashions are selling better and which ones are not selling at all?”

3

Back home, Nina spread the calendars on the floor of the living room and stood there, examining every detail of the fresh pink-cheeked faces.

What if she replaced these Western starlets with Chinese women like Hua Binbin? More and more Chinese women with short hair and modern, stylish dresses were turning up on the streets of Shanghai. If the Chinese people were taking up Western styles, then the demand and market for Chinese fashion calendars would be immense.

Nina tried to calculate how much seed capital she would need to set up a publishing company. She would have to find models and artists, rent a studio, pay for the printing, storage, and delivery. It was going to be a fairly considerable sum. Nina’s savings would never be enough, no bank would give her a loan, and she didn’t want to ask Tamara for money. Where was she going to get the funds she needed?

She wracked her brains trying to come up with a solution and then slapped her forehead. Gu Ya-min, the antique dealer! He was the man who would help her find the money she needed.

4

On the way to Nina’s house, Klim tried to work out how he could help the Cossacks trapped on the Mongugai. If they had been women and children, he could have written a heart-rending article to encourage local philanthropists to help the refugees out. But who needed several hundred more men who had been brutalized by war, idleness, and hopelessness?

Previously, Russian refugees had been able to eat at the soup kitchen in the Orthodox church, but this had been closed at the request of the Soviet Consul. The Peking government had established diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union and for the first time in history signed an equal treaty with a European power. For the Chinese, it was a very important event, and they were happy to indulge the Bolsheviks’ whims—although this didn’t stop Moscow puppeteers organizing revolutionary propaganda in China and helping the local communists and rebellious Sun Yat-sen down in the south.

The Bolsheviks didn’t see anything remotely duplicitous in their actions. After all, the government in Peking was bourgeois, and according to their views, making a deal with the bourgeoisie was not worth the paper it was written on. The Bolsheviks were convinced that world revolution was not far off, and then all previous agreements and rules would become meaningless anyway.

Nina’s black Ford caught up with Klim just as he was about to reach her house.

“Get in,” Nina said excitedly as she opened the rear door. “I need to talk to you.”

Klim sat down next to her. “What’s up?”

“You’ll probably say I’m crazy. And yes, I know it’s a risk.” Nina clasped her hands on her knee and looked askance at him. “I’ve been to Gu Ya-min’s. He’s moving north to live with his son, and he’s offered me the chance to buy his entire collection for just a thousand dollars. I’m going to talk to him again now.”

“Why do you need it?” Klim asked.

“It’s worth at least twenty times that. Tony gave me my money back, and if I invest it into antiques, and then resell them, I’ll have enough money to open a publishing company to print calendars for the Chinese market.”

Nina told him she had already visited a dozen printing presses and warehouses and found out all she needed to know about prices, supply, demand, and volumes. She had neatly inscribed all these figures in the columns of an old dancing book, which had been designed to record the names of dance partners in the balls.

It had been ages since Klim had seen her so inspired. I don’t care what she does, he thought. The main thing is that she gets her love for life back again.

“What are you smiling about?” Nina asked, looking suspiciously at Klim. “Do you think I’m not capable of running a business?”

Klim squeezed her hand. “On the contrary. Let’s go and see that antique dealer of yours.”

He decided not to tell Nina about his meeting with Don Fernando. There was no need to bother her about it just yet. Let her think about her new project and dreams.

5

Klim wasn’t much of an expert on oriental art, but he immediately realized that Gu Ya-min’s collection was worth a lot of money.

As he looked through the albums and figurines, Nina tensely followed his expression. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said nervously. “I won’t be able to resell them because everyone will think that they’re pornographic.”

“You underestimate the secret admirers of the pornographic,” said Klim. “I know a woman who keeps a brothel, and she has a lot of clients who are very rich and eager to get their hands on the exotic. If we promised her a decent share, I’m sure she would be able to sell all this stuff.”

“How do you know her?” Nina frowned. “Have you used her services?”

Klim laughed. “I also personally know a number of drug traffickers and assassins, not to mention some women sewing ladies’ underwear. But this doesn’t mean that I’ve used all their services.”

Embarrassed, Nina lowered her eyes. “If only you knew how frightening this all is. I feel like a captain of a ship who has set sail without a compass or navigation charts.”

She gave Gu Ya-min the money and promised to bring a truck and porters so that they could deliver the collection to her home.

On their way, Nina became even more agitated. “What if we won’t be able to sell it, and I’m left with nothing but thirty boxes of pornographic art?”

“You won’t be,” Klim said. “Tomorrow I’ll go to Martha’s and talk to her. Maybe she’ll open an art gallery at her brothel and charge visitors a fee to view her exhibition.”

He touched the chauffeur’s shoulder. “Would you mind pulling over and getting me some cigarettes?”

“Why did you ask him to do that?” Nina asked once the chauffeur had got out of the car. “Have you started smoking?”

“It wouldn’t feel right kissing you with the chauffeur looking on,” Klim said and pulled Nina towards him.

She put her warm, trembling arm around his neck, hesitated, and then kissed him—first barely touching his lips, and then with an intense girlish passion.

“Please don’t leave me on my own anymore,” she whispered.

“I wasn’t going to—” Klim began, but Nina put her finger to his lips.

“It’s just that sometimes you’re so remote from me—when you go into yourself and can’t even look in my direction.”

Klim held her tight. “I’m not going anywhere from you.”

The chauffeur returned and handed him a green packet of cigarettes with a red circle on the wrapper.

Klim winked at Nina, showing her the brand name. “They’re Lucky Strikes. I’ll keep them for good luck.”