Page 63 of The Librarians
Conrad! On Madeira he mentioned a cousin. Can Hazel take this as sufficient evidence that Conrad is indeed An-Nian Lo?
But she already looked up An-Nian Lo and found nothing useful.
On a hunch Hazel searches forAnaïs Lo, and up pops an article fromTatler Hong Kongdated a year ago.
Legendary Taiwanese entrepreneur and style icon Anaïs Lo marries Hayden Cheng, son of Hong Kong hotel tycoon Soo-yat Cheng
Anaïs Lo, who needs no introduction in these pages, tied the knot with filmmaker Hayden Cheng on the 9th of September. His feature-length works have premiered at such venues as the Cannes and Toronto International Film Festivals. The two have known each other for more than thirty years, having met as students studying abroad in the UK.
Hayden Cheng, in his speech at the wedding, poked fun at himself. “When I met Nian Jie (Elder Sister Nian, the appellation by which Anaïs Lo is often affectionately referred, both in the media and by her friends and associates), I was a shy, awkward young man. I was gobsmacked by her presence, her beauty, and her competence—and I was completely intimidated. I only dared hang around the edge of her circle, hoping she would notice me. She did. She was very kind to me but dated more confident men.
“When our paths crossed again five years ago, I was gobsmacked anew. I was no longer a young man, but I remained shy and awkward. This time, however, I screwed up the courage and asked her out. Best decision I’ve ever made. Nian Jie, thank you for coming to dinner that night. Thank you for coming to other dates. Thank you for allowing me into your life and thank you for agreeing to be part of my life forever and always. I hope you’ll never get tired of me telling you that I am the luckiest man alive, because I plan to tell you that a lot in the coming years.”
Cheng’s daughters from his previous marriage and Lo’s son from her previous marriage all spoke at the wedding. Cheng was married for seven years to cinematographer Francine Tam. Lo was briefly hitched to French diplomat and businessman Hubert de Villiers.
Hazel lurches out of her chair. De Villiers.
Romy Lonstein could have had other aunts and uncles. Her cousin Conrad isn’t necessarily her aunt Anaïs’s child.
But what if he is? What if his surnameisde Villiers?
For a moment her mind is as blank as a wiped whiteboard, all information gone. And then she remembers: Wikidata. Astrid’s searches.
She somehow pulls up the company registration page Astrid was looking at yesterday. This time, she sees that there are various tabs at the top. One such tab leads her to a pdf of incorporation papers.
And on those, where full names are required, underHeneage Pericles BathurstisValerian Conrad de Clausonne de Villiers.
Chapter Eighteen
Sunday
Nobody is ever prepared for the worst.
Especially not those preparing the most assiduously: They are the ones most desperate to avoid that particular outcome.
Hazel feels as if she’s just opened the door to a battalion of cops again.
Could the young man she met on Madeira have turned into a killer? Could she have conceived, when she tossed the confetti of his phone number to the wind, determined to make him the sweetest memory of her life, that someday she might ask this question?
Her phone buzzes. A text.
Hi, Hazel, it’s Conrad. I apologize for yesterday. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll be out of town until the end of the week. Would it be possible for us to meet again when I’m back in Austin? Please say yes.
She yelps.
“You okay?” comes Nainai’s creaky morning voice.
Hazel glances at the atomic clock on the wall. It’s almost eight—she has no idea when the night ended and the sun rose.
“I’m fine,” she calls out. “I just won the lottery!”
Nainai cackles. “There’s no one more deserving. You want some baozi for breakfast?”
Hazel closes her laptop and stands up. “I’ll do it.”
She puts a trio of small frozen bao to steam in one Instant Pot and sets a batch of rice porridge to pressure-cook in another. While breakfast takes care of itself, she goes back to her room and parses Conrad’s text again.
If she hadn’t gone to his house last night, she wouldn’t be just saying yes: She’d ask if she could fly out to meet him wherever he happens to be. But now she’s spooked.
