“Which do you advise?”
“The choice must be yours, tai-pan. You will have to make personal guarantees. It’s face too, though I’d support you in everything, and you did ask for a. favor as an Old Friend.”
“What about Sir Luis?”
“I’ve arranged to see him tonight, tai-pan. I hope for cooperation.” Phillip Chen had seemed grayer and older than ever. “It’s a pity there’s nothing we can give Tiptop in case Sinders reneges.”
“What about bartering the tanker fleet? Can we lean on Vee Cee? What about thoriums—or Joseph Yu?”
“Tiptop needs something to barter with, not a threat, tai-pan. Did P.B. say he’d help?”
“He promised to phone Tiptop this afternoon—he said he’d also try one of his friends in Peking.”
At exactly seven o’clock Dunross dialed. “Mr. Tip, please. Ian Dunross.”
“Good evening, tai-pan. How are you? I hear you may be riding Noble Star next Saturday?”
“That’s possible.” They talked about inconsequential matters, then Tiptop said, “And that unfortunate person? At the latest, when is he going to be released?”
Dunross held on to himself, then committed his future. “Sunset tomorrow, at Lo Wu.”
“Do you personally guarantee he will be there?”
“I personally guarantee I’ve done everything in my power to persuade the authorities to release him.”
“That’s not the same as saying the man will be there. Is it?”
“No. But he’ll be there. I’m …” Dunross stopped. He was going to say, “almost certain” and then he knew he would surely fail—not daring to guarantee it because a failure to perform would take away his face, his credulity, forever—but he remembered something Phillip Chen had said about Tiptop having something to barter with and all at once he had an opening. “Listen, Mr. Tip,” he began, his sudden excitement almost nauseating. “These are foul times. Old Friends need Old Friends like never before. Privately, very privately, I hear that our Special Branch in the last two days discovered there’s a major Soviet spy ring here, a deep-cover ring, the code name of the operation Sevrin. The purpose of Sevrin’s the destruction of the Middle Kingdom’s link with the rest of the world.”
“That’s nothing new, tai-pan. Hegemonists will always be hegemonists, Tsarist Russia or Soviet Russia, there’s no difference. For four hundred years it’s been that way. Four hundred years since their first incursions and theft of our lands. But please go on.”
“It’s my belief Hong Kong and the Middle Kingdom are equal targets. We’re your only window on the world. Old Green-Eyed Devil was the first to see that and it’s true. Any interruption here and only the hegemonists will gain. Some documentation, part of the Special Branch documentation has come into my hands.” With complete accuracy Dunross began to quote verbatim from the stolen head documents in AMG’s report, his mind seeming to read from the pages that effortlessly appeared from his memory. He gave Tiptop all the pertinent details of Sevrin, the spies, and about the police mole.
There was a shocked silence. “What’s the date on the Sevrin head document, tai-pan?”
“It was approved by an ‘L.B.’ on March 14, 1950.”
A long sigh. Very long. “Lavrenti Beria?”
“I don’t know.” The more Dunross thought about this new ploy the more excited he became, certain now that this information and proof positive in the right Peking hands would cause a tidal wave in Soviet-Chinese relations.
“Is it possible to see this document?”
“Yes. Yes it would be possible,” Dunross said, sweat on his back, thanking his foresight in photocopying the Sevrin sections of AMG’s report.
“And the Czechoslovak STB document you referred to?”
“Yes. The part I have.”
“When was that dated?”
“April 6, 1959.”
“So our so-called allies were always wolfs heart and dog’s lungs?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Why is it Europe and those capitalists in America don’t understand who the real enemy in the world is? Heya?”
“It’s difficult to understand,” Dunross said, playing a waiting game now.
After a pause, controlled once more, Tiptop said, “I’m sure my friends would like a copy of this, this Sevrin paper, and any supporting documents.”
Dunross wiped the sweat off his forehead but kept his voice calm. “As an Old Friend, it’s my privilege to assist in any way I can.”
Another silence. “A mutual friend called to offer his support to your request for the Bank of China’s cash and a few minutes ago I was told that a very important person called from Peking to suggest any help that could be given in your need would be merited.” Another silence and Dunross could almost feel Tiptop and the others who were probably listening on the phone weighing, nodding or shaking their heads. “Could you excuse me a moment, tai-pan, there’s someone at the door.”
“Would you like me to call you back?” he said at once to give them time to consider.
“No, that won’t be necessary—if you don’t mind waiting a moment.”
Dunross heard the phone put down. A radio was playing in the background. Indeterminate sounds that might be muffled voices. His heart was racing. The waiting seemed to go on forever. Then the phone was picked up again.
“Sorry, tai-pan. Please send those copies early—would after your morning meeting be convenient?”
“Yes, yes certainly.”
“Please give Mr. David MacStruan my best wishes when he arrives.”
Dunross almost dropped the phone but recovered in time. “I’m sure he would wish me to return them. How is Mr. Yu?” he asked, stabbing in the dark, wanting to scream down the phone “What about the money?” But he was heavily engaged in a Chinese negotiation. His caution increased.
Another silence. “Fine,” Tiptop said but Dunross had heard a different tone. “Oh, that reminds me,” Tiptop was saying, “Mr. Yu phoned from Canton this afternoon. He would like to bring the date of your meeting forward, if that’s possible. To two weeks tomorrow, Monday.”
Dunross thought a moment. That was the week he would be in Japan with Toda Shipping negotiating his whole buy-lease-back scheme that, now that First Central was backing him, would have an enormous chance of success. “That Monday’s difficult. The following one would be better for me. Could I confirm to you by Friday?”
“Yes, certainly. Well, I won’t keep you anymore, tai-pan.”
Dunross’s tension became almost unbearable now that the final stage had been reached. He listened intently to the pleasant, friendly voice.
“Thank you for your information. I presume that that poor fellow will be at Lo Wu border by sunset. Oh, by the way, if the necessary bank papers are brought in person by Mr. Havergill, yourself and the governor at 9:00 A.M. tomorrow, a half a billion dollars of cash can be transferred to the Victoria immediately.”
Instantly Dunross saw through the ploy. “Thank you,” he said easily, avoiding the trap. “Mr. Havergill and I will be there. Unfortunately I understand the governor has been ordered by the prime minister’s office to remain at Government House until noon, for consultations. But I will bring his authority and chop, guaranteeing the loan,” he added, for of course, it would be impossible for the governor to go personally, cap in hand, like a common debtor and so create an unacceptable precedent. “I presume that will be satisfactory.”
Tiptop’s voice was almost a purr. “I’m sure the bank would be prepared to delay until noon to accommodate the governor’s duty.”
“Before and after noon he will be on the streets with the riot police, Mr. Tip, and the army, directing possible procedures against misguided riots stirred up by hegemonists. He is of course commander-in-chief, Hong Kong.”
Tiptop’s voice sharpened. “Surely even a commander-in-chief can take a few precious moments for what is obviously such an important matter?”
“It would be his pleasure, I’m
sure,” Dunross said, unafraid, knowing the art of Asian negotiation, prepared for rage, honey and everything in between. “But the protection of the Middle Kingdom’s interest as well as that of the Colony would be uppermost in his mind. I’m sure, regretfully, he would have to refuse until the emergency was over.”
There was a hostile silence. “Then what would you suggest?”
Again Dunross sidestepped the trap, leaping to the next level. “Oh, by the way, his aide-de-camp asked me to mention that his Excellency is having a party for a few of our most important Chinese citizens at the races next Saturday and he wondered if you would happen to be in the Colony so he could send you an invitation?” He held on to his hope. Putting it that way gave Tiptop the option of accepting or refusing without loss of face—and, at the same time, protected the face of the governor who would thus avoid sending such a politically important invitation that might be refused. Dunross smiled to himself, since the governor knew nothing yet about this important party he would be giving.
Another silence while Tiptop considered the political implications. “Please thank him for his consideration. I believe I will be here. May I confirm it Tuesday?”
“I will be glad to pass your message on.” Dunross considered mentioning Brian Kwok but decided to leave that in limbo. “Will you be at the bank at 9:00 A.M., Mr. Tip?”
“Oh no. It is really nothing to do with me. I’m merely an interested bystander.” Another silence. “Your representatives should see the chief manager.”
Dunross sighed, all his senses honed. No mention of the governor’s physical presence. Have I won? “I wonder if someone could confirm to Radio Hong Kong, in time for tonight’s nine o’clock news, that the Bank of China is extending the Colony an immediate credit of one half a billion dollars of cash.”
Another silence. “Oh I’m sure that’s not necessary, Mr. Dunross,” Tiptop said and now, for the first time, there was a chuckle in his voice. “Surely the word of the tai-pan of the Noble House is sufficient for a simple capitalist radio station. Good night.”
Dunross put down the phone. His fingers were trembling. There was an ache in his back and his heart was pounding. “Half a billion dollars!” he muttered, his mind blown. “No paper, no chop, no handshake, a few phone calls, a little negotiation and one half a billion dollars will be available for transfer by truck at 9:00 A.M.!”
We’ve won! Murtagh’s money and now China’s! Yes. But how to use this knowledge to the best advantage? How? he asked himself helplessly. No point in going to Plumm’s now. What to do? What to do?
His knees felt weak, his mind was buzzing with plan and counter-plan. Then his pent-up excitement erupted in a huge bellow that ricocheted off his study walls, and he jumped up and down and let out another war cry that melted into a laugh. He went into the bathroom to splash water on his face. He ripped off his soaking shirt, not bothering about the buttons and threw it into a trash can. The study door whirled open. Adryon rushed in, white-faced and anxious. “Father!”
“Good God what’s up?” Dunross said, aghast.
“What’s up with you? I heard you shout like a mad bull. Are you all right?”
“Oh, oh yes I’m, I, er, I just stubbed my toe!” Dunross’s happiness exploded again and he caught her up, lifting her easily. “Thank you, my darling, everything’s fine! Oh very fine!”
“Oh, thank God,” she said and at once added, “Then I can have my own flat starting next month?”
“Ye—” He caught himself just in time. “Oh no you don’t, Miss Smarty Pants. Just because I’m happy th—”
“But Father, do—”
“No. Thank you, Adryon, but no. Off you go!”
She glared at him then burst out laughing. “I almost caught you that time!”
“Yes, yes you did! Don’t forget Duncan’s in tomorrow on the Qantas noon flight.”
“I won’t, don’t worry. I’ll meet him. It’ll be fun to have Dunc back, haven’t had a good game of billiards since he left. Where’re you off to now?”
“I was going to Plumm’s at Rose Court to celebrate the General Foods takeover but I don’t th—”
“Martin thought that was a wonderful coup! If the stock market doesn’t crash. I told the silly man you were bound to arrange everything.”
All at once Dunross realized that Plumm’s party would be the ideal place. Gornt would be there, Phillip Chen and all the others. Gornt! Now I can put that bugger away for all time, he told himself, his heart racing. “Is Murtagh still downstairs?”
“Oh yes. We were just leaving. He’s dreamy.”
Dunross turned away to hide a smile and grabbed a clean silk shirt. “Could you hang on a second? I’ve got some rather good news for him.”
“All right.” She came over to him, big blue eyes. “My own flat for a Christmas present, pretty please?”
“After university, if you qualify, off you go!”
“Christmas. I’ll love you forever.”
He sighed, remembering how upset and frightened she had been seeing Gornt in the billiards room. Perhaps I can give you a present of his head tomorrow, he thought. “Not this Christmas, next!”
She hurled her arms around his neck. “Oh thank you Daddy darling but this Christmas, please please please.”
“No, because yo—”
“Please please please!”
“All right. But don’t tell your mother I agreed for God’s sake! She’ll skin me alive!”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
7:15 P.M.:
The curtains around Orlanda’s bed moved gently, touched by the night breeze, the air clean and salt tasting. She was in his arms as they slept, a pervading warmth between them, and then, as her hand moved, Bartlett awoke. For a moment he wondered where he was and who he was, and then everything came back and his heart picked up a beat. Their lovemaking had been wonderful. He remembered how she had responded, cresting again and again, lifting him to heights he had never experienced before. And then the after. She had got out of bed and walked to the kitchen and warmed water and brought back a hot, wet towel and toweled the sweat off him. “I’m so sorry there’s no bath or shower, my darling, that’s such a shame, but if you’re patient I can make everything nice.”
A new clean towel and feeling grand, never before knowing the wonder of a real afterward—her gentle ministrations, tender, loving, unself-conscious, the tiny crucifix around her neck her only adornment. He had noticed it glinting in the half-light. Its implications had begun to seep into his brain but somehow, all at once, she was caressing the alien thoughts away with magic hands and touch and lips until, in time, they had both become one with the gods again and, through their generosity, slid into euphoria—and thence into sleep again.
Idly he watched the curtains that fell from the ceiling waver in the air currents, their surrounding embrace making the bed more intimate, the patterns against the light of the window pleasing, everything pleasing. He lay still, not wishing to move to awaken her, not wanting to break the spell, her breath soft against his chest, her sleep face blemishless.
What to do, what to do, what to do?
Nothing, for the moment, he answered himself. The airplane’s free, you’re free, she’s unbelievable and no woman’s ever pleased you more. Never. But can it last, could it last—and then there’s Casey.
Bartlett sighed. Orlanda moved again in her sleep. He waited but she did not awaken.
His eyes were mesmerized by the patterns, his spirit at rest. It was neither hot nor cold in the room; everything was perfect, her weight imperceptible. What is it about her? he asked himself. What causes the spell, because sure as death and taxes you’re under a spell, enchanted. We’ve pillowed, that’s all, I’ve made no promises and yet … You’re enchanted, old buddy.
Yes. And it’s wonderful.
He closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.
When Orlanda awoke she was careful not to move. She did not want to awaken him, both for his pleasure and for hers. And she wante
d time to think. Sometimes she would do that in Gornt’s arms but she knew it was not the same, would never be the same. Always she had been afraid of Quillan, on guard, desperately wanting to please, wondering if she had forgotten anything. No, she thought in ecstasy, this pillowing was better than I ever remember it with Quillan, oh so much better. Linc’s so clean and no smoke taste, just clean and wonderful and I promise by the Madonna I will make him a perfect wife, I’ll be the best that ever was. I will use my mind and hands and lips and body to please and to satisfy and there will be nothing he needs that I will not do. Nothing. Everything that Quillan taught me I will do for Linc, even the things I did not enjoy, I will enjoy now with Linc. My body and soul will be an instrument for his pleasure, and for mine, when he’s learned.
She smiled to herself, curled up in his arms. Linc’s technique is nothing in comparison with Quillan’s but what my darling lacks in skill he more than makes up with strength and vigor. And tenderness. He has magic hands and lips for me. Never never never before was it ever like this.
“Pillowing’s just the beginning of sex, Orlanda,” Gornt had said. “You can become an enchantress. You can fill a man with such an unquenchable longing that, through you, he will understand all life.” But to reach ecstasy you have to seek it and work for it.
Oh I will seek it for Linc. By the Madonna I will put my mind and my heart and my soul to his life. When he’s angry I will turn it into calm. Didn’t I stop Quillan’s anger a thousand times by being gentle? Isn’t it wonderful to have so much power, and oh so easy once I had learned, so very easy and perfect and satisfying.
I will read all the best papers and train my mind, and after the Clouds and the Rain I will not speak, just caress, not to arouse but just for pleasure and I’ll never say, “Tell me you love me!” but say only, “Linc I love you.” And long before the bloom is off my skin I will have sons to excite him and daughters to delight him and then, long before I’m no longer exciting to him, I will very carefully arrange another for his pleasure, a dullard with beautiful breasts and tight rump and I will be suitably amused and benign—and compassionate when he fails, for, by then he will be much older and less virile and my hands will control the money and I will be ever more essential. And when he tires of the first I will find another, and we will live out our lives, yang and yin, the yin ever dominating the yang!
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