by Gai-Jin(Lit)
I'll be all right?"
"Tess invited me back. Don't worry, it's in control. Better we talk during your promenade tomorrow--tonight is only for good conversation amongst friends, gentle pleasure. I'm truly honored you accepted my invitation--it's due to you
I'm head here." Gornt took her arm and in a normal voice said, "Welcome to Brock and
Sons, Angelique. Shall we go in?"
The dining room was as big as the one in
Struan's, as lush, the silver as good, the wine superior, the linen richer. Liveried Chinese servants. Marlowe, Pallidar and Dmitri stood in front of a roaring fire, waiting to greet her. They kissed her hand, admired her hat that she kept on as was custom, Marlowe and
Pallidar in their informal uniforms. And while she greeted them and listened with her quiet charm, her inner motor was sifting Gornt, what he had said and what was missing.
"Shall we sit now that our honored guest is gracing us?" Gornt settled her at one end of the table. He took the other. The table was small enough to be intimate, large enough to be impressive.
"Suhs, a toast!" he said, lifting his glass of champagne, "To the Lady!" They drank and his eyes never left hers. An invitation, discreetly given. She smiled back, neither yes nor no.
Plenty of time, he thought, delighted to be the host and even more delighted with himself. So much left to tell. Perhaps the best part. But not to her.
On the last day in Hong Kong, Tess
Struan had again sent for him, secretly.
"I've been through all the papers, Mr.
Gornt. It's not absolutely certain the support the papers give your scheme will bring about the Brock crash."
"I think they will, Ma'am," he said, impressed that she knew so much about business.
"I truly believe you have everything needed to unlock Pandora's Box"--this was the code name they had agreed on. "There's one last piece of the jigsaw that would complete the picture and guarantee success."
"And that is?"'
"Norbert's official chop. It's in his safe at Yokohama."
She had sighed and leaned back in the carved chair. No need for either of them to articulate that this chop on almost any Brock letterheaded document, correctly couched and dated validated it, committing Brock's of Yokohama through him to whatever was on the paper.
No need to say aloud that all kinds of incriminating information could be written now, backdated, and found or slid surreptitiously into the pile. Who could challenge such a letter with
Greyforth dead?
Both of them knew its value.
Morgan and Tyler Brock had speculated heavily on this complicated but incredibly ingenious scheme to corner the Hawaiian sugar market-- in principle already accomplished--bartering the sugar crop forward for Southern cotton which they had presold legally to guaranteed French interests-- historic U.s. allies and not subject to Northern blockade in this instance through certain congressional help and safeguards-- then to be shipped legally from France to Geneva, to be sent on legally to Lancashire cotton mills that were almost destitute and desperate for the raw material.
A tiny hazard: If the Union government discovered for certain the ultimate destination--
Britain was formally neutral, most of the British were actively pro-Confederate--and this was made public knowledge, they would inhibit the export by interception. This was a minor risk because of high-level agreement to the French connection which was, for the first time, proven by Gornt's papers to be a Brock company shell, and governmental noninterference more certain because a goodly proportion of the sugar, also desperately needed, was to be bartered for diverted Union armaments which Brocks would promptly import to Asia. Projected profits were immense. Brock's standing in the
Asia-America entente would become preeminent, whoever won the civil war. In Asia they would be supreme. And no possible way the plan could fail because the Victoria Bank of Hong Kong was the underwriter.
The bank, biggest in the Colony, had eagerly underpinned the venture, approved by the
Board of twelve of whom Tyler Brock was one, with Brock and Sons shares and liquidity as nominal collateral. For all intents and purposes the Victoria was a Brock preserve. Old Man Brock had been a founder in '43, he had chosen the other members-- excluding any director of Struan's perpetually from the Board--had retained a forty percent interest and had permanent voting control of at least nine to three. And while backing
Brock's on the international scene, the Board had meanwhile agreed to crush Struan's through repossession of all Struan's debt paper, due by January 30th--the timetable and questionable methods of the clandestine, long-term acquisition was also tabled in Gornt's evidence.
Gornt had excitedly pointed out that, for the first time Brock and Sons were vulnerable--never before had they put up the control of their company as collateral. The Victoria was the key to the
Pandora's Box. The key to the bank was the
Board. It had to be subverted, turned around, and financial support withdrawn suddenly from Tyler and Morgan on the correct day leaving them destitute without the necessary funds to oil the wheels. Meanwhile evidence of the scheme from
Gornt's papers, and notice that the Victoria would not be supporting the deal any longer, had to be rushed by clipper to Washington to the right hands which would make interception probable--without the Bank's backing there was no sugar to barter for cotton or for armaments. But this had to be done now, before rearranging the Bank's voting control.
How to turn the Board was the pivot of
Gornt's plan.
The papers revealed highly embarrassing facts on the background of two pro-Tyler
Brock Board members, so serious that their votes would go to whoever had the documentation. Seven to five. More facts about one other man, less damaging and questionable were also there. A possible six to six.
Gornt's idea was that Tess should approach the chairman privately, give him the facts, tell him that details of the scheme were already en route to Washington, and propose, "That they pull the plug on Brock's and swing to you and
Struan's, granting an extension of six months on Struan debts, two seats on the Board, take immediate control of Brock's and sell off the assets at bargain prices, enough to cover debts, leaving Tyler and Morgan Brock to drown in sugar they can't pay for. And last the Bank agrees to split Brock's forfeited forty percent bank holdings into four parts: one to the chairman, one to two Board members of his choice, one to the Noble House."
"In return for what? Why should the Bank cross Tyler?"' Tess had asked.
"Double-cross, isn't that the American word?"'
"Yes, Ma'am, but this would be a triple-cross. Why should the Board gorge on the deal? Because they'll be huge winners, the chairman and all of them, because they hate Tyler privately and fear him, like everyone else. They don't hate you, you're the Noble House and no threat to them. Hate, not money alone, is the grease that oils the world."
"I don't agree, but let that pass.
Back to this mythical chop. What do you propose to do with it?"' Her smile had been cynical.
"If you obtain it."
"Anything you like, Ma'am."
"Perhaps you should bring it here by Prancing Cloud."
"No, sorry, that's too soon, unless you'll leave her to wallow for a week or two.
I'll bring it in good time."
"Why delay? Send it, Strongbow's trustworthy."
"I'll bring it in good time." He remembered how her eyes, so pale and seemingly so innocent most times, penetrated like molten iron. "I promise."
"Put that aside for the moment. The price,
Mr. Gornt?"'
"I would like to tell you that when I return,
Ma'am."
She had laughed without humor. "I'm sure you would. I thought you knew me well enough by now not to try to squeeze me or Struan's. You could delay till the last moment, by which time I will have had to launch the assault, on both Tyler and the
Bank, Stru
an's would be terribly exposed and
I would have to agree, whatever you demand."
"There must be trust on both sides. I've given you the evidence you need to crush Tyler
Brock and Morgan, for a deal you promise me in the future, I'm trusting you to deliver,
Ma'am. It's not much to ask to delay, I swear
I'll be back in good time. What I would bring from
Yokohama is the icing on the cake and the price will be fair."
"I've never liked cake, or icing, Mr.
Gornt--any liking was beaten out of me by my father who disapproved of such vittles when I was very young.
The price?"'
"May I assure you, Ma'am, it will be a price you will gladly pay, on my honor and my word as a gentleman."
She had looked at him. "May I assure you, Mr. Gornt, equally, if you cross, or double-cross or triple-cross me, I will see you will be an extremely unhappy man, apart from being persona non grata in Asia and throughout the
Empire--on my honor and my word as tai-pan of the Noble House..."
Gornt went cold, remembering the way
Tess's words had surrounded him, the pride with which she had said tai-pan of the Noble House even when she added, "however temporary." All at once he realized that this woman really was tai-pan now, realized whoever held the title soon would not hold the power. Realized with a stab of fear that he would have to deal with her for a long time, that by destroying Brock's perhaps he had created a monster for his own destruction.
God in Heaven, she can blow me to pieces at her whim! How do I make her an ally, keep her ally? She's got to be my ally, whatever the cost.
Then laughter from Dmitri and Marlowe brought him back. His world came into balance again.
Candlelight, dining table, fine silver, fine friends. Secure in Yokohama, the chop already removed from the safe and hidden away, a letter already written, backdated and chopped that corroborated the loose evidence against the key Board member, another letter implying collusion of the chairman.
Without them the Board will collapse into our laps like a bent house of cards, has to, they won't resist their one and only chance of revenge on
Tyler and Morgan Brock. And no need to fear
Tess Struan. She's in my power as much as my future's in hers.
I've a lot to be pleased about. Here I am, twenty-seven, Morgan's head is almost in the basket, I'm tai-pan of
Rothwell-Gornt's-to-be, head of a splendid table, servants waiting for orders. And she's there, beautiful, rich-to-be, and loving me however much she tries to hide it, my bride-to-be whatever the outcome--a child by Malcolm only makes the price higher to Tess, a sumptuous but bargain price she will gladly pay!
"Health and a long one," he toasted silently, raising his glass to Angelique and to himself and to them both together, sure his future was limitless.
His guests did not notice the private toast, too involved in chattering, vying for her attention. Comfortably he watched them. Mostly he watched her. Then he tapped the table.
"Angelique, gentlemen, your attention please. We have mulligatawny soup with sherry, baked fish with onions, olives and iced
Pouilly Fuiss`e, sorbet and champagne, then the roast with potatoes and St-Emilion--the cook "found" a fine piece of Struan beef
... don't worry, Ma'am," he said with a laugh, "it was bought, not stolen. Then chicken pie and to end, a surprise to end all surprises."
"And what's that?" Marlowe asked.
"Wait and see." He glanced at
Angelique.
She smiled her enigmatic smile, the smile that excited him so much, like the Mona Lisa he had seen in the Louvre on a trip to Paris-- never to be forgotten.
"I think we must trust our host, Captain," she said softly. "Don't you agree?"
Sunday, 11th January:
In the night Angelique awoke in a cold sweat, back in time, back in the French
Legation, the mama-san's little bottles on the side table, one already empty, the other ready to uncork and swallow as soon as the cramps began.
Finding herself warm in bed in her own suite, the fire coals still glowing, her night light casting solid shadows, the terror left and her pulse slowed and she waited for the indications. Nothing. No cramp or stomachache. Waiting. Still nothing.
Thank God, she thought, I must have dreamed they had begun. She relaxed in the down mattress, watching the fire, not quite awake, good pictures in the coals, happy pictures of the roofs of
Paris in the sunset, melding into the summerscape of her dream house in Provence, her baby son contentedly sleeping in her arms. "J@esus,
Marie, please don't let it begin.
Please."
Yesterday afternoon Babcott had arrived,
"Happened to be passing, and wanted to see how you were."
"No need to tell fibs," she said sharply.
"Dr. Hoag said the same thing this morning. The very same words."
"Steady on, dear Angelique, I really did happen to pass by and I really did want to see you. To reassure you."
"Oh?"'
"Yes, old Hoag said you were a little touchy.
Rightly so," he nodded, smiling, "and to tell you what you didn't give him a moment to say, that it's quite possible for your monthly to be delayed, to have slight period cramps that go away to return properly in a day or so. Or even never to return."
"Why is it you doctors are so wise but know nothing, not really, not even about such a simple matter as having a baby or not having a baby, a process which has been with us a few years," she had fumed, exasperated and weary of all the sidelong glances of the last few days and the sudden silences as she walked by. "Kindly leave me be, both of you, I will inform you when I need to see you if ever. Leave me alone!"
He had gone away, chastised, but she did not care. Since last Sunday's flaming row with Father
Leo she had kept to herself as much as possible.
"I hate that man," she muttered, "hate him for upsetting me so much. He's vile, he's no man of God!"
During Confession he had said, "Perhaps you should ask forgiveness for this sham marriage you took part in, my child, oh I know you were cajoled, tricked.
Even so it's a sin."
"I wasn't cajoled, Father, and it's not a sin or a sham," she had said. "It's perfectly legal according to law."
"Heretic law? It's false. You blind yourself. Of course it is not lawful and not valid in the sight of God."
"It is in the sight of English law," she said seething. "It is in the sight of God, it is!"
"Ah, my poor child, it's not and you know it's not. The Church does not recognize a heretic marriage, let alone by a simple sea captain. You're not married in the sight of
God."
"I am, Malcolm's Church recognizes my marriage, his law does, my husband's law does. I'm married legally."
"How foolish you are. Don't blind yourself.
You're Catholic, the True Church does not recognize such a marriage. Repent, my child."
"I'm married and that's the end of it!" She had got up.
"Wait! It's not the end, my child, to give you absolution you must admit your sins, to come before Him blameless! How can I give you absolution?"'
"Their God is the same as our God, my
God," she had said, tears of rage and frustration blinding her, "I can worship him in their Church as well as here."
"You risk damnation and Eternal Torment.
Excommunication, the sacraments withdrawn from you. Beware, your mind has been taken by the heretics, pray for forgiveness..."
She had fled.
Andr`e and Seratard were in the congregation. Later
Andr`e had asked what the trouble was and she had told him. He said, "Thousands of Catholics are happily married under Protestant dogma, and visa versa, whatever Church hierarchies claim."
"Andr`e, am I married or am I not?"'
"You are, according to British law, and British naval law, until a British
court says you are not."
"But not according to the Church?"'
"To their Church, yes, subject to the above, to ours, no. You already know the answer to that, no."
"I hate that man."
"He's a priest. Not all of them are good, we both know that too. Listen, Angelique, about your, your time, please, as soon as you know, one way or another, please tell me privately so we can begin to plan. Henri expects any day to have the French Ambassador's approval that you are a Ward of the State. Don't worry, I promised we will guard you and your interests and we will," he said and left her to brood.