Mandarin-Gold (42 page)

'I don't believe that,' said the Parsee's daughter firmly. 'I have known my father for far longer than you have, Dr Gunn. He is a good, kind man. What brings you here, anyhow? You have not broken your journey just to tell me lies about my father, surely? We said good-bye years ago. Or rather, we did not. Remember?'

'Yes,' said Gunn. He remembered other things, too: his body in hers, and the smell of her hair, and her face damp with the sweat of love in that shaded upper room overlooking the Praya. He had been young in mind then and young in experience, which was not the same as being young in years.

'Have you come to try and blackmail
me?'
she asked quietly.

'My God, no,' said Gunn, shocked. Why did people assume the worst so quickly? 'I just wanted to see you.'

'If you wanted to see our son, he is not here. He is out with his
ayah.'

'You are the one I came to see.'

But it was somehow gratifying to know he had sired a son, even if he would never see the boy. He must be seven or eight now; already a tenth of his life was past, and Gunn had known nothing about him. And if he ever told the boy he was his father, he would never believe him. The ironies of life!

She shook her head, not speaking. He was glad, in a pointless way. Maybe this woman
had
liked him, and more than like him, almost loved him. The thought warmed the cold corners of his heart. He wanted to tell her he was pleased, but he could not; his tongue would not form the words.

Instead, he stood looking at her in silence. She had thickened since he had last seen her — yet this was to be expected. Each year in a hot climate ripened women; from being young they suddenly matured like overblown roses. She did not attract him physically now any more than he attracted her; they were two strangers, who, long ago, had been close in a far country to which neither belonged. But even then, not all that close; he still did not know her name.

There was nothing to stay, for now, for what had linked them once, proximity and the passion of, youth in a burning land, had long since disappeared. It was odd to think that in all the many women he had possessed since he had taken this woman in the Parsee's house, he had sought
her
face, had felt for
her
body, and searched for
her
spirit. And now that they were face to face, she was someone else altogether. But then, so was he.

'Good-bye,' he said again, and held out his hand. Her skin felt warm to the touch. Just for a second, a wild, fleeting, splintered flash of thought, Gunn contemplated seizing her, forcing his mouth on hers, tearing up her sari, and having her there as she would have loved to be taken years ago. But instead he bowed formally and turned away, and walked to the door and, like MacPherson, he did not look back.

The bearers picked up his sedan, and as they began to trot down the hill he turned and looked up at the window of the big room. She was standing half behind the white silk curtain, looking down at him, and then the sun caught the window in a reflected blaze of gold and she was gone.

'Is there anything I can do to help you, sir, in Bombay?' asked his agent nervously. He had never met the firm's founder before, and such an opportunity, if fully used, could only advance his own fortunes.

Fernandes saluted and went back to the wheel-house. Gunn poured himself a whisky, and listened to the familiar screech of anchor-chains, the shouts of sailors up on the yards. The coastline turned through the porthole, and he toasted the view, drinking the whisky greedily, as though its fire could warm the cold weariness he felt in hipbones.

He had half expected to feel either elated or sad or warmed by the sight of the Parsee's daughter, but instead he felt nothing save this weariness that used to be quite alien to him.

He sat down in a cabin chair and poured himself out another whisky; it might have been water for all the effect it had on him. Perhaps he was sickening for something? Maybe it was some latent fever encountered in the swamps of China when he had been building up trade, and energy and overwork had kept it subdued, but now that he was at leisure, it was finally showing its strength?

What Mackereth and MacPherson had said about him was quite true, he thought. He had used people, because they were there to be used. He had never realized this until he had sailed East, because until then all his life had been a struggle; to pass examinations, to keep up appearances, to strive on his own, for what he really did not know.

But perhaps he was not entirely to blame, for people were like soft clay; they yearned to be used.

The Parsee had allowed himself to be used by paying him more than he need have paid. Then Mackereth was willing to be used, for by what other means could he earn any money? And MacPherson had sailed through life like a rudderless vessel until he found Gunn and allowed him to steer him in the direction Gunn thought fit.

The girl Ling Fai he had used as a creature for his pleasure, and now she was dead he felt strangely guilty. She alone had left an empty place in his mind that would at best be filled with uneasy and shameful thoughts. True, it was only a small place; but it was there, and the only one there.

So he had used them all, and they had stayed where they were, while he had gone forward, and now nothing could stop him. He could easily become a Member of Parliament. A knighthood was within his command; so was a peerage. For everyone had their price, and money was the key to all the currencies of corruption. And now he had money, more than any man could spend in a lifetime.

Gunn stood up again and looked at his face in the mirror above the pewter washbasin. It was surprisingly sallow, like the face of a man who rarely saw the sun. He looked again more closely, and suddenly felt fear's cold fingers clutch his heart. He
must
be ill to look like this. Then he glanced out of the porthole; the sea off Bombay was always yellow, and this had simply been reflected in the mirror.

Of course! How foolish to have forgotten this — and yet why did he feel so overwhelmingly relieved? Had he subconsciously been expecting some sign of ill health? Maybe this wretched lassitude, the enervating humidity of the sea voyage, had induced this attitude of mind? He was tired, that was the trouble; tired and lonely; the trip home would help him.

He poured a third whisky, and wind took the high sails and the ship leaned eagerly towards the west like some great white-winged bird. Gradually, the coastline faded and sank away. The yellow pigment left the sea, and the water grew green, then lapis lazuli, and finally blue as a Ming vase. Flying fish scudded and flickered like arrows above the smooth and sunbright waves.

Gunn stood up and looked at himself again in the mirror. Instantly, all his comfortable reassuring thoughts vanished like the coast of India.

The sea was blue, but his face was still sallow. Now he could see clusters of small brown freckles, like grains of sand, around his eyes. He sat down shakily on the edge of his bunk, then lay back, still wearing his jacket and his boots. He lay like a dead man, hearing the creak of the timbers and the roar and chuckle of the water on the other side of the hull. Someone came and knocked on the door with afternoon tea, but he did not reply and presently Gunn heard the-footsteps die away.

He lay, listening to the beat of his own heart and the boom of the sea. He knew what this yellow colour meant, what the freckles and the weariness and lassitude signified. These were the signs of anaemia, but not the harmless kind from which pale young women suffered, and for which he had so often prescribed a diet of lean meat and porter and oysters. This was the type for which no human held the prescription. He had seen other men, even children, with' this sallow skin, these freckles, suddenly wither away, their flesh falling in on their bones until they resembled nothing so much as walking corpses. Redness left their blood as life left their bodies.

The cabin darkened and Gunn dozed uneasily and dreamed, and started up from his sleep, thinking he had endured a nightmare. He lit the lamp and examined his face again in the mirror, but this was no dream; his flesh was still as yellow as parchment, and the freckles were the mark of death.

Involuntarily, he glanced at his watch. Eleven o'clock. The Hour of the Rat, as the Chinese accounted time. He smiled ironically, remembering the Chinese description of Jardine as the Iron Headed Old Rat. The War of the Iron Rats. How long ago it seemed, and how very brief it had been! But every war had unknown casualties, and he was one of them. The Parsee had been wise not to take revenge himself. As he had said, the sword of heaven is in no haste to smite, but it never leaves a debt unpaid.

Gunn sat on his bunk in the hot stuffy cabin, looking out at the stars, another whisky in his hand.

He had achieved everything he wanted and he had achieved nothing. He was one of the richest men in the East, and one of the poorest. For what use was wealth unless you had health to enjoy it? As much use as light to a blind man, or shoes to a man who had no feet. And why should this happen to him, when he had worked so hard and had achieved so very much more than anyone he knew? Why, oh, God,
why?

Gradually, the moon came up and the sea stretched like a shimmering silver floor on to the outer edge of darkness. And still Gunn found no answers to these questions. For there were no answers, no answers at all.

THE END

Dr Robert Gunn returns in
The Chinese Widow
and
Jade Gate
, both soon to available as e-books.

A SELECTION BOOKS BY JAMES LEASOR AND AVAILABLE AS E-BOOKS

For more details please visit
www.jamesleasor.com

BOARDING PARTY

Filmed as
The Sea Wolves,
this is the story of the undercover exploits of a territorial unit. The Germans had a secret transmitter on one of their ships in the neutral harbour of Goa. Its purpose was to guide the U-boats against Allied shipping in the Indian Ocean. There seemed no way for the British to infringe Goa's Portuguese neutrality by force. But the transmitter had to be silenced. Then it was remembered that 1,400 miles away in Calcutta was a source of possible help. A group of civilian bankers, merchants and solicitors were the remains of an old territorial unit called The Calcutta Light Horse. With a foreword by Earl Mountbatten of Burma.

GREEN BEACH

In 1942 radar expert Jack Nissenthall volunteered for a suicidal mission to join a combat team who were making a surprise landing at Dieppe in occupied France. His assignment was to penetrate a German radar station on a cliff above 'Green Beach: Because Nissenthall knew the secrets of British and US radar technology, he was awarded a personal bodyguard of sharpshooters. Their orders were to protect him, but in the event of possible capture to kill him. His choice was to succeed or die. The story of what happened to him and his bodyguards in nine hours under fire is one of World War II's most terrifying true stories of personal heroism.

THE MARINE FROM MANDALAY

This is the true story of a Royal Marine wounded by shrapnel in Mandalay in WW2 who undergoes a long solitary march to the Japanese through the whole of Burma and then finds his way back through India and back to Britain to report for duty in Plymouth. On his way he has many encounters and adventures and helps British and Indian refugees. He also has to overcome complete disbelief that a single man could walk out of Burma with nothing but his orders - to report to HQ - and his initiative.