Mandarin-Gold (6 page)

'By letter. In your own ship,' the Parsee said, guessing his thoughts.

'How long will this take?' asked Gunn. He had already made up his mind. There was no going back now, no way of retreat; and, surprisingly, no wish to find one.'

'You as a medical man know the intricacies of the feminine rhythm better than me. I would say you would be here for at least a fortnight.'

'Where,
exactly?'

'In another part of this palace. You will have a suite of rooms with a bathroom and a courtyard, where you may walk or sit in the sun. But you will not be allowed out onto the Praya. You will also have your own personal servant, who will bring you your food and drink and wash your clothes.'

'It's like being at stud,' said Gunn musingly. But for three thousand pounds who wouldn't be a stallion? What would his parents think of him now, in some Eastern potentate's palace, about to sell his manhood for three thousand sovereigns? What would Griggs think? Gunn immediately knew the answer and smiled at it. Griggs would be in there before him!

'You find this situation amusing?' asked the Parsee coldly.

'Amusing, no. Unusual, yes. I have no alternative but to accept. And, as Iago said to Othello, "I'll do it, but it dislikes me".'

'You may. That is your decision. But in so doing, you would lay yourself open to calumny and contempt. And, in any case, what good would it do either of us? What English gentleman would accept money from a native to mount his daughter, and get her with child? And what would your medical colleagues think of such behaviour, should it ever reach their ears? In any case, you will never see me again.'

Gunn stood up; there seemed nothing more to discuss. The door opened, and the man who had guided him here stood inside, hands folded, head down.

'Here is your servant. And while you are my guest, I would warn you against trying to overpower him to make an escape. In view of the importance of your task, Dr Gunn, and the high fee you are receiving, we would not wish to risk injury to you — or tire you unnecessarily.'

The Parsee crossed to a table, wrote out a cheque and handed it to Gunn. It was drawn on Grindlays Bank in Bombay for three thousand sovereigns. 'Your name is on the cheque,' Gunn pointed out. 'I .could easily trace you.'

'We have already discussed that eventuality. Now, I have other matters to attend to.'

The Parsee bowed. Gunn followed the servant out of the door, along a different corridor, up more stairs, until they reached a landing where small palm trees in flowered blue urns carved with dragons stood outside another set of double doors.

'Here are your quarters,' the servant told him. 'You will find a bell inside. Ring it, and I will bring whatever you need.'

Reaction had dried Gunn's mouth. His heart fluttered like a bird beneath his ribs. He felt suddenly nervous and shy. He was a virgin, and this_ woman, however unsatisfactorily married, would instantly know this. It was one thing to be acquainted with the written techniques of love, to know the names and intensities of the erotic zones, just as it was to be acquainted with books on medicine and surgery. It was altogether another to have to practise satisfactorily with a stranger what others had written about, and what you had only read.

Gunn walked slowly into the room. Another wide window overlooked the bay. He was about a hundred feet above the Praya, and he looked down on people foreshortened by the height. A horse whinnied, and half a dozen coolies jog-trotted past, huge bundles on their heads. There was no drainpipe, no convenient gutter to which he could cling, or climb down. But why try to escape - and where could he go if he did? Also, he had given his word; he had taken the Parsee's money. Now he had to do what had been agreed. The floor was white marble, covered with sheepskin rugs. Two wide divans were separated by a table, with bottles of whisky, crystal goblets, a glass bucket of ice. To one side were bowls of shelled prawns fried to an unusual crispness, and peeled lychees and small oranges.

He sat down, poured himself a Queen Anne, then examined the next room. This contained a wide double bed, and plain unpainted furniture. Beyond this was a bathroom. So here he was: Gunn at stud. And, incredibly, his fee could buy a grand house, a carriage and pair, a medical practice in Herne Bay, and still leave more to spend. It was a staggering amount of money. But, as he remembered Herne Bay, he realized that the prospect of being a country doctor there seemed suddenly much less attractive than it had appeared only days before, aboard
Trelawney.

If he could make three thousand sovereigns in a fortnight in the East, what might he make in a year or in a lifetime, if he set his mind to trade and commerce, like the Parsee?

The prospect of wealth, of the power it could bring, its comforts and pleasures, had never greatly occupied him before. He had never been in a position to command it. But now, quite unexpectedly, he was. To the devil with going back to being a ship's doctor for a few pounds a month and his keep of hard-tack and rum and lime juice, examining sailors for pox and scurvy.
This
was where his fortune lay. Here, in the East, where for centuries wealth had been beyond accounting; where mandarins were millionaires and what was strange and fabled by any other standard, was accepted as commonplace. As he was about to prove conclusively.

Gunn heard a door click, and walked back into the main room. A girl was standing in the other room, her arms folded, head down modestly. She was of medium height, and wore a white sari with a gold edge, and gold chaplis. Her fingernails and toenails were painted. Long gold rings dangled from her ears.

As Gunn came to the door, she looked up at him; she was smiling slightly. She was younger than he was, possibly only twenty, but there was a fullness about her mouth and face that gave her a maturity beyond her years. Gunn held out his hand awkwardly. She curtsied, and taking it between both of hers, raised it to her lips. This must be the woman he was to seduce for three thousand sovereigns — or, rather, who was to seduce him.

'But you
might
grow to like them?' she went on, smiling.

'That is possible,' he agreed again, still ill-at-ease, but much less so. She was easy to talk to, and gentle and warm in a way Marion had never been. His tension melted.

'When did you last have anything to eat?' she asked him. Gunn saw that her brown eyes were unusually large; the lashes were darkened with kohl.

'Days ago, I suppose. I was drugged in Canton, I think.'

'We must get you something.'

She leaned to one side and pulled a bell tassel and, as she leaned, Gunn could see the nipples like dark stains through the tightening silk across her breasts. The whisky and the sight and scent of her moved in his blood. He could feel warmth spread to his loins.

The servant appeared silently in the doorway. She spoke to him quickly. The man bowed and went away.

They had another drink, and then the servant was back with a companion wearing a white uniform with a red belt and gold buckles, carrying a tray. On this were dishes of rice and curried prawns, silver jars of chutney, and plates of chopped eggs and beetroot and carrot and coconut.

The servants bowed and withdrew. The plates were kept warm over a spirit flame. They served themselves.

'You have everything?' she asked, smiling.

'Everything,' he said, suddenly conscious of the
double entendre.

They ate, and as Gunn swallowed the food, rich and spiced and satisfying, a feeling of complete relaxation swept over him. With Adam and this girl as his guides, he would not disgrace himself.

He suddenly recalled the semi-detached villa; cold mornings when bedroom windows were damp with condensation; summer days when the only sounds were the hum of bees and the distant cries of seagulls.

Gunn was shocked at the idea, and then faintly amused. He stood up and walked to the window. The Praya seemed full of people walking in the evening air. What would they say if they knew what he was about to do? He smiled at the idea, and then sat down, this time much closer to her.

He stretched out his left arm tentatively along the back of the sofa. She was really very beautiful. Although her skin was coffee-coloured, in the deepening darkness of the room, this did not matter at all. Indeed, it seemed to suit her better, to be a greater contrast to the whiteness of her sari.

‘There's nothing much to tell,' said Gunn, and of course there wasn't. Just a letter he had read, a feeling of emptiness inside that was fast fading.

His fingers had reached her hair, which was soft and dark and long, and quite different from Marion's brittle hair on the few occasions he had touched it. But then this girl was altogether different in every way. Or was she? Perhaps this was how Cartwright, the grocer, had started with Marion. Perhaps he should have been bolder with her? But what did any of these possibilities matter now? The present was what counted; the present and the future. Three thousand sovereigns was a solid initial payment of a far greater fortune.

Gunn moved his hand, which rested on her far shoulder; his arm had gone to sleep. She slid slightly against him.

'What colour was
her
hair?' she asked, as though it mattered.

'Brownish,' he said, and as he tried to recall Marion's features, he found with surprise he could hardly remember anything about her. She had always been indeterminate; a characterless face in a crowd.
Now she was gone, lost in a crowd of more important sensations.

He could feel the warmth of this girl's body through her thin sari. His grip tightened. He turned slightly, and her face came up against his, so that he could see it and nothing else: her enormous dark eyes, the glisten of white teeth through parted lips, her smile.

He kissed her then, and it was different from the short passionless pecks he had exchanged with Marion in another country, another life.

Her tongue moved gently against his mouth, soft as a night-moth's wings, and then probed between his lips in a fierce, electrifying way. His hands went round the bodice of her sari, and hers slipped under his robe against his bare body. The touch of flesh on flesh was burning, like fire.

She drew back briefly and he saw her face again, still smiling, enigmatic and her fingertips brushed magically and mesmerically down his spine. Her tongue was now a dark honey-rose that flitted in and out of his mouth at will.

His fingers found a dip at the back of her bodice, which was the easiest thing in the world to undo. She gave a sigh of relief and content, and wriggled free. Her breasts were firm in his hands, pointed, rounded, altogether wonderful. It was not nothing to hold these heavy globes, paradoxically soft yet firm, two round worlds with a life of their own. She moved against him and it was the most natural thing in the world to cover her with his body. His robe slid open, and her legs entwined about his, so that it seemed they were not two bodies but two parts of one. Then she was feeding him gently into her other soft, moist mouth, and suddenly he was rearing like a beast, thrusting as though he must die if he stopped; not heeding her first stifled cry, nor the soft moanings she uttered.

Her fingers gripped his shoulders, digging into the firm muscles like hard claws as he thrust like a god. The sweat from their flesh ran together and mingled in the anonymity of dusk. Then the long hot thread of his life poured into her, and they sank, sobbing for breath, side by side, in a welter of robe and sari, on the rough canvas of the settee.

They lay until the thunder of Gunn's heart receded. From far away, he heard sweetmeat sellers call their wares on the Praya. They had been calling before he started this apocalyptic journey he had begun as a youth and ended as a man. How elastic had time become! He dozed, half between sleep and dreams, content and relaxed.