Oriental Hotel (64 page)

Outside in the street, the humidity hit her like a shower of steam, but she shrugged it aside. The tension was singing now in her veins, making her head ache a little, and the discomfort had returned in her chest – heavens, surely Chinese food at
lunch
time wasn't going to begin upsetting her? But this, too, she disregarded. An interview with Charles Brittain was not going to be easy – she needed all her wits about her to carry it through to a successful conclusion.

The Cormorant building was on the main thoroughfare an impressive, twenty-two-storey structure which had replaced the original rambling buildings of the old days – and the glass-fronted foyer was rich in chrome and shining black. Huge black and chrome boards announced the names of the companies belonging to the Cormorant empire – the list was endless and impressive: Cormorant Holdings, Cormorant Shipping, banking interests, land, plant hire, clothing factories … on and on it went. Elise ran her eye down it, not troubling to read them all. She was already aware of the diverse nature of the corporation.

A Chinese concierge opened the doors for her and she went in, sweeping past him with all the authority she had acquired during her years as wife of the founder of Sandersons. Behind the black, leather-padded reception desk, a pretty girl of Chinese origin looked up with customary pertness, but even she was impressed by the slimly elegant woman who stood before her, one hand holding an expensive looking kid bag while the other rested lightly on the desk top.

‘Good afternoon.' Her English was perfect.

‘Good afternoon. My name is Elise Sanderson of Sanderson International. I would like to see the
tai-pan
.'

She saw the girl's slight start. ‘Do you have an appointment?'

‘No. But if you tell him I am here, I am sure he will see me.'

‘I'm very sorry, Mrs Sanderson, but I am not sure, that will be possible.'

Across the years an echo reached her. Cairo-1941: ‘
I'm sorry, Mrs Sanderson … a passage is impossible …'

Elise raised her chin. She had not given in easily then, when she had been a young business wife; she would certainly not give in now.

‘Is the
tai-pan
not in?'

‘There
tai-pan's
diary is fully booked, Mrs Sanderson. I don't think you appreciate …'

A slight sound attracted her attention and she turned to see the elevator doors opening smoothly. A man emerged, tall, broad, grey-haired, dressed in a cream linen suit; a man who exuded so much power that even if the family likeness had not been evident she would have known at once who he was:

Charles Brittain.

Joss, as the Chinese would say, she thought. Good joss, on her side for once.

She turned away from the reception desk. ‘Mrs Sanderson!' the girl called after her, sotto voce, but she ignored her and went directly to the man.

‘
Tai-pan
, I am Elise Sanderson. I should be very grateful if you would spare me a few minutes of your time.'

She saw the momentary shock in his face before his guard came up.

‘I'm sorry …' He made to turn away. ‘You must excuse me – I'am due in a meeting.'

Elise stood her ground. ‘I won't detain you long. But I feel that a few minutes' conversation could be of benefit to both our companies.'

His head tilted slightly. Was there anything of Brit, in his demeanour? If so, she could not see it.

‘I had hoped to meet you at dinner yesterday evening, but unfortunately that was not to be,' she said smoothly.

‘The reason is that I am a very busy man, Mrs Sanderson. You must forgive me, but I am afraid …' He glanced dismissively at his watch, a solid gold Carrier taking up almost half his thick wrist.

Elise drew herself up.

‘In that case, Mr Brittain, you give me no alternative. I would have much preferred to talk to you, but if you cannot find time for me, then I shall be forced to make my propositions to your grandson. And I think you will find they can be very attractive.'

A muscle tightened in his cheek, but the momentary veiled wariness in his eyes told her that her thrust had gone home. He checked his watch again.

‘Very well! Two minutes.' He turned to the Chinese concierge. ‘Have my car brought round, Tok.' Then he opened one of the shining black doors that gave on to the foyer. ‘We can talk here, Mrs Sanderson. There is no time to take you up to my apartment, I'm afraid.'

Although small, the room was light and impeccably furnished in the same black and chrome as the foyer. As the door closed after them, Charles Brittain indicated a padded leather swivel chair.

‘Please take a seat.'

‘Thank you.' Elise sat, but when Charles Brittain remained standing she rose again. She had no intention of being placed at a disadvantage by that old trick.

‘Well?' He extracted a cigar, placing it between his teeth. ‘ What is it you want to say to me that has – how did you put it? – advantages for both our companies?'

She raised her eyes to meet his.

‘I understand that you are in the market for certain components. My enquiries tell me that you need them urgently and that you might have some difficulty in obtaining delivery from Roydell, your usual suppliers.'

His eyes narrowed. ‘And where did you get this information? Has my grandson been talking?'

‘No. But in business the bush telegraph network can be very active. I suggest, Mr Brittain, that you place your order with Sandersons. We have a factory that could supply you within any reasonable deadline you care to lay down and you would be very well satisfied. We don't have Roydell's labour problems and our track record is second to none. Place the order with us and you certainly will not regret it. Delay – or put your faith in Roydell – and I think you may well find yourself in difficulties.'

Charles Brittain drew smoke, his eyes narrow beneath the heavy gtey brows.

‘Forgive me for being so obtuse, Mrs Sanderson, but I must admit to feeling puzzled. I didn't realise you were so active in your family's business. Why, if I may ask, has the widow of the founder come half-way across the world to put this proposition direct to me?'

‘Because of our past connections, Mr Brittain.'

Not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash did she betray the tension she was experiencing, but her words were enough. He was on to it instantly. So he had been right in what he had said to Stuart – she was attempting to cash in!

‘And so, Mrs Sanderson, I ask you again – why have
you
come half-way across the world? There is a catch in this, if I am not mistaken.' He glanced once again at his watch. ‘Perhaps you will save us both a good deal of valuable time by telling me what it is.'

‘Very well,' she said coolly. ‘We have a cash-flow problem. The injection of three-quarters of a million pounds on signature of a contract would put matters right for us.'

Around the cigar, his mouth curved slightly.

‘I see. Well, let me pay tribute here and now to your not inconsiderable nerve, Mrs Sanderson. But of course, my answer has to be no.'

It was no more than she had expected – deals could not be conducted in this way and she knew it. She had nursed a vague hope that if they could have discussed it over dinner, in a friendly manner, possibly something could have been worked out. As it was …

‘Please don't give me your answer quite so lightly, Mr Brittain,' she said. ‘There is a little more to this than immediately meets the eye. It concerns the welfare of my grand-daughter, Katy. I have reason to believe that if I am unable to help Sandersons out of its present difficulties, Katy's future happiness will be at stake. Provided she makes herself agreeable to a certain German tycoon, the money will be forthcoming elsewhere, but I'm not prepared to stand by and let that happen.'

Charles Brittain snorted. ‘Well, I'm very sorry for your grand-daughter, Mrs Sanderson. But she is hardly my concern.'

‘That is not entirely correct, Mr Brittain. By birthright, Katy is entitled to certain considerations from your family.' She paused, brushing astray curl off her forehead. ‘ I'm sorry if this should come as a shock to you, but I am here to tell you that Katy is in fact your great-niece. Her mother, my daughter, was also the daughter of your brother Gerald.'

For a long moment there was silence in the room. Elise was aware of constrictions in her chest, sending long aching shivers down her arm, but she ignored them and concentrated instead on Charles Brittain's face. It was like thunder, lines etched deep and leathery, brows knitted. Yet oddly she saw no surprise there.

‘I'm not asking you to give her anything personally,' she said. ‘Katy herself has no idea about this. What I am asking for is an advance payment on a deal which will prove as beneficial to you as it will to us. And that, I believe,
is
due to her.'

‘I see.' Charles Brittain crossed to the chrome table, stubbing out his cigar. His back was totally inexpressive – it gave nothing away. Then he turned with a movement that was swift for a big man. ‘Mrs Sanderson, during my time as
tai-pan
of Cormorant I have heard some strange reasons for deals being done. I may say that you have just presented me with the strangest yet.'

She held his gaze. ‘Perhaps. It happens to be the truth.'

‘Really? And how am I to know that?'

‘Because I am telling you so, Mr Brittain. Your brother and I travelled to Hong Kong from Cairo in 1941. We were lovers. Had he not been killed, we would probably have set up home together in Australia. As things turned out, our daughter Geraldine was brought up a Sanderson. But the truth is she is a Brittain – your flesh and blood. And so is her daughter Katy.'

‘Who knows nothing of all this.'

Warning-bells rang inside her, too late. She had counted on him being, in the last resort, a decent and honourable man. Too late she remembered Gordon's hatred of the Brittains, his insistence that they were totally ruthless and unscrupulous where business was concerned.

Now, with a sinking heart, she saw the face of a man who had inherited those traits and nurtured them with his own power.

His lips set, curled slightly. ‘Prove it, Mrs Sanderson.'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘My brother Gerald was a rogue and a wastrel. For all I know, the world may be littered with his illegitimate children. If I hand three-quarters of a million to all of them, Cormorant would be in the same position as your own company – on the verge of bankruptcy. If you wish your offspring to have the advantages due to their very wayward father – who, I may add, relinquished all his rights – then prove their parentage in the courts! And I wish you luck.'

She was trembling now. He had her beaten and she knew it.

Proof after all this time would be impossible. And besides, she would never subject Geraldine and Katy to such a public ordeal.

She lifted her chin, knowing instinctively that more pleading would be utterly useless. Her amber eyes blazed with a fury she had not felt for forty years. Slowly she crossed to the door, grasped the chrome handle with fingers suddenly dead.

‘Mr Brittain,' she said coldly. ‘I hope you rot in hell!'

As she opened the door, holding on to it slightly longer than should have been necessary, a feeling of puzzlement escalated to panic.

Why did everything look so black and far away suddenly? The pain in her chest had become excruciating, cutting off breath …

She took a step into the foyer.

By the door two familiar figures were standing close together, laughing at one another – their eyes locked, their fingers linked. Mistily, her wondering eyes took them in: Katy and Stuart. Stuart and Katy. What were they doing here? And why were they looking at one another that way, oblivious of her – of everyone?

The answer hit her in the midst of the pain. Why didn't I realise – even think that it might happen? Brit's granddaughter and Brit – no, not Brit … Stuart … No matter …

It was like looking into a mirror image of the past – herself and Brit – a mirror image clouded by pain and shortness of breath, but clear, too clear …

‘Oh, no Katy … Katy …'

It was her voice, but it was breathless, rising, panicky.

What is the matter with me? Why is everything going away? Oh, the pain …

She swayed, felt her legs crumple beneath her as the shiny black floor of the foyer came up slowly but relentlessly to meet her.

On the runway at Kai-Tak airport, the hospital plane prepared for take-off. A doctor was aboard, also a highly qualified nurse, brisk and slightly intimidating in her starchy white uniform. The cabin was equipped with so much modern medical wizardry, Elise thought, that it looked a little like a starship in one of those science fiction films that Alex's boys talked about so much.

‘This really is the most terrible fuss,' she said, but her voice was tired and a little frightened.

To have had hardly a day's illness in all her life and then to collapse with a heart attack in the foyer of the Cormorant building! It was ludicrous – idiotic – like all this performance to get her safely back to England. She had always been averse to disrupting other people's lives and being the centre of such theatrical attention, and she hated it now, but … she certainly didn't want another heart attack. For sheer, panic-making terror she had never experienced anything like those minutes when she hadn't been able to breathe, when the pain had been an excruciating weight on her chest and she had fought against the blackness with all her might. Even now, the slightest twinge in her chest was enough to bring back the echoes of that terror, making her lie still,
still
, willing it to go away.

What a coward I am! thought Elise. All these grand thoughts about wanting to join Brit and when the chance comes, I run scared! But I can't die yet – there are so many things I still have to do, like organising something to save Sandersons without Katy having to be involved …