Tai-Pan (70 page)

“The saints preserve Yor Excellency on this foin day.”

“Morning, Your Excellency,” Aristotle said, his voice barely audible, his eyes on the deck of the cabin.

“Good day to you, Tai-Pan,” Maureen said. “There’ll be a settlin’ of yor bill with the grace of St. Patrick himself, in a few days.”

“There’s nae hurry. Morning, Aristotle.”

Aristotle Quance slowly looked up at Struan. His eyes filled with tears as he read the warmth on Struan’s face. “She broke all my brushes, Dirk,” he choked out. “This morning. All of them. And my—she threw my paints in the sea.”

“It’s about that we’re acoming to see you, Yor Excellency,” Maureen said thickly. “Mr. Quance’s decided to give up all that painting folderol at long last. He wants to settle down to a nice steady job. And it’s about a job we’ve come to see Yor Excellency.” She looked back at her husband and her face wearied. “Anything at all. So long as it’s steady and pays a fair wage.” She turned back to Longstaff. “A nice clerking job, perhaps. Poor Mr. Quance hasn’t much experience.”

“Is, er, that what you want, Aristotle?”

“She broke my brushes,” Quance said hopelessly. “That’s all I had. My paints and brushes.”

“We agreed, me foin boy, didn’t we now? By all that’s holy? Eh? No more painting. A nice steady job and stand up to yor responsibilities to yor family, and no more galavanting.”

“Yes,” Aristotle said numbly.

“I’d be glad to offer a post, Mrs. Quance,” Struan broke in. “I need a clerk. Pay’s fifteen shillings a week. I’ll throw in your lodgings on the hulk for one year. After that you’re on your own.”

“May the saints preserve you, Tai-Pan. Done. Now thank the Tai-Pan,” Maureen said.

“Thank you, Tai-Pan.”

“Be at the office at seven o’clock tomorrow morning, Aristotle. Sharp, now.”

“He’ll be there, Tai-Pan, don’t you be after worrying. May the blessings of St. Peter be on you in these troubled times for looking after a poor wife and her starving children. Good day to you both.”

They left. Longstaff poured himself a stiff drink. “Good God. I’d never’ve believed it. Poor, poor Aristotle. You’re really going to make Aristotle Quance a clerk?”

“Aye. Better me than some other. I’m shorthanded.” Struan put on his hat, very satisfied with himself. “I’m na one to interfere twixt husband and wife. But anyone who’d do that to old Aristotle’s nae right to the title ‘wife,’ by God!”

Longstaff smiled suddenly. “I’ll detach a capital ship if it’ll help. The total resources of Her Majesty’s Government are at your disposal.”

Struan hurried ashore. He hailed a closed sedan chair and directed the coolies.

“Wait-ah, savvy?” he said as it arrived at its destination.

“Savvy, Mass’er.”

He walked past the surprised doorman into the parlor of the house. The room was carpeted—large sofas, chintz curtains, mirrors and bric-a-brac. There was a rustle from the back and then approaching footsteps. A small old lady came through the bead curtains. She was neat and starched and gray-haired, with big eyes and spectacles.

“Hello, Mrs. Fortheringill,” Struan said politely.

“Well, Tai-Pan, how nice to see you,” she said. “We haven’t had the pleasure of your company in many a long year. It’s a little early for callers, but the young ladies are making themselves presentable.” She smiled and revealed her yellowed false teeth.

“Well, you see, Mrs. Fortheringill—”

“I quite understand, Tai-Pan,” she said knowingly. “There comes a time in every man’s life when he—”

“It’s about a friend of mine.”

“Don’t you worry, Tai-Pan, mum’s the word in this establishment. No need to worry. We’ll have you fixed in a jiffy.” She got up hastily. “Girls!” she called out.

“Sit down and listen to me! It’s about Aristotle!”

“Oh! That poor bleeder’s got himself in a proper mess.”

Struan told her what he wanted, and the girls were sad for him to leave.

As soon as he got home, May-may said, “Wat for you go whorehouse, heya?”

He sighed, and told her.

“You think I believe that, heya?” Her eyes were spiteful.

“Aye. You’d better.”

“I believe you, Tai-Pan.”

“Then stop looking like a dragon!” He went into his room.

“Good,” May-may said as she closed the door behind them. “Now we see if you telled truth. We make love at once. I’m madly desiring you, Tai-Pan.”

“Thank you, but I’m busy,” he said, finding it difficult to keep from laughing.

“Ayee yah on your busy,” she said, beginning to unbutton her honeycolored pajamas. “We make love immediate. I soon see if some mealymouthed whore’s took your strength, by God. And then your old mother’ll deal with you, by God.”

“You’re busy too,” Struan said.

“I’m very busy.” She stepped out of her silk trousers. Her earrings jingled like bells. “And you better have busy plenty very quick.”

He studied her and allowed none of his happiness to show. Her stomach was curved nicely with the child four months in her womb. He took her quickly in his arms and kissed her violently and lay on the bed and let his weight crush her a little.

“Be careful, Tai-Pan,” she said breathlessly, “I’m na one of your busom-boned barbarian giants! Kissing does na prove nothing. Off with clotheses, then we see for truth!”

He kissed her again. Then she said in a different voice, “Take off clotheses.”

He leaned on his elbows and looked down at her, then rubbed his nose against hers, no longer teasing. “There’s nae time now. I’ve got to go to an engagement party and you’ve got to pack.”

“Wat for pack?” she asked startled.

“You’re moving to 
Resting Cloud
.”

“Why?”

“Our feng shui’s bad here, lassie.”

“Oh good, oh very terrifical good!” She flung her arms around him. “Truly go from here? For always?”

“Aye.”

She kissed him and quickly slid from under his arms and began to dress.

“I thought you wanted to make love,” he said.

“Huh! Wat for is that proof? I know you too much. Even if you had whore one hour past you’re bull enough to pretend and pull cotton over eyes of your poor old mother.” She laughed and flung her arms around him again. “Oh, good to leave bad feng shui. I pack hurriedly.”

She ran for the door, and shrieked, “Ah Sam-ahhhh!” Ah Sam hurried up anxiously, followed by Lim Din, and after a tumult of shouting and jabbering Ah Sam and Lim Din scurried away, beseeching the gods in vast, noisy excitement. May-may came back and sat on the bed and fanned herself. “I’m packing,” she said cheerfully. “Now I help you dress.”

“Thank you, but I’m capable of doing that.”

“Then I will watch. And scrub your back. The bath is waiting. I am very gracious glad you decided to leave.” She chattered on exuberantly as he changed. He bathed and she shrieked for hot towels, and when they were brought, she dried his back. And all the time she was wondering if he had had a whore after he had arranged about the funny little artist who had painted her portrait so beautifully. Not that I mind, she told herself, rubbing him vigorously. It’s just that he shouldn’t go into one of those places. Absolutely not. Very bad for his face. And very bad for my face. Very bad. Soon those dirty dogmeat servants will begin spreading rumors that I can’t take care of my man. Oh gods, protect me from dirty gossips, and him from dirty doxies of all kinds.

It was dusk before she and Ah Sam and Lim Din were ready, and they were all exhausted with the drama and excitement of leaving. Coolies took the luggage away. Others waited patiently beside the closed sedan chaii that would carry her to the cutter.

May-may was heavily veiled. She stood momentarily at the gateway of the garden with Struan and looked back at her first house on Hong Kong. But for the bad feng shui—and the fever that was part of the feng shui—she would have been loath to depart.

The twilight was pleasant. A few mosquitoes whined about them. One settled on her ankle but she did not notice it.

The mosquito drank its fill, then flew away.

Struan went into the great cabin of the 
White Witch.
 The Brocks were all waiting for him, except Lillibet who had already gone to bed. Culum was beside Tess.

“Evening,” Struan said. “Sarah sends her apologies. She’s na feeling well.”

“Welcome aboard,” Brock said, his voice rough and charged with worry, his face brooding.

“Well,” Struan said with a laugh, “this is nae way to start a happy occasion.”

“Baint the occasion, by God, as thee well knowed. We all be bankrupted—at least hurt terrible by godrotting malaria.”

“Aye,” Struan said. He smiled at Culum and Tess and, noting their disquiet, decided to tell them all the good news now. “I hear Longstaff’s ordering an abandonment of Queen’s Town,” he said nonchalantly.

“By blood of Christ!” Gorth exploded. “We can’t abandon. We be putting too much brass into land and buildings. We can’t abandon. Weren’t for thy godrotting picking of that cursed valley, we wouldn’t—”

“Hold thy tongue,” Brock said. He turned to Struan. “Thee stands to lose more’n us’n, by God, yet there thee be with smile on thy face. Why?”

“Father,” Tess said, terrified that anger would spoil their evening and the unbelievable acceptance of Culum, “can we have a drink? The champagne’s chilled and ready.”

“Yus, of course, Tess luv,” Brock said. “But dost thee understand wot Dirk’s sayed? We stand to lose a turr’ble sum of brass. If we’ve to abandon, then our future be black as pitch. And his too, by God.”

“The future of The Noble House’s white as the cliffs of Dover,” Struan said evenly. “Na only ours but yours too. Longstaff’s going to reimburse all of us for the money we laid out in Happy Valley. Every penny. In cash.”

“That baint possible!” Brock exclaimed.

“That’s a lie, by God!” Gorth said.

Struan turned on him. “A piece of advice, Gorth. Dinna call me a liar more than once.” Then he told them what Longstaff intended to do.

Culum was awed by the beauty of the arrangement. He saw clearly that though his father had never implied that he had influenced Longstaff’s decision, he must have been instrumental in arranging it so delicately. He remembered his first meeting with Longstaff and how his father had manipulated the man like a puppet. Culum’s faith in himself was shaken. He realized that what Gorth had said was not completely true, that he could never dominate Longstaff as his father had done—to save them again.

“That’s almost like a miracle,” he said, and held Tess’s hand.

“By all that be holy, Tai-Pan,” Gorth said, “I takes back wot I sayed. Apologies—it were sayed in shock. Yus, I’ve to hand it to you.”

“Dirk,” Brock began with grim good humor, “I be glad—right glad—to have thee as relation. Thee saved our’n necks and that be God’s truth.”

“I’ve done nae such thing. It was Longstaff’s idea.”

“Quite right,” Brock said sardonically. “More power to him. Liza, drinks, by God. Dirk, thee’s given us’n powerful reason to celebrate this evening. Thee’s made the whole night, by God. So let’s drink and make merry.” He took a glass of champagne, and when they all had their glasses, he raised his in a toast. “To Tess and Culum, and may they be always having a calm sea an’ a safe harbor all their days.”

They all drank. Then Brock shook hands with Culum, and Struan hugged Tess, and there was friendship among them all.

But only temporarily. They all knew it. But tonight they were prepared to forget. Only Tess and Culum felt safe.

They all sat down to dinner. Tess was wearing a gown that showed her ripening figure to advantage, and Culum was almost helpless with adoration. More wine was poured, and there was more laughter and more toasts. In a lull Struan took out a stiff envelope and handed it to Culum. “A small gift for the two of you.”

“What is it?” Culum asked. He opened the envelope. Tess craned to look too. The envelope contained a sheaf of papers, one heavy with Chinese characters.

“It’s a deed to some land just above Glessing’s Point.”

“But there never beed land for sale there,” Brock said suspiciously.

“His Excellency approved certain deeds of the village Chinese who owned land before we took over Hong Kong. This is one of them. Culum, you and Tess now own an acre jointly. The view’s fine. Oh yes, and along with the deed there’s enough building material for a house with seven bedrooms, a garden and a summer house.”

“Oh, Tai-Pan,” Tess said, her smile glorious, “Thank you! Thank you!”

“Our own land? And our own house? You really mean it?” Culum asked, dazed by his father’s magnanimity.

“Aye, lad. I thought you’d like to begin building immediately. I’ve made an appointment for both of you with our architect tomorrow at noon. To start the plans.”

“We all be leaving tomorrow for Macao,” Gorth said sharply.

“But, Gorth, you won’t mind delaying for a day or two, will you?” Culum said. “After all, this is very important—”

“Oh yes,” Tess said.

“—and with the solution to Queen’s Town and the land sale—” Culum stopped and turned excitedly to his fiancee. “Sousa’s the best architect in the East.”

“Our man Remedies be better, I be thinking,” Brock said, furious with himself that he had not thought of letting them build themselves a house. He had planned to give them one of the company houses in Macao as a wedding present, well away from Struan’s influence.

“Oh yes, he’s very good, Mr. Brock,” Culum said quickly, sensing the jealousy. “If we’re not satisfied with Sousa, then perhaps we could talk to him.” Then to Tess, “You agree?” and then to Struan, “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Nae thanks, Culum. Young people should have a good start in life and a place of their own.” Struan was delighted with the way he had aroused Gorth and Brock.

“Yes,” Liza said complacently. “By gum, a right proper truth.”

Brock picked up the deed and studied it. “Thee be sure the deed be proper?” he asked. “It baint regilar.”

“Aye. Longstaff confirmed it. Officially. His chop’s on the last page.”

Brock frowned at Gorth, his tufted brows a black bar on his weathered face. “I be thinking that mayhaps we better be alooking into these native deeds.”