Noble House

“Oh yes I will.”

  “No you won’t! How about our deal?”

  “Par-Con? That stands of course. I thought that was all arranged?”

  Bartlett heard the dry innocence. “Quillan must be fit to be tied.”

  “He is! He’s just above. He’s helping too.”

  Bartlett was surprised. “Why?”

  There was a pause. “Quillan’s a first-class, twenty-four-carat berk but … I don’t know. Maybe he likes you!”

  “Screw you too!” Bartlett was equally good-natured. “What’re you going to do about Quillan?”

  “I’ve made him a proposal.” Dunross told it to him.

  Bartlett grunted. “So my 2 mill’s down the sewer?”

  “Of course. That 2 million is. But your share of the General Stores takeover’ll bring you 5, perhaps more, our Struan-Par-Con deal much more.”

  “You really figure 5?”

  “Yes. You 5, Casey 5.”

  “Great! I always wanted her to get her drop dead money.” I wonder what she’ll do now? he asked himself. “She’s always wanted to be independent and now she is. Great! What?” he asked, missing what Dunross had said.

  “I just said, would you like to talk to her? It’s dicey but safe enough.”

  “No,” Bartlett said firmly. “Just say hi, I can say it better when I’m out.”

  “Casey’s said she’s not moving till you are.” There was a slight pause. “Orlanda too. How about her? You want to say hello or anything?”

  “No thanks. Plenty of time later. Tell them both to go home.”

  “They won’t. I’m afraid you’re rather popular.”

  Bartlett laughed and sat up and bumped his head. A pain snaked down his back and he grunted, then moved more comfortably, his head almost touching the roof.

  Dunross was cramped in a small space not far away at the bottom of the twisting passage, hating the closeness, his claustrophobia nauseating, a chill cold sweat soaking him because of it. He could see no sign of Bartlett but he had noted his voice sounded strong and confident. Hooks had asked him to keep Bartlett talking while they rested, in case the gas was enveloping him. “You never know, tai-pan, gas can sneak up on you. We need him alert. We’ll be needing his help soon now.”

  The tai-pan squirmed around uneasily, sensing danger. Someone was climbing down, rubble cascading with him. It was Hooks. He stopped a few feet above.

  “All right, tai-pan. Best come out now, we’ll get some of my lads back in.”

  “Right away. Linc! Stay awake. We’re starting again.”

  “Okay, no sweat. Say, Ian, would you consider being a best man?”

  “Certainly,” he said at once, his brain shouting, Which one? “It’d be an honor.”

  “Thanks,” he heard Bartlett say and as much as he wanted to know, he knew he could never ask. He was sure Bartlett would volunteer the who. But all Bartlett said was, “Thanks. Yes, thanks very much.” He smiled, surprised. Linc’s learning, he told himself. It’ll be good to have him as a partner—and a voting member of the Turf Club. Casey too—“We’ll have you out in a jiffy!”

  Just as he was leaving he heard: “Wouldn’t it be great if they could be friends? Guess that’s too much to hope for?”

  Dunross was not sure if it had been meant for him. “What?” he called out.

  “Nothing,” Bartlett replied. “Say, Ian, we’ve got lots to do this week! Hey, I’m glad you won over Gornt!” Yes, he told himself happily. It’ll be good maneuvering with you, watching you carefully, building our Noble House.

  About eight yards away, a few feet up, Dunross turned awkwardly and began to climb back.

  Sixteen feet above him, Gornt and the others were waiting beside the greatly widened mouth of the pit. Dawn was lightening the east, a patch of sky now among the enveloping clouds. All over the slope tired men were still digging, searching, calling and listening. Wearily Hooks clambered out of the deepening pit. At that moment there was a tremendous noise from up near Po Shan Road. All heads jerked around. Then far above and to the left they saw part of the slope moving. The noise increased, then a wall of water and mud surged from behind the curve of the hillside up Kotewall Road and, gathering speed, rushed at them. Men began to flee as the sludge crest swept down to where the foyer had been and poured over the slope and wreckage, inundating it, the enormous mass of the sludge pressing the crest forward and down. Gornt saw it coming and hung on to an H-beam, the others hanging on as best they could. The foul, stinking murk swept up to them and passed, Gornt buried to his knees but his grip firm against the suction. The wave surged onward leaving inches of slush over everything, Hooks and the others pulling themselves out, everything else momentarily forgotten.

  Gornt had not forgotten.

  From where he was he could see down into the pit. He saw Dunross’s hands and head appear out of the sludge. The hands grabbed a hold. More sludge was sweeping downward into the pit, finding a level, filling it. Dunross’s grip slipped and he was sucked under but he fought out again and hung on precariously.

  Gornt watched. And waited. And did not move. The mud poured down. The level rose more.

  Dunross felt himself falling, the suction very great. He was choking in the slime, but his fingers held, he forced his toes into a crevice and began to climb. Somehow he tore himself out of the suction and now he was safe, hugging the side, half out of the mud, his chest heaving, heart pounding, retching. Still half in shock, his knees trembling, he wiped the mud from his eyes and mouth and stared around blankly. Then he saw Gornt ten feet above, watching him, resting easily against an outcrop …

  For an instant his whole being concentrated, seeing the sardonic twisted smile, the hate open and disappointment vast, and he knew that if he had been above and Gornt trapped as he had been trapped, he would have watched and waited too.

  Would I?

  I’d’ve watched and waited equally and never never a helping hand. Not for Gornt. And then, at long last, Dirk Struan’s curse would be ended, be laid to rest, and those who follow me never bedeviled again.

  Then the instant was over. His head cleared. He remembered Bartlett and he stared downward in horror. Where the crawlspace had been was now only a slimy pool.

  “Oh Christ! Helllp!” he cried out. Then there was sudden pandemonium and others were in the pit, Hooks and firemen and soldiers, and they hurled themselves impotently at the slime with shovels and with hands.

  Dunross pulled himself out. Shakily he stood on the edge. In anguish. Gornt had already gone. In a little while all attempts ceased. The puddle remained.

  Tuesday

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-NINE

  5:39 P.M.:

  Dunross stood at the bay window of his penthouse atop the Struan Building, watching the harbor. The sunset was wonderful, visibility unlimited, the sky clear except for a few tinged cumulus westward over Mainland China, reddish there, darkness touching the eastern horizon. Below, the harbor was busy as usual, ordinary as usual, Kowloon glowing in the falling sun.

  Claudia knocked and opened the door. Casey came in. Her face was stark, her tawny hair like the sunset. Her grief made her ethereal.

  “Hello, Casey.”

  “Hello, Ian.”

  There was no need to say any more. Everything about Bartlett had been said already. It had taken until late last night to get his body out. Casey had waited on the slope for him. Then she had gone back to the hotel. This morning she had called and now she was here.

  “Drink? Tea? Coffee? There’s wine. I made martinis.”

  “A martini. Thanks, Ian,” she said, her voice flat, the hurt in it tearing him. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  She sat on the sofa. He poured and put in an olive. “Everything can wait, Casey,” he said compassionately. “There’s no hurry.”

  “Yes, yes I know. But we agreed. Thanks.” She accepted the chilled glass and raised it. “Joss.”

  “Joss.”

  She sipped the ice-cold liquor, all her movements studied, almost apart
from herself, then opened her briefcase and put a manila envelope on his desk. “This contains all the John Chen papers about Struan’s and everything he offered or told us. These’re all the copies I have here. The ones in the States I’ll shred.” Casey hesitated. “You’re sure to have made changes by now but, well, it’s all there.”

  “Thanks. Did Linc give anything to Gornt?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Again the hesitation. “For safety I’d consider part of the information leaked.”

  “Yes.”

  “Next, our Par-Con-Struan deal.” The sheaf of documents she gave him was quite thick. “All six copies are signed and sealed with the corporate seal. I’ve the executive power to sign.” She hesitated. “We had a deal, Linc and I. I willed him voting power of all my stock for ten years, he did the same for me. So I’m head of Par-Con.”

  Dunross’s eyes widened slightly. “For ten years?”

  “Yes,” she said without emotion, feeling nothing, wanting nothing except to weep and to die.

  Later I can be weak, she thought. Now I must be strong and wise. “For ten years. Linc … Linc had voting control. I’ll send you a formal verification when it’s official.”

  Dunross nodded. From the lacquer desk he brought back an equivalent set of papers. “These are the same. I’ve chopped them formally. This”—he put an envelope onto the pile—“this’s our private agreement giving Par-Con title to my ships as collateral.”

  “Thanks. But with your revolving fund that’s not necessary.”

  “Even so, it was part of our agreement.” Dunross watched her, admiring her courage. There had been no tears at the new beginning on the slope, just a numbed nod and, “I’ll wait. I’ll wait until … I’ll wait.” Orlanda had broken at once. He had sent her to a hotel and, later, a doctor to succor her. “It was part of our deal.”

  “All right. Thanks. But it’s not necessary.”

  “Next: Here is the letter of agreement on our deal on General Stores. I’ll get you the formal documents within ten days. I’ll nee—”

  “But Linc never put up the 2 million.”

  “Oh but he did. He did it by cable Saturday night. My Swiss bank confirmed the transaction yesterday and the money was duly passed over to the board of General Stores. They accepted so that deal’s accomplished now.”

  “Even though Pug’s dead?”

  “Yes. His widow agreed to the board’s recommendation. It’s a very good deal by the way. Far better than the Superfoods tender.”

  “I don’t want that, any part of that.”

  “When I was down in the pit, chatting with Linc, he said how happy he was that the General Stores deal was going through. His exact words were, ‘Great! 5 mill? I always wanted her to get her drop dead money. She always wanted to be independent, and now, she is. Great!’”

  “But at what a cost,” she told him, her misery welling. “Linc always warned me that drop dead money costs more than you’re prepared to pay. It has. I don’t want it.”

  “Money is money. You’re not thinking clearly. It was his to give and he gave it to you. Freely.”

  “You gave it to me.”

  “You’re wrong, he did. I just helped you as you helped me.” He sipped his drink. “I’ll need to know where to send his profits. You’ll remember there were no voting rights included. Who’s his trustee?”

  “It’s a bank. First Central. I’m his executor, along with a man from the bank.” She hesitated. “I guess his mother’s his heir. She’s the only one named in his will—Linc, Linc was open about that, to me. His ex-wife and their kids are well taken care of and specifically excluded from his will. There’s just the voting control to me and the rest goes, the rest to his ma.”

  “Then she’ll be very rich.”

  “That won’t help her.” Casey was trying very hard to keep her voice level and the tears away. “I talked to her last night and she broke up, poor lady. She’s … she’s in her sixties, nice woman, Linc’s her only son.” A tear seeped in spite of her resolve. “She, she asked me to bring him back. His will says he’s to be cremated.”

  “Look, Casey,” Dunross said quickly, “perhaps I could make the arr—”

  “No. Oh no, thanks, Ian. Everything’s done. I’ve done it. I wanted to do it. The airplane’s cleared and all the paperwork done.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “At ten tonight.”

  “Oh.” Dunross was surprised. “I’ll be there to see you off.”

  “No, no thanks. The car’s fine but there’s no ne—”

  “I insist.”

  “No. Please?” She looked at him, begging him.

  After a moment he said, “What’s your plan?”

  “Nothing very much. I’m going to … I’m going to make sure all his wishes are taken care of, papers, his will, and wind up his affairs. Then I’ll reorganize Par-Con—I’ll try to reorganize it as he’d want, and then, then I don’t know. All that’ll take me thirty days. Maybe I’ll be back in thirty days to begin, maybe I’ll send Forrester or someone else. I don’t know. I’ll let you know in thirty days. Everything’s covered till then. You’ve got my numbers. Please call me anytime if there’s a problem.” She started to get up but he stopped her.

  “Before you go there’s something I should tell you. I didn’t last night because the time wasn’t right. Perhaps now is, I’m not sure, but just before I left Linc he asked me if I’d consider being a best man.” He saw Casey go white and rushed on. “I told him it would be an honor.”

  “He said me? He wanted to marry me?” she asked incredulously.

  “We’d been talking about you. Doesn’t that follow?”

  “He never mentioned Orlanda?”

  “Not at that time. No. Earlier on he’d been very concerned about her because he was in her flat and didn’t know what had happened to her.” Dunross watched her. “When I told him she was safe he was very relieved, naturally. When I told him you’d almost been caught in the landslide he almost had a heart attack. Then, just as I was leaving I heard him say softly, ‘Guess it’d be too much to hope for those two to be friends.’ I wasn’t sure if I was meant to hear that—while we were digging he’d been talking to himself a lot.” He finished his drink. “I’m sure he meant you, Casey.”

  She shook her head. “It’s a good try, Ian. I’ll bet it was Orlanda.”

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  Again a silence. “Maybe. Friends?” She looked at him. “Are you going to be friends with Quillan?”

  “No. Never. But that’s not the same. Orlanda’s a nice person. Truly.”

  “I’m sure.” Casey stared at her drink, sipped but did not taste it. “What about Quillan? What happened today? I’m afraid I didn’t hear. What did you do about him? I saw you closed at 30.01 but I … I really didn’t notice much else.”

  Dunross felt a sudden glow. Because of the Kotewall catastrophe the governor had ordered the stock market to remain closed all Monday. And the banks, as a sign of mourning. By ten this morning, the Bank of China’s cash was on hand in every branch of every bank, throughout the Colony. The bank runs fizzled. By three o’clock many customers were lined up returning to deposit their cash once more.

  Just before the market opened at ten o’clock this morning Gornt had called him.

  “I accept,” he had said.

  “You don’t want to bargain?”

  “I want no quarter from you, just as you expect none from me. The papers are on their way.” The phone had gone dead.

  “What about Quillan?” she asked again.

  “We made a deal. We opened at 28 but I let him buy back in at 18.”

  She gaped at him. Without thinking she made the quick calculation. “That’d cost him just about 2 million. But that’s Linc’s 2 million. So Quillan’s off the hook!”

  “I told Linc the deal and that it’d cost him the 2 million and he laughed. I did point out that with General Stores and the Par-Con deal, his capital loss of 2 is set off a
gainst a capital gain of 20 or more.” Dunross watched her, gauging her. “I think it’s fair that the 2 was forfeit.”

  “You’re not telling me you let Gornt off the hook for nothing?”

  “No. I’ve got my airline back. The control of All Asia Air.”

  “Ah.” Casey shivered remembering the story of that Christmas night when Gornt and his father went unexpectedly to the Great House. Her sadness was brimming. “Do me a favor?”

  “Of course. Providing it’s not for Quillan.”

  She had been going to ask Dunross to let Gornt in as a steward, to let him have a box. But now she did not. She knew it would have been a waste of time.

  “What favor?”

  “Nothing. Nothing now. I’ll be off, Ian.” Weary, so weary, she got up. Her knees were trembling. All of her was aching monstrously. She held out her hand. He took it and kissed it with the same grace-filled gesture she remembered from the night of the party, the first night in the Long Gallery when, frightened, she had seen the knife buried in the heart of the portrait. All at once her agony crested and she wanted to scream out her hatred of Hong Kong and the people of Hong Kong who had somehow caused the death of her Linc. But she did not.

  Later, she ordered herself, holding on to the limit of her strength. Don’t break. Don’t let go. Be self-contained. You have to, now. Linc’s gone forever.

  “See you soon, Casey.”

  “’Bye, Ian,” she said and left.

  He stared at the closed door a long time, then sighed and pressed a buzzer.

  In a moment Claudia came in. “Evening, tai-pan,” she said with her enormous warmth. “There’re a few calls that should be dealt with—most important, Master Duncan wants to borrow 1,000 HK.”

  “What the devil for?”

  “It seems he wants to buy a diamond ring for a ‘lady.’ I tried to pry her name out of him but he wouldn’t tell.”

  Oh God, the sheila, Dunross thought as the memory rushed back of what his son had said about his “girl.” Sheila Scragger, the nurse from England, on holiday with Duncan at the Australian station called Paldoon. “Well, he’s not going to buy much for 1,000. Tell him he has to ask me. No, wait!” He thought a moment. “Give him 1,000 out of petty cash—offer it to him at 3 percent interest per month against his written guarantee that you can stop it from his pocket money at the rate of 100 a month. If he falls for that it’ll teach him a fine lesson. If he doesn’t I’ll give him the 1,000, but not till next Easter.”