Noble House

  Casey heard her name and the way he said it. A thrill took her. Beware, she cautioned herself. This man’s dangerous. Yes. And so is Dunross and so is Linc.

  Which?

  I think I want all three of them, she thought, heat rushing into her.

  The day had been exciting and grand from the first moment when Dunross had phoned her so solicitously. Then getting up, feeling no ill effects from the fire or the emetics of Dr. Tooley. Then working away happily all morning on all the cables and telexes and phone calls to the States, tidying business problems of Par-Con’s far-flung conglomerate, cementing a merger that had been on their agenda for months, selling off another company very profitably to acquire one that would further enhance Par-Con’s stab into Asia—whomever they were in business with. Then, unexpectedly, being invited for lunch by Linc.… Dear handsome confident attractive Linc, she thought, remembering the lunch they had had atop the Victoria and Albert in the great, green dining room overlooking the harbor, Linc so attentive, Hong Kong Island and the sea roads obscured by the driving rain. Half a grapefruit, a small salad, Perrier, all perfectly served, just what she wanted. Then coffee.

  “How about going to the Stock Exchange, Casey? Say 2:30?” he had said. “Ian invited us.”

  “I’ve still got lots to do, Linc, an—”

  “But that place is something else and the things those guys get away with’s unbelievable. Insider trading’s a way of life here and quite legal. Jesus, it’s fantastic—wonderful—a great system! What they do here legally every day’d get you twenty years in the States.”

  “That doesn’t make it right, Linc.”

  “No, but this is Hong Kong and their rules please them and it is their country and they support themselves and their government only creams off 15 percent tax,” he had said. “I tell you, Casey, if you want drop dead money it’s here for the taking.”

  “Let’s hope! You go, Linc, I’ve really got a pile of stuff to get through.”

  “It can wait. Today might be the clincher. We should be in at the kill.”

  “Gornt’s going to win?”

  “Sure, unless Ian gets massive financing. I hear the Victoria won’t support him. And Orlin won’t renew his loan, just as I forecast!”

  “Gornt told you?”

  “Just before lunch—but everyone knows everything in this place. Never known anything like it.”

  “Then maybe Ian knows you put up the 2 million to start Gornt off.”

  “Maybe. It doesn’t matter, so long as they don’t know Par-Con’s on the way to become the new Noble House. How ’bout Tai-pan Bartlett?”

  Casey remembered his sudden grin and the warmth flooding out at her and she felt it now, standing on the floor of the Stock Exchange, watching him, crowds of men around her, only three important—Quillan, Ian and Linc—the most vital and exciting of all the men she had ever met. She smiled back at them equally, then said to Gornt, “No, I’m not in the market, not personally. I don’t like gambling—the cost of my money comes too high.”

  Someone muttered, “What a rotten thing to say!”

  Gornt paid no attention and kept his eyes on her. “Wise, very wise. Of course, sometimes there’s a sure thing, sometimes you can make a killing.” He looked at Dunross who was watching with his curious smile. “Figuratively, of course.”

  “Of course. Well, Quillan, see you tomorrow.”

  “Hey, Mr. Bartlett,” someone called out, “have you made a deal with Struan’s or not?”

  “Yes,” another said, “and what does Raider Bartlett think of a raid Hong Kong style?”

  Another silence fell. Bartlett shrugged. “A raid is a raid wherever,” he said carefully, “and I’d say this one’s mounted and launched. But you never know you’ve won until you’ve won and all the votes are counted. I agree with Mr. Dunross. You can get burned.” He grinned again, his eyes dancing. “I also agree with Mr. Gornt. Sometimes you can make a killing, figuratively.”

  There was another burst of laughter. Dunross used it to push through to the door. Bartlett and Casey followed. At his chauffeured Rolls below, Dunross said, “Come on, get in—sorry, I’ve got to hurry, but the car’ll take you home.”

  “No, that’s all right, we’ll take a cab….”

  “No, get in. In this rain you’ll have to wait half an hour.”

  “The ferry’ll do fine, tai-pan,” Casey said. “He can drop us there.” They got in and drove off, the traffic snarled.

  “What’re you going to do about Gornt?” Bartlett asked.

  Dunross laughed and Casey and Bartlett tried to gauge the strength of it. “I’m going to wait,” he said. “It’s an old Chinese custom: Patience. Everything comes to him who waits. Thanks for keeping mum about our deal. You handled that rather well.”

  “You’ll announce tomorrow after the market closes, as planned?” Bartlett asked.

  “I’d like to leave my options open. I know this market, you don’t. Perhaps tomorrow.” Dunross looked at them both clearly. “Perhaps not until Tuesday when we’ve actually signed. I presume we still have a deal? Until Tuesday at midnight?”

  “Sure,” Casey said.

  “Can the announcement time be left to me? I’ll tell you beforehand but I may need the timing to … to maneuver.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Thank you. Of course, if we’re down the pipe then, it’s no deal. I understand quite clearly.”

  “Gornt can get control?” Casey asked. Both of them saw the change in the Scotsman’s eyes. The smile was still there but it was only on the surface.

  “No, not actually, but of course with enough stock he can force his way immediately onto the board and appoint other directors. Once on the board he will be party to most of our secrets and he’ll disrupt and destroy.” Dunross glanced back at Casey. “His purpose is to destroy.”

  “Because of the past?”

  “Partially.” Dunross smiled, but this time they saw a deep-seated tiredness within it. “The stakes are high, face is involved, huge face, and this’s Hong Kong. Here the strong survive and the weak perish but en route the government doesn’t steal from you, or protect you. If you don’t want to be free and don’t like our rules, or lack of them, don’t come. You’ve come for profit, heya?” He watched Bartlett. “And profit you will have, one way or another.”

  “Yes,” Bartlett agreed blandly, and Casey wondered how much Dunross knew about the arrangement with Gornt. The thought disquieted her.

  “Profit’s our motive, yes,” she said. “But not to destroy.”

  “That’s wise,” he said. “It’s better to create than to destroy. Oh, by the way, Jacques asked if you’d both like to dine with him tonight, 8:30-ish. I can’t, I’ve an official do with the governor but I might see you for a drink later.”

  “Thanks, but I can’t tonight,” Bartlett said easily, not feeling easy at the sudden thought of Orlanda. “How about you, Casey?”

  “No, no thanks. I’ve a stack to get through, tai-pan, maybe we could take a rain check?” she asked him happily and thought that he was wise to be close-mouthed and Linc Bartlett equally wise to cool it with Struan’s for a while. Yes, she told herself, her mind diverted, and it’ll be lovely to have dinner with Linc, just the two of us, like lunch. Maybe we can even take in a movie.

  Dunross went into his office.

  “Oh … oh hello, tai-pan,” Claudia said. “Mr. and Mrs. Kirk are in the downstairs reception room. Bill Foster’s resignation’s in your in tray.”

  “Good. Claudia, make sure I see Linbar before he goes.” He was watching her carefully and though she was consummate at hiding her feelings, he could sense her fear. He sensed it in the whole building. Everyone pretended otherwise but confidence was tottering. “Without confidence in the general,” Sun Tzu had written, “no battle can be won by however many troops and with however many weapons.”

  Uneasily Dunross rethought his plan and position. He knew he had very few moves, that the only true defense was attack and
he could not attack without massive funds. This morning when he had met Lando Mata, he had got only a reluctant perhaps. “… I told you I have to consult with Tightfist Tung first. I’ve left messages but I just can’t get hold of him.”

  “He’s in Macao?”

  “Yes, yes I think so. He said he was arriving today but I don’t know on which ferry. I really don’t know, tai-pan. If he’s not on the last inbound, I’ll go back to Macao and see him at once—if he’s available. I’ll call you this evening, the moment I’ve talked to him. By the way, have you reconsidered either of our offers?”

  “Yes. I can’t sell you control of Struan’s. And I can’t leave Struan’s and run the gambling in Macao.”

  “With our money you’ll smash Gornt, you co—”

  “I can’t pass over control.”

  “Perhaps we could combine both offers. We support you against Gornt in return for control of Struan’s and you run our gambling syndicate, secretly if you wish. Yes, it could be secret….”

  Dunross shifted in his easy chair, certain that Lando Mata and Tightfist were using the trap that he was in to further their own interests. Just like Bartlett and Casey, he thought without anger. Now that’s an interesting woman. Beautiful, courageous and loyal—to Bartlett. I wonder if she knows he breakfasted with Orlanda this morning, then visited her flat. I wonder if they know I know about the 2 million from Switzerland. Bartlett’s smart, very smart, and making all the correct moves, but he’s wide open to attack because he’s predictable and his jugular’s an Asian girl. Perhaps Orlanda, perhaps not, but certainly a youth-filled Golden Skin. Quillan was clever to bait the trap with her. Yes. Orlanda’s a perfect bait, he thought, then put his mind back to Lando Mata and his millions. To get those millions I’d have to break my Holy Oath and that I will not do.

  “What calls do I have, Claudia?” he asked, a sudden ice shaft in his stomach. Mata and Tightfist had been his ace, the only one left.

  She hesitated, glanced at the list. “Hiro Toda called from Tokyo, person to person. Please return the call when you’ve a moment. Alastair Struan the same from Edinburgh.… David MacStruan from Toronto … your father from Ayr … old Sir Ross Struan from Nice …”

  “Uncle Trussler from London,” he said, interrupting her, “Uncle Kelly from Dublin … Cousin Cooper from Atlanta, cous—”

  “From New York,” Claudia said.

  “From New York. Bad news travels fast,” he told her calmly.

  “Yes. Then there was …” Her eyes filled with tears. “What’re we going to do?”

  “Absolutely not cry,” he said, knowing that a large proportion of her savings was in Struan stock.

  “Yes! Oh yes.” She sniffed and used a handkerchief, sad for him but thanking the gods she had had the foresight to sell at the top of the market and not buy when the Head of the House of Chen had whispered for all the clan to buy heavily. “Ayeeyah, tai-pan, sorry, so sorry, please excuse me … yes. But it’s very bad, isn’t it?”

  “Och aye, lassie,” he said, aping a broad Scots accent, “but only when you’re deaded. Isn’t that what the old tai-pan used to say?” The old tai-pan was Sir Ross Struan, Alastair’s father, the first tai-pan he could remember. “Go on with the calls.”

  “Cousin Kern from Houston and Cousin Deeks from Sydney. That’s the last of the family.”

  “That’s all of them.” Dunross exhaled. Control of the Noble House rested with those families. Each had blocks of shares that had been handed down to them, though by House law he alone voted all the stock—while he was tai-pan. The family holdings of the Dunrosses, descended from Dirk Struan’s daughter Winifred, were 10 percent; the Struans from Robb Struan, Dirk’s half-brother, 5 percent; the Trusslers and Kellys from Culum and Hag Struan’s youngest daughter, each 5 percent; the Coopers, Kerns and Derbys, descended from the American trader, Jeff Cooper of Cooper-Tillman, Dirk’s lifetime friend who had married Hag Struan’s eldest daughter, each 5 percent; the MacStruans, believed illegitimate from Dirk, 2½ percent; and the Chens 7½ percent. The bulk of the stock, 50 percent, the personal property and legacy of Hag Struan, was left in a perpetual trust, to be voted by the tai-pan “whoever he or she may be, and the profit therefrom shall be divided yearly, 50 percent to the tai-pan, the remainder in proportion to family holdings—but only if the tai-pan so decides,” she had written in her firm, bold hand. “If he decides to withhold profit from my shares from the family for any reason he may, then that increment shall go into the tai-pan’s private fund for whatever use he deems fit. But let all following tai-pans beware: the Noble House shall pass from safe Hand to safe Hand and the clans from safe Harbor to safe Harbor as the tai-pan himself decreed or I shall add my curse, before God, to his, on him or her who fails us….”

  Dunross felt a chill go through him as he remembered the first time he had read her will—as dominating as the legacy of Dirk Struan. Why are we so possessed by these two? he asked himself again. Why can’t we be done with the past, why should we be at the beck and call of ghosts, not very good ghosts at that?

  I’m not, he told himself firmly. I’m only trying to measure up to their standards.

  He looked back at Claudia, matronly, tough and very together but now scared, scared for the first time. He had known her all his life and she had served old Sir Ross, then his father, then Alastair, and now himself with a fanatical loyalty, as had Phillip Chen.

  Ah Phillip, poor Phillip.

  “Did Phillip call?” he asked.

  “Yes, tai-pan. And Dianne. She called four times.”

  “Who else?”

  “A dozen or more. The more important ones are Johnjohn at the bank, General Jen from Taiwan, Gavallan père from Paris, Four Finger Wu, Pug—”

  “Four Fingers?” Dunross’s hope peaked. “When did he call?”

  She referred to her list. “2:56.”

  I wonder if the old pirate has changed his mind, Dunross thought, his excitement growing.

  Yesterday afternoon late he had gone to Aberdeen to see Wu to seek his help but, as with Lando Mata, he had got only vague promises.

  “Listen, Old Friend,” he had told him in halting Haklo, “I’ve never sought a favor from you before.”

  “A long line of your tai-pan ancestors have sought plenty favors and made great profits from my ancestors,” the old man had answered, his cunning eyes darting. “Favors? Fornicate all dogs, tai-pan, I have not that amount of money. 20 millions? How could a poor old fisherman like me have that cash?”

  “More came out of the Ho-Pak yesterday, old friend.”

  “Ayeeyah, fornicate all those who whisper wrong informations! Perhaps I withdrew my money safely but it all has gone, gone to pay for goods, goods I owed money for.”

  “I hope not for the White Powder,” he had told him grimly. “The White Powder is terrible joss. Rumor has it you are interested in it. I advise against it as a friend. My ancestors, Old Green-Eyed Devil and Hag Struan of the Evil Eye and Dragon’s Teeth, they both put a curse on those who deal in the White Powder, not on opium but on all White Powders and those who deal in them,” he had said stretching the truth, knowing how superstitious the old man was. “I advise against the Killing Powder. Surely your gold business is more than profitable?”

  “I know nothing of White Powder.” The old man had forced a smile, showing his gums and a few twisted teeth. “And I don’t fear curses, even from them!”

  “Good,” Dunross had said, knowing it to be a lie. “Meanwhile help me to get credit. 50 million for three days is all I want!”

  “I will ask among my friends, tai-pan. Perhaps they can help, perhaps we can help together. But don’t expect water from an empty well. At what interest?”

  “High interest, if it’s tomorrow.”

  “Not possible, tai-pan.”

  “Persuade Tightfist, you’re an associate and old friend.”

  “Tightfist is the only fornicating friend of Tightfist,” the old man had said sullenly and nothing Dunross could sa
y would change the old man’s attitudes.

  He reached for the phone. “What other calls were there, Claudia?” he asked as he dialed.

  “Johnjohn at the bank, Phillip and Dianne … oh I told you about them.… Superintendent Crosse, then every major stockholder we have and every managing director of every subsidiary, most of the Turf Club … Travkin, your trainer, it’s endless….”

  “Just a moment, Claudia.” Dunross held onto his anxiety and said into the phone, in Haklo, “This is the tai-pan. Is my Old Friend there?”

  “Sure, sure, Mr. Dunross,” the American voice said politely in English. “Thanks for returning the call. He’ll be right with you, sir.”

  “Mr. Choy, Mr. Paul Choy?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Your uncle told me all about you. Welcome to Hong Kong.”

  “I … here he is sir.”

  “Thank you.” Dunross concentrated. He had been asking himself why Paul Choy was with Four Fingers now and not busily engaged in worming his way into Gornt’s affairs and why Crosse called and why Johnjohn.

  “Tai-pan?”

  “Yes, Old Friend. You wanted to speak to me?”

  “Yes. Can … can we meet this evening?”

  Dunross wanted to shout, Have you changed your mind? But good manners forbade it and Chinese did not like phones, always preferring to meet face-to-face. “Of course. About eight bells, in the middle watch,” he said casually. Near midnight. “As near as I can,” he added, remembering he was to meet Brian Kwok at 10:45 P.M.

  “Good. My wharf. There will be a sampan waiting.”

  Dunross replaced the phone, his heart thumping. “First Crosse, Claudia, then bring in the Kirks. Then we’ll go through the list. Set up a conference call with my father, Alastair and Sir Ross, make it for five, that’s nine their time and ten in Nice. I’ll call David and the others in the States this evening. No need to wake them in the middle of their night.”

  “Yes, tai-pan.” Claudia was already dialing. She got Crosse, handed him the phone and left, closing the door after her.