James clavell

Reluctantly she took it. The scone was just bite-sized. It vanished. "Fantastic," she gasped, wiping a touch of the cream off her mouth.

"But all those calories! No, really, no more, thanks. I've done nothing but eat since I got here."

"It doesn't show."

"It will." He saw her smile back at him. She was sitting in one of the deep high-backed leather chairs, the tea table between them. Again she crossed her legs and Dunross thought once more that Gavallan had been right about her—that her Achilles' heel was impatience. "May I start now?" she asked.

"You're sure you don't want some more tea?" he asked, deliberately to throw her off balance again.

"No thanks."

"Then tea's over. What's cooking?"

Casey took a deep breath. "It seems that Struan's is way out on a limb and about to go under."

"Please don't concern yourself about that. Struan's really is in very fine shape."

"You may be, tai-pan, but it doesn't look that way to us. Or to outsiders. I've checked. Most everyone seems to think Gornt, and or the Victoria, will make the raid stick. It's almost a general thumbs down. Now our deal's—"

"We have a deal till Tuesday. That's what we agreed," he said, his voice sharpening. "Do I understand you want to renege or change it?"

"No. But in the present state you're in, it'd be crazy and bad business to proceed. So we've two alternatives: It's either Rothwell-Gornt, or we've to help you with some kind of bail-out operation."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I've a plan, a partial plan for how you could maybe extricate yourself and make us all a fortune. Okay? You're the best for us—long-term."

"Try this on for size. Our bankers are the First Central New York—the hated bank here. They want back into Hong Kong so much it hurts, but they'll never get a new charter, right?"

Dunross's interest peaked at this new thought. "So?"

"So recently they bought a small foreign bank with branches in Tokyo, Singapore, Bangkok and Hong Kong: the Royal Belgium and Far East Bank. It's a tiny, nothing bank and they paid 3 million for everything. First Central has asked us to put our funds through the Royal Belgium if our deal goes through. Last night I met with Dave Murtagh who's in charge of Royal Belgium and he was moaning and groaning how bad business was, how they're squeezed out of everything by the Establishment here and though they've got the huge dollar resources of First Central behind them, almost nobody'll open accounts and deposit Hong Kong dollars which they need to make loans. You know about the bank?"

"Yes," he said, not understanding what she was leading to, "but I didn't realise the First Central was behind them. I don't think that's common knowledge. When was it bought out?"

"A couple of months ago. Now, what if the Royal Belgium would advance you Monday 120 percent of the purchase price of the two Toda ships?"

Dunross gaped at her, caught off guard. "Secured by what?"

"The ships."

"Impossible! No bank'd do that!"

"The 100 percent is for Toda, the 20 percent to cover all carrying charges, insurances and the first months of operation."

"With no cash flow, no charterer set?" he asked incredulously.

"Could you charter them in sixty days to give you a cash flow to sustain a reasonable repayment schedule?"

"Easily." Jesus Christ, if I can pay Toda at once I can slam my lease-back scheme into operation with the first two ships, without having to wait. He held onto his hope, wondering what the cost, the real cost would be. "Is this a theory or will they really do it?"

"They might."

"In return for what?"

"In return for Struan's depositing 50 percent of all foreign exchange for a five-year period; a promise you'd keep average cash deposits with them of between 5 and 7 million Hong Kong dollars—one and one half million U. S. dollars worth; that you'd use the bank as your second Hong Kong bank and the First Central as your prime lending American bank outside of Hong Kong for a five-year period. What do you say?"

It took all his training not to bellow with joy. "Is this a firm offer?"

"I think it is, tai-pan. I'm a bit out of my depth—I've never been into ships but 120 percent seemed fantastic and the other terms okay. I didn't know how far I should go negotiating terms but I told him he'd better make it all fair or he'd never get to first base."

An ice shaft went into his guts. "The local man would never have the authority to make such an offer."

"That was Murtagh's next point, but he said we've the weekend and if you'll go for the scheme he'll get on the wire."

Dunross sat back, nonplussed. He put aside three vital questions and said, "Let's hold this for the moment. What's your part in all this?"

"In a minute. There's another wrinkle to his offer. I think he's bananas but Murtagh said he'd try to persuade the brass to put up a revolving $50 million U.S. against the value of the unissued shares you got in your treasury. So you're home free. If."

Dunross felt the sweat break out on his back and on his forehead, well aware what a tremendous gamble that would be, however big the bank. With effort he put his brain to work. With the ships paid for and that revolving fund, he could fight off Gornt and smash his attack. And with Gornt bottled, Orlin'd come back meekly because he'd always been a good customer—and wasn't First Central part of the Orlin Merchant Bank consortium? "What about our deal?"

"That stays as is. You announce at the best time for both of us, for you and for Par-Con as we agreed. If, and it's a big if, if First Central'll go for the gamble, you and we could make a killing, a real killing by buying Struan at 9.50 Monday morning—it has to go back up to 28, maybe to 30, doesn't it? The only part I can't figure is how to deal with the bank runs."

Dunross took out his handkerchief and unashamedly wiped his forehead. Then he got up and poured two brandy and sodas. He gave her one and sat back in his chair again, his mind amok, one moment blank, the next crammed with happiness, instantly to be agitated and hurting with all the hope and fear, the questions, answers, plans and counterplans.

Christallbloodymighty, he thought, trying to calm himself. The brandy tasted good. The warning bite was very good. He noticed she only sipped hers then set it down and watched him. When his brain had cleared and he was ready, he looked at her. "All this in return for what?"

"You'll have to set the parameters with the Royal Belgium—that's up to you. I don't know accurately enough your net cash flow. Interest charges'll be steep, but worth it to get out from under.

You'll have to put up your personal guarantee for every cent."

"Christ!"

"Yes. Plus face." He heard her voice harden. "It'll cost you face to be dealing with the 'yellow bastards.' Wasn't that what Lady Joanna called the First Central people with her big fat sneer and 'But what do you expect, they're..." I guess she meant Americans." He saw Casey's eyes flatten and his danger signals came up. "That's some old bitch, that one."

"She's not really," he said. "She's a bit caustic, and rough, but all right usually. She is anti-American, sorry to say, paranoid I suppose. You see, her husband, Sir Richard, was killed at Monte Cassino in Italy by American bombs, their aircraft mistaking British troops for Nazis."

"Oh," Casey said. "Oh I see."

"What does Par-Con want? And what do you and Linc Bartlett want?"

She hesitated, then put Lady Joanna aside for a moment, concentrating again. "Par-Con wants a long-term deal with Struan's—as 'Old Friends.' " He saw the strange smile. "I've discovered what Old Friend means, Chinese style, and that's what I want for Par-Con. Old Friend status as and from the moment the Royal Belgium delivers."

"Next?"

"Is that a yes?"

She sipped the brandy. "Linc wants nothing. He doesn't know about all this."

"I beg your pardon?" Again Dunross was caught off balance.

"Linc doesn't know about the Royal Belgium yet," she said, her voice ordinary. "I brainstormed all this with Dave Murtagh today. I don't know if I'm doing you much of a favour because your... because you'll be on the line, you personally. But it could get Struan's off the hook. Then our deal can work."

"Don't you think you should consult with your fearless leader?" Dunross said, trying to work out the implications of this unexpected tack.

"I'm executive director and Struan's is my deal. It costs us nothing but our influence to get you out of your trap and that's what influence's for. I want our deal to go through and I don't want Gornt the winner."

"Why?"

"I told you. You're the best for us long-term."

Her eyes seemed to flatten even more and become more hazel, like a lioness's. "Equality. I want to be treated as an equal, not patronised or scoffed at as a woman who's in business on the coat tails of a man. I want equality with the tai-pan of the Noble House. And I want you to help me get my drop dead money—apart from anything to do with Par-Con."

"The second's easy, if you're prepared to gamble. As to the first, I've never patronised or sloughed you o—"

"Gavallan did, and the others."

"... off, and I never will. As to the others, if they don't treat you as you like, then leave the conference table and leave the battleground. Don't force your presence on them. I can't make you equal. You're not and you never will be. You're a woman and like it or not this's a man's world. Particularly in Hong Kong. And while I'm alive I'm going to continue to treat it as it is and treat a woman as a woman whoever the hell she is."

"Then screw you!"

"When?" He beamed.

Her sudden laugh joined his and the tension fled. "I deserved that," she said. Another laugh. "I really deserved that. Sorry. Guess I lost ass."

"I beg your pardon?"

She explained her version of face. He laughed again. "You didn't. You gained arse."

After a pause she said, "So whatever I do, I can never have equality?"

"Not in business, not on masculine terms, not if you want to be of this world. As I said, like it or not, that's the way it is. And I think you're wrong to try to change it. The Hag was undisputedly more powerful than anyone in Asia. And she got there as a woman, not as a neuter."

Her hand reached out and lifted her brandy and he saw the swell of her breast against the light silk blouse. "How the hell can we treat someone as attractive and smart as you as a non-person? Be fair!"

"I'm not asking for fairness, tai-pan, just equality."

"Be content you're a woman."

"Oh I am. I really am." Her voice became bitter. "I just don't want to be classed as someone whose only real value is on her back." She took a last sip and got up. "So you'll take it from here? With the Royal Belgium? David Murtagh's expecting a call. It's a long shot, but it's worth a try, isn't it? Maybe you could go see him, instead of sending for him—face, huh? He'll need all the support you can give him."

Dunross had not got up. "Please sit down a second, if you've time. There're still a couple of things."

"Of course. I didn't want to take any more of your time."

"First, what's the problem with your Mr. Steigler?"

"What do you mean?"

He told her what Dawson had related.

"Son of a bitchl" she said, obviously irritated. "I told him to get the papers drawn, that's all. I'll take care of him. Lawyers always think they've the right to negotiate, 'to improve the deal' is the way they put it, trying to put you down, I guess. I've lost more deals because of them than you can imagine. Seymour's not as bad as some. Attorneys're the plague of the United States. Linc thinks so too."

"What about Linc?" he asked, remembering the 2 million he had advanced to Gornt to attack their stock. "Is he going to be 100 percent behind this new twist?"

"Yes," she said after a pause. "Yes."

Dunross's mind reached out for the missing piece. "So you'll take care of Steigler and everything stands as before?"

"You'll have to work out title to the ships as we agreed but that shouldn't be a problem."

"No. I can handle that."

"You'll personally guarantee everything?"

"Oh, yes," Dunross said carelessly. "Dirk did all the time. That's the tai-pan's privilege. Listen, Ciranoush, I—"

"Will you call me Casey, tai-pan? Ciranoush is for a different era."

"All right. Casey, whether this works or not, you're an Old Friend and I owe you a thank you for your bravery, your personal bravery at the fire."

"I'm not brave. It must have been glands." She laughed. "Don't forget we've still got the hepatitis over our heads."

"Oh. You thought of that too."

"Yes."

"2 million, tax free."

"Your tax laws are rigid and tough. Are you prepared to stretch laws?"

She hesitated. "It's the right of every red-blooded American to avoid taxes, but not evade them."

"Got it. So at your bracket you might need 4?"

"My bracket's low, though my capital's high."

"$46,000 at the San Fernando Savings and Loan's not very much," he said, grimly amused to see her blanch. "$8,700 in your checking account at the Los Angeles and California's not too much either."

"You're a bastard."

He smiled. "I merely have friends in high places. Like you." Casually he opened the trap. "Will you and Linc Bartlett have dinner with me tonight?"

"Linc's busy," she said.

"Will you have dinner then? Eight? Let's meet in the lobby of the Mandarin." He had heard the undercurrent and the giveaway and he could almost see her mind waves churning. So Linc's busy! he thought. And what would Linc Bartlett be busy with in that tone of voice? Orlanda Ramos? Has to be, he told himself, delighted he had flushed out the real reason—the real why of her help. Orlanda! Orlanda leading to Linc Bartlett leading to Gornt. Casey's petrified of Orlanda. Is she petrified that Gornt's behind Orlanda's onslaught on Bartlett—or is she just frantic with jealousy and ready to bring Bartlett atumbling down?
59
5:35 PM
Casey joined the packed lines going through the turnstiles at Golden Ferry. People were shoving and pushing and hurrying along the corridor for the next ferry. As the warning bell sounded shrilly, those in front broke into a frantic run. Involuntarily her feet quickened. The noisy, heated crush of humanity carried her along onto the ferry. She found a seat and stared out at the harbour gloomily, wondering if she had pulled off her side of the deal.

"Jesus, Casey," Murtagh had burst out, "head office'll never go for it in a million years!"

"If they don't they'll miss the greatest opportunity of their lives. And so will you. This is your big chance—grab it! If you help Struan's now think how much face everyone gets. When Dunross comes to see you th—"

"If he comes!"

"He'll come. I'll get him to come see you! And when he does, tell him this's all your idea, not mine, and that y—"

"But, Casey, don—"

"No. It's got to be your idea. I'll back you a thousand percent with New York. And when Dunross comes to you, tell him you want Old Friend status too."

"Jesus, Casey, I've got enough troubles without having to explain to those meatheads back home about Old Friend and 'face'!"

"So don't explain that part to them. You pull this off and you'll be the most important American banker in Asia."

Yes, Casey told herself, sick with hope, and I'll have extricated Linc from Gornt's trap. I know I'm right about Gornt.

"The hell you are, Casey!" Bartlett had said angrily this morning, the first time in their life together he had ever flared at her.

"It's obvious, Linc," she had slammed back. "I'm not trying to interfere i—"

"The hell you're not!"

"You brought Orlanda up, I didn't! You're going overboard about—about her great cooking and great dancing and great outfit and great company! All I said was, did you have a nice time?"

"Sure, but you said it with a real crappy harpy jealous tone and I know you meant: I hope you had a lousy time!"

Linc was right, Casey thought in misery. If he wants to be out all night that's up to him. I should have buttoned up like the other times and not made a big deal of it. But this isn't like the other times. He's in danger and won't see it!

"For chrissake, Linc, that woman's after your money and power and that's all! How long have you known her? A couple of days. Where did you meet her? Gornt! She's got to be Gornt's puppet! That guy's as smart as they come! I've done some checking, Linc, her apartment's paid by him, her bills. Sh—"

"She told me all that and all about him and her and that's the past! You can forget Orlanda! Get it? Just don't bad-mouth her anymore. Understand?"

"Par-Con's got a lot riding on whether it's Struan's or Gornt and they'll both use any tactic to undermine you or lay you open to att—"

"And lay the operative word? C'mon, Casey, for chrissake! You've never been jealous before—admit you're fit to be tied. She's everything a man could want and you're..."

She remembered how he had stopped just before he'd said it. Tears filled her eyes. He's right, goddamnit! I'm not. I'm a goddamn business machine, not feminine like her, not an easy lay and not interested in being a housewife, at least not yet, and I could never do what she's done. Orlanda's soft, pliant, golden, a great cook, he says, feminine, great body great legs great taste, trained and beddable, Jesus, how beddable. And with no thought in her goddamn head but how to catch a rich husband. The Frenchwoman was right: Linc's a patsy for any no-account, harpy, Asian gold digger, and Orlanda's the cream of the Hong Kong crop.

Shit!

Let's face it, I've nothing to go on but a few rumours, and my own intuition. Orlanda's got me on the run, I'm running scared. I made a goddamn mistake letting myself go at Linc. Remember what he said before he left the suite. "From here on in you stay the hell out of my private life!"

Oh God!

There was a fine wind blowing as the ferry skittered across the harbour, engines pounding, sampans and other boats moving nimbly out of the way, the sky brooding and overcast. Oblivious, she dabbed her tears away, took out her mirror and checked that her mascara was not running. A huge freighter sounded its horn, flags fluttering, and moved majestically past, but she did not see it, nor the immensity of the nuclear carrier tied up alongside the Admiralty Wharf, Hong Kong side. "Get hold of yourself," she muttered in misery to her mirror image. "Jesus, you look forty."

It's not just them, she thought, her head aching. It's everyone and everything in this man's world. The tai-pan's right.

So what am I going to do? About Linc? Change the rules or not?

I have already. I've gone over his head with the bail-out scheme. That's a first. Am I going to tell him about it or not? Dunross won't give me away and Murtagh'll take all the credit, has to, if First Central'll buy it. I'll have to tell Linc sometime.

But whether the bail-out works or not, what about Linc and me?

Her eyes were fixed ahead, unseeing, as she tried to decide.

The ferry was nearing the Kowloon Terminal berth now. Two other ferries leaving for Hong Kong side swirled out of the way for the incomers. Everyone got up and began to jostle for position at the port exit ramp. The ship heeled slightly, unbalanced. Jesus, she thought uneasily, jerked out of her reverie, there must be five hundred of us on each deck. Then she winced as an impatient Chinese matron squeezed past, stomped carelessly on her foot and pushed on through the throng to the head of the line. Casey got up, her foot hurting, wanting to belt the woman with her umbrella.

"They're something else, eh?" the tall American behind her said with grim good humour.

"What? Oh yes, yes... something else, some of them." People surrounded her, crowding her, pressing too close. Suddenly she felt claustrophobic and sickened. The man sensed it and used his bulk to force a little room. Those who were pushed aside gave way with ill humour. "Thanks," she said, relieved, the nausea gone. "Yes, thanks."

"I'm Rosemont, Stanley Rosemont. We met at the tai-pan's."

Casey turned, startled. "Oh, sorry, I guess... I guess I was a million miles away, I didn't... sorry. How's it going?" she asked, not remembering him.

"More of the same, Casey." Rosemont looked down at her. "Not so good with you, huh?" he asked kindly.

"Oh I'm fine. Sure, very fine." She turned away, self-conscious that he'd noticed. Sailors were fore and aft and they tossed out guy lines which were instantly caught and dropped over stanchions. The thick ropes screeched under the tension, setting her teeth on edge. As the ferry eased perfectly into its berth, the drawbridge gate began to lower but before it was down completely the crowd was surging off the boat, Casey carried with it. After a few yards the pressure eased and she walked up the ramp at her own pace, other passengers flooding down the other ramp opposite to board for Hong Kong side. Rosemont caught up with her. "You at the V and A?"

"Yes," she said. "You?"

"Oh no! We've an apartment Hong Kong side—the consulate owns it."

"Have you been here long?"

"Two years. It's interesting, Casey. After a month or so you feel locked in—no place to go, so many people, seeing the same friends day after day. But soon it's great. Soon you get to feel you're at the centre of the action, the centre of Asia where all the action is today. Sure, Hong Kong's the centre of Asia—papers're good, you've great food, good golf, racing, boating and it's easy to go to Taipei, Bangkok or wherever. Hong Kong's okay—course it's nothing like Japan. Japan's something else. That's like out of Oz."

"Is that good or bad?"

"Great—if you're a man. Tough for wives, very tough, and for kids. Your helplessness, your alienness is shoved back at you—you can't even read a street sign. I was there for a two-year tour. I liked it a lot. Athena, my wife, she got to hate it." Rosemont laughed. "She hates Hong Kong and wants to go back to Indochina, to Vietnam or Cambodia. She was a nurse there some years back with the French Army."

Through the fog of her own problems Casey heard an undercurrent and she began to listen. "She's French?"

"American. Her father was ambassador for a tour during the French war."

"You have kids?" she asked.