Gai-Jin (128 page)

How lovely to have one’s own countinghouse, and money, she thought. Living in Paris there will be visits to London, occasionally to Hong Kong, dinners and soirees and lavish balls for my Prince Charming and his special friends …

She glanced at the letter to Colette she had just sealed on the bureau. More secrets shared, at least in part:

She had not written that the last time they had danced, at a dinner given by Sir William, he had held her hand differently, dangerously, with enough pressure to talk to her, once his little finger curled in his palm touching hers: the language of lovers, I want you in bed, yes or no and when—don’t say no!

She had moved her hand, coolly and firmly. He had said nothing, his eyes smiling, and she knew that he knew she was not really angry, merely beyond reach, engaged.

Nor was she angry at André, really angry. A few days ago they had met by chance at the French Legation. “You’re looking well, Angelique, I’m delighted to see you. Can I have a word, privately?”

She had said of course, and when they were alone he had told her it was about the money he had lent her. “I’m badly strapped, could you let me have it, please?”

“But I thought the … the other transaction covered that.” Her heart had skipped a beat being reminded of their stratagem over the lost earrings.

“Sorry, no, it didn’t. That paid for the mama-san’s advice and the medicine.”

Her flush had been sudden. “We agreed never to mention the—the matter,
ever again
, don’t you remember?” she said quietly, wanting to shout at him for disturbing their solemn agreement. “It never happened, it didn’t, that’s what we agreed—it was just a bad dream!”

“I agree it never happened but you mentioned the transaction, Angelique, I didn’t bring it up, just about the money. Sorry, but the money’s pressing.” His face had gone cold.

Warily she had bottled her anger, damning him for disturbing her peace. She had convinced herself nothing had ever happened—except for the one man who could dispute it, nothing had. That was the truth. But for him. “About the money, dear friend, I’ll return it as soon as I can. Malcolm doesn’t give me money as you know, just lets me sign chits.”

“Then perhaps we’d better arrange another ‘loss.’”

“No,” she had said, her voice honeyed, and put a hand on his arm to soothe the flash of anger. “That’s not a good idea.” Though she purged the whole affair from her mind, for the most part, whenever it came back to haunt her, particularly at night, she was aware it had been a dreadful mistake. “Perhaps I can think of another way.”

“I need it now, Wednesday at the latest. Sorry.”

“I’ll try, I’ll really try.” And she had. Yesterday she had seen Henri Seratard and tearfully begged and pleaded, saying she needed money for a surprise for Malcolm, that she would be always in his debt and signed another piece of paper, pledging her diamond engagement ring as surety.

Wisely she had borrowed twice as much as she owed. This morning she had repaid André. He had thanked her and thanked her. No reason to be angry with him. He’s my good and trusted friend and I did borrow the money. What did I need it for? I forget.
Sans faire rien
, that’s one debt repaid.

Half the rest she had taken to McFay. “Jamie, would you send this to my dearest aunt in Paris for me. She’s poorly and also, my dear uncle,” she had told him, pleased she at last could help them, and even more pleased that, as she had hoped, McFay had told Malcolm. He had asked her about it.

“Oh, I borrowed it from Monsieur Seratard, my darling. I didn’t want to ask you for money and I can’t send them a chit. I hope you don’t mind but I pledged some jewelry.”

He had chided her, saying he would take care of the Seratard debt, that Jamie would have a revolving fund for her, the value of a hundred guineas which she could draw against as she wished, just give him a note of what it’s for, and that he would double the amount she wanted sent.

So easy when you use your intelligence. A warmth went through her remembering how she had thanked him for his kindness, and kissed him so fondly, and how he had responded. She would have liked to have gone further, much further.

Her fingers distracted her. Their smoothly knowing sensuality pleased her and she closed her eyes and cast herself back with Colette but that did not last long. As always
he
loomed in the front of her mind, vivid and almost alive, and with him the details of their last time, the time she had
been deliberately wanton and had done everything she had dreamt possible—to save her life, not realizing she would enjoy everything as much as
he
had.

Dearest Blessed Mother, we both know it was only to save my life—isn’t that true? But also true—ah, how lucky I am I can talk openly, direct to You, and not have to go through that awful Father Leo—but also true, between us women, that somehow we must rid ourselves of
him
, and the memory of the two nights and the ecstasy before it drives me insane.

Raiko was irritable. “Furansu-san, I will accept this partial payment but our agreement was very specific, so sorry.”

“I know.” André loathed being in debt—a phobia—to her more than any, not only because meeting the payment schedule was giving him nightmares, but also because she controlled his Hinodeh completely and if he failed to conform she would end their relationship without hesitation. And then he would kill himself. “Soon can give big payment. Earrings.”

“Ah, is that so? Excellent.” She smiled. “Excellent. I presume Hinodeh is still to your liking, still pleasing you?”

His worry dropped from him for a blessed moment. “She … everything I dream of. More.”

She smiled strangely at him. “It is unwise to be so open, my friend.”

A Gallic shrug. “You make me lifetime favor. Cannot say thank you enough.”

The eyes crinkled in her round face, puffy from drink even though it was only dusk. Her makeup was good and her kimono expensive, the evening chilly but her rooms were warm and the whole Inn inviting. “I hear your gai-jin Princess is as healthy as ever.”

“Yes.” For a moment André thought about her, and her ever present sexuality. “Think she make good Lady of Night.”

Raiko cocked her head to one side, unable to resist taking the remark seriously. “That would be interesting to me. I could get her the best prices—the best—many in Yedo would pay a price to sample such a gross person. I know one rice dealer, very rich, very old, no hard work for her to satisfy, who would pay huge money to be the first to examine such a Jade Gate, and it would be easy to show her how to become a virgin again,
neh?”

He laughed. “I tell her, one day perhaps.”

“Good. The best price, and secret. This rice dealer … Eeee, he would pay! She shows no other signs?”

“Signs? What sort of signs?”

Raiko said, “The medicine varies for different ladies. Sometimes it can make them much more … more passionate and more difficult to satisfy.
Sometimes it increases her chance to become pregnant, sometimes it destroys any chance. Strange,
neh?”

The amusement left him. “You not tell me.”

“Would it have made any difference?”

After a moment he shook his head.

She drank deeply. “Please excuse me for speaking about money, but a gold oban no longer buys what a gold oban should buy. Our officials have debased our currency and stink like eight-day-old fish mixed with fresh dog’s droppings!”

“True,” he said, missing words but understanding about officials and old fish and was equally disgusted. Seratard had refused to give him the advance on his salary he had expected, claiming poverty in Legation funds. “But Henri, I’m only asking for what you have to give me over the year. It’s just a few pieces of gold, Henri. Aren’t I your most valuable aide here?”

“Yes, of course you are, my dear André, but you can’t get wine out of an empty vat—only a migraine!”

He tried a different approach but did no better. So he had only two courses of action. Angelique, or this mama-san. “Raiko-san, you very clever, think. Must be way we both increase normal money,
neh?
What can we sell?”

She glanced down at the table to hide. “Saké?” she asked, and poured. In his honor the saké was cold. Her eyes were slits and she wondered how far to trust him. As far as a cat will trust a cornered mouse. “Information has a price.
Neh?”

It was said matter-of-factly. He pretended to be surprised, delighted she had taken the bait so easily. Too easily? Probably not. Being caught by the Bakufu, or by his own masters, added up to the same penalty: an agonizing death.

Sir William would pay handsomely for the right information—Henri not at all—God curse them both to hell! “Raiko-san, what happening in Yedo?”

“More to the point, what’s happening here?” she said at once, beginning the negotiation. “War, eh? Terrible! Every day more soldiers firing on the firing range, more cannons practicing, frightening my Ladies.”

“So sorry, please speak slower, please.”

“Ah, so sorry.” Raiko slowed, saying how frightened the Yoshiwara was, painting an interesting local picture but nothing that he did not already know. And he told her things about the fleet and Army that he was sure she knew also.

They drank in silence. Then she said softly, “I think certain officials would pay much to know what the gai-jin leader plans to do and when.”

He nodded. “Yes. Also think our Leader pay plenty know what Nippon
samurai forces where, who leads, about this
tairō
who send rude messages.”

She beamed gloriously and raised her eggshell cup. “To a new partnership. Much money for a little talk.”

He toasted her, saying carefully, “Little talk, yes, but must be important little and real little for real money.”

“Eeee,” she said, feigning shock, “am I a third-class whore without brains? Without honor? Without understanding? Without connections, without …” But she could not keep it up and chuckled. “We understand one another completely. Tomorrow at midday come and see me. Now off you go and see your lovely Hinodeh. Enjoy her and life while we all have it.”

“Thank you. But not now. Please say, I arrive later.” He smiled at Raiko, liking her. “But you, Raiko?”

“I have no Hinodeh to go to, to dream about, to write poems to, to fill me with ecstasy. Once it was different, now I am more sensible, I enjoy saké and making money, and making money and saké. Off you go,” she said with a hard laugh, “but tomorrow return. At midday.”

When he was gone she ordered her maids to bring more of the wine, but hot this time, and not to disturb her. Seeing such friendliness on his face, mixed with the depth of his passion for Hinodeh, she had felt her sadness beginning and so had dismissed him.

She could not bear witness to her misery and the abject tears that poured from her, unable to contain them or the grief, at the same time despising the weakness within her that was a frantic longing for her youth, for the girl she had been, vanished such a short time ago, never to return.

It’s not fair not fair not fair, she moaned, raising the cup. I’m not the old hag I see in my mirror, I am me, Raiko the Beautiful, Courtesan of the Second Rank, I am I am I am.

“Ah, Otami-sama,” the shoya said, “good evening, please sit down, tea, saké? So sorry to disturb you again but I have just received a message from my overlords. Tea?”

Hiraga took the opposite cushion in the pleasant room, a hold on his impatience, thanked him and accepted the obligatory cup. “How are you?” he asked politely, his heart beating faster than he cared.

“Worried, Otami-sama. It seems the gai-jin are very determined this time, too many troop movements, too many ships cleaning weapons, many rumors of more ships coming here. Perhaps you have heard from your Taira gai-jin?”

Hiraga thought about that. Tyrer and the whole Legation staff had been in an uproar ever since the ultimatum from
Tairō
Anjo had arrived, Sir William bellowing more than usual, Johann the interpreter closeted for
hours with Tyrer, rewriting letters to the Bakufu and only sometimes asking him to refine a phrase. “Easier if see ’retter, Taira-sama,” he would always say, wanting to know what was being sent.

“Yes, well, but this phrase for the moment …” the Taira would always say, clearly uneasy, every day the same and this had increased his disquiet. Obviously they did not trust him as before, and this after working night and day to learn their language and giving them all manner of information. Despicable gai-jin dogs, he had thought, afraid that any day Sir William might order him out—his poster was still prominent in the samurai guard house, the Enforcer patrols malevolently checking all Japanese entering and leaving the Settlement.

Enforcer patrols should not be permitted. Gai-jin are so idiotic—with their sea power I would not allow “enemy guards” within a league! Idiotic for Anjo to anger them with such vile manners and arrogance while their fleet is here. The Council of Elders is mad!

“The gai-jin officials tell me many things, shoya,” he said, as though loath to be overheard. “Fortunately I am party to their inner secrets. It may well be I can warn you in time if any danger threatens you. Meanwhile I counselled them to beware of upsetting you and the village.”

The shoya bowed to the tatami, thanking him and thanking him, then said, “These are terrible times, war is terrible and taxes are going to be put up again.”

Good, Hiraga thought, his head aching, you can afford it, but it won’t make you or any in the Gyokoyama eat less or drink less, or your wives and women dress less expensively, only your customers. Parasites! You’re already breaking ancient laws of extravagance, allowing your women to wear forbidden dress colors, like red, as under-kimonos or in your homes that, stupidly, the Bakufu, do not enforce. When we are in power there will be a reckoning.