Gai-Jin (67 page)

“You poor darling,” she said with hardly a pause, “he told me you’d had a bad night, poor darling, and that you won’t come to Sir William’s soiree this evening, so I thought I’d just drop in and sit with you until lunch.”

Again, the gorgeous smile that seduced both of them and she arranged herself in the tall chair—Struan weak with love for her, at the same time sick with guilt. I must have been insane to want a whore to substitute for the love of my life, he thought, glorying in her open warmth, wanting to blurt out about Shizuka, and beg her forgiveness.

The night had begun well enough with Shizuka undressing and smiling and pressing against him, fondling and encouraging. He had touched her too, fondling and was both proud and anxious. Awkward and painful to position normally and move normally, so staying seated and beginning but not quite, then of a sudden Angelique’s face and presence had swamped him, unbidden and unwanted. His manhood vanished. And as much as Shizuka had tried and he had tried, it would not return.

They rested and tried again, the ache for him awful now, overlaid with frantic, impotent rage and his need to prove himself. More groping and trying—she was well trained with hands and lips and body but nothing would create that which responded in varying degrees to lust and need, but especially to love and its indefinable mystery. Nor, whatever she did, could she or he dispel the spectre. Or conquer the pain.

At length she gave up, her young body sheened with perspiration and panting from her exertions.
“Gomen nasai
, Tai-pan,” she had whispered, again and again, apologizing, but hiding her fury and almost in tears at his impotence, for she had never failed before, and was expecting him to send for servants any moment to beat her and throw her out for failure to arouse him as a civilized person would do. And more than anything, she was beset with anxiety as to how she would explain her inadequacy to her mama-san. Buddha bear witness: this man failed, not me!

“Gomen nasai, gomen nasai,”
her mouth kept saying.

“It’s the accident,” he mumbled, despising himself, the pain grotesque, telling her about the Tokaidō and his wounds even though he knew she would not understand the words, his frustration shattering him. When
that storm had passed and his tears had passed, he made her lie beside him, had stopped her trying again and had made her understand that she would get a double fee if she kept everything secret. “Secret,
wakarimasu ka?”
he pleaded with her.

“Hai
, Tai-pan,
wakarimasu,”
she had agreed happily, found the medicine he required and then cradled him to sleep.

“Malcolm …” Angelique said.

“Yes?” Struan said at once, concentrating, his heart pounding, reminding him he had used the last of Hoag’s sleeping draft and that he must ask Ah Tok to replace the mixture—for just a day or so. “I’m so pleased to see you too.”

“Me too. How do you like my dress?”

“It’s wonderful and so are you,” he said.

“Think I’ll be going, Tai-pan,” McFay broke in, seeing how happy Struan had become, pleased for him though still sweating. “The Choshu reps are downstairs—all right to proceed with them?”

“As we decided. Good, thanks again, Jamie. Let me know how it goes.”

“Malcolm,” Angelique said quickly, “while Jamie’s here … you remember you asked me to remind you when we were all together about my … the small allowance.”

“Ah yes, of course. Jamie,” he said expansively as she took his hand, her open pleasure casting the night into oblivion—forever, he thought happily. That night never happened! “Put my fiancée’s chits against my account,” he told him with a twinge of happiness at the word. “Angel, just sign chits, whatever you want, Jamie will take care of them.”

“Thank you,
chéri
, that’s wonderful, but please can I have some money?”

He laughed and Jamie smiled also. “You don’t need any here, there’s no need for cash—none of us carry money.”

“But Malcolm, I w—”

“Angelique,” he said, his voice firmer. “Chits are the way we pay for everything, at the Club or at any store in the Settlement, everyone does, even in Hong Kong, surely you haven’t forgotten. It stops tradesmen cheating and you’ve a permanent record.”

“But I’ve always had money,
chéri
, money of my own, to pay my own bills,” she said with an outward show of complete honesty, “and as my father has…well, you understand.”

“Paying your own bills? What an appalling idea. That’s unheard of in good society. Now don’t worry yourself,” he said, smiling at her, “that’s for men to do. Chits are our perfect solution.”

“Perhaps French people are different, we always have cash and—”

“So do we in England and elsewhere, but in Asia we all sign chits.
Whatever you want to buy just sign for it—even better we must get you your personal chop, we’ll choose the perfect Chinese name for you.” This was a small stamp, usually a rectangular piece of ivory or bone, the bottom of which was ornately carved with the Chinese characters that sounded like the owner’s name. When pressed into an ink pad then onto paper, it would produce a unique imprint almost impossible to forge. “Jamie will arrange it for you.”

“Thank you, Malcolm. But then, well, can I have my own account,
chéri
, I’m really very good at managing.”

“I’m sure you are, now don’t worry your beautiful head, when we’re married I’ll arrange it, but here it’s unnecessary.”

She hardly listened to herself as she entertained Struan with gossip from the French Legation, what she had read in the papers, what her friend in Paris had written about a superb residence—called “hotel” there—on the Champs-Elysées belonging to a Countess that would soon become available and was so inexpensive, planting seeds for their glorious future, making him laugh, waiting for him to become drowsy when she would leave for her lunch at the Club with the French officers, then later to ride with them and some of the English navy officers on the racecourse, then a siesta, then to prepare for Sir William’s soiree—no reason not to go but first returning to say good night to her soon-to-be husband.

Everything marvelous and terrible, most of her mind on her new dilemma: how to get cash. What am I going to do? I have to have cash to pay for the medicine, that swine André Poncin won’t advance it for me, I know he won’t. Damn him and damn my father for stealing my money! And damn him of the Tokaidō into eternal Hell forever!

Stop that and think. Remember you are on your own and you must solve your problems!

My only possession of value is my engagement ring and I can’t sell that, I just can’t. Oh God, everything was going so well, I’m officially engaged, Malcolm is getting better, André is helping me but the medicine’s so expensive and I’ve no money, real money, oh God, oh God what
am
I going to do?

Tears spilled out of her eyes.

“Good God, Angelique, what is it?”

“Just that … just that I’m so unhappy.” She sobbed and buried her head in the bedclothes. “So unhappy that—that the Tokaidō happened and you’re hurt and I … I’m hurt too—it’s not fair.”

Sir William’s ten-oared cutter sped through the swell in double-quick time aimed at the flagship anchored in the roads off Yokohama, her bow wave heavy. He was alone in the cabin and he stood, riding easily, in frock coat,
cutaway and top hat. Sea fair, light fading in the west, the clouds already grey but with no apparent threat of storm. As she swung alongside the ship, all oars went to the vertical, he jumped onto the gangway and hurried up to the main deck to be piped aboard.

“Afternoon, sir.” Lieutenant Marlowe saluted smartly. “This way, please.” Past gleaming rows of cannon to the quarterdeck—the main deck and shrouds a hive of activity, cannons being secured, hawsers coiled, sails checked, smoke from the funnel—up a gangway then down another to the second gun deck, past sailors battening down and stowing gear, to the Admiral’s cabin aft. The marine sentry saluted as Marlowe knocked. “Sir William, sir.”

“Well, open the door, Marlowe, for Christ’s sake.”

Marlowe held the door for Sir William and began to close it. “Marlowe, stay here!” the Admiral ordered.

The large cabin filled the stern of the ship—many small sea windows, big table and sea chairs anchored to the deck, small bunk and toilet, large sideboard with cut-glass decanters. The Admiral and General half got up with token politeness, and sat again. Marlowe stayed at the door.

“Thank you for arriving so expeditiously, Sir William. Brandy? Sherry?”

“Brandy, thank you, Admiral Ketterer. Trouble?”

The florid-faced man glared at Marlowe. “Would you oblige, Mr. Marlowe, brandy for Sir William.” He tossed a sheet of paper on the table. “Dispatch from Hong Kong.”

With the usual flowery greetings, the dispatch read:

“Bastards,” Sir William muttered, with an added queasiness at the thought that, as pirates were endemic in all Asian waters, particularly from Singapore north to Peking, and the White Lotus fleets the most abundant and notorious of all, the woman could easily have been his wife who was due to arrive in Hong Kong any week from England with three of his children. “You leave on the tide?”

“Yes.” The Admiral slid an envelope across the table. Sir William broke the seals:

Sir William took a large sip, hoping his face did not betray his anxiety. “Good brandy, Admiral.”

“Yes, it is, my very best private stock, in your honor,” the Admiral said, furious that Marlowe had given Sir William almost half a tumbler and had not used the ordinary, second grade he kept for visitors. Stupid berk, he thought, he should know better—he’ll never make flag rank.

“What about going to Osaka?” Sir William asked.

“Oh, Osaka? I regret you will have to delay until I return.” The smile was barely concealed.

“When will that be?” The sinking feeling became worse.

“To arrive at our destination, six or seven days depending on the winds,
two or three days at Boh Chih Seh should be enough. I will have to recoal at Shanghai. Oh, I’d say I should be off Yokohama again unless fresh orders arrive in …” The Admiral quaffed his port and poured another. “I should be back in four or five weeks.”

Sir William finished his brandy and this helped to ease his nausea. “Lieutenant, would you be so kind? Thanks.”

Marlowe took his glass politely and refilled it with the Admiral’s best, hiding his disgust at being a flunky and totally fed up with this aide-decamp posting—wanting to be back on his own ship, his own quarterdeck to supervise the repairs the storm had caused. But at least I’ll see some action at long last, he thought with relish, imagining the attack on the pirate haven, all guns blazing.

“Well, Admiral,” Sir William was saying, “if we fail to make good our threat we will lose enormous face, the initiative, and put ourselves in great danger.”

“It was your threat, Sir William, not ours. As to face, you put too much value on it, as to danger—I presume you mean to the Settlement—damn, Sir, the natives of Japan would not dare to create any major problem. They didn’t really bother you at the Legation, they won’t really bother Yokohama.”

“With the fleet gone, we’re helpless.”

“Not exactly, Sir William,” the General said stiffly. “The army is here in some strength.”

“Quite right,” the Admiral agreed, “but Sir William is perfectly correct to say the Royal Navy keeps the peace. I plan to take four warships, sir, not five, and leave one frigate on station. That should be sufficient. The
Pearl.”