Short beard, strong face, curious eyes, his hair short but groomed. Her eyes flowed over him but she did not really see him, nor did Vervene who was chattering pleasantly in French.
They passed within a few yards. Ori waited until they had gone into the French Legation--no sentries there now, all had gone to join the fire fight--then he trudged away, down the alley.
The moment he was sure no one was watching he scaled the Legation fence as he had done before and went into the previous ambush under her window. Tonight the shutters were unbarred and open. So was the inner door. He could see across the room into the corridor and caught sight of them going into a room opposite. The door was ajar.
Now that he was safe and unobserved Ori checked his derringer and made sure his knife was loose in its holster. Then he squatted on his heels, took a deep breath and began to think.
From the moment he had seen Hiraga and, almost at once, the Struan fire, he had blindly allowed his instincts to guide him. That's no longer any good, he told himself.
Now I must plan. And quickly.
The open shutters were the magnet. He slid over the lintel into the room.
"Why not sleep here tonight, Mademoiselle, Monsieur Struan? We've plenty of room," Vervene said.
It was near dinnertime and they were in the main reception room of the French Legation having champagne and Jamie had just arrived to report that their fire was out, nothing serious except some water damage in her suite, a little in Struan's.
"If you want you can have my rooms, Tai-pan,"
Jamie said. "I'll bunk elsewhere, and Miss Angelique can have Vargas's room."
"There's no need for that, Jamie,"
Angelique said. "We can stay here, no need to disrupt everyone. I was moving here tomorrow anyway.
Yes, cheri?"
"I think I'd be more comfortable in my own suite. It's all right, Jamie?"
"Oh yes, hardly touched. Miss Angelique, would you like my rooms then?"
"No Jamie, I'll be fine here tonight."
"Good then that's settled," Struan said, eyes strange and feeling very tired, most of his pain still drowned by the opium, but not his deep-set rage over Norbert Greyforth.
"Monsieur Struan, you are certainly welcome to stay too," Vervene said. "We have rooms enough as the Minister and his staff are at Yedo for a few days."
"Oh!" Angelique was openly shocked. Tomorrow Andr`e had to collect the medicine. They all stared at her. "But Andr`e told me, he told me they were all returning by the latest early tomorrow, after today's meeting with the Shogun."
"It depends on the Shogun's punctuality and how the meeting goes--and our hosts are international models for punctuality, eh?"
Vervene chuckled at his own joke, adding grandly, "You never know how State Occasions will turn out.
It may take a day, even a week. Another brandy, Monsieur Struan?"
"Thanks, yes tha--"
"But Andr`e said the meeting was this morning and they'd be back at the latest tomorrow." She fought the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.
"What the devil's the matter, Angel?"
Struan said testily. "Does it matter when they come back?"
"It... no, no but, but I, I just hate it when someone says something and it's not true."
"You were probably mistaken, ridiculous to be upset about such an unimportant matter."
Struan took a large swallow of his refilled glass. "For goodness' sake, Angel!"
"Perhaps they'll be back tomorrow, Mademoiselle," Vervene said, ever the diplomat. Stupid cow, however delectable her breasts and kissable her lips, as if it matters.
"Never mind," he said with his most oily smile, "dinner will be served within the hour. Monsieur McFay, you will join us, bien sur?"
"Thank you no, I'd best be going."
McFay hesitated at the door. "Tai-pan, shall I, er, shall I come back for you?"
"I'm capable of walking two hundred yards by myself," Struan snapped. "Perfectly capable!" And of pulling a bloody trigger tonight or any night, he wanted to shout after him.
Just before coming over here Norbert Greyforth had taken a respite, the Brock fire almost under control, and, unnoticed by him, had walked out into the street. Jamie, beside him, was directing Vargas and fire fighters, Dr. Hoag and Dr.Babcott nearby, tending burns and a few broken bones.
Ah Tok's elixir had worked its usual magic and he was feeling fine and confident, though strange and wanting to sleep as always--he had been fantasizing, to sleep perchance to dream, to dream about loving, about connecting with the Japanese girl or Angelique with ever greater passion, their need as great as mine and ever more erotic. Then, abruptly, he had been jerked into the vicious present.
"Evening, Jamie. Proper bugger, eh?"' "Ah, Norbert," Struan said, politeness helped by the euphoria. "Sorry about your bad joss. I think th--"' Norbert pointedly ignored him, "Fortunately, Jamie, no damage to our offices or warehouse, or trade goods or strong rooms you'll be happy to hear--just in my sleeping quarters." Then he feigned to see Struan for the first time and his voice became louder and taunting for others to hear. "Well, well, if it isn't the young tai-pan of the Oh So Noble House himself. Top of the evening to you, laddie, you don't look so good--is your milk off?"' Struan's bonhomie had vanished. Through his opiate screen he realized he was confronting evil and his enemy was there in front of him.
"No, but your manners are."
"Manners are not your strong suit, laddie." Norbert laughed. "Yes, we're not harmed, laddie. In fact our new mining ventures make us Noble House in Japan and we'll have Hong Kong by Christmas. Best toddle home, Malcolm."
"The name's Struan," he said, seeing himself tall, strong and omnipotent, not quite aware of others around him or that Jamie and Babcott were trying to intervene. "Struan!"
"I like young Malcolm, young Malcolm." "Next time you call me that I'll call you a motherless bastard and blow your head off without waiting for your seconds, by God."
Now there was a pit of silence around them. The crackle of flames and the soft, baiting hiss of the wind only enhanced it. The news of the lunchtime challenge had spread within minutes and all waited for the next move in the game that had been brooding since Malcolm's grandfather, Dirk Struan, died before he could kill Tyler Brock as he had sworn to do.
Norbert Greyforth's mind was working hard.
Once again he measured his future and his position in Brock's, considering carefully what he should do--the stakes immense. He was well compensated --so long as he obeyed orders. Tyler Brock's last letter had opened a door to paradise, telling him bluntly to "ride Malcolm Struan to the limit while he be sick, wounded, and unprotected by my hellcat daughter, God curse her to Hell! There be five thousand guinea a year for ten year if that stripling be crushed while he be in the Japans-- thee be taking any measure thee be wanting."
Norbert would be thirty-one in six days.
By forty, the normal retirement age, the average China trader was old. Five thousand for ten years was truly a princely sum, enough for him and all his generations, enough to buy a seat in Parliament, to become gentry, a squire with a manor house, married to a young bride with a fine dowry of good Surrey land.
It was easy to decide. He put his face close to Struan's and was happy to see the pain under the taut skin--of a height with him now that Struan hunched over his sticks. "Listen, young Malcolm, you tossed brandy in my face for lunch, you can kiss my arse for supper."
"You-sir-are-a-motherless-bastard!"