"Je t'aime aussi, Angel."
She kissed him again, searching, then again stumbled back from the brink, and held on to him until she caught her breath. "Je t'aime, and it was such a lovely party."
"You were like champagne."
She kissed his ear, her arms around him. Before Tokaido she would have to stand on tiptoe. She did not notice it though he did. "I'm so sorry we sleep alone."
"Me too. Not long now," he said.
Abruptly his pain soared but he bore it a fraction longer. "So," he said, looking at her deeply. "Sleep well, my darling."
They touched lips and murmured good night, many times, then she was gone. Her bolt slid home.
He picked up his sticks and dragged himself into his own rooms, happy and sad and worried and not worried at all. The evening had been a success, Angelique had been content, his guests had enjoyed themselves, he had contained his disappointment over the wreckage of his plan, and he had faced himself over the mails, not allowing Jamie to decide for him.
That decision was right, he thought, though Dirk's would have been better. Never mind, I can never be him, but he's dead and I'm alive, and Heavenly has promised to devise a solution to her letters and the new twist in my joss: "There must be an answer, Tai-pan," Heavenly had said, "there must be an answer. I'll come up with something before I leave for Hong Kong, you'll need that proof whatever happens."
His eyes went to their communicating door, still bolted permanently at night by mutual consent.
I won't think about Angelique or the bolt or that she's alone. Nor about my failure over our marriage. I made that promise early and I'll keep it. Tomorrow will take care of tomorrow.
The usual half carafe of wine was on the bedside table, with some fruit--lycee and mangoes from Nagasaki--English cheese, cold tea that he always drank instead of water, a glass and the small bottle. The bed was turned down, his sleeping gown laid out. The door swung open. "Hello, Tai-pan."
It was Chen, his Number One Boy, with his wide, toothed beam that always pleased him--Chen had looked after him as long as he could remember, as Ah Tok had been his amah, both totally loyal, completely possessive, and always at loggerheads. He was squat and very strong, his pigtail luxurious, his face round with a permanent smile though the eyes did not always.
"Your feast was worthy of Emperor Kung."
"Ayeeyah," Malcolm said sourly at once, knowing what the old man meant. "May the great cow urinate on your immediate generations. Get on with your work and keep your opinions to yourself and don't act as though you were born under the sign of the Monkey." This was the Zodiac sign for clever people.
Chen's seeming pleasantry, like most in Chinese, had many meanings: Emperor Kung who ruled China almost four millennia ago, was famous for three things: his epicurean tastes, the lavish banquets he staged, and for his "book."
In those days there were no books as such, only scrolls. He had filled a scroll with a detailed treatise, the first "pillow book" ever, the source of all others that, by definition, dealt with the joinings of man and woman in all their possibilities and hazards, how to improve the climactic moment, names for the various positions and their minutiae, descriptions of devices, medicines, techniques--deep thrusts and shallow --how to choose the perfect physical partner, amongst other wisdoms saying, ... obviously, a man whose One-eyed Monk has the misfortune to be small should not be embattled with Jade Gate like that of a mare.
Let it be known for all time, the gods have decreed that those parts though appearing the same are never the same but vary greatly. Extreme care must be used to avoid the trap of the gods who, while bequeathing man the means, as well as a need as strong and as permanent as the needle that seeks the North Star, to taste Heaven while on Earth--the moment of the Clouds and the Rain is such--at the same time, for their own amusement, they have set manifold obstacles in the way of the Yang's quest for the Yin, some easy to avoid, most impossible, all complex. As man should taste as much of Heaven while on Earth as he can--who knows if gods are really gods--the tao, the Path to the Gorgeous Gully must be scrutinized, examined, pursued and studied even more severely than the transmutation of lead into gold....
Chen bustled about the room, pained though pleased with his Master's knowledge. He was only doing his duty, drawing attention to the strength of the Yin, particularly tonight, the flaunting of it, her dancing and kissing, titillating the Master's Yang about which the Emperor had been very specific: A nervous and unrequited Yang in any household, if it be the Master's, will upset the whole household, therefore all the household should make every effort to relieve the unrelieved.
And our house is in turmoil, he thought disgustedly. Ah Tok is more difficult than ever, Ah Soh grumbling about the extra work and worry, the cooks complaining about his loss of appetite, the houseboys moaning that nothing pleases him, and all because this cowlike barbarian whore won't just do her duty. General opinion amongst the staff was that she must have one of those Rapacious Ravines Emperor Kung warned against: There are some the gods have lined with demons, their magnetic force so strong as to send men mad, and make them forget an immortal truth that one Yin is like another when the need is great, and worse, when at last one such Ravine opens to receive the Yang, this Heaven becomes Hell for there is never enough.
"Ayeeyah, Tai-pan," Chen said, aiding him to undress. "This person was only saying your banquet pleased everyone."
"Your Lord and Master knows exactly what you were saying." Malcolm struggled out of his shirt. His uncle, Gordon Chen, whom he treasured, had lectured him about the Emperor Kung's work, telling him this information, and other pieces of important knowledge about the Yang and Yin, was just between them and to be kept secret from his mother.
"You are an impertinent bugger,"
Malcolm said in English, his main defense with both Chen and Ah Tok. He could never seem to best them in Cantonese, but speaking English to them infuriated them. "And I know you were trying to be snide about the Mistress, but you'd better stop, by God."
The round face twisted. "Tai-pan," Chen said, in his best Cantonese, helping him into bed, "this person has only the interests of his Master before all else."
"Ayeeyah!" Malcolm scoffed. "Words from a forked tongue are as precious as mildew fish bones to a starving man." He noticed an envelope propped on the bureau. "What's that?"
Chen hurried to fetch it, happy that the subject had changed from him. "A foreign devil arrived tonight to see you. Our shroff Vargas saw him. The foreign devil said the letter was urgent so the shroff asked this person to put it here in case our Illustrious Master wanted it."
The writing was not familiar. "Which foreign devil?"
"I don't know, Tai-pan. Is there anything else?"
Malcolm shook his head, yawned and put the envelope on the side table and dismissed him. The medicine bottle beckoned. "I won't," he said firmly, started to turn down the oil flame, then changed his mind and opened the letter with sudden expectation, thinking it was from Heavenly, or even Father Leo.
Dear Mr. Struan: Perhaps I may introduce myself, Edward Gornt of Rothwell's, Shanghai, late of Virginia, presently here in Yokohama for training with Mr.Norbert Greyforth at the request of Sir Morgan Brock.
Mr. Greyforth has asked me to act as his second in the private, though pressing matter of the duel you challenged him to. Perhaps I could wait upon you tomorrow? Would the morning be convenient, say noon or thereabouts? I have the honor to be, Sir, your most obedient servant, Edward Gornt.
The signature was as neat as the copperplate writing.
Tuesday, 2nd December: "'Morning, Mr. Gornt. May I introduce Mr. McFay, chief of Struan's, Japan. Please make yourself comfortable--Jamie, you too. Coffee, tea, sherry, champagne?"
"Nothing thank you, Mr. Struan."
"Mr. McFay's one of my seconds.
Details are supposed to be arranged by seconds, I believe. Yes?"
"Yes, suh. I've met Mr. Syborodin but didn't discuss anything with him, according to Mr.Greyforth's wishes."
The two young men studied each other. From the first instant both had experienced the same strange sensation: an intense attraction to the other. Each was thinking, How odd you could instantly like some people, for no apparent reason, while disliking others, loathing some, dismissing many. Even so, both were sure that however fierce their initial affinity, it would make no difference. Soon--today, tomorrow, even in the next few minutes--something would as quickly revert them to normality, to the comfortable historic enmity that bound their firms together and would reach down the ages, dismissing the first affinity as a peculiar aberration.
Malcolm said, "What can I--we--do for you?"
Gornt's smile was genuine, his teeth white, like Malcolm's. He was of similar height but built lighter, his clothes less elegant, dark hair against the reddy-brown of Struan, brown eyes against the blue. "Mr. Greyforth wanted to confirm dates, weapons, et cetera."
Jamie said, "You know this is all against the law, Mr. Gornt, and the duel formally forbidden by Sir William?"
"Yes, Mr. McFay."
Jamie shifted uncomfortably, detesting his involvement more than ever, and further unsettled by the curious mood in the room. He could not read it.
Where there should have been ice and enmity, it seemed more a waiting moment, weirdly pleasant and preordained. "That being said, what did Norbert have in mind?"
"Today's Tuesday. Would a week from today be okay?"
"I'd prefer Wednesday, the 10th,"
Malcolm said at once. He had made a plan in the early hours. Sleep had eluded him. He had fought the dragon that was in the little bottle and had won, though the fight had taken its toll and this morning's measure had been a pathetic relief.
Prancing Cloud would arrive Sunday and was due to leave Wednesday evening. He would arrange secretly with her captain to sail the moment he could get aboard after the duel. Either he would have already smuggled Angelique aboard or would organize Jamie to escort her home in the next ship, to be decided at the last minute, the latest by Tuesday. It might be best to bring Jamie with Angelique, thus negating part of his mother's fury against Jamie by being obedient to one of her wishes and, hopefully, make her withdraw the termination order--he owed it to Jamie to try in every way to extricate him. If Angelique was aboard, perhaps he could find a way to persuade Captain Strongbow to forget his mother's orders.