Over the years he had been involved in the same argument with Army, Navy and government officials. And witnessed his father and mother quarreling, his father for free trade and his mother for morality, his father raging about the insolvable opium triangle, his mother vehemently against opium even so--and sales of arms--truth on both sides, both inflexible, the quarrel always ending with his father drinking himself into a stupor and his mother smiling with that fixed, infuriating smile that nothing would dislodge, his father's final barb always: "my Old Man--and your Prince Charming--the Great Green-eyed Devil Dirk himself started the trade and we've flourished on it so help us God!"
Many the time he had wondered--but never dared to ask--if she had really been in love with the father and not the son, had settled for the son because the father would not. He knew he would never ask and if he did she would just smile that fixed smile of hers and say, "Malcolm, don't be absurd."
"Confidentially, you're right, Admiral," he repeated.
Ketterer choked on his port and poured some more.
"Well, that's something by God!" He looked up.
"Then you'll make sure Struan's does not engage in arms sales here?"
"I will certainly take everything you said under advisement and consult with my fellow traders."
Ketterer took out a handkerchief and blew his nose, took a pinch of snuff, sneezed and blew his nose again. When his head had cleared his baleful eyes looked at the young man, irritated that he could perceive no weakening. "Then let me put it another way. Confidentially, you agree to help Jappos to acquire cannon, British cannon, any bloody cannon or British warships is stupid?"
"For them to have a comparable navy would be wr--"
"A disaster, sirrah! Total disaster and stupid!"
"I agree."
"Good. I would like you to persuade all other traders to your opinion: no arms here, particularly cannon, of course no opium.
Confidentially of course."
"I'd be glad to put forward those opinions, Admiral."
Ketterer snorted. Malcolm began to get up, not wanting to be cornered. "A moment, Mr.Struan, another matter, before you go. A private matter." The Admiral motioned at the envelope and letter on his desk. "Th. From Mrs.Struan. You know what it's about?"
"Yes, yes I do."
Ketterer moved the letter to the center of his desk.
"Your Noble House is supposed to be first in Asia, though I'm told Brock's are pulling ahead of you now. Never mind which, you could be a conduit for good. I would like you and your company to assist me in this just cause. Just, Mr.Struan."
Exasperated Malcolm said nothing, considering he had answered at length and was not prepared for another lecture.
Pointedly Ketterer said, "Confidentially, between you and me, I don't normally acknowledge such letters from civilians, normally. It goes without saying: Royal Naval rules and regulations belong to the Royal Navy." A sip of port and a subdued liverish belch. "Young Marlowe has invited you and... and your fiancee aboard Pearl during his trials. Tuesday. For the day." The eyes bored deeper. "Has he not?"
"Yessir," Struan muttered, his mind in spasm as his ears seemed to have betrayed him.
"Of course my permission is needed." The Admiral let this float in the air, then said, "By the way, Mr. Struan, this intended duel is ill-advised, yes indeed." Malcolm blinked at the non sequitur, and tried to concentrate as the Admiral continued, "As much as that, that Greyforth fellow deserves to pass on as soon as possible, duelling is against the law and ill-advised, and mistakes can happen, bad ones. Clear?"
"Yessir thank you for the advice but you were say--"
"Thank you, Mr. Struan," the Admiral said smoothly, getting up. "Thank you for coming to see me. Good day."
In turmoil Malcolm groped to his feet, not sure if he understood correctly. "Do I understand you to mean that I ca--"
"I mean nothing more than what I have said, sir." The voice was withering, clear and from the quarter-deck. "Just as you have told me, in confidence, you will take what I have said under advisement, in return, I tell you, in confidence, that I will take what you say, and do under advisement--before Monday, midnight. Good day."
Outside on the promenade the air smelt good and clean and uncomplicated, and Malcolm took deep breaths until its strength began to take the pounding out of his head and chest. Exhausted and elated, he slumped on to the first bench and stared at the fleet without seeing it.
Have I understood Ketterer correctly, Malcolm asked himself, over and over, once again blinded with hope, that Ketterer might, just might be prepared to forget Mother's letter and give Marlowe permission to have us aboard and not forbid Marlowe to marry us?
""In confidence," Ketterer had harped on that," he muttered, "and "between ourselves" and "in return."" Does that mean he'll keep quiet if I do my part? What in God's name could I do and say before Monday night to persuade the bugger because that's what he is, a blackmailing sod with no morals!
Nonsense! It's a deal--he's offered a deal, a quid pro quo--a marvelous deal for me, and not bad for him. I'd have to be careful, the other traders won't take kindly to any voluntary embargo. I'll have to be aboveboard because that bugger's smart and won't be satisfied just with promises.
Who can I trust with this new twist in the tangle of my life? Heavenly? Jamie?
Marlowe? Of course not him. Angel? No. Not her. If Uncle Chen was here he'd be the one but as he's not, who? No one. You'd better tell no one!
You have to carry this alone--isn't that what Mother said Dirk always told Father about being tai-pan.
"It's the being alone and carrying responsibility alone, that's the joy and the hurt of it." What can I do about cannon and gu-- "Afternoon, Mr. Struan."
"Oh! Oh hello, Mr. Gornt."
"You looked so sad I just had to interrupt you."
"No, not sad," Malcolm said tiredly, "just thinking."
"Ah, sorry, in that case I'll leave you, suh."
"No, please sit down. You said, for a price?"
Edward Gornt nodded. "I apologize for not seeing you before, suh, but Mr. Greyforth wouldn't see the... the light. Now he agrees to pistols, double-barrelled duelling pistols, and one shot or two as you choose from twenty paces."
"Good. And?"
"And I tried to talk him out of the duel but he said, "Not unless Malcolm Struan publicly apologizes," words to that effect."
"Good. But the other matter, we've no walls or doors here." Malcolm motioned along the almost deserted promenade. "The price?"
"I thought this a perfect place but we can't spend too much time and have to be careful, Mr.Greyforth could have binoculars on us."