"I know, we, we can't now," he said throatily, "but... Angelique, but please help me, please."
"But how?"
Once more words choked him: For Christ's sake like girls in Houses do, kiss you and fondle you and finish you--do you think lovemaking is just spreading your legs and lying there like a piece of meat--the simple things these girls will do without fuss of shame and happy for you afterwards, "Hey, you now all same good-ah, heya?"' But he knew he could never tell her. It was against all his upbringing. How do you explain to the lady you love when she's so young and artless or so selfish or just ignorant. Suddenly the truth became rancid. Something in him mutated, changed.
In a different voice he said, "You're quite right, Angelique, it's difficult for both of us. Sorry. Perhaps it would be best if you moved back to the French Legation until we leave for Hong Kong. Now that I'm getting better we must guard your reputation."
She stared at him, unnerved by the change. "But Malcolm, I am comfortable where I am, and near in case you need me."
"Oh yes, I need you." His mouth moved with the shadow of an ironic smile. "I'll ask Jamie to make the arrangements."
She hesitated, off balance, not sure how to proceed. "If that's what you want, cheri."
"Yes, it's best. As you said, being so close is difficult for each of us. Good night, my love, I'm so glad you enjoyed your party."
A chill passed through her but whether from outside or inside she did not know. She kissed him, ready to return his passion, but there was none. What had changed him? "Sleep beautifully, Malcolm, I love you." Still nothing.
Never mind, she thought, men are so moody and difficult. Smiling as though nothing was wrong she unbolted his door, blew him a tender kiss and went into her own room.
He watched their door. It was slightly ajar.
As usual. But everything in their world was no longer as usual. The door and her nearness no longer tempted him. He was feeling different, somehow refashioned. He did not know why but he was very sad, very old, some instinct telling him that however much he loved her, however much he tried physically, she would never in their whole life together ever completely satisfy him.
Using his stick he heaved himself to his feet and hobbled as quietly as he could to the bureau. In the top drawer was the small bottle of the medication that he had secreted away against nights when the idea of sleep became impossible. He swigged the last of it. Heavily, he shuffled to his bed.
Gritting his teeth, he lay down and sighed as most of the pain left him. That he had consumed the last of the peace-giver did not bother him in the least. Chen, Ah Tok or any of the servants could supply him with more, whenever he wanted. After all, didn't Struan's supply part of China?
On her side of the door, Angelique was still leaning against the wall, in turmoil, unsure whether to go back or to leave well enough alone. She had heard him go to the bureau and the drawer open, but did not know why, heard the bed springs creak and his long-drawn-out sigh of relief.
It was just the pain and because we can't, not now, she thought, reassuring herself again, stifling a nervous yawn. And also because he had to sit still at the dance when he is as fine a dancer as I've ever had-- wasn't it that that had first attracted me to him in Hong Kong from all the others?
Not wrong that he wants to make love--and not my fault he was hurt. Poor Malcolm, he's just overwrought. Tomorrow he will have forgotten all about it and everything will be fine--and it's better I move now, there's the other to consider. All will be well.
She slipped into bed and into easy sleep but her dreams were quickly peopled by strange monsters with twisted baby faces, shrieking with laughter and tugging at her, "mamma... mamma," writing on the sheets with her own blood that leaked from the tip of her finger she used as pen, tracing and retracing those characters--the ones from the counterpane imprinted deeply in her mind that she had not yet had the courage to ask Andr`e or Tyrer about.
Something jerked her out of sleep. The nightscapes vanished. Uneasily awake, she glanced at the door, half expecting to see him there. But he was not and she heard, faintly, his heavy, regular breathing, so she settled back in her pillows and thought, It was the wind or a banging shutter.
Mon Dieu, I'm tired, but what a lovely time I had at the dance. And what a lovely ring he gave me.
Humming the polka and envious of John Marlowe's success, and quite sure he could have done as well, Phillip Tyrer half danced up to the door of the House of the Three Carp in the tiny, deserted little alleyway and knocked with a flourish.
Here the Yoshiwara seemed to be slumbering, but not far away the houses and bars on Main Street were bubbling, the night young with the noise of men laughing and raucous singing, the occasional twang of samisen and laughter and pidgin mixed with it.
The door grill opened. "Mass'r, wat?"
"Please speak Japanese. I am Taira-san and I have a appointment."
"Ah, is that so?" the burly servant said.
"Taira-san, eh? I will inform the mama-san." The grill closed.
As he waited Tyrer's fingers drummed on the old wood. Yesterday and last night he had had to spend all his time with Sir William, explaining about Nakama and the Legation, arranging a modus vivendi for his newfound teacher--guilty he had not revealed the vital truth that the man could speak some English. But he had sworn, and an Englishman's word was his bond.
Sir William had finally agreed "Nakama" could be openly samurai--sons of samurai families had been attached to the French and British Legations for short periods in the past, just as Babcott had Japanese assistants. But Sir William had ordered he was not to wear or have swords within the Settlement fence. This same rule applied to all samurai, except Settlement guards under an officer on their rare, and prior-sanctioned patrols.
Further that Nakama was not to dress ostentatiously or go anywhere near the Customs House or guard house, and to keep out of sight as much as possible, that if he was discovered and claimed by the Bakufu it would be his fault and he would be handed over to them.
Tyrer had sent for Nakama and explained what Sir William had agreed. By this time he was too tired for Fujiko. "Now, Nakama, I need to send a message, and I want you to deliver it. Please write the characters for: "Please arrange..."
"'range, p'rease?"' "To fix or to make. "Please make an appointment for me tomorrow night with..." leave a blank for the name."
It had taken Hiraga a little time to understand exactly what was required of him and why. In desperation, Tyrer had found himself giving the name Fujiko and the House of the Three Carp. "Ah, Three Carp?"' Hiraga had said. "So ka! Give message mama-san, no mistake, arrange you see musume tomorrow, yes?"' "Yes, please."
Nakama had shown him how to write the characters and Tyrer copied them, very pleased with himself and signed the message carefully with the signature Hiraga had developed for him and now he was here at the gate.
"Come on, hurry up," he muttered, ready willing and able.
In time the door grill opened again.
By Raiko. "Ah, good evening, Taira-san, you want us to speak Japanese, certainly," she said with a smile and a little bow and followed with a flood of lilting Japanese which he did not catch, except the name of Fujiko several times, ended with, "So sorry."
"What? Oh, You sorry? Why sorry, Raiko-san? Good evening, I have appointment Fujiko... with Fujiko."
"Ah so sorry," she repeated patiently, "but Fujiko is not available this evening, and will not be free even for a short time. So sorry but there is nothing I can do, she sends her regrets of course and, so sorry, but all my other ladies are equally occupied. Very sorry."
Again he did not understand everything. The gist reached him. Crestfallen, Tyrer understood that Fujiko was not there, but not the reason. "But letter, yesterday --my message man, Nakama, he bring, yes?"
"Oh yes! Nakama-san brought it and as I told him I thought everything would be perfect but, so sorry, it is not now possible to accommodate you. So sorry, Taira-san, thank you for remembering us. Good night."
"Wait," Tyrer shouted in English as the grill began to close, then pleading, "you said she isn't there--here, yes? Wait, please, Raiko-san. Tomorrow--sorry--tomorrow, Fujiko, yes?"
Sadly Raiko shook her head. "Ah so sorry, tomorrow is not possible either, it really distresses me to have to say so. I do hope you do understand, so sorry."
Tyrer was aghast. "No tomorrow? Next day, yes?"
She hesitated, smiled, made another little bow: "Perhaps, Taira-san, perhaps but, so sorry I can promise nothing. Please ask Nakama-san to come here during the day and I will tell him. You understand? Send Nakama-san.
Good night."
Blankly Tyrer stared at the door, cursed bitterly, bunched his fists, wanting to smash something. It took him a moment to recover from his immense disappointment, then, despondently, he turned away.
Hiraga had been watching through a spy hole in the fence. When Tyrer vanished around the corner he went back along the meandering stone path through the garden, deep in thought. The garden was deceptively spacious with small bungalows, always with verandas, nestling in their own shrubbery.
But he avoided all of them, went into the shrubbery and knocked on a panel of fence.
It swung open noiselessly. The servant bowed and he nodded and went along a path, heading for a similar dwelling. Most Inns or Houses had secret exits and hiding places, or connections with the one next door, and those that dared to cater to shishi paid special attention to security--for their own safety. This part of the House of the Three Carp was for very special guests with different cooking facilities, maids but the same courtesans. On the veranda he kicked off his geta--clogs--slid back the shoji. "What did he do?" Ori asked.