Noble House

"Mr. and Mrs. Jamie Kirk, sir."
Jamie Kirk was a pedantic little man with a pink face and pink hands and a pleasing Scots accent. His wife was tall, big and American.
"Oh so pleased to m—" Kirk began.
"Yes we are, Mr. Dunross," his wife boomed good-naturedly over him. "Get to the point, Jamie, honey, Mr. Dunross's a very busy man and we've shopping to do. My husband's got a package for you, sir."
"Yes, it's from Alan Medford G—"
"He knows it's from Alan Medford Grant, honey," she said happily, talking over him again. "Give him the package."
"Oh. Oh yes and there's a—"
"A letter from him too," she said. "Mr. Dunross's very busy so give them to him and we can go shopping."
"Oh. Yes, well . . ." Kirk handed Dunross the package. It was about fourteen inches by nine and an inch thick. Brown, nondescript and heavily taped. The envelope was sealed with red sealing wax. Dunross recognized the seal. "Alan said to—"
"To give it to you personally and give you his best wishes," she said with another laugh. She got up. "You're so slow, sweetness. Well, thank you, Mr. Dunross, come along, hon—"
She stopped, startled as Dunross held up an imperious hand and said with polite though absolute authority, "What shopping do you want to do, Mrs. Kirk?"
"Eh? Oh. Oh some clothes, er, I want some clothes made and honey needs some shirts an—"
Dunross held up his hand again and punched a button and Claudia was there. "Take Mrs. Kirk to Sandra Lee at once. She's to take her at once to Lee Foo Tap downstairs and by the Lord God tell him to give Mrs. Kirk the best possible price or I'll have him deported! Mr. Kirk will join her there in a moment!" He took Mrs. Kirk by the arm and before she knew it she was contentedly out of the room, Claudia solicitously listening to what she wanted to buy.
Kirk sighed in the silence. It was a deep, long-suffering sigh. "I wish I could do that," he said gloomily, then beamed. "Och aye, tai-pan, you're everything Alan said you were."
"Oh? I didn't do anything. Your wife wanted to go shopping didn't she?"
"Yes but . . ." After a pause Kirk added, "Alan said that you should, er, you should read the letter while I'm here. I… I didn't tell her that. Do you think I should have?"
"No," Dunross said kindly. "Look, Mr. Kirk, I'm sorry to tell you bad news but I'm afraid AMG was killed in a motorcycle accident last Monday."
Kirk's mouth dropped. "What?"
"Sorry to have to tell you but I thought you'd better know."
Kirk stared at the rain streaks, lost in thought. "How terrible," he said at length. "Bloody motorbikes, they're death traps. He was run down?"
"No. He was just found in the road, beside the bike. Sorry."
"Terrible! Poor old Alan. Dear oh dear! I'm glad you didn't mention it in front of Frances, she's, she was fond of him too. I, er, I… perhaps you'd better read this letter then . . . Frances wasn't a great friend so I don't. . . poor old Alan!" He stared down at his hands. The nails were bitten and disfigured. "Poor old Alan!"
To give Kirk time, Dunross opened the letter. It read: "My dear Mr. Dunross: This will introduce an old schoolfriend, Jamie Kirk, and his wife Frances. The package he brings, please open in private. I wanted it safely in your hands and Jamie agreed to stop over in Hong Kong. He's to be trusted, as much as one can trust anyone these days. And, please, don't mind about Frances, she's a good sort really, good to my old friend and quite well oif from previous husbands which gives Jamie the freedom he requires to sit and to think—a rare, very rare privilege these days. By the way, they're not in my line of work though they know I'm an amateur historian with private means." Dunross would have smiled but for the fact that he was reading a letter from a dead man. The letter concluded, "Jamie's a geologist, a marine geologist, one of the best in the world. Ask him about his work, the last years, preferably not with Frances there—not that she's not party to everything he knows but she does carry on a bit. He has some interesting theories that could perhaps benefit the Noble House and your contingency planning. Kindest regards, AMG."
Dunross looked up. "AMG says you're old school friends?"
"Oh yes. Yes, we were at school together. Charterhouse actually. Then I went on to Cambridge, he to Oxford. Yes. We've, er, kept in contact over the years, haphazardly, of course. Yes. Have you, er, known him long?"
"About three years. I liked him too. Perhaps you don't want to talk now?"
"Oh. Oh no, that's all right. I'm . . . it's a shock of course but well, life must go on. Old Alan . . . he's a funny sort of laddie isn't he, with all his papers and books and pipe and ash and carpet slippers." Kirk sadly steepled his fingers. "I suppose I should say he was. It doesn't seem right yet to talk about him in the past tense .. . but I suppose we should. Yes. He always wore carpet slippers. I dinna think I've ever been to his chambers when he wasn't wearing carpet slippers."
"You mean his flat? I've never been there. We always met in my London office though he did come to Ayr once." Dunross searched his memory. "I don't remember him wearing carpet slippers there."
"Ah, yes, he told me about Ayr, Mr. Dunross. Yes, he told me. It was, er, a high point in his life. You're . . . you're very lucky to have such an estate."
"Castle Avisyard's not mine, Mr. Kirk, though it's been in the family for more than a hundred years. Dirk Struan bought it for his wife and family—a country seat so to speak." As always, Dunross felt a sudden glow at the thought of all that loveliness, gentle rolling hills, lakes, moors, forests, glades, six thousand acres or more, good shooting, good hunting and Scotland at its best. "It's tradition that the current tai-pan's always laird of Avisyard—while he's tai-pan. But, of course, all the families, particularly children of the various families, know it well. Summer holidays… Christmas at Avisyard's a wonderful tradition. Whole sheep and sides of beef, haggis at New Year, whiskey and huge roaring fires, the pipes sounding. It's a bonnie place. And a working farm, cattle, milk, butter—and not forgetting the Loch Vey distillery! I wish I could spend more time there—my wife just left today to get things ready for the Christmas vacation. Do you know that part of the world?"
"A wee bit. Mostly I know the Highlands. I know the Highlands better. My family came from Inverness."
"Ah, then you must visit us when we're in Ayr, Mr. Kirk. AMG says in his letter you're a geologist, one of the best in the world?"
"Oh. Oh he's too kind—was too kind. My, er, my speciality's marine. Yes. With particular emph—" He stopped abruptly.
"What's the matter?"
"Oh, er, nothing, nothing really, but do you think Frances will be all right?"
"Absolutely. Would you like me to tell her about AMG?"
"No. No I can do that later. No, I… I, on second thought I think I'm going to pretend he's not dead, Mr. Dunross. You need not have told me, then I won't have to spoil her holiday. Yes. That's best, don't you think?" Kirk brightened a little. "Then we can discover the bad news when we get home."
"Whatever you wish. You were saying? With particular emphasis on?"
"Oh yes … petrology, which is, of course, the broad study of rocks including their interpretation and description. Within petrology my field has been narrowed down more recently to sedimentary rocks. I've, er, I've been on a research project for the last few years as a consultant on Paleozoic sedimentaries, porous ones. Yes. The study concentrated on the eastern coastal shelf of Scotland. AMG thought you might like to hear about it."
"Of course." Dunross curbed his impatience. His eyes were looking at the package on his desk. He wanted to open it and call Johnjohn and do a dozen other pressing things. There was so much to do and he did not yet understand the AMG connection between the Noble House and Kirk. "It sounds very interesting," he said. "What was the study for?"