Noble House

Thoughtfully Bartlett let his eyes stray to the view.
She waited patiently, allowing him his thoughts, staying motionless. I'm very glad Quillan was such a good teacher and such a clever man, she thought. And oh so wise. He was right again.
This morning she had called him in tears on his private line to report what had happened and, "Oh Quillan, I think I've ruined everything. . . ."
"What did you say and what did he say?"
She had told him exactly and he had reassured her. "I don't think you've any need to worry, Orlanda. He'll come back. If not tonight, tomorrow."
"Oh are you sure?" she had said so gratefully.
"Yes. Now dry those tears and listen." Then he had told her what to do and what to wear and above all to be a woman.
Ah how happy I am to be a woman, she thought, and remembered with sadness now the old days when they were happy together, she and Quillan, she nineteen, already his mistress for two years and no longer shy or afraid—of the pillow or him or of herself —how sometimes they would go on his yacht for a midnight cruise, just the two of them and he would lecture her. "You're a woman and Hong Kong yan so if you want to have a good life and pretty things, to be cherished and loved and pillowed and safe in this world be female."
"How, my darling?"
"Think only of my satisfaction and pleasure. Give me passion when I need it, quiet when I need it, privacy when I need it, and happiness and discretion all the time. Cook as a gourmet, know great wine, be discreet always, protect my face always and never nag."
"But Quillan, you make it sound all so one-sided."
"Yes. It is, of course it is. In return I do my part with equal passion. But that's what I want from you, nothing less. You wanted to be my mistress. I put it to you before we began and you agreed."
"I know I did and I love being your mistress but . . . but sometimes I'm worried about the future."
"Ah, my pet, you have nothing to worry about. You know our rules were set in advance. We will renew our arrangement yearly, providing you want to until you're twenty-four, and then, if you choose to leave me I will give you the flat, money enough for reasonable needs and a handsome dowry for a suitable husband. We agreed and your parents approved. . . ."
Yes they did. Orlanda remembered how her mother and father had enthusiastically approved the liaison—had even suggested it to her when she had just come back from school in America when they told her that Quillan had asked if he might approach her, saying that he had fallen in love with her. "He's a good man," her father had said, "and he's promised to provide well for you, if you agree. It's your choice, Orlanda. We think we would recommend it."
"But Father, I won't be eighteen until next month, and besides I want to go back to the States to live. I'm sure I can get a Green Card to remain there."
"Yes, you can go, child," her mother had said, "but you will be poor. We can give you nothing, no help. What job will you get? Who will support you? This way in a little while you can go with an income, with property here to support you."
"But he's so old. He's . . ."
"A man doesn't wear age like a woman," both had told her. "He's strong and respected and he's been good to us for years. He's promised to cherish you and the financial arrangements are generous, however long you stay with him."
"But I don't love him."
"You talk nonsense in eight directions! Without the protection of the lips the teeth grow cold!" her mother had said angrily. "This opportunity you are being offered is like the hair of the phoenix and the heart of the dragon! What do you have to do in return? Just be a woman and honor and obey a good man for a few years—renewable yearly—and even after that there's no end to the years if you choose and are faithful and clever. Who knows? His wife is an invalid and wasting. If you satisfy him and cherish him enough why wouldn't he marry you?"
"Marry a Eurasian? Quillan Gornt?" she had burst out.
"Why not? You're not just Eurasian, you're Portuguese. He has British sons and daughters already, heya? Times are changing, even here in Hong Kong. If you do your best, who knows? Bear him a son, in a year or two, with his permission, and who knows? Gods are gods and if they want they can make thunder from a clear sky. Don't be stupid! Love? What is that word to you?"
Orlanda Ramos was staring down at the city now, not seeing it. How stupid and naive I was then, she thought. Naive and very stupid. But now I know better. Quillan taught me very well.
She glanced up at Line Bartlett, moving just her eyes, not wanting to disturb him.
Yes, I'm trained very well, she told herself. I'm trained to be the bes,t wife any man could ever have, that Bartlett will ever have. No mistakes this time. Oh no, no mistakes. Quillan will guide me. He will help remove Casey. I will be Mrs. Line Bartlett. All gods and all devils bear witness; that is what must happen. . . .
Soon he took his eyes off the city, having thought through what she had said. She was watching him, wearing a little smile that he could not read. "What is it?"
"I was thinking how lucky I was to meet you."
"Do you always compliment a man?"
"No, just the ones who please me—and they're as rare as the hair of the phoenix or the heart of a dragon. Pate?"
"Thanks." He accepted it. "You're not eating?"
"I'm saving for dinner. I have to watch my diet, I'm not like you."
"I work out daily. Tennis when I can, golf. You?"
"I play a little tennis, I'm a good walker but I'm still taking golf lessons." Yes, she thought, I try very hard to be the best at everything I do and I'm the best for you, Line Bartlett, in the whole wide world. Her tennis was very good and golf quite good because Quillan had insisted she be adept at both—because he enjoyed them. "Are you hungry?"
"Starving."
"You said Chinese food. Is that what you really want?"
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me. Whatever you want."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. Why, what would you like?"
"Come in a moment."
He followed her. She opened the dining room door. The table was set exquisitely for two. Flowers, and a bottle of Verdicchio on ice. "Line, I haven't cooked for anyone for such a long time," she said in her breathless rush that he found so pleasing. "But I wanted to cook for you. If you'd like it, I have an Italian dinner all set to go. Fresh pasta aglio e olio—garlic and oil—vealpiccata, a green salad, zabaglione, espresso, and brandy. How does that sound? It will only take me twenty minutes and you can read the paper while you wait. Then afterwards we can leave everything for when the amah comes back and go dancing or drive. What do you say?"
"Italian's my favorite food, Orlanda!" he told her enthusiastically. Then a vagrant memory surfaced, and for a moment he wondered whom he had told about Italian being his favorite. Was it Casey—or was it Orlanda this morning?
51
8:32 P.M. :
Brian Kwok jerked out of sleep. One moment he was in a nightmare, the next awake but somehow still in the deep dark pit of sleep, his heart pounding, his mind disordered and no change between sleep and awake. Panic swamped him. Then he realized he was naked and still in the same warm darkness of the cell and remembered who he was and where he was.
They must have drugged me, he thought. His mouth was parched, his head ached, and he lay back on the mattress that was slimy to his touch and tried to collect himself. Vaguely he remembered being in Armstrong's office and before that with Crosse discussing the 16/2 but after that not much, just waking in this darkness, groping for the walls to get his bearings, feeling them close by, biting back the terror of knowing he was betrayed and defenseless in the bowels of Central Police HQ within a box with no windows and a door somewhere. Then, exhaustedly sleeping and waking and angry voices—or did I dream that—and then sleeping again … no, eating first, didn't I eat first… yes, slop they called dinner and cold tea … Come on, think! It's important to think and to remember … Yes, I remember, it was bedraggled stew and cold tea then, later, breakfast. Eggs. Was it eggs first or the stew first and . . . yes the lights came'on for a moment each time I ate, just enough time to eat… no, the lights went off and each time I finished in darkness, I remember finishing in darkness and hating to eat in darkness and then I peed in the pail in darkness, got back onto the mattress and lay down again.