Noble House

You'll have to put up your personal guarantee for every cent."
"Christ!"
"Yes. Plus face." He heard her voice harden. "It'll cost you face to be dealing with the 'yellow bastards.' Wasn't that what Lady Joanna called the First Central people with her big fat sneer and 'But what do you expect, they're…" I guess she meant Americans." He saw Casey's eyes flatten and his danger signals came up. "That's some old bitch, that one."
"She's not really," he said. "She's a bit caustic, and rough, but all right usually. She is anti-American, sorry to say, paranoid I suppose. You see, her husband, Sir Richard, was killed at Monte Cassino in Italy by American bombs, their aircraft mistaking British troops for Nazis."
"Oh," Casey said. "Oh I see."
"What does Par-Con want? And what do you and Line Bartlett want?"
She hesitated, then put Lady Joanna aside for a moment, concentrating again. "Par-Con wants a long-term deal with Struan's—as 'Old Friends.' " He saw the strange smile. "I've discovered what Old Friend means, Chinese style, and that's what I want for Par-Con. Old Friend status as and from the moment the Royal Belgium delivers."
"Next?"
"Is that a yes?"
"I'd like to know all the terms before I agree to one."
She sipped the brandy. "Line wants nothing. He doesn't know about all this."
"I beg your pardon?" Again Dunross was caught off balance.
"Line doesn't know about the Royal Belgium yet," she said, her voice ordinary. "I brainstormed all this with Dave Murtagh today. I don't know if I'm doing you much of a favor because your . . . because you'll be on the line, you personally. But it could get Struan's off the hook. Then our deal can work."
"Don't you think you should consult with your fearless leader?" Dunross said, trying to work out the implications of this unexpected tack.
"I'm executive director and Struan's is my deal. It costs us nothing but our influence to get you out of your trap and that's what influence's for. I want our deal to go through and I don't want Gornt the winner."
"Why?"
"I told you. You're the best for us long-term." "And you, Ciranoush? What do you want? In return for using your influence?"
Her eyes seemed to flatten even more and become more hazel, like a lioness's. "Equality. I want to be treated as an equal, not patronized or scoffed at as a woman who's in business on the coat tails of a man. I want equality with the tai-pan of the Noble House. And I want you to help me get my drop dead money—apart from anything to do with Par-Con."
"The second's easy, if you're prepared to gamble. As to the first, I've never patronized or sloughed you o—" "Gavallan did, and the others."
"… off, and I never will. As to the others, if they don't treat you as you like, then leave the conference table and leave the battleground. Don't force your presence on them. I can't make you equal. You're not and you never will be. You're a woman and like it or not this's a man's world. Particularly in Hong Kong. And while I'm alive I'm going to continue to treat it as it is and treat a woman as a woman whoever the hell she is." "Then screw you!" "When?" He beamed.
Her sudden laugh joined his and the tension fled. "I deserved that," she said. Another laugh. "I really deserved that. Sorry. Guess I lost ass."
"I beg your pardon?"
She explained her version of face. He laughed again. "You didn't. You gained arse."
After a pause she said, "So whatever I do, I can never have equality?"
"Not in business, not on masculine terms, not if you want to be of this world. As I said, like it or not, that's the way it is. And I think you're wrong to try to change it. The Hag was undisputedly more powerful than anyone in Asia. And she got there as a woman, not as a neuter."
Her hand reached out and lifted her brandy and he saw the swell of her breast against the light silk blouse. "How the hell can we treat someone as attractive and smart as you as a non-person? Be fair!" "I'm not asking for fairness, tai-pan, just equality." "Be content you're a woman."
"Oh I am. I really am." Her voice became bitter. "I just don't want to be classed as someone whose only real value is on her back." She took a last sip and got up. "So you'll take it from here? With the Royal Belgium? David Murtagh's expecting a call. It's a long shot, but it's worth a try, isn't it? Maybe you could go see him, instead of sending for him—face, huh? He'll need all the support you can give him."
Dunross had not got up. "Please sit down a second, if you've time. There're still a couple of things."
"Of course. I didn't want to take any more of your time."
"First, what's the problem with your Mr. Steigler?"
"What do you mean?"
He told her what Dawson had related.
"Son of a bitchl" she said, obviously irritated. "I told him to get the papers drawn, that's all. I'll take care of him. Lawyers always think they've the right to negotiate, 'to improve the deal' is the way they put it, trying to put you down, I guess. I've lost more deals because of them than you can imagine. Seymour's not as bad as some. Attorneys're the plague of the United States. Line thinks so too."
"What about Line?" he asked, remembering the 2 million he had advanced to Gornt to attack their stock. "Is he going to be 100 percent behind this new twist?"
"Yes," she said after a pause. "Yes."
Dunross's mind reached out for the missing piece. "So you'll take care of Steigler and everything stands as before?"
"You'll have to work out title to the ships as we agreed but that shouldn't be a problem."
"No. I can handle that."
"You'll personally guarantee everything?"
"Oh, yes," Dunross said carelessly. "Dirk did all the time. That's the tai-pan's privilege. Listen, Ciranoush, I—"
"Will you call me Casey, tai-pan? Ciranoush is for a different era."
"All right. Casey, whether this works or not, you're an Old Friend and I owe you a thank you for your bravery, your personal bravery at the fire."
"I'm not brave. It must have been glands." She laughed. "Don't forget we've still got the hepatitis over our heads."
"Oh. You thought of that too."
"Yes."
Her eyes were watching him and he could not gauge her. "I'll help you with drop dead money," he said. "How much do you need?"
"2 million, tax free."
"Your tax laws are rigid and tough. Are you prepared to stretch laws?"
She hesitated. "It's the right of every red-blooded American to avoid taxes, but not evade them."
"Got it. So at your bracket you might need 4?"
"My bracket's low, though my capital's high."
"$46,000 at the San Fernando Savings and Loan's not very much," he said, grimly amused to see her blanch. "$8,700 in your checking account at the Los Angeles and California's not too much either."
"You're a bastard."
He smiled. "I merely have friends in high places. Like you." Casually he opened the trap. "Will you and Line Bartlett have dinner with me tonight?"
"Line's busy," she said.
"Will you have dinner then? Eight? Let's meet in the lobby of the Mandarin." He had heard the undercurrent and the giveaway and he could almost see her mind waves churning. So Line's busy! he thought. And what would Line Bartlett be busy with in that tone of voice? Orlanda Ramos? Has to be, he told himself, delighted he had flushed out the real reason—the real why of her help. Orlanda! Orlanda leading to Line Bartlett leading to Gornt. Casey's petrified of Orlanda. Is she petrified that Gornt's behind Orlanda's onslaught on Bartlett—or is she just frantic with jealousy and ready to bring Bartlett atumbling down?
59
5:35 P.M. :
Casey joined the packed lines going through the turnstiles at Golden Ferry. People were shoving and pushing and hurrying along the corridor for the next ferry. As the warning bell sounded shrilly, those in front broke into a frantic run. Involuntarily her feet quickened. The noisy, heated crush of humanity carried her along onto the ferry. She found a seat and stared out at the harbor gloomily, wondering if she had pulled off her side of the deal.