Noble House

"Our Jacaranda there's no good?"
"Oh yes, she's fine, but not the same. Perhaps you should bring a cutting back to Hong Kong."
"No. Better we leave it where it is. Then you have to come home, don't you, Ian?"
"Can I make a bet for you this afternoon?"
Again a pause. "Ten dollars on the horse you choose. I'll back your choice. I'll always back your choice. Call me tomorrow. Love you . . . 'bye."
He remembered the first time she had said, I love you, and then, later, when he had asked her to marry him, all the refusals and then eventually, through shattering tears, the real reason: "Oh Christ, Ian, I'm not good enough for you. You're upper class, I'm not. The way I talk now, I acquired. It was because I was evacuated at the beginning of the war to the country—my God I'd only been outside London twice in my whole life till then, just to the seaside. I was evacuated to a wonderful old manor house in Hampshire where all the other girls were from one of your fine upperclass schools, Byculla was its name. There was a mix-up, Ian, my whole school went somewhere else, just me to Byculla, and it was only then that I found I talked different, differently—there, you see I still forget sometimes! Oh God, you've no idea how awful it was to find out so young that . . . that I was common and talked common and that there are such limitless differences in England, the way we talk— the way we talk so important!
"Oh how I worked to imitate the others. They helped me and there was one teacher who was so wonderful to me. I hurled myself into the new life, theirs, and I swore to better myself and never go back, never, never, never, and I won't. But I can't marry you, my darling—let's just stay lovers—I'll never be good enough."
But in time, her time, they had married. Granny Dunross had persuaded her. Penelope had agreed but only after going out to the Shrieking Tree, alone. She had never told him what she had said I'm lucky, Dunross thought. She's the best wife a man could have. Since coming back from the track at dawn he had worked steadily. Half a hundred cables. Dozens of international phone calls. Countless locals. At 9:30 he had called the governor about Tiptop's proposal. "I'll have to consult the minister," Sir Geoffrey had said. "The earliest I could call him would be four this afternoon. This must be kept entirely secret, Ian. Dear oh dear, Brian Kwok must be very important to them!"
"Or perhaps just another convenient concession for the money." "Ian, I don't think the minister will agree to a trade." "Why?"
"Her Majesty's Government might consider it a precedent, a bad one. I would." "The money's vital."
"The money's a temporary problem. Precedents unfortunately last forever. You were at the track?"
"Yes sir."
"How's the form?"
"They all looked in fine fettle. Alexi Travkin says Pilot Fish's our main opposition and the going will be soft. Noble Star's grand though she's never raced in the wet."
"Will it rain?"
"Yes. But perhaps we'll be lucky, sir."
"Let's hope so. Terrible times, Ian. Still, these things are sent to try us, eh? Are you going to John's funeral?"
"Yes sir."
"So am I. Poor fellow . . ."
At the funeral this morning Dunross had said kind words about John Chen for the face of the House of Chen and for all the Chen forebears who had served the Noble House so long and hard.
"Thank you, tai-pan," Phillip Chen had said simply. "Again, I'm sorry."
Later he had said to Phillip Chen privately, "Sorry is sorry but that still doesn't help us extricate ourselves from the trap your son, and you, put us into. Or solve bloody Four Fingers and the third coin."
"I know, I know!" Phillip Chen had said, wringing his hands. "I know, and unless we can get the stock back up we're ruined, we're all ruined! Oh ko, after you'd announced the boom I bought and bought and now we're ruined."
Dunross had said sharply, "We've got the weekend, Phillip. Now listen to me, damnit! You will claim every favor you're owed. I want Lando Mata and Tightfist Tung's backing by Sunday midnight. At least 20 million."
"But, tai-pan, don—"
"If I don't get that by Sunday midnight, have your resignation on my desk by 9:00 A.M., you're no longer compradore, your son Kevin's out and all your branch is out forever and I'll choose a new compradore from another branch."
Now he exhaled heavily, hating that Phillip Chen and John Chen —and probably Jacques deVille—had betrayed their trust. He went to the coffee tray and poured himself some coffee. Today it did not taste good to him. The phones had been incessant, most of the calls about the looming collapse of the market, the banking system. Havergill, Johnjohn, Richard Kwang. Nothing from Tightfist or Lando Mata or Murtagh. The only bright spot had been his call to
David MacStruan in Toronto: "David, I want you here for a conference on Monday. Can you g—" He had been swamped by the bellow of joy.
"Tai-pan, I'm on my way to the airport. Goo—" "Hang on, David!" He had explained his plan about transferring Jacques to Canada.
"Och, laddie, if you do that I'm your slave forever!" "I'm going to need more than slaves, David," he had said carefully.
There was a long pause and the voice on the other end hardened. "Anything you want, tai-pan, you've got. Anything."
Dunross smiled, warmed by the thought of his distant cousin. He let his eyes drift out of the windows. The harbor was misted, the sky low and dark but no rain yet. Good, he thought, so long as it doesn't rain till after the fifth race. After four o'clock it can rain. I want to smash Gornt and Pilot Fish and oh God let First Central come up with my money, or Lando Mata or Tightfist or Par-Con! Your bet's covered, he told himself stoically, every way you can. And Casey? Is she setting me up like Bartlett? And like Gornt? What about . . .
The intercom clicked on. "Tai-pan, your eleven o'clock appointment's here."
"Claudia, come in a second." He took an envelope out of his drawer with the $1,000 in it and gave it to her. "Betting money, as promised."
"Oh thank you, tai-pan." There were care lines in her jolly face and shadows under the smile.
"You're in Phillip's box?"
"Oh yes. Yes, Uncle Phillip invited me. He … he seems very upset," she said.
"It's John." Dunross wasn't sure if she knew. She probably does, he thought, or soon will. There're no secrets in Hong Kong. "What do you fancy?"
"Winner's Delight in the first, Buccaneer in the second."
"Two outsiders?" He stared at her. "You've inside info?"
"Oh no, tai-pan." A little of her normal good humor came back. "It's just the form."
"And in the fifth?"
"I'm not betting the fifth, but all my hopes're on Noble Star." Claudia added worriedly, "Is there anything I can do to help, taipan? Anything? The stock market and … we have to slaughter Gornt somehow."
"I'm rather fond of Gornt—he's such a fang-pi. " The Canton obscenity was picturesque and she laughed. "Now show in Mrs. Gresserhoff."
"Yes, yes tai-pan," Claudia said. "And thanks for the h'eung you!"
In a moment, Dunross got up to greet his guest. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "Ikaga desu ka?" he asked in shock, his Japanese fluent—How are you?—astounded that she could have been married to Alan Medford Grant whose name, God help us, was also supposed to be Hans Gresserhoff.
"Genki, tai-pan. Domo. Genki desu! Anatawa?" Fine, tai-pan, thank you. And you?
"Genki." He bowed slightly in return and did not shake hands though he noticed her hands and feet were tiny and her legs long. They chatted for a moment then she switched to English with a smile. "Your Japanese is oh very good, tai-pan. My husband, he did not tell me you were so tall."