Noble House

The black Daimler pulled up outside the V and A, the Struan arms discreetly on the doors. Casey and Bartlett waited at the top of the stairs, Casey wearing a green dress, self-conscious in a pert green pillbox hat and white gloves, Bartlett broad-shouldered, wearing a blue tie to match his well-cut suit. Both were set-faced.
The chauffeur approached them. "Mr. Bartlett?"
"Yes." They came down the steps to meet him. "You our limo?"
"Yes sir. Excuse me sir, but do you both have your badge tickets, and the invitation card?"
"Yes, here they are," Casey said.
"Ah, good. Sorry but without them … My name's Lim. The, er, the custom is for the gentlemen to tie both badges through the hole in their lapels and the ladies usually have a pin."
"Whatever you say," Bartlett said. Casey got in the back and he followed. They sat far apart. Silently they began to fix the small, individually numbered badges.
Blandly Lim closed the door, noticing the frigidity, and chortled inwardly. He closed the electric glass partition window and switched on his intercom mike. "If you want to talk to me, sir, just use the microphone above you." Through his rear mirror he saw Bartlett use the switch momentarily.
"Sure, thank you, Lim."
Once Lim was in the traffic he reached under the dash and touched a hidden switch. At once Bartlett's voice came through the speaker.
". . . going to rain?"
"I don't know, Line. The radio said it would but everyone's praying." A hesitation, then coldly, "I still think you're wrong."
Lim settled back happily. His trusted older brother Lim Chu, majordomo to the tai-pans of the Noble House, had arranged for another younger brother, an expert radio mechanic, to install this bypass switch so that he could overhear his passengers. It had been done at great cost to protect the tai-pan and older brother Lim had ordered it was never to be used when the tai-pan was in the car. Never never never. It never had been. Yet. Lim felt queasy at the thought of being caught but their wish to know—of course to protect—overcame their anxiety. Oh oh oh, he chortled, Golden Pubics is certainly in a rage!
Casey was seething.
"Let's quit this, Line, huh?" she said. "Since our breakfast meeting you've been like a bear with a sore ass!"
"And what about you?" Bartlett glared at her. "We're going with Gornt—the way I want it."
"This's my deal, you've said that fifty times, you promised, you've always listened before. Jesus, we're on the same side. I'm only trying to protect you. I know you're wrong."
"You think I'm wrong. And it's all because of Orlanda!"
"That's a crock! I went through my reasons fifty times. If Ian gets out of the trap then we're better off to go with him than Gornt."
Bartlett's face was cold. "We've never had a bust before, Casey, but if you want to vote your shares, I'll vote mine and your ass'll be in a vise before you can count to ten!"
Casey's heart was thumping. Ever since their breakfast meeting with Seymour Steigler, the day had been heavy going. Bartlett was adamant that their best course lay with Gornt and nothing she could say would dissuade him. After an hour of trying she had closed the meeting and gone off to deal with a pile of overnight telexes, then, remembering suddenly at the last moment, had rushed out in a panic and bought her hat.
When she had met Bartlett in the foyer with great trepidation, wanting the hat to please him, she had begun to make peace but he had interrupted her. "Forget it," he had said. "So we disagree. So what?"
She had waited and waited but he hadn't even noticed. "What do you think?"
"I told you. Gornt's best for us."
"I meant my hat."
She had seen his blank stare.
"Oh that's what's different! Hey, it's okay."
She had felt like tearing it off and hurling it at him. "It's Parisian," she had said half-heartedly. "It says hats and gloves on the invitation, remember? It's a crock but Ian said that la—"
"What makes you think he can get out of the trap?"
"He's clever. And the tai-pan."
"Gornt's got him on the run."
"It looks that way. So let's forget it for now. Maybe we'd better wait outside. The car's coming at noon promptly."
"Just a minute, Casey. What have you got cooking?"
"What do you mean?"
"I know you better than anyone. What do you have on the burner?"
Casey hesitated, unsure of herself, wondering if she should reveal the First Central ploy. But there's no reason to, she reassured herself. If Ian gets the credit and squeezes out, I'll be the first to know. Ian promised. Then Line can cover his 2 million with Gornt and they can buy back in to cover their selling short and make a huge profit. At the same time Ian, Line and I get in at the bottom of the market and make our own killing. I'll be the first to know after Murtagh and Ian. Ian promised. Yes, yes he did. But can I trust him?
A wave of nausea went through her. Can you trust anyone in business here, or anywhere? Man or woman?
At dinner last night she had trusted him. Influenced by the wine and food she had told him about her relationship with Line, and about the bargain they had made.
"That's a bit rough, isn't it? On both of you?"
"Yes, yes and no. We were both over twenty-one, Ian, and I wanted so much more than being just Mrs. Line Bartlett, a mother-mistress-servant-dishwasher-diaperwasher-slave and a left-at-home. That's the thing that kills off any woman. You're always left. At home. So home becomes a prison in the end, and it drives you mad, being trapped until death do us part! I've seen it too many times."
"Someone has to look after the home and the children. It's the man's job to make the money. It's the wife's j—"
"Yes. Most times. But not for me. I'm not prepared to accept that and I don't think it's wrong to want a different sort of life. I'm the wage earner for my family. My sister's husband died so there's my sister and her kids, and my Ma and uncle are getting on. I'm educated and good and better than most in business. The world's changing, everything's changing, Ian."
"I said before, not here thank God!"
Casey remembered how she had readied to return measure for measure, but had bitten back the old Casey and said instead, "Ian, what about the Hag? How did she do it? What was her secret? How did she become more equal than anyone?"
"She kept her hands on the purse strings. Absolutely. Oh she conceded outward position and face to Culum and following tai-pans but she kept the books, she hired and fired through him—she was the strength of that family. When Culum was dying, it was easy to persuade him to make her tai-pan. He gave her the Struan chop, family chop and all the reins and all the secrets. But, wisely, she kept it all very secret and after Culum she only appointed those she could control, and never once gave any one of them the purse strings, or real power, not until she herself was dying."
"But ruling through others, is that enough?"
"Power is power and I don't think it matters so long as you rule. For a woman—after a certain age—power only comes with control of the purse. But you're right about drop dead money. Hong Kong's the only place on earth you can get it to keep it With money, real money, you can be more equal than anyone. Even Line Bartlett. I like him, by the way. I like him very much."
"I love him. Our partnership's worked, Ian. I think it's been good for Line—oh how I hope so. He's our tai-pan and I'm not trying to become one. I just want to succeed as a woman. He's helped me tremendously, of course he has. Without him I'd never have made it. So we're in business together, until my birthday. November 25 this year. That's D Day. That's when we both decide."