Noble House

"About three weeks ago," Gornt said. "I thought you were his chief executive, I'm surprised he didn't mention it to you."
"Line's our tai-pan, Mr. Gornt. I work for him. He doesn't have to tell me everything," she said, calmer now. "Should he have told me, Mr. Gornt? I mean, was it important?"
"It could be. Yes. I confirmed, formally, that we can better any offer Struan's can make. Any offer." Gornt glanced back at the tai-pan. His voice hardened a fraction. "Ian, I wanted to tell you, personally, that we're in the same marketplace."
"Is that why you came?"
"One reason."
"The other?"
"Pleasure."
"How long have you known Mr. Bartlett?"
"Six months or so. Why?"
Dunross shrugged, then looked at Casey and she could read nothing from his voice or face or manner other than friendliness. "You didn't know of any Rothwell-Gornt negotiations?"
Truthfully she shook her head, awed by Bartlett's skillful long-range planning. "No. Are negotiations in progress, Mr. Gornt?"
"I would say yes." Gornt smiled.
"Then we shall see, won't we," Dunross said. "We shall see who makes the best deal. Thank you for telling me personally, though there was no need. I knew, of course, that you'd be interested too. There's no need to belabor that."
"Actually there's a very good reason," Gornt said sharply. "Neither Mr. Bartlett nor this lady may realize how vital Par-Con is to you. I felt obliged to make the point personally to them. And to you. And of course to offer my congratulations."
"Why vital, Mr. Gornt?" Casey asked, committed now.
"Without your Par-Con deal and the cash flow it will generate, Struan's will go under, could easily go under in a few months."
Dunross laughed and those few who listened covertly shuddered and moved their own conversations up a decibel, aghast at the thought of Struan's failing, at the same time thinking, What deal? Par-Con? Should we sell or buy? Struan's or Rothwell-Gornt?
"No chance of that," Dunross said. "Not a chance in hell!"
"I think there's a very good chance." Gornt's tone changed. "In any event, as you say, we shall see."
"Yes, we will—meanwhile . . ." Dunross stopped as he saw Claudia approaching uneasily.
"Excuse me, tai-pan," she said, "your personal call to London's on the line."
"Oh thank you." Dunross turned and beckoned Penelope. She came over at once. "Penelope, would you entertain Quillan and Miss Tcholok for a moment. I've got a phone call—Quillan's not staying for dinner—he has pressing business." He waved cheerily and left them. Casey noticed the animal grace to his walk.
"You're not staying for dinner?" Penelope was saying, her relief evident though she tried to cover it.
"No. I'm sorry to inconvenience you—arriving so abruptly, after declining your kind invitation. Unfortunately I can't stay."
"Oh. Then . . . would you excuse me a moment, I'll be back in a second."
"There's no need to worry about us," Gornt said gently. "We can look after ourselves. Again, sorry to be a nuisance—you're looking marvelous, Penelope. You never change." She thanked him and he willed her away. Gratefully she went over to Claudia Chen who was waiting nearby.
"You're a curious man," Casey said. "One moment war, the next great charm."
"We have rules, we English, in peace and war. Just because you loathe someone, that's no reason to curse him, spit in his eye or abuse his lady." Gornt smiled down at her. "Shall we find your Mr. Bartlett? Then I really should go."
"Why did you do that? To the tai-pan? The battle challenge—the 'vital' bit. That was the formal gauntlet, wasn't it? In public."
"Life's a game," he said. "All life's a game and we English play it with different rules from you Americans. Yes. And life's to be enjoyed. Ciranoush—what a lovely name you have. May I use it?"
"Yes," she said after a pause. "But why the challenge now?"
"Now was the time. I didn't exaggerate about your importance to Struan's. Shall we go and find your Mr. Bartlett?"
That's the third time he's said your Mr. Bartlett, she thought. Is that to probe, or to needle? "Sure, why not?" She turned for the garden, conscious of the looks, overt and covert, of the other guests, feeling the danger pleasantly. "Do you always make dramatic entrances like this?"
Gornt laughed. "No. Sorry if I was abrupt, Ciranoush—if I distressed you."
"You mean about your private meeting with Line? You didn't. It was very shrewd of Line to approach the opposition without my knowledge. That gave me a freedom of action that otherwise I'd not have had this morning."
"Ah, then you're not irritated that he didn't trust you in this?"
"It has nothing to do with trust. I often withhold information from Line, until the time's ripe, to protect him. He was obviously doing the same for me. Line and I understand one another. At least I think I understand him."
"Then tell me how to finalize a deal."
"First I have to know what you want. Apart from Dunross's head."
"I don't want his head, or death or anything like that—just an early demise of their Noble House. Once Struan's is obliterated we become the Noble House." His face hardened. "Then all sorts of ghosts can sleep."
"Tell me about them."
"Now's not the time, Ciranoush, oh no. Too many hostile ears. That'd be for your ears only." They were out in the garden now, the gentle breeze grand, a fine night sky overhead, star filled. Line Bartlett was not on this terrace so they went down the wide stone steps through other guests to the lower one, toward the paths that threaded the lawns. Then they were intercepted.
"Hello, Quillan, this's a pleasant surprise."
"Hello, Paul. Miss Tcholok, may I introduce you to Paul Haver-gill? Paul's presently in charge of the Victoria Bank."
"I'm afraid that's very temporary, Miss Tcholok, and only because our chief manager's on sick leave. I'm retiring in a few months."
"To our regret," Gornt said, then introduced Casey to the rest of this group: Lady Joanna Temple-Smith, a tall, stretched-faced woman in her fifties, and Richard Kwang and his wife Mai-ling.
"Richard Kwang's chairman of the Ho-Pak, one of our finest Chinese banks."
"In banking we're all friendly competitors, Miss, er, Miss, except of course for Blacs," Havergill said.
"Sir?" Casey said.
"Blacs? Oh that's a nickname for the Bank of London, Canton and Shanghai. They may be bigger than we are, a month or so older, but we're the best bank here, Miss, er . . ."
"Blacs're my bankers," Gornt said to Casey. "They do me very well. They're first-class bankers."
"Second-class, Quillan."
Gornt turned back to Casey. "We've a saying here that Blacs consists of gentlemen trying to be bankers, and those at the Victoria are bankers trying to be gentlemen."
Casey laughed. The others smiled politely.
"You're all just friendly competition, Mr. Kwang?" she asked
"Oh yes. We wouldn't dare oppose Blacs or the Victoria," Richard Kwang said amiably. He was short and stocky and middle-aged with gray-flecked black hair and an easy smile, his English perfect. "I hear Par-Con's going to invest in Hong Kong, Miss Tchelek."
"We're here to look around, Mr. Kwang. Nothing's firm yet." She passed over his mispronunciation.
Gornt lowered his voice. "Just between ourselves, I've formally told both Bartlett and Miss Tcholok that I will better any offer Struan's might make. Blacs are supporting me one hundred percent, And I've friendly bankers elsewhere. I'm hoping Par-Con will consider all possibilities before making any commitment."
"I imagine that would be very wise," Havergill said. "Of course Struan's does have the inside track."
"Blacs and most of Hong Kong would hardly agree with you," Gornt said.
"I hope it won't come to a clash, Quillan," Havergill said. "Struan's is our major customer."