She managed a smile, and again tried to think who the father of the child would be—not that that mattered, for the father was Chinese. To have a Chinese bastard! I’ll die before that, she told herself. Two or three months and then it’ll begin to show. But I’ll not live to see the horror and reproach on their faces. Tears filled her eyes.
“There, there, Mary,” Glessing said, touching her arm affectionately. “You mustn’t cry because I paid you a compliment. You really are the most beautiful person here—the most beautiful that I’ve ever seen. That’s the truth.”
She brushed the tears away behind her fan. And through the mist of terror she remembered May-may. Perhaps May-may could help? Perhaps the Chinese have medicines to abort a child. But that’s murder. Murder. No, it’s my body and there’s no God and if I have the child I’m damned. “Sorry, George dear,” she said, more at peace with herself now that she’d made the decision. “I felt faint for a moment.”
“You’re sure you’re all right now?”
“Oh, yes.”
Glessing was brimming with protective love. Poor, frail little girl, he thought. She needs someone to look after her, and that’s me. Only me.
Struan stopped in the dead center of the floor.
“I was wondering when I would be honored, Tai-Pan.” Shevaun radiated devilment.
“This dance is in your honor, Shevaun,” he said blandly.
The first bar of the most electrifying music on earth began. The Kankana. A wild, hilarious, rowdy, high-stepping dance that had rushed into vogue in Paris in the thirties and had taken the capitals of Europe by storm, but was forbidden as outrageous in the best circles.
“Tai-Pan!” she said, dumfounded.
“I bribed the bandleader,” Struan whispered.
She hesitated, but feeling all the scandalized eyes on her, she casually took Struan’s arms, the beat of the music whipping her.
“Nothing will fall down, I trust?” Struan said.
“If it does, you’ll protect me, I trust?”
And then they were high-stepping. Shevaun broke from Struan’s arms and lifted her skirts and kicked high and showed her pantaloons. There was a jubilant shout as the men rushed for partners. Now everyone was dancing and kicking, possessed by the infectious, abandoned rhythm.
The music ravaged them. All of them.
When it ended, there was wild applause and continued shouts for an encore, and the band struck up again. Mary forgot the child, and Glessing decided that tonight he would ask—demand, by God—that Horatio bless the marriage. The dancers continued their twirling, kicking, cheering, gasping, and then it was done. The young people swarmed Struan and Shevaun, and thanked him and congratulated her. She held his arm possessively and fanned herself, vastly pleased with herself. He wiped the perspiration off his forehead and was very glad that his two gambles had paid off: Tess and the Kankana.
All returned to their seats and servants began carrying trays of food to the tables. Smoked salmon and smoked hams and fish and oysters and clams and sausages. Fresh fruit that Chen Sheng had weedled out of a lorcha which had made the perilous journey from Manila. Sides of fresh-killed beef purchased from the navy, barbecued over open fires. Suckling pigs. Pickled hog’s feet in sweet jelly.
“By my life,” Zergeyev said, “I’ve never seen so much food, or had such a wonderful time in years, Mr. Struan.”
“La, Your Highness,” Shevaun said, raising an eyebrow, “this is positively ordinary for The Noble House.”
Struan laughed with the others and sat down at the head of a table. Zergeyev was on his right and Longstaff at his left, Shevaun beside the archduke and Mary Sinclair beside Longstaff, Glessing close in attendance next to her. At the same table were Horatio, Aristotle, Manoelita and the admiral. Then Brock and Liza and Jeff Cooper. Robb and Culum were hosts at tables of their own.
Struan glanced at Aristotle and wondered how he had managed to persuade Vargas to allow Manoelita to be Aristotle’s dinner partner. Great God, he thought, is Manoelita the one who’s posing for the picture?
“The Kankana,” Longstaff was saying, “ ’Pon me word. A devilish, dangerous gamble, Tai-Pan.”
“Na for so many modern people, Excellency. Everyone seemed to enjoy it vastly.”
“But if Miss Tillman hadn’t taken the initiative,” Zergeyev said, “I doubt if one of us would have had the courage.”
“What else could a body do, Your Highness?” Shevaun said. “Honor was at stake.” She turned to Struan. “That was a very naughty thing to do, Tai-Pan.”
“Aye,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me a moment, I have to see my guests are taken care of.”
He walked among the tables, greeting everyone. When he came to Culum’s table, there was a slight hush and Culum looked up. “Hello,” he said.
“Is everything all right, Culum?”
“Yes, thank you.” Culum was perfectly polite but there was no warmth. Gorth, who was sitting opposite Tess at Culum’s table, laughed inside. Struan walked away.
When dinner was over, the ladies retired to the large tent that had been set aside for them. The men grouped at the tables and smoked and sipped port, delighted to be alone for a while. They relaxed and talked about the rising sale price of spices, and Robb and Struan made profitable deals on spices and cargo space. Everyone decided Shevaun was the winner, but Aristotle did not seem convinced.
“If you don’t give her the prize,” Robb said, “she’ll kill you.”
“Ah, Robb, dear innocent!” Aristotle said. “You’re all transfixed by her tits—true, they’re impeccable—but the contest is for the best-dressed, not the most undressed!”
“But her dress is marvelous. The best, easily.”
“You poor man, you haven’t got a painter’s eye—or the responsibility of an immortal choice.”
So the odds lengthened on Shevaun. Mary was favored. Manoelita had her backers.
“Whom do you favor, Culum?” Horatio asked.
“Miss Sinclair, of course,” Culum said gallantly, though as far as he was concerned there was only one lady worthy of the honor.
“You’re very kind,” Horatio said. He turned away as Mauss called to him. “Excuse me a moment.”
Culum sat at one of the tables, content to be alone with his thoughts. Tess Brock. What a lovely name! How beautiful she was! What a lovely lady. He saw Gorth bearing down on him.
“A word in your ear, Struan?” Gorth said.
“Of course. Won’t you sit down?” Culum tried to cover his unease.
“Thankee.” Gorth sat. He put his huge hands on the table. “Best I be blunt. That’s the only way I know how. It be about your da’ and mine. They be enemies and that be fact. Nout we can do about that’n, you’n me. But just ’cause they be enemies, baint necessary for us’n to do likewise. Least that be my thort. China’s big enough for you and me. Least, that be my thort. I’m mortal sick of they two acting stupid. Like over the knoll—why each’ll risk the house at the drop of a topper over
face. If we baint careful, we’ll be drug down into enmity, you an’ me, without having anything to hate about. What do you say? Let’s us’n judge for ourselves. What my da’ thinks or your da’ thinks—well, that be their own affair. Let’s you and me start fair. Open. Maybe we could be friends, who knows? But I think it be unchristian for us’n to hate just because of our da’. What do you say?”