“Morning, Your Excellency,” Aristotle said, his voice barely audible, his eyes on the deck of the cabin.
“Good day to you, Tai-Pan,” Maureen said. “There’ll be a settlin’ of yor bill with the grace of St. Patrick himself, in a few days.”
“There’s nae hurry. Morning, Aristotle.”
Aristotle Quance slowly looked up at Struan. His eyes filled with tears as he read the warmth on Struan’s face. “She broke all my brushes, Dirk,” he choked out. “This morning. All of them. And my—she threw my paints in the sea.”
“It’s about that we’re acoming to see you, Yor Excellency,” Maureen said thickly. “Mr. Quance’s decided to give up all that painting folderol at long last. He wants to settle down to a nice steady job. And it’s about a job we’ve come to see Yor Excellency.” She looked back at her husband and her face wearied. “Anything at all. So long as it’s steady and pays a fair wage.” She turned back to Longstaff. “A nice clerking job, perhaps. Poor Mr. Quance hasn’t much experience.”
“Is, er, that what you want, Aristotle?”
“She broke my brushes,” Quance said hopelessly. “That’s all I had. My paints and brushes.”
“We agreed, me foin boy, didn’t we now? By all that’s holy? Eh? No more painting. A nice steady job and stand up to yor responsibilities to yor family, and no more galavanting.”
“Yes,” Aristotle said numbly.
“I’d be glad to offer a post, Mrs. Quance,” Struan broke in. “I need a clerk. Pay’s fifteen shillings a week. I’ll throw in your lodgings on the hulk for one year. After that you’re on your own.”
“May the saints preserve you, Tai-Pan. Done. Now thank the Tai-Pan,” Maureen said.
“Thank you, Tai-Pan.”
“Be at the office at seven o’clock tomorrow morning, Aristotle. Sharp, now.”
“He’ll be there, Tai-Pan, don’t you be after worrying. May the blessings of St. Peter be on you in these troubled times for looking after a poor wife and her starving children. Good day to you both.”
They left. Longstaff poured himself a stiff drink. “Good God. I’d never’ve believed it. Poor, poor Aristotle. You’re really going to make Aristotle Quance a clerk?”
“Aye. Better me than some other. I’m shorthanded.” Struan put on his hat, very satisfied with himself. “I’m na one to interfere twixt husband and wife. But anyone who’d do that to old Aristotle’s nae right to the title ‘wife,’ by God!”
Longstaff smiled suddenly. “I’ll detach a capital ship if it’ll help. The total resources of Her Majesty’s Government are at your disposal.”
Struan hurried ashore. He hailed a closed sedan chair and directed the coolies.
“Wait-ah, savvy?” he said as it arrived at its destination.
“Savvy, Mass’er.”
He walked past the surprised doorman into the parlor of the house. The room was carpeted—large sofas, chintz curtains, mirrors and bric-a-brac. There was a rustle from the back and then approaching footsteps. A small old lady came through the bead curtains. She was neat and starched and gray-haired, with big eyes and spectacles.
“Hello, Mrs. Fortheringill,” Struan said politely.
“Well, Tai-Pan, how nice to see you,” she said. “We haven’t had the pleasure of your company in many a long year. It’s a little early for callers, but the young ladies are making themselves presentable.” She smiled and revealed her yellowed false teeth.
“Well, you see, Mrs. Fortheringill—”
“I quite understand, Tai-Pan,” she said knowingly. “There comes a time in every man’s life when he—”
“It’s about a friend of mine.”
“Don’t you worry, Tai-Pan, mum’s the word in this establishment. No need to worry. We’ll have you fixed in a jiffy.” She got up hastily. “Girls!” she called out.
“Sit down and listen to me! It’s about Aristotle!”
“Oh! That poor bleeder’s got himself in a proper mess.”
Struan told her what he wanted, and the girls were sad for him to leave.
As soon as he got home, May-may said, “Wat for you go whorehouse, heya?”
He sighed, and told her.
“You think I believe that, heya?” Her eyes were spiteful.
“Aye. You’d better.”
“I believe you, Tai-Pan.”
“Then stop looking like a dragon!” He went into his room.
“Good,” May-may said as she closed the door behind them. “Now we see if you telled truth. We make love at once. I’m madly desiring you, Tai-Pan.”
“Thank you, but I’m busy,” he said, finding it difficult to keep from laughing.
“Ayee yah on your busy,” she said, beginning to unbutton her honeycolored pajamas. “We make love immediate. I soon see if some mealymouthed whore’s took your strength, by God. And then your old mother’ll deal with you, by God.”
“You’re busy too,” Struan said.
“I’m very busy.” She stepped out of her silk trousers. Her earrings jingled like bells. “And you better have busy plenty very quick.”
He studied her and allowed none of his happiness to show. Her stomach was curved nicely with the child four months in her womb. He took her quickly in his arms and kissed her violently and lay on the bed and let his weight crush her a little.
“Be careful, Tai-Pan,” she said breathlessly, “I’m na one of your busom-boned barbarian giants! Kissing does na prove nothing. Off with clotheses, then we see for truth!”
He kissed her again. Then she said in a different voice, “Take off clotheses.”
He leaned on his elbows and looked down at her, then rubbed his nose against hers, no longer teasing. “There’s nae time now. I’ve got to go to an engagement party and you’ve got to pack.”
“Wat for pack?” she asked startled.
“You’re moving to
Resting Cloud.”
“Why?”
“Our feng shui’s bad here, lassie.”
“Oh good, oh very terrifical good!” She flung her arms around him. “Truly go from here? For always?”
“Aye.”
She kissed him and quickly slid from under his arms and began to dress.
“I thought you wanted to make love,” he said.
“Huh! Wat for is that proof? I know you too much. Even if you had whore one hour past you’re bull enough to pretend and pull cotton over eyes of your poor old mother.” She laughed and flung her arms around him again. “Oh, good to leave bad feng shui. I pack hurriedly.”
She ran for the door, and shrieked, “Ah Sam-ahhhh!” Ah Sam hurried up anxiously, followed by Lim Din, and after a tumult of shouting and jabbering Ah Sam and Lim Din scurried away, beseeching the gods in vast, noisy excitement. May-may came back and sat on the bed and fanned herself. “I’m packing,” she said cheerfully. “Now I help you dress.”
“Thank you, but I’m capable of doing that.”
“Then I will watch. And scrub your back. The bath is waiting. I am very gracious glad you decided to leave.” She chattered on exuberantly as he changed. He bathed and she shrieked for hot towels, and when they were brought, she dried his back. And all the time she was wondering if he had had a whore after he had arranged about the funny little artist who had painted her portrait so beautifully. Not that I mind, she told herself, rubbing him vigorously. It’s just that he shouldn’t go into one of those places. Absolutely not. Very bad for his face. And very bad for my face. Very bad. Soon those dirty dogmeat servants will begin spreading rumors that I can’t take care of my man. Oh gods, protect me from dirty gossips, and him from dirty doxies of all kinds.