Be logical, he told himself. Phillip’s more Chinese than European. Deal with him as a Chinese! Where’s the link? The missing part of the jigsaw?
While he was trying to work out the problem, his eyes bored into the old man. He waited, knowing that silence too was a vast weapon, in defense or attack. What’s the answer? Phillip would never tell John anything that secret, therefore …
“Jesus Christ!” he burst out at the sudden thought. “You’ve been keeping records! Private records! That’s how John found out! From your safe! Eh?”
Petrified by the tai-pan’s devil rage, Phillip blurted out before he could stop himself, “Yes … yes … I had to agree …” He stopped, fighting for control.
“Had to? Why? Come on goddamnit!”
“Because … because my father, before he … he passed the House over to me and the coin to me … made me swear to keep … to record the private dealings of … of the Noble House to protect the House of Chen. It was just that, tai-pan, never to use against you or the House, just a protection.…”
Dunross stared at him, hating him, hating John Chen for selling Struan’s out, hating his mentor Chen-chen for the first time in his life, sick with rage at so many betrayals. Then he remembered one of Chenchen’s admonitions years ago when Dunross was almost weeping with anger at the unfair way his father and Alastair were treating him: “Don’t get angry, young Ian, get even. I told Culum the same thing, and the Hag when they were equally young—Culum never listened but the Hag did. That’s the civilized way: Don’t get angry, get even! “So Bartlett has our structure, our balance sheets. What else’s he got?”
Phillip Chen just shivered and stared back blankly.
“Come on for chrissake, Phillip, think! We’ve all got skeletons, a lot of skeletons! So’ve you, the Hag, Chen-chen, Shitee T’Chung, Dianne … for chrissake, how much more’s documented that John could have passed over?” A wave of nausea went through him as he remembered his theory about the connection between Banastasio, Bartlett, Par-Con, the Mafia and the guns. Christ, if our secrets get into the wrong hands! “Eh?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know … What, what did Bartlett ask? For the coin?” Then Phillip cried out, “It’s mine, it belongs to me!”
He saw the uncontrollable trembling of Phillip’s hands and a sudden tinge of gray in his face. There was brandy and whiskey in decanters on the sideboard and Dunross fetched some brandy and gave it to him. Gratefully the old man drank, choking a little. “Than … thank you.”
“Go home and fetch everything and th—” Dunross stopped and stabbed an intercom button. “Andrew?”
“Yes, tai-pan?” Gavallan said.
“Would you come up a second? I want you to go home with Phillip, he’s not feeling too well and there’re some papers to bring back.”
“On my way.”
Dunross’s eyes had never left Phillip’s.
“Tai-pan, what did, did Bar—”
“Stay away from them on your life! And give Andrew everything—John’s letters, Bartlett’s letters, everything,” he said, his voice chilling.
“Tai-pan …”
“Everything.” His head ached, he had so much rage in him. He was going to add, I’ll decide about you and the House of Chen over the weekend. But he did not say it. “Don’t get mad, get even” kept ringing in his ears.
Casey came in. Dunross met her halfway. She carried an umbrella and was again wearing her pale green dress that set off her hair and eyes perfectly. Dunross noticed the shadows behind her eyes. They made her somehow more desirable. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” His smile was warm but he enjoyed none of its warmth. He was still appalled over Phillip Chen.
Casey’s hand was cool and pleasant. “Thanks for seeing me,” she said. “I know you’re busy so I’ll come to the point.”
“First tea. Or would you like a drink?”
“No liquor thanks, but I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“No trouble, I’m going to have tea anyway. 4:40’s tea time.” As though by magic the door opened and a liveried houseboy brought in a silver tray with tea for two—with thin buttered toast and hot scones in a silver warmer. The man poured and left. The tea was dark brown and strong. “It’s Darjeeling, one of our House blends. We’ve been trading it since 1830,” he said sipping it gratefully, as always thanking the unknown genius Englishman who had invented afternoon tea, which, somehow, always seemed to settle the cares of the day and put the world into perspective. “I hope you like it.”
“It’s great, maybe a mite too strong for me. I had some around 2:00 A.M., and it certainly woke me up.”
“Oh? You still on jet lag?”
She shook her head and told him about Peter Marlowe.
“Oh! What bad joss!” He stabbed the intercom. “Claudia, call the Nathan Nursing Home and see how Mrs. Marlowe is. And send some flowers. Thanks.”
Casey frowned. “How’d you know she was at the Nathan?”
“Doc Tooley always uses that place in Kowloon.” He was watching her closely, astonished that she seemed so friendly when obviously Par-Con was trying to sabotage their deal. If she’s been up most of the night, that accounts for the shadows, he thought. Well, shadows or not, watch out, young lady, we shook on the deal. “Another cup?” he asked solicitously.
“No thanks, this’s fine.”
“I recommend the scones. We eat them like this: a big dollop of Devonshire clotted cream on top, a teaspoon of homemade strawberry jam in the center of the cream and … magic! Here!”
Reluctantly she took it. The scone was just bite-sized. It vanished. “Fantastic,” she gasped, wiping a touch of the cream off her mouth. “But all those calories! No, really, no more, thanks. I’ve done nothing but eat since I got here.”
“It doesn’t show.”
“It will.” He saw her smile back at him. She was sitting in one of the deep high-backed leather chairs, the tea table between them. Again she crossed her legs and Dunross thought once more that Gavallan had been right about her—that her Achilles’ heel was impatience. “May I start now?” she asked.
“You’re sure you don’t want some more tea?” he asked, deliberately to throw her off balance again.
“No thanks.”
“Then tea’s over. What’s cooking?”
Casey took a deep breath. “It seems that Struan’s is way out on a limb and about to go under.”
“Please don’t concern yourself about that. Struan’s really is in very fine shape.”
“You may be, tai-pan, but it doesn’t look that way to us. Or to outsiders. I’ve checked. Most everyone seems to think Gornt, and or the Victoria, will make the raid stick. It’s almost a general thumbs down. Now our deal’s—”
“We have a deal till Tuesday. That’s what we agreed,” he said, his voice sharpening. “Do I understand you want to renege or change it?”
“No. But in the present state you’re in, it’d be crazy and bad business to proceed. So we’ve two alternatives: It’s either Rothwell-Gornt, or we’ve to help you with some kind of bail-out operation.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. I’ve a plan, a partial plan for how you could maybe extricate yourself and make us all a fortune. Okay? You’re the best for us—long-term.”
“Thank you,” he said, not believing her, all attention, well aware that any concession she offered was going to be prohibitively expensive.
“Try this on for size. Our bankers are the First Central New York—the hated bank here. They want back into Hong Kong so much it hurts, but they’ll never get a new charter, right?”
Dunross’s interest peaked at this new thought. “So?”
“So recently they bought a small foreign bank with branches in Tokyo, Singapore, Bangkok and Hong Kong: the Royal Belgium and Far East Bank. It’s a tiny, nothing bank and they paid 3 million for everything. First Central has asked us to put our funds through the Royal Belgium if our deal goes through. Last night I met with Dave Murtagh who’s in cha
rge of Royal Belgium and he was moaning and groaning how bad business was, how they’re squeezed out of everything by the Establishment here and though they’ve got the huge dollar resources of First Central behind them, almost nobody’ll open accounts and deposit Hong Kong dollars which they need to make loans. You know about the bank?”
“Yes,” he said, not understanding what she was leading to, “but I didn’t realize the First Central was behind them. I don’t think that’s common knowledge. When was it bought out?”
“A couple of months ago. Now, what if the Royal Belgium would advance you Monday 120 percent of the purchase price of the two Toda ships?”
Dunross gaped at her, caught off guard. “Secured by what?”
“The ships.”
“Impossible! No bank’d do that!”
“The 100 percent is for Toda, the 20 percent to cover all carrying charges, insurances and the first months of operation.”
“With no cash flow, no charterer set?” he asked incredulously.
“Could you charter them in sixty days to give you a cash flow to sustain a reasonable repayment schedule?”
“Easily.” Jesus Christ, if I can pay Toda at once I can slam my lease-back scheme into operation with the first two ships, without having to wait. He held on to his hope, wondering what the cost, the real cost would be. “Is this a theory or will they really do it?”
“They might.”
“In return for what?”
“In return for Struan’s depositing 50 percent of all foreign exchange for a five-year period; a promise you’d keep average cash deposits with them of between 5 and 7 million Hong Kong dollars—one and one half million U.S. dollars’ worth; that you’d use the bank as your second Hong Kong bank and the First Central as your prime lending American bank outside of Hong Kong for a five-year period. What do you say?”
It took all his training not to bellow with joy. “Is this a firm offer?”
“I think it is, tai-pan. I’m a bit out of my depth—I’ve never been into ships but 120 percent seemed fantastic and the other terms okay. I didn’t know how far I should go negotiating terms but I told him he’d better make it all fair or he’d never get to first base.”
An ice shaft went into his guts. “The local man would never have the authority to make such an offer.”
“That was Murtagh’s next point, but he said we’ve the weekend and if you’ll go for the scheme he’ll get on the wire.”
Dunross sat back, nonplussed. He put aside three vital questions and said, “Let’s hold this for the moment. What’s your part in all this?”
“In a minute. There’s another wrinkle to his offer. I think he’s bananas but Murtagh said he’d try to persuade the brass to put up a revolving $50 million U.S. against the value of the unissued shares you got in your treasury. So you’re home free. If.”
Dunross felt the sweat break out on his back and on his forehead, well aware what a tremendous gamble that would be, however big the bank. With effort he put his brain to work. With the ships paid for and that revolving fund, he could fight off Gornt and smash his attack. And with Gornt bottled, Orlin’d come back meekly because he’d always been a good customer—and wasn’t First Central part of the Orlin Merchant Bank consortium? “What about our deal?”
“That stays as is. You announce at the best time for both of us, for you and for Par-Con as we agreed. If, and it’s a big if, if First Central’ll go for the gamble, you and we could make a killing, a real killing by buying Struan at 9.50 Monday morning—it has to go back up to 28, maybe to 30, doesn’t it? The only part I can’t figure is how to deal with the bank runs.”
Dunross took out his handkerchief and unashamedly wiped his forehead. Then he got up and poured two brandy and sodas. He gave her one and sat back in his chair again, his mind amok, one moment blank, the next crammed with happiness, instantly to be agitated and hurting with all the hope and fear, the questions, answers, plans and counterplans.
Christallbloodymighty, he thought, trying to calm himself.
The brandy tasted good. The warming bite was very good. He noticed she only sipped hers then set it down and watched him. When his brain had cleared and he was ready, he looked at her. “All this in return for what?”
“You’ll have to set the parameters with the Royal Belgium—that’s up to you. I don’t know accurately enough your net cash flow. Interest charges’ll be steep, but worth it to get out from under. You’ll have to put up your personal guarantee for every cent.”
“Christ!”
“Yes. Plus face.” He heard her voice harden. “It’ll cost you face to be dealing with the ‘yellow bastards.’ Wasn’t that what Lady Joanna called the First Central people with her big fat sneer and ‘But what do you expect, they’re …’ I guess she meant Americans.” He saw Casey’s eyes flatten and his danger signals came up. “That’s some old bitch, that one.”
“She’s not really,” he said. “She’s a bit caustic, and rough, but all right usually. She is anti-American, sorry to say, paranoid I suppose. You see, her husband, Sir Richard, was killed at Monte Cassino in Italy by American bombs, their aircraft mistaking British troops for Nazis.”
“Oh,” Casey said. “Oh I see.”
“What does Par-Con want? And what do you and Linc Bartlett want?”
She hesitated, then put Lady Joanna aside for a moment, concentrating again. “Par-Con wants a long-term deal with Struan’s—as ‘Old Friends.’” He saw the strange smile. “I’ve discovered what Old Friend means, Chinese style, and that’s what I want for Par-Con. Old Friend status as and from the moment the Royal Belgium delivers.”
“Next?”
“Is that a yes?”
“I’d like to know all the terms before I agree to one.”
She sipped the brandy. “Linc wants nothing. He doesn’t know about all this.”
“I beg your pardon?” Again Dunross was caught off balance.
“Linc doesn’t know about the Royal Belgium yet,” she said, her voice ordinary. “I brainstormed all this with Dave Murtagh today. I don’t know if I’m doing you much of a favor because your … because you’ll be on the line, you personally. But it could get Struan’s off the hook. Then our deal can work.”
“Don’t you think you should consult with your fearless leader?” Dunross said, trying to work out the implications of this unexpected tack.
“I’m executive director and Struan’s is my deal. It costs us nothing but our influence to get you out of your trap and that’s what influence’s for. I want our deal to go through and I don’t want Gornt the winner.”
“Why?”
“I told you. You’re the best for us long-term.”
“And you, Ciranoush? What do you want? In return for using your influence?”
Her eyes seemed to flatten even more and become more hazel, like a lioness’s. “Equality. I want to be treated as an equal, not patronized or scoffed at as a woman who’s in business on the coattails of a man. I want equality with the tai-pan of the Noble House. And I want you to help me get my drop dead money—apart from anything to do with Par-Con.”
“The second’s easy, if you’re prepared to gamble. As to the first, I’ve never patronized or sloughed you o—”
“Gavallan did, and the others.”
“… off, and I never will. As to the others, if they don’t treat you as you like, then leave the conference table and leave the battleground. Don’t force your presence on them. I can’t make you equal. You’re not and you never will be. You’re a woman and like it or not this’s a man’s world. Particularly in Hong Kong. And while I’m alive I’m going to continue to treat it as it is and treat a woman as a woman whoever the hell she is.”
“Then screw you!”
“When?” He beamed.
Her sudden laugh joined his and the tension fled. “I deserved that,” she said. Another laugh. “I really deserved that. Sorry. Guess I lost ass.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She
explained her version of face. He laughed again. “You didn’t. You gained arse.”
After a pause she said, “So whatever I do, I can never have equality?”
“Not in business, not on masculine terms, not if you want to be of this world. As I said, like it or not, that’s the way it is. And I think you’re wrong to try to change it. The Hag was undisputedly more powerful than anyone in Asia. And she got there as a woman, not as a neuter.”
Her hand reached out and lifted her brandy and he saw the swell of her breast against the light silk blouse. “How the hell can we treat someone as attractive and smart as you as a non-person? Be fair!”
“I’m not asking for fairness, tai-pan, just equality.”
“Be content you’re a woman.”
“Oh I am. I really am.” Her voice became bitter. “I just don’t want to be classed as someone whose only real value is on her back.” She took a last sip and got up. “So you’ll take it from here? With the Royal Belgium? David Murtagh’s expecting a call. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try, isn’t it? Maybe you could go see him, instead of sending for him—face, huh? He’ll need all the support you can give him.”
Dunross had not got up. “Please sit down a second, if you’ve time. There’re still a couple of things.”
“Of course. I didn’t want to take any more of your time.”
“First, what’s the problem with your Mr. Steigler?”
“What do you mean?”
He told her what Dawson had related.
“Son of a bitch!” she said, obviously irritated. “I told him to get the papers drawn, that’s all. I’ll take care of him. Lawyers always think they’ve the right to negotiate, ‘to improve the deal’ is the way they put it, trying to put you down, I guess. I’ve lost more deals because of them than you can imagine. Seymour’s not as bad as some. Attorneys’re the plague of the United States. Linc thinks so too.”
“What about Linc?” he asked, remembering the 2 million he had advanced to Gornt to attack their stock. “Is he going to be 100 percent behind this new twist?”
“Yes,” she said after a pause. “Yes.”
Noble House Page 110
