The Adventurers

by Harold Robbins

  “I won’t come down for lunch. I’ll pretend to be sick in the morning.”

  “What time?”

  “After lunch, as soon as he leaves for the bank.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry.”

  He looked down at her. “I am too.”

  She started to speak, then changed her mind. She turned and went into the house. He watched her walk up the grand staircase and then turned back toward the harbor. Slowly the sun disappeared behind the mountain and it was night. And still he stood there.

  ***

  She looked at her watch. It was almost two thirty. She had heard the big limousine go down the driveway over half an hour ago. Why hadn’t Sergei come for her yet? Then there was a soft knock at the door. Quickly she moved toward it.

  “What took you so long?” she asked, then the words stopped in her throat.

  It wasn’t Sergei who stood there.

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course,” she said. She moved back from the door to the center of the room. “Sergei told you?”

  He closed the door behind him. “Yes.”

  He saw the tears in her eyes when he turned. “I suppose there’s no use in my telling you that I’m sorry.”

  His eyes met hers steadily. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. We will have a beautiful son.”

  ***

  Sergei sat in the train later that afternoon looking out the window at the countryside rolling past. There were times when he could see far out into the Mediterranean from the corniche along which the tracks were laid. At other times the mountains hovered over the train like twin guardians.

  He looked down at the newspaper on his lap without really seeing it. He had done the right thing. He knew that. And it wasn’t only the hundred thousand francs that Sir Peter had given him which made him feel that way. It was the look in the old man’s eye when he had told him.

  It wasn’t that he had been brought to have an affair with her. It was more than that. He had been brought to do what the old man could never do, and now it was done.

  A wry grin crossed his lips. Not bad. A hundred thousand francs in stud fees wasn’t bad at all. That was the way to do it.

  It was better than working for a living.

  17

  “The first thing we have to do is buy you a few Chinese girls.” The language was French, but with a heavily guttural Greek accent.

  Christopoulos’ nephew was nothing like Marcel had imagined him to be. He was short but slim, and darkly good looking. His suits were immaculately tailored, in many ways superior to anything Marcel had seen in Europe.

  “Stay away from the refugees,” Eli continued, “the white women will only get you into trouble. If you don’t wind up with a clap, you’ll end up in a worse mess with the police. They’re always involved in one sort of plot or another.”

  Marcel found his voice. “What do I need any woman for? I can get along without them.”

  The dark eyes considered him shrewdly. “That’s what you think. You haven’t met the sort of women we have out here. They keep grabbing for your cock until they get it.” He lit a cigarette. “Besides, the Chinese are a strange race. They won’t accept you until they see you have accepted them.”

  “And buying Chinese girls will indicate this?”

  Eli nodded. “Yes, and even more. It will show that you intend to stay here. Whether you do or not is immaterial. Once you buy a girl you are always responsible for her; therefore, even if you should go away you will still be here. Understand?”

  Marcel nodded. It was odd but he understood.

  “The next thing is to get you some decent clothes.”

  “What’s the matter with my clothes? I had them all made just before I left Paris.”

  “They’re too European,” Eli said. “Only the refugees here wear European clothing. Besides, the French are the worst men’s tailors in the world. There are proper tailors in Hong Kong.”

  “Oh, no!” Marcel groaned. The overnight trip on the ancient rolling ship from Hong Kong had been the worst part of the journey out from Paris. “I won’t go back there.”

  Eli grinned. “You won’t have to. My tailor will come here for the fittings.”

  “But what will I do with all the clothes I already bought?”

  “Give them away,” the young Greek replied negligently. “Perhaps some Chinese will accept them in trade, possibly for a house girl. But you won’t get anything much for them.” He got to his feet. “Come. My apartment is in the building behind the casino.”

  “I’d like to take a look around first if I may.”

  “Not until you have the proper clothing,” Eli replied firmly. “God alone knows how much face you have already lost walking through the casino carrying your own luggage!”

  He clapped his hands sharply and a servant came in for Marcel’s bags. “We can’t even go shopping for girls until after you get your clothing. No respectable Chinese would sell his daughter to a man dressed like you!”

  ***

  Her name was Jade Lotus. She was fourteen years old and delicately made. Her skin was the color of rose ivory, her eyes large and dark, and her face delicately oval, not round like most Chinese girls. And she walked as gracefully and lightly on her feet as if they had not been bound at all. Marcel could tell with one glance that she was not like the others.

  He looked at her father. The old man was sitting quietly, sipping his tea. Marcel turned to Eli. He too was silent. He sipped at the tea.

  After a moment he spoke. It was in Cantonese, a language Marcel did not understand. “Your tea has the fragrance of a thousand flowers, Honorable Tao.”

  “It is but a poor attempt to please the palates of my honorable guests,” the old man replied softly.

  “I have your permission to speak in French? It is the language of my friend here.”

  “Of course.” Tao Minh bowed graciously. He looked over at Marcel. “French is a language of which I am most fond. It has a music very much like our own.”

  Marcel could not help his look of surprise but he remembered to be polite. “I thank you for your indulgence of my ignorance.”

  The old man nodded graciously. He picked up a small mallet from the table and struck a tiny gong. Before its musical tone had faded his tea had been taken away and a long slim pipe placed next to him. He held the thin bowl over a small candle in a glass in the center of the table. After a moment he inverted the bowl so the flame could lick into it. Then he put the stem delicately into his mouth.

  Marcel stared at him in fascination. Neither of the men he had bought the first two girls from was like this one. By contrast they seemed common, even vulgar.

  “What you need is a girl of high caste,” Eli had explained to him. “One of good manners and breeding who will act as your hostess, your number-one wife. It is she who will entertain your friends and run your household. It is she who will maintain your ‘face.’”

  “Let’s get one then.” Marcel was tired of the delays—first the clothing, now the girls. He was beginning to feel he would never be allowed into the casino.

  “It’s not that easy,” Eli said. “There are not many such girls around. Usually the wealthy Chinese want them for themselves.”

  “What am I supposed to do then? Wait forever until we find one?”

  “Take it easy, my friend, this is the Orient, not France. Things are not done as quickly here as at home. But do not give up hope. There is one girl I have heard of who might fill the requirements but—”

  “But what?” Marcel interrupted impatiently. “Let’s get her and have it over with!”

  “Not so fast. There must be something wrong with the girl. She is old and not yet chosen. I have asked my agents to investigate.”

  “Old?” Marcel had asked. “How old?”

  “Past fourteen.”

  Marcel stared at him. “You call that old?”

  Eli met his eyes. “It is old in a country where the most eligible are married at eight
or ten.”

  Finally the agents brought back a satisfactory report. Jade Lotus was very beautiful, well educated, and highly trained. She had a lovely singing voice and could play several instruments, including the small lyre of which the Chinese are so fond. It took a great deal of questioning on Eli’s part to find out why she had not yet been married, but at last the flaw was revealed.

  Jade Lotus walked like a Western woman. It was as if her feet had never been bound. Her father had called in specialist after specialist but there was nothing they could do. He had all but resigned himself to having her forever in his house.

  Now the old man nodded benevolently at Marcel. “The fragrance of the poppy is most relaxing after tea.”

  Marcel wondered at a civilization that allowed one quietly to smoke a pipeful of opium after tea and still persisted in binding a girl child’s feet despite all the laws that had been passed against it.

  Apparently it was time for the bargaining to commence. “My friend has come here to establish a home.”

  The old man nodded. “May the gods of fortune attend him.”

  “He is a man of great standing in the Western world.”

  “I am honored that he enters my house.”

  “He seeks a number-one wife,” Eli continued, “someone with whom he can share his old age and blessings.”

  “Many Westerners have so proclaimed,” the old man replied, “but in time they all returned to their own land leaving empty homes and broken hearts behind.”

  Marcel felt his heart sink. This old man was on to him. He looked at Eli.

  But Eli was ready with an answer. “My friend is willing to take insurance against such a day, though he knows it will never occur.”

  Tao drew at his pipe and nodded. “I have come to depend on Jade Lotus,” he said. “She is by far the brightest and most beautiful of all my daughters.”

  “She is also the eldest, almost beyond the age of a favorable marriage.”

  “Only because I have been most careful in the selection of a husband for her. So fair a flower demands a most particular garden.”

  “Over caution has placed many a girl in the gardens on the other side of the hill,” Eli replied.

  They all knew what that meant. Older girls were often sold to brothels on the far side of the port. Tao’s expression did not change as he looked at Marcel. “How is one to judge the sincerity of another’s affection?”

  “My friend offers one thousand dollars Hong Kong as a token of his sincerity.”

  The Chinese made a casual gesture with his pipe. “A mere nothing compared with the esteem in which I hold Jade Lotus.”

  Marcel looked up in surprise as Eli got to his feet. “We thank the Honorable Tao for his gracious hospitality and beg a thousand pardons for daring to intrude upon his valuable time.”

  Tao was upset at this sudden termination of negotiations. In spite of himself words came from his lips. “Just a moment, just a moment. Why are all Westerners always in such a hurry?”

  From behind the large screen Jade Lotus watched and smiled to herself as Eli sat down and the bargaining began again. She had noticed that the one who bought her had not got up when his friend did.

  ***

  The next day a heavyset Portuguese policeman sat in the chair in front of Eli’s desk. He took out a handkerchief and mopped his face. “It has been brought to our attention that your friend has been buying wives.” He glanced at Marcel. “You are aware that there are laws against such practices?”

  Eli grinned. “Is it against the law for a man to hire servants for his house?”

  The policeman smiled. “No, of course not.” He looked again at Marcel. “But I thought this might be a good opportunity to meet your friend.”

  Eli introduced them. “Detective Lieutenant Goa keeps an eye out for us in case there should be trouble.”

  The two men shook hands.

  “Once every month he gets an envelope containing ten thousand Hong Kong dollars. No one has yet been able to figure out where it comes from.”

  The policeman grinned. “There are always two extra men on duty outside each night.”

  Marcel looked at Eli. “Has there ever been trouble?”

  Eli shook his head. “Not in the years I’ve been here.”

  Marcel turned back to the policeman. “Perhaps one policeman outside would be sufficient,” he said with a smile. “That way your overhead could be cut in half.”

  The policeman’s hearty laughter boomed through the room. “I think your friend and I will get along. I hear he hired old Tao’s Jade Lotus as his housekeeper, the lucky dog. I had an eye on that one myself. But I was waiting until the price came down to where I could afford her.”

  ***

  The fan-tan players at the big table looked up as Marcel and Eli walked through the casino. “The new owner,” one of them said.

  Another nodded his head. “One can see he is a man of great wealth and stature from his clothing. He is very British.”

  What he really meant was that Marcel was fair and had brown hair, not like Eli, who was dark.

  “Only a man of great wealth could open his house by the purchase of four wives in one week!” a third player said.

  “Yes,” added the first, “and one of them Tao’s daughter Jade Lotus, as number-one wife. You know old Tao. I’ll bet he made the Westerner pay plenty even though her feet are not right.”

  “Begin the game,” another said impatiently. “Everyone knows that Westerners are stupid about such things.”

  18

  The smell of the old city was overpowering as Marcel turned into the narrow street. Here there was no chance for it to escape. The buildings kept the street in perpetual shadow and there was barely enough room for a ricksha to squeeze through, much less an automobile.

  Marcel turned and looked down the street. At the end were the docks. The faint calls of the fishmongers echoed up the winding street and everywhere was the stench of the unsold catch that lay rotting on the wharfs. The beggars waited hungrily for the fishermen to turn their backs.

  A boy pulled at Marcel’s arm. The boy was small, he seemed no more than eight, but his eyes were already old. “Poontang, missuh?”

  Marcel shook his head.

  “Velly clean. Westin style. Oriental. Young, any way you like.”

  Again Marcel shook his head.

  The lad was not easily discouraged. “Eight year old? Five?” He paused. “Boys? You like boys? Velly tlicky.”

  Marcel didn’t bother to answer. He pushed open the door of the house before which he stood, and entered. The heavy odor of incense, intended to hide the aroma of opium, grabbed at his nostrils. He resisted the impulse to sneeze as the young Chinese came toward him.

  Behind the closed outer door Marcel heard the boy’s voice from the street. “Plick!”

  The young Chinese made a face. “I don’t know what’s happening to the children nowadays. They have no respect for their elders. I apologize a thousand times.”

  Marcel smiled. “It does not matter, Kuo Minh. The tree is no longer responsible for the fruit once it falls upon the ground.”

  Kuo Minh bowed. “You are most understanding. My father and my uncles are waiting upstairs.”

  They climbed the rickety steps to the top floor of the building. Though he had come this way many times now, Marcel always paused in wonder at the change between this floor and the others. Suddenly the halls were intricately inlaid in fruitwood and teak, and the doors were of richly burnished ebony with ivory trim. Kuo Minh opened one and stood back to allow him to enter.

  A lovely young girl in classic silks came forward and knelt at his feet to remove his shoes and put on native slippers. When she disappeared Marcel followed the young man into the next room.

  There the four men seated at the small table rose and bowed. He returned their greeting and accepted an invitation from Kuo Minh’s father to be seated. Almost instantly another young girl brought tea.

  The four men wai
ted politely until their guest had refreshed himself. Then as usual it was Kuo Minh’s father who did the talking. It wasn’t until after they had exchanged polite small talk about Marcel’s health and the health of his wives that he got down to business.

  “You have word for us about the guns?”

  “I have heard,” Marcel answered quietly.

  The old man glanced at the others, then back at Marcel. “Good. We have a quantity of poppy with which to pay.”

  Marcel allowed a look of regret to cross his face. “I am most reluctant to report that it is ships my client is interested in, not poppy.”

  Kuo Minh’s father sucked in his breath. “But you have always traded for poppy.”

  “I am told the market for poppy has fallen off. At any rate it is ships that my client wants.”

  They began to talk rapidly among themselves. Marcel did not even try to follow the conversation. They were speaking much too rapidly for his limited Chinese. Besides, it did not matter whether he understood. He knew what he wanted.

  It was more than a year now since he had arrived in Macao. And in that year he had become rich beyond all his dreams. Almost from the very first deal. It was the guns that had done it. That and the opium. All the warlords wanted guns. The only way they could get them into China was by smuggling them on the little fishing craft that plied the open seas between the mainland and Macao. And the only way they could pay was with poppy.

  But the Japanese had proved much shrewder than Marcel had anticipated. As much money as he had to make deals with, it was but a pittance compared to what they wanted for their ships. It was just about this time, when he had been casting about frantically for a way to increase his capital, that he had got onto the traffic in guns.

  It had begun when a man’s body had been found floating around the docks. Lieutenant Goa was sitting in Marcel’s office at the casino when the word was brought to him. He got to his feet, shaking his head. “We’ll never solve this one. He was one of Vorilov’s agents.”

  “Sir Peter Vorilov?”

  The policeman nodded. “He does a big business here.”