Connor seemed to be eavesdropping on the conversation behind him, which was being conducted in Chinese, but in quite a loud voice he asked Holly what personal information she required for her story.
Taken by surprise, since she’d already told him what she was after, it didn’t take a genius to work out that he was not actually listening to her. Right, you bastard, cop this.
‘. . . and so if we can wrap up the question of your sexual preferences with one or two saucy anecdotes we can then turn to your search for pirate treasure.’ She smiled at him sweetly.
He nodded absently. ‘Of course.’ But her words suddenly sank in. He blinked and shook his head as if to clear it. ‘Sorry?’
The expression on his face was one she would dearly have loved to photograph. Connor Maguire, stunned into silence and filled with incredulity. It was a very sweet moment. ‘Just testing.’
He swallowed hard. Both eyebrows were doing a little dance around his forehead. She had quite taken the wind out of his sails.
‘Tell me.’ She leaned towards him and lowered her voice. ‘How many languages do you speak?’
‘Not many.’
His eyes glittered with an emotion she couldn’t fathom – amusement, excitement, anger? She observed him closely. There was certainly more to this man than she’d first thought. She had the feeling that whatever lay beneath the surface was not reflected in the facade. He might claim to be in Mauritius for the reasons given but Holly was prepared to bet they weren’t the only ones.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked suddenly.
‘Not a lot. Probably that I hate that question.’
A dimple appeared. He passed her the menu without another word.
An argument seemed to be developing at the next table. Voices were raised and one of the men was gesticulating with both hands. Only Madame Liang remained calm and poised, her expressionless eyes unfathomable, a small smile on her face. Abruptly, the more agitated man rose, flung down his napkin and stalked quickly from the restaurant. With an apologetic shrug, his companion followed, leaving Madame Liang alone yet not noticeably moved by their sudden defection. She called for the bill, paid it, then walked leisurely from the restaurant.
Connor’s eyes followed her all the way to the street. As soon as she was out of sight, he said, ‘You must be wondering . . .’
‘Yes, I am. I’m filled to the brim with wonder.’
He gave a wry grin. ‘The Chinese are a tight-knit community on Mauritius. They run a lot of the businesses here and operate by a code of “you scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours”. Madame Liang’s family own supermarkets and wholesale operations all over the island. When you saw us together, we were discussing a possible joint venture in Australia. The reason we didn’t let on that we knew each other is really quite simple. She’s interested in branching out, acquiring business interests outside Mauritius. Her family is not exactly opposed to the idea but they would never deal with a Westerner. The two men with her were connected – uncles, I think. If any of her relatives discovered that she was negotiating with someone outside the Chinese club, well, you’ve heard of the Triad.’
‘The Chinese Mafia? Yes, of course.’ She wondered how long the farce would continue and was beginning to feel a, by now, familiar rise in her irritation level. What kind of a fool did he take her for?
Connor correctly read her scepticism. ‘I’m not joking. Some members of the Liang clan are quite ruthless. She’ll be threatened, or worse.’
Holly knew of the Triad’s reputation and wondered why, under the circumstances, Madame Liang openly flirted with danger. ‘Surely meeting you in public was taking a huge risk?’
‘Yes. Although sometimes it’s easier to conceal something when it’s right under the noses of those you wish to hide it from.’
‘Agreed. But if her devoted family knew about your lunchtime get-together wouldn’t they be suspicious that you pretended not to have met?’
‘They don’t know. If she thought they did, Madame Liang would have greeted me.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘I don’t do business with people until I’m confident that nothing nasty will creep out of the woodwork.’
Holly’s eyes narrowed. ‘That’s some network you’ve got behind you.’
He stared back unflinchingly. ‘Standard practice.’
She let it go. ‘What were they arguing about?’
‘As far as I could tell, distribution of profits.’
He was being evasive but she let that pass too. ‘If what you say is true, she’s running a hell of a risk going outside the family. What’s her reason?’
‘Who knows? She’s arrogant and ambitious. Perhaps she needs to prove something. She’s just been made a director of the Liangs’ parent company. Maybe she’s trying to impress.’
Holly recognised blatant lying when she heard it. She just couldn’t figure out why it was necessary. ‘There is a Swahili superstition in East Africa that if a person stands up and his clothes stick between his buttocks then he is in the habit of telling lies.’
Connor’s eyes twinkled. ‘Or he has a terrible tailor.’
She waited, but no explanation was forthcoming. All he said was, ‘If the waiter arrives while I’m gone I’ll have the sole. Excuse me.’ He stood up and walked towards the toilets. Holly noticed that his trousers fitted perfectly.
She sipped her beer, trying to mull over and make sense of their conversation, but her thoughts were in the men’s room. Connor Maguire was an enigma. A rich adventurer, a tough and clever businessman, and something else. Was he simply one of those people not satisfied unless dicing with danger? Or did he have a darker side? That talk of Triads. Was it to impress? Or warn her?
She beckoned the waiter and ordered for both of them. Then she went back to her musings.
The Chinese organisation had a ferocious reputation. The secrecy of the modus operandi of the Triad Society and the Mafia bore remarkable similarities. The Triads, formed two thousand years ago for the sole purpose of ridding China of the detested Manchu overlords, had, more recently, developed a minority criminal element. Branching into narcotics, protection rackets, gambling, prostitution and murder, small but organised gangs had brought disgrace to the very name Triad, tainting the reputation of all its members who were, in the main, honest, upright citizens. These fringe elements now operated wherever Chinese communities existed throughout the world.
The rapid rise of Triad power was due to the Chinese people themselves. Holly didn’t know a lot about it but remembered reading that an innate and thoroughly justified fear of retribution, expectation to pay for the slightest favour or service, and a tight-knit clan system all served to protect the identity of Triad members. In a population known as lao-pai-hsing – the Old Hundred Names – it was generally acknowledged that most Chinese were related one way or another. They would rather die by their own hand than turn against a family member, irrespective of how tenuous the connection.
Holly glanced at her watch. Connor had been gone for at least ten minutes. What on earth was he doing? After fifteen minutes she began to get annoyed. The waiter appeared with their food. Holly indicated that he should put it on the table.
‘I can keep the gentleman’s plate warm in the kitchen, Mademoiselle.’
‘Don’t bother. He’ll be here soon.’ And if he isn’t he can eat his bloody food cold.
The food was served but the waiter kept coming back and offering to keep Connor’s warm. Holly, now thoroughly put out, insisted he leave it where it was. When a full half-hour had passed, and she had finished her own meal, Holly called the hovering and indecisive waiter. ‘Did my friend leave?’
‘No, Mademoiselle.’
‘Please, would you check the toilet. Perhaps he is unwell.’
The waiter quickly returned. ‘No, Mademoiselle. There is no-one in the toilet.’
‘Is there a back door?’
‘Yes. It is through the kitchen. But no-one passed that way
.’
‘The toilet windows?’ Holly was feeling a little ridiculous.
‘They are barred.’ The waiter was eyeing her suspiciously. ‘Would Mademoiselle care for the bill?’
She nodded curtly. ‘And take this with you.’ If Connor Maguire reappeared he’d find his meal had, more than likely, been eaten by the staff. Served him right.
Holly paid and left the restaurant. She could not believe that Connor had walked off, just like that. What a rat! How dare he? Who the hell does he think he is? How did he leave?
The car had gone. She made her way along the street to where crowds of people gathered at the bus station, caught a bus to Curepipe, then another to Port Louis and finally, a third to Grand Baie. Only the last was an air-conditioned express. Both the others, despite their open windows, were hot and overcrowded and the wait between stages seemed interminable. Finally reaching the Merville Beach Hotel in a taxi, Holly was in a foul temper. She had a tension headache she could barely think around, and an overwhelming desire to plunge into the aquamarine waters of the Indian Ocean. Which was exactly what she did.
Forty minutes later, feeling somewhat more relaxed and refreshed, Holly returned to her room to find a message waiting light flashing on the telephone. She checked with reception, half-expecting more lies from Maguire but the message was from Raoul Dulac, with a number for her to get back to him. A woman answered. ‘Solange Dulac.’ The French accent was light but detectable.
‘This is Holly Jones. I’m returning Mr Dulac’s call.’
‘Miss Jones, I am Raoul’s wife. He’s had to go out. You’ve just missed him, unfortunately.’
Holly heard the rattle of ice cubes in a glass.
‘We are having a little lunch party on Sunday. Raoul and I would be delighted if you could join us.’
‘That’s very kind. Are you sure it’s no bother?’
Solange Dulac gave a tinkling laugh which sounded strangely forced. Ice cubes rattled again before she spoke. ‘Bother? Of course not.’
Her words were slightly slurred and Raoul’s wife sounded as if she couldn’t care less whether Holly came or not. She heard a man’s voice in the background, then Solange Dulac muttered, ‘One moment please,’ and Raoul came on the line. Holly wondered whether Solange had deliberately lied about Raoul not being there or if she’d made a genuine mistake.
‘Holly. Thank you for returning my call. Solange has mentioned our lunch? Good. Connor too.’
‘It’s very kind of you both.’
‘No trouble at all.’ He gave her complicated instructions on how to find the estate which, as far as Holly could establish from her scribbled notes, was somewhere in the middle of the island. ‘You can’t miss it,’ he concluded with more optimism than she felt. ‘We’ll expect you around midday.’
‘Thank you. I’m looking forward to it.’
‘Can I leave it to you to invite Connor?’
‘Of course.’ No point in telling him how the bastard did a runner from the restaurant and she had no idea where he was.
‘Fine. We’ll see you –’
Holly heard a loud crash and a woman scream.
Raoul said hurriedly, ‘Excuse me, see you Sunday,’ and broke the connection.
But not before Holly heard someone sobbing. She put the receiver down thoughtfully. Raoul Dulac was not the sort of man she would instinctively trust, there was something too flamboyant, too hale and hearty about him. Some sort of drama was taking place at his end of the line. Holly shrugged it off. It was nothing to do with her.
A little after seven thirty, as Holly was about to go for dinner, there was a discreet tap on her door. Madame Liang stood there, proud eyes defying Holly’s obvious surprise. ‘Madame Liang!’ She stepped back and the Chinese woman entered her room.
‘So, you know my name.’ She swept the room with a penetrating look. ‘Where is he?’
‘Who?’
‘Connor Maguire.’
Good question. ‘As you can see, he’s not here.’
Madame Liang’s acuminous inspection flicked almost insultingly over the baggy, bottle-green slacks and dark blue T-shirt, before returning to stare at Holly’s face. ‘Answer my question.’
Holly hadn’t been spoken to like that since her school days. ‘I have no idea.’
‘Why did you follow me today?’
Boardroom tactics seemed appropriate. ‘Why should I follow you?’
Long, red-painted nails tapped against the milky whiteness of her upper arm. Madame Liang took a deep breath as if to emphasise her intolerance of fools. ‘I’m referring to Maguire, not you.’
Holly could accept the arrogance – just. She’d seen it often in the rich and powerful. But she could not tolerate the contemptuous dismissal in the woman’s voice. ‘You’ll have to ask him that.’ She kept her voice even with an effort and was totally unprepared for Madame Liang’s next words.
‘What is the man doing?’ It came out as a desperate whisper, her composure suddenly gone. For a moment, she looked quite vulnerable, on the point of tears even. But she recovered rapidly and snapped, ‘Tell Maguire to stay away from me.’
‘I’m not his secretary, or yours,’ Holly snapped back. ‘Tell him yourself.’
Madame Liang remained unmoved by Holly’s tone. ‘I take it you’re a journalist. Who do you work for?’
‘Myself.’ Holly could see that the woman didn’t understand. ‘Freelance,’ she explained.
‘Ah!’ She turned slowly, as if deep in thought, and walked to the desk where Holly had set up her laptop computer. Still saying nothing, Madame Liang picked up the notepad and flicked it open.
Holly was more amused than anything else. The arrogance in this woman had probably been injected at birth. An infallible belief in the inherited right to act as she pleased. Another’s privacy might well be sacrosanct but the rules didn’t apply in her case. What must it be like to feel so exclusively superior?
The pad was tossed carelessly back on the desk. ‘Personal questions. Westerners!’ Madame Liang shook her head. ‘You cloud reality with the weakness of human emotions.’
Considering that it was Connor Maguire who had upset Liang Song’s equilibrium, Holly only just managed not to smile.
‘Who is this article for?’
There was no harm in telling her. ‘Out of Focus.’
Madame Liang looked relieved. ‘You cover his treasure hunt? The man’s a fool. There is no treasure. The whole island laughs at him.’
‘That’s his problem.’ She was getting sick of this haughty creature. ‘Why are you so concerned about Connor Maguire?’
Liang Song slowly crossed to where Holly leaned against the wall. ‘He does not understand our ways,’ she said softly, her beautiful face an expressionless mask. ‘If he makes trouble it will only be for himself. You too, if you are fool enough to associate with him.’
‘I don’t like being threatened, Madame Liang.’
‘Threatened?’ She seemed surprised. ‘It was no threat. I speak the truth.’
Holly wondered if she would know the truth if it bit her on a slender ankle. ‘I’m writing an article. If that unnerves you then you must have something to hide.’ She stared the Chinese woman down. ‘I wonder what that could be?’
The tiniest reaction registered in Liang Song’s eyes. Was it fear? It was gone in an instant and the woman smiled. ‘I refer to my family’s network of associates, built over the years from mutual respect, trust and our own unique culture. We do business differently from you. Maguire doesn’t understand. Some of my people could, ah . . . misinterpret.’
It was a measure of Madame Liang’s conceit that she expected such a flimsy explanation to be accepted. Holly, however, was not one to miss an opportunity. With the Chinese woman momentarily on the back foot, it was an ideal time to suggest an interview.
‘You make a very good point, Madame Liang. Misinterpretation often leads to misunderstanding. As well as writing about Connor Maguire, I’m also doing a piece about
Mauritius itself. I’ll be covering all the ethnic groups. Perhaps . . .’ She left it hanging, but her smile was the end result of many years’ practice – hopeful, tinged with humility and professional interest.
Faced with Holly’s proposal Madame Liang could hardly refuse. She reached into her bag and produced a card. ‘If you want a Sino-Mauritian angle, I’d be happy to talk to you. Make an appointment with my secretary.’ Turning, she let herself out of the room, leaving Holly more than pleased with herself. She looked down at the card. Madame Liang Song, Director, Liang & Associates – Importers.
Holly slid the card into a small pocket on her camera bag and made her way to the Badamier.
Justin Parker was dining alone. He caught sight of her, rose to his feet and waved. ‘Come and join me.’ Holly slid into the chair opposite him.
‘Do you mind if I finish this? How was your day?’ He cut steak as he spoke.
‘No and different, in that order. How about you?’
‘Bloody frustrating.’ He forked a piece of steak into his mouth and chewed vigorously, swallowed, and added, ‘I’m going to run out of time. Typical bloody Oxford. They should have sent a team ahead of me. I’m a biologist, not a bloody archaeologist.’
Holly filed Oxford away for her article. ‘You could try Rodrigues. The solitaire flourished there.’
‘Solitaire?’ He looked puzzled.
‘The dodo.’
‘Oh! Yes, of course.’
A waiter hovered. Holly ordered her meal and a glass of wine. She thought it exceedingly strange that Justin appeared unaware of the name French sailors had given to the dodo. But, between bites of food, his conversation had taken a new tack. ‘You must visit the Pamplemousses Gardens. There are something like eighty different species of palms growing there and they’ve got these giant tortoises, some more than one hundred years old. If you’re free, I could show you tomorrow.’
The Forgotten Sea Page 11
