Gai-Jin (191 page)

“Has he said that?” he asked sharply.

“No, but Mr. Skye says, if asked, he would have to agree.”

“Ah.” Gornt nodded thoughtfully, gulped some wine and went on reading, slower and more carefully:

Gornt sat back, exhaled and stared at her, awed. “It’s marvelous. Marvelous. You agree to everything but still hold the sword of Damocles over her.”

The fan stopped. “How so?”

“You plan to live in London, therefore under English law, a latent, obvious threat. Never once do you use ‘husband,’ but that threat is there, you put me squarely on center stage as friend to both sides and in a perfect negotiating position. And however devious she is, whatever she draws up for you to sign, you can shed more tears and sigh ‘Duress,’ and would win. Twenty-four-karat marvelous!”

“Then I should ask Sir William to witness my signature?”

“Yes,” he said, enthralled by her, so clever and daring, and dangerous. Perhaps too dangerous. “This is checkmate.”

“How so?”

“Tess is safe in only one way: if you remarry, and you’ve blocked that.” Though the fan stopped, her eyes watched him over the edge. Then the movement began again and he handed her back the letter, thinking, Devilishly clever—for you, but not for me. “Skye advised you brilliantly.”

“No one advised me, except you—something you said guided me.”

His heart skipped. “No one else has seen this?”

“No. And no one else will. It can be a secret between us.”

He heard the “can be” and wondered where that led, despondent now but hiding it. The fire in the grate needed attention so he got up and used the poker to give himself time to think. The air was still strong with the smell of smoke and burning but he did not register it, only her.

How in the hell did she figure that all out? It’s totally brilliant, all the pieces are on the board, for both of us. She’s won, she’ll beat Tess, but I’ve lost. I’ll still have to negotiate for her, and now I’m surer than hell I can up her stipend, but Angelique’s conceded nothing and left her game plan
open. I’ve lost. I don’t share in the big prize: Her. “So the answer to my question is No, must be No?”

Only the fan moved. “Why?” she asked, without emotion.

“Because the moment you do, you lose the game, you lose all power over Tess Struan.”

“Yes,
I would.”
She closed the fan quietly and let it rest in her lap. Her eyes never left his, nor their intensity.

For a moment he felt hypnotized, then his mind flared into action, and sudden hope spread through him. “
I would
, you said, meaning
you would
. But I wouldn’t? I wouldn’t lose power?”

Now she smiled. It was an answer.

The Mona Lisa again, he thought. Strange how her face changes, how I think it changes, how really devious she is, and how vigilant I’m going to have to be to tame this filly. I still don’t understand but a faint heart never won a fair lady. It took all of his will to keep his feet planted where they were. “I love you for all the usual reasons, and I love your cleverness. Now, formally, please, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Hallelujah!” Gornt said, light-headed, but did not move from the fireplace.

The fan stopped. “Hallelujah? Is that all?” she murmured, heart picking up tempo.

“Oh, no, but first tell me what are your conditions.”

She laughed. “Should there be conditions?”

“I’m beginning to know the way your mind works—some of the time.”

“When will you board
Atlanta Belle?”

“At the last moment. There’s much to … to talk about.”

“Yes. Edward, would our children be brought up Catholic, and would we be married in a Catholic church?”

“Is that a condition?”

“A question.”

He frowned, letting his mind race ahead and all around, wanting to be cautious in this rock-infested sea. “I don’t see why not. I’m not Catholic, as you know,” he said slowly, “but if that’s what you want it would be all right—” The final piece of the jigsaw blinded him with its power. “Hallelujah!”

“What?”

“Just an idea. We’ll talk about in a minute. Now, no more games, Angelique,” he said, chiding her. “Conditions? What’s in that magic mind of yours?”

She got up. On tiptoe she touched her lips to his in a gentle kiss. Her lips were soft and breath sweet. “Thank you for asking me, and for what you’ve already done for me.”

He rested his hands on her hips. Both noticed that their bodies seemed to fit though neither acknowledged it.

“The conditions?”

“Tell me what they are, Edward.”

Now that she had answered the main question, and had given him the keys, he was in no hurry. “I’ll guess three,” he said, amused. “If I’m right, you’ll tell me the rest?”

“Agreed.” His body, hard against hers, was pleasing to her. And so was her soft curving against him, diverting his concentration. Effortlessly. Careful, it’s her major trump card and this game’s now in its most dangerous stage—to settle the future. Goddam! Easy enough to make the kiss more serious, too easy, and easy then to whisk her off her feet to the bed in the next room and lose—whatever the result—even before you reach the door.

It was more exciting for him to hold back, to wait for the perfect moment—as with Morgan Brock—to accept the fact of his lust and put it aside and try to inject his mind into hers instead. Three conditions? I know at least five, he thought, wanting to win, needing to win as in everything.

“Not necessarily in this order,” he said. “One is that I successfully renegotiate upwards, say at least to four thousand a year. Another that we spend time in Paris and London, say a month every two years—with travelling time, that’ll be about a six months’ trip. Next, that Tess’s trust money, whatever it is, stays under your control, not mine.” He saw her eyes dancing and knew he had won. “And another for good measure, that I must love you madly forever.”

“You’re so clever, Edward, I know we will be very happy.” The strange smile returned. “Now, five would be better than four, and two months better than one.”

“I’ll try for five though I can’t promise,” he said at once, “and agree to two months in Paris, all other things being equal. What else?”

“Nothing important. We will need a house in Paris, but once you know it you will love it too. Nothing else, except you promise to cherish me.”

“No need to ask that, but I promise.” His arms tightened around her. She rested against him, fitting, feeling protected, though still not sure of him. “You’re more desirable than any woman I’ve ever known,” he said. “That’s bad enough, but your mind is stunning too, and your scheming—no, that’s a bad word—your flights of brilliance …” For a moment he held her away from him, looking at her deeply. “You’re a stunner, whichever way.”

She smiled and did not move out of his arms. “How so?”

“A Catholic marriage.”

“Ah!”

“Yes, ah!” He laughed. “That, my clever young lady, is your dream solution because, together with your letter, it suddenly occurred to me what you’d already decided: a Catholic marriage removes you as a threat from Tess forever. For Tess, a Catholic marriage completely negates the Protestant, seaborne marriage, however lawful, before English law however lawful.”

She chuckled, nestling against him. “If you were to say you thought you could persuade me to marry you, and then, you as a Protestant, were to offer to make such a deliberate sacrifice, surely that woman would be pleased to give you what you want, for both of us, if the requests are reasonable. No?”

“Yes.” He sighed. “What request had you in mind?”

“Nothing much, but Malcolm explained to me once the importance of the Jockey Club, both in Hong Kong and Shanghai, how, together with the Shanghai and Hong Kong Councils, all business power is centered there. Her influence would get you a Stewardship of one and a seat on the other. No?”

He laughed and hugged her. “You’re classic, Ma’am. For that I’d even become Catholic.”

“No need for that, Edward.”

“You’re going to love Shanghai. Now I have conditions.”

“Oh?”

He was glad to see a flash of concern behind her eyes, and hid his pleasure and made his face sterner. No need for me to make prior conditions, he thought amused: a husband has inalienable rights, like possessing all a wife’s worldly goods. Thank God for this man’s world. “First condition is that you love me with all your heart and soul.”

“Oh, I will try, and try to be the best wife ever.” Her arms tightened. “And?”

He heard the edge of underlying concern and laughed. “That’s all, except you promise to let me teach you bridge, and mahjong—then you’ll never need pin money from me or anyone.”

She stared at him a moment, then reached up. Their kiss sealed their bargain and then he eased off, too heated. “I can hardly wait, Angelique.”

“Nor I.”

“Now we must plan, there’s not much time. First, get Sir William’s signature, quick as a wink. My darling, I’m so happy you’ve accepted me.”

She felt like purring. “I’m more happy than I can say. When you get back, do we stay here or leave for Shanghai?”

“Shanghai, as soon as possible—soon as the Brocks go under.” He kissed her nose.

“Ah the Brocks. You’re sure? You’re sure about them? Our whole future, everything depends on that, doesn’t it?”

“And Tess, but yes, my evidence is enough, and her venom will cement
their ruin—she must realize it too or she’d never have made even this paltry offer. Even so, we must be careful, what we’re like in private, that’s different, but for six months—it’ll take me that long to get you to Shanghai, your reputation blemishless, Rothwell-Gornt into place, your finances settled—we must act like good friends only. I adore you.”

For answer her arms tightened again. Then she said, “Is it your custom to make a marriage contract?”

“No. But if you wish it, we will.” He saw the smile that masked and promised and masked. “It’s not necessary, is it? We’re interlinked, our future’s joined, we’re one entity even now. Success depends on our joint performance, and on me for us. Never forget Tess is adroit, cunning and won’t be cheated—a deal is a deal with her. Even so, I promise you’ll get what you want.”

Yes, I will, she thought.

In shock, Sir William put the last of André’s pages onto the side table, all of them in French and in André’s handwriting. “My God,” he muttered, and shifted in his frayed, comfortable old chair. His anteroom was pleasant, a fire burning merrily, his curtains drawn against the drafts.

He got up, feeling very old, poured a drink, stared at the file of papers in disbelief, then again sat and leafed through them. The final part of Angelique’s father’s letter, carefully pasted together, clearly suggested a calculated scheme to snare Malcolm Struan, other pages set out dates and details of the ronin assassin’s rape at Kanagawa and curious death at the French Legation, the name of the mama-san who supplied the medicine, how the “lost earrings” paid for it, and how André had rowed out to sea to dispose of the evidence—some towels, the herbs, and one of the two bottles, the other left as proof, now waiting in his Legation desk drawer.

His covering letter had said,

It was boldly signed.

“Why me indeed?” Sir William muttered. “And how is it possible that that slip of a girl could hide all this for so long, hide it from Malcolm Struan, for God’s sake? From George and Hoag, for God’s sake? Impossible, surely impossible, André must have taken leave of his senses and yet …”

Apart from her father’s letter—and even that, taken out of context, could be an exaggeration of the truth—the rest is just André’s opinion, unless she’s challenged and confesses. These stories could be fabrications of a demented mind. Of course he wanted her too, how many times have we all noticed him letching after her and there was that curious happening when Vervene found him in her room. And bloody curious he used “unclean” like that, when he really was, poor fellow.

He shuddered. Seratard had whispered André’s secret to him. Syphilis was endemic in all strata of society, in all cities, towns and villages, in St. Petersburg, London, Paris, in palaces as well as the vilest areas of the Casbah, it could lurk in any whorehouse or with any Lady of the Night, in China or in our Floating World here.

Ah, André, why give all this to me? Curious you died as you did, hand in hand with the girl you bought to destroy. How evil! Except she had a choice, so we are led to believe. Your death was an accident. Was it? Henri’s not sure.

“It’s all very curious, William,” Henri had said this morning. “The bodies, skeletons would be more accurate, lay as though they were dead before the fire arrived, no sign of trying to escape by either of them. Just side by side, hands together. I’m bewildered, for all his faults André was a survivor, and in a fire it’s instinct to try to escape, you don’t just lie there, you can’t, not possible.”