Penelope was remembering how old Granny Dunross had taken her into her heart and into the clan from the first moment. That was just after she and Ian were married and visiting for the second time, Ian on sick leave, still on crutches, his legs badly burned but healing, the rest of him untouched in the flaming crash-landing but for his mad, all-consuming anger at being grounded forever, she so pleased secretly, thanking God for the reprieve.
"But whisht, lassie," Granny Dunross had added with a chuckle that night when the winter winds were whining off the moors, sleet outside, and they all warm and toasty in front of the great fire, safe from the bombing, well fed and never a care except that Ian should get well quickly, "... there was a time when this Dunross was six and, och aye, he had a terrible temper even then and his father Colin was off in those heathen foreign parts as always, so this Dunross would come to Ayr on holiday from boarding school. Aye, and sometimes he would come to see me and I'd tell him tales o' the clan and his grandfather and great-grandfather but this time nothing would take away the deevil that possessed him. It was a night like this and I sent him out, the poor wee bairn, aye I sent him out to the Shrieking Tree___" The old woman had chuckled and chuckled and sipped whiskey and continued, "Aye and the young deevil went out, cock of the walk, the gale under his kilt, and he cursed the tree. Och aye, surely the wee beasties in the forest fled before his wrath and then he came back. 'Have you given it a good drubbing,' I asked him. 'Aye,' he said in his wee voice. 'Aye, Grandma, I gave it a good drubbing, the very best ever.'
" 'Good,' I said. 'And now you're at peace!' " 'Well, not really, Grandmother, but I am tired.' And then, lassie, at that moment, there was an almighty crash and the whole house shook and I thought it was the end of the world but the wee little bairn ran out to see what had happened and a lightning bolt had blasted the Shrieking Tree to pieces. 'Och aye, Granny,' he said in his piping little voice when he came back, his eyes wide, 'that really was the very best I ever did. Can I do it again!' "
Ian had laughed. "That's all a story, I don't remember that at all. You're making it up, Granny!"
"Whisht on you! You were five or six and the next day we went into the glade and picked the new tree, the one you'll see tomorrow, lassie, and blessed it in the clan's name and I told young Ian to be a mite more careful next time!"
They had laughed together and then, later that night, she had woken up to find Ian gone and his crutches gone. She had watched and waited.
When he came back he was soaked but tired and at peace. She pretended sleep until he was in bed again. Then she turned to him and gave him all the warmth she had.
"Remember, lassie," Granny Dunross had said to her privately the day they left, "if ye want to keep your marriage sweet, make sure this Dunross always has a Shrieking Tree nearby. Dinna be afeared. Pick one, always pick one wherever you go. This Dunross needs a Shrieking Tree close by though he'll never admit it and will never use it but rarely. He's like the Dirk. He's too strong...."
So wherever they had gone they had had one. Penelope had insisted. Once, in Chungking, where Dunross had been sent to be an Allied liaison officer after he was well again, she had made a bamboo their Shrieking Tree. Here in Hong Kong it was a huge jacaranda that dominated the whole garden. "Don't you think you should pay her a wee visit?" The tree was always a her for him and a him for her. Everyone should have a Shrieking Tree, Penelope thought. Everyone.
"Thanks," he said. "I'm okay now."
"How did Granny Dunross have so much wisdom and stay so marvellous after so much tragedy in her life?"
"I don't know. Perhaps they built them stronger in those days."
"I miss her." Granny Dunross was eighty-five when she died. She was Agnes Struan when she married her cousin Dirk Dunross—Dirk McCloud Dunross, whom his mother Winifred, Dirk Struan's only daughter, had named after her father in remembrance. Dirk Dunross had been fourth tai-pan and he had been lost at sea in Sunset Cloud driving her homeward. He was only forty-two when he was lost, she thirty-one. She never married again. They had had three sons and one daughter. Two of her sons were killed in World War I, the eldest at Gallipoli at twenty-one, the other gassed at Ypres in Flanders, nineteen. Her daughter Anne had married Gaston deVille, Jacques's father. Anne had died in the London bombing where all the deVilles had fled except Jacques who had stayed in France and fought the Nazis with the Maquis. Colin, the last of her sons, Ian's father, also had three sons and a daughter, Kathren. Two sons also were killed in World War II. Kathren's first husband, Ian's squadron leader, was killed in the Battle of Britain. "So many deaths, violent deaths," Penelope said sadly. "To see them all born and all die... terrible. Poor Granny! Yet when she died she seemed to go so peacefully with that lovely smile of hers."
"Perhaps it was joss. But the others, that was joss too. They only did what they had to, Penn. After all, our family history's ordinary in that. We're British. War's been a way of life for centuries. Look at your family—one of your uncles was lost at sea in the navy in the Great War, another in the last at El Alamein, your parents killed in the blitz... all very ordinary." His voice hardened. "It's not easy to explain to any outsider, is it?"
"No. We all had to grow up so quickly, didn't we, Ian?" He nodded and after a moment she said, "You'd better dress for dinner, dear, you'll be late."
"Come on, Penn, for God's sake, you take an hour longer than me. We'll put in a quick appearance and leave directly after chow. Wh—" The phone rang and he picked it up. "Yes? Oh hello, Mr. Deland."
"Good evening, tai-pan. I wish to report about Mme. deVille's daughter and son-in-law, M. Escary."
"Yes, please go ahead."
"I am sad to have the dishonour of bringing such bad tidings. The accident was a, how do you say, sideswipe on the upper Corniche just outside Eze. The driver of the other car was drunk. It was at two in the morning about, and when the police arrived, M. Escary was already dead and his wife unconscious. The doctor says she will mend, very well, but he is afraid that her, her internal organs, her childbearing organs may have permanent hurt. She may require an operation. He—"
"Does she know this?"
"No, m'sieu, not yet, but Mme. deVille was told, the doctor told her. I met her as you ordered and have taken care of everything. I have asked for a specialist in these things from Paris to consult with the Nice Hospital and he arrives this afternoon."
"Is there any other damage?"
"Externally, non. A broken wrist, a few cuts, nothing. But... the poor lady is distraught. It was glad... I was glad that her mother came, that helped, has helped. She stays at the Metropole in a suite and I met her aeroplane. Of course I will be in the constant touch."
"Who was driving?"
"Mme. Escary."
"And the other driver?"
There was a hesitation. "His name is Charles Sessonne. He's a baker in Eze and he was coming home after cards and an evening with some friends. The police have... Mme. Escary swears his car was on the wrong side of the road. He cannot remember. Of course he is very sorry and the police have charged him with drunk driving an—"
"Is this the first time?"
"Non. Non, once before he was stopped and fined."
"What'll happen under French law?"
"There will be a court and then... I do not know, m'sieu. There were no other witnesses. Perhaps a fine, perhaps jail; I do not know. Perhaps he will remember he was on the right side, who knows? I'm sorry."
Dunross thought a moment. "Where does this man live?"
"Rue de Verte 14, Eze."
Dunross remembered the village well, not far from Monte Carlo, high above, and the whole of the Cote d'Azur below and you could see beyond Monte Carlo into Italy, and beyond Cap Ferrat to Nice. "Thank you, Mr. Deland. I've telexed you 10,000 U.S. for Mme. deVille's expenses and anything else. Whatever's necessary please do it. Call me at once if there's anything... yes and ask the specialist to call me immediately after he's examined Mme. Escary. Have you talked with Mr. Jacques deVille?"
"No, tai-pan. You did not instruct this. Should I phone?"
"No. I'll call him. Thank you again." Dunross hung up and told Penelope everything, except about the internal injuries.
"How awful! How... how senseless!"
Dunross was looking out at the sunset. It was at his suggestion the young couple had gone to Nice and Monte Carlo where he and Penelope had had so much fun, and marvellous food, marvellous wine and a little gambling. Joss, he thought, then added, Christ all bloody mighty!
He dialled Jacques deVille's house but he was not there. He left a message for him to return the call. "I'll see him at the dinner tonight," he said, the champagne now tasteless. "Well, we'd better get changed."
"I'm not going, dear."
"Oh but..."
"I've lots to do to get ready for tomorrow. You can make an excuse for me—of course you have to go. I'll be ever so busy. There's Glenna's school things—and Duncan gets back on Monday and his school things have to be sorted. You'll have to put him on the aircraft, make sure he has his passport... You can easily make an excuse for me tonight as I'm leaving."
He smiled faintly. "Of course, Penn, but what's the real reason?"
"It's going to be a big do. Robin's bound to be there."
"They're not back till tomorrow!"
"No, it was in the Guardian's Extra. They arrived this afternoon. The whole delegation. They're sure to be invited." The banquet was being given by a multimillionaire property developer, Sir Shi-teh T'Chung, partially to celebrate the knighthood he had received in the last Honours List, but mostly to launch his latest charity drive for the new wing of the new Elizabeth Hospital. "I've really no wish to go, and so long as you're there, everything'll be all right. I really want an early night too. Please."
"All right. I'll deal with these calls, then I'll be off. I'll see you though before I go." Dunross walked upstairs and went into his study. Lim was waiting there, on guard. He wore a white tunic and black pants and soft shoes. "Evening, Lim," Dunross said in Cantonese.
"Good evening, tai-pan." Quietly the old man motioned him to the window. Dunross could see two men, Chinese, loitering across the street outside the high wall that surrounded the Great House, near the tall, open iron gates. "They've been there some time, tai-pan."
Dunross watched them a moment, disquieted. His own guard had just been dismissed and Brian Kwok, who was also a guest at Sir Shi-teh's tonight, would come by shortly and go with him, acting as a substitute. "If they don't go away by dusk call Superintendent Crosse's office." He wrote the number down, then added in Cantonese, his voice abruptly hard, "While I think of it, Lim, if I want any foreign devil car interfered with, *I* will order it." He saw the old eyes staring back at him impassively. Lim Chu had been with the family since he was seven, like his father before him, and his father, the first of his line who, in the very old days, before Hong Kong had existed, had been Number One Boy and looked after the Struan mansion in Macao.
"I don't understand, tai-pan."
"You cannot wrap fire in paper. The police are clever and old Black Beard's a great supporter of police. Experts can examine brakes and deduce all sorts of information."
"I know nothing of police." The old man shrugged then beamed. "Tai-pan, I do not climb trees to find a fish. Nor do you. May 1 mention that in the night I could not sleep and I came here. There was a shadow on the veranda balcony. The moment I opened the study door the shadow slid down the drainpipe and vanished into the shrubs." The old man took out a torn piece of cloth. "This was on the drainpipe." The cloth was nondescript.
Dunross studied it, perturbed. He glanced at Dirk Struan's oil painting over the fireplace. It was perfectly in position. He moved it away and saw that the hair he had delicately balanced on a hinge of the safe was untouched. Satisfied, he replaced the picture, then checked the locks on the French windows. The two men were still loitering. For the first time Dunross was very glad that he had an SI guard.
7:58 PM
It was hot and humid in Phillip Chen's study and he was sitting beside the phone staring at it nervously. The door swung open and he jumped. Dianne sailed in.
"There's no point in waiting anymore, Phillip," she said irritably. "You'd better go and change. That devil Werewolf won't call tonight. Something must have happened. Do come along!" She wore an evening chong-sam in the latest, most expensive fashion, her hair bouffant, and she was bejewelled like a Christmas tree. "Yes. Something must have happened. Perhaps the police... huh, it's too much to expect they caught him. More likely that fang pi devil's playing with us. You'd better change or we'll be late. If you hurr—"
"I really don't want to go," he snapped back at her. "Shitee T'Chung's a bore and now that he's Sir Shitee he's a double one." Years ago Shi-teh had adulterated down to become the nickname Shitee to his intimate friends. "Anyway, it's hardly eight o'clock and dinner's not till 9:30 and he's always late, his banquets are always at least an hour late. For God's sake, you go!"
"Ayeeyah you've got to come. It's a matter of face," she replied, equally ill-tempered. "My God, after today at the stock market... if we don't go we'll lose terrible face and it's sure to push the stock down further! All Hong Kong will laugh at us. They can't wait. They'll say we're so ashamed the House can't pay its bills that we won't show our face in public. Huh! And as for Shitee's new wife, Constance, that mealy-mouthed whore can't wait to see me humbled!" She was near screeching. Her losses on the day exceeded 100,000 of her own secret private dollars. When Phillip had called her from the stock market just after three to relate what had happened she had almost fainted. "Oh ko you have to come or we'll be ruined!"
Miserably her husband nodded. He knew what gossips and rumormongers would be at the banquet. All day he had been inundated with questions, moans and panic. "I suppose you're right." He was down almost a million dollars on the day and if the run continued and Gornt won he knew he would be wiped out. Oh oh oh why did I trust Dunross and buy so heavily? he was thinking, so angry that he wanted to kick someone. He looked up at his wife. His heart sank as he recognised the signs of her awesome displeasure at the world in general, and him in particular. He quaked inside. "All right," he said meekly. "I won't be a moment."
When he got to the door the phone rang. Once more his heart twisted and he felt sick. There had been four calls since around six. Each had been a business call decrying the fate of the stock, and were the rumours true and oh ko, Phillip, I'd better sell—each time worse than the last. "Weyyyy?" he asked angrily.
There was a short pause, then an equally rude voice said in crude Cantonese, "You're in a foul temper whoever you are! Where are your fornicating manners?"
"Who's this? Eh, who's calling?" he asked in Cantonese.
"This is the Werewolf. The Chief Werewolf, by all the gods! Who're you?"
"Oh!" The blood drained from Phillip Chen's face. In panic he beckoned his wife. She rushed forward and bent to listen too, everything else forgotten except the safety of the House. "This... this is Honourable Chen," he said cautiously. "Please, what's... what's your name?"
"Are your ears filled with wax? I said I was the Werewolf. Am I so stupid to give you my name?"
"I'm... I'm sorry but how do I know you're... you're telling me the truth?"
"How do I know who you are? Perhaps you're a dung-eating policeman. Who are you?"
"I'm Noble House Chen. I swear it!"
"Good. Then I wrote you a letter saying I'd call about 6:00 P.M. today. Didn't you get the letter?"
"Yes, yes I got the letter," Phillip Chen said, trying to control a relief that was mixed with rage and frustration and terror. "Let me talk to my Number One Son, please."
"That's not possible, no, not possible! Can a frog think of eating a swan? Your son's in another part of the Island... actually he's in the New Territories, not near a telephone but quite safe, Noble House Chen, oh yes, quite safe. He lacks for nothing. Do you have the ransom money?"
"Yes... at least I could only raise 100,000. Th—"
"All gods bear witness to my fornicating patience!" the man said angrily. "You know very well we asked for 500,000! 5 or 10 it's still like one hair on ten oxen to you!"
"Lies!" Phillip Chen shrieked. "That's all lies and rumours spread by my enemies! I'm not that rich.... Didn't you hear about the stock market today?" Phillip Chen groped for a chair, his heart pounding, and sat down still holding the phone so she could listen too.
"Ayeeyah, stock market! We poor farmers don't deal on the stock market! Do you want his other ear?"
Phillip Chen blanched. "No. But we must negotiate. Five is too much. One and a half I can manage."
"If I settle for one and a half I will be the laughingstock of all China! Are you accusing me of displaying a lamb's head but selling dogmeat? One and a half for the Number One Son of Noble House Chen? Impossible! It's face! Surely you can see that."
Phillip Chen hesitated. "Well," he said reasonably, "you have a point. First I want to know when I get my son back."
"As soon as the ransom's paid! I promise on the bones of my ancestors! Within a few hours of getting the money he'll be put on the main Sha Tin Road."
"Ah, he's in Sha Tin now?"
"Ayeeyah, you can't trap me, Noble House Chen. I smell dung in this conversation. Are the fornicating police listening? Is the dog acting fierce because his master's listening? Have you called the police?"
"No, I swear it. I haven't called the police and I'm not trying to trap you, but please, I need assurances, reasonable assurances." Phillip Chen was beaded with sweat. "You're quite safe, you have my oath, I haven't called the police. Why should I? If I call them how can we negotiate?"
There was another long hesitation, then the man said, somewhat mollified, "I agree. But we'have your son so any trouble that happens is your fault and not ours. All right, I'll be reasonable too. I will accept 400,000, but it must be tonight!"
"That's impossible! You ask me to fish in the sea to catch a tiger!
I didn't get your letter till after the banks were closed but I've got 100,000 cash, in small bills...." Dianne nudged him and held up two fingers. "Listen, Honourable Werewolf, perhaps I can borrow more tonight. Perhaps... listen, I will give you two tonight. I'm sure I can raise that within the hour.200,000!"
"May all gods smite me dead if I sell out for such a fornicating pittance.350,000!"
"200,000 within the hour!"
"His other ear within two days or 300,000 tonight!"
Phillip Chen wailed and pleaded and flattered and cursed and they negotiated back and forth. Both men were adept. Soon both were caught up in the battle of wits, each using all his powers, the kidnapper using threats, Phillip Chen using guile, flattery and promises. At length, Phillip Chen said, "You are too good for me, too good a negotiator. I will pay 200,000 tonight and a further 100,000 within four months."
"Within one month!"
"Three!" Phillip Chen was aghast at the flow of obscenities that followed and he wondered if he had misjudged his adversary.
"Two!"
Dianne nudged him again, nodding agreement. "Very well," he said, "I agree. Another 100,000 in two months."
"Good!" The man sounded satisfied, then he added, "I will consider what you say and call you back."
"But wait a moment, Honourable Werewolf. When wil—"
"Within the hour."
"Bu—" The line went dead. Phillip Chen cursed, then mopped his brow again. "I thought I had him. God curse the motherless dog turd!"
"Yes." Dianne was elated. "You did very well, Phillip! Only two now and another hundred in two months! Perfect! Anything can happen in two months. Perhaps the dirty police will catch them and then we won't have to pay the hundred!" Happily she took out a tissue and blotted the perspiration off her upper lip. Then her smile faded. "What about Shitee T'Chung? We've got to go but you'll have to wait."
"Ah, I have it! Take Kevin, I'll come later. There'll be plenty of space for me whenever I get there. I'll... I'll wait for him to call back."
"Excellent! How clever you are! We've got to get our coin back.
Oh very good! Perhaps our joss has changed and the boom will happen like Old Blind Tung forecast. Kevin's so concerned for you, Phillip. The poor boy's so upset that you have all these troubles. He's very concerned for your health." She hurried out, thanking the gods, knowing she would be back long before John Chen returned safely. Perfect, she was thinking, Kevin can wear his new white sharkskin dinner jacket. It's time he began to live up to his new position. "Kevinnnnn!"
The door closed. Phillip Chen sighed. When he had gathered his strength, he went to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. After Dianne and Kevin had left, he poured himself another. At a quarter to nine the phone rang again.
"Noble House Chen?"
"Yes... yes, Honourable Werewolf?"
"We accept. But it has to be tonight!"
Phillip Chen sighed. "Very well. Now wh—"
"You can get all the money?"
"Yes."
"The notes will be hundreds as I asked?"
"Yes. I have 100,000 and can get another hundred from a friend..."
"You have rich friends," the man said suspiciously. "Mandarins."
"He's a bookmaker," Phillip Chen said quickly, cursing himself for his slip. "When you hung up I... I made the arrangements. Fortunately this happened to be one of his big nights."
"All right. Listen, take a taxi—"
"Oh but I have a car an—"
"I know you have a fornicating car and I know the licence number," the man said rudely, "and we know all about you and if you try to betray us to the police you will never see your son again and you will be next on our list! Understand?"
"Yes... yes, of course, Honourable Werewolf," Phillip Chen said placatingly. "I'm to take a taxi—where to?"
"The triangle garden at Kowloon Tong. There's a road called Essex Road. There's a wall fence there and a hole in the wall. An arrow drawn on the pavement of the road has its arrowhead pointing at the hole. You put your hand in this hole and you'll get a letter. You read it then our street fighters will approach you and say 'Tin koon chifook' and you hand the bag over."
"Oh! Isn't it possible I can hand it to the wrong man?"
"You won't. You understand the password and everything?"
"Yes... yes."
"How long will it take you to get there?"
"I can come at once. I'll... I can get the other money on the way, I can come at once."
"Then come immediately. Come alone, you cannot come with anyone else. You will be watched the moment you leave the door."
Phillip Chen mopped his brow. "And my son? When do I ge—-"
"Obey instructions! Beware and come alone."
Again the phone went dead. His fingers were shaking as he picked up the glass and drained the brandy. He felt the warm afterglow but it took away none of his apprehension. When he had collected himself, he dialled a very private number. "I want to speak to Four Finger Wu," he said in Wu's dialect.
"One moment please." There were some muffled Haklo voices, and then, "Is this Mr. Chen, Mr. Phillip Chen?" the voice asked in American English.
"Oh!" he said, startled, then added cautiously, "Who's this?"
"This's Paul Choy, Mr. Chen. Mr. Wu's nephew. My uncle had to go out but he left instructions for me to wait until you called. He's made some arrangements for you. This is Mr. Chen?"
"Yes, yes, it is."
"Ah, great. Have you heard from the kidnappers?"
"Yes, yes I have." Phillip Chen was uneasy talking to a stranger but now he had no option. He told Paul Choy the instructions he had been given.
"Just a moment, sir."
He heard a hand being put over the phone and again muffled, indistinct talking in Haklo dialect for a moment. "Everything's set, sir. We'll send a cab to your house—you're phoning from Struan's Lookout?"
"Yes—yes, I'm home."
"The driver'll be one of our guys. There'll be more of my uncle's, er, people scattered over Kowloon Tong so not to worry, you'll be covered every foot of the way. Just hand over the money and, er, and they'll take care of everything. My uncle's chief lieut—er, his aide, says not to worry, they'll have the whole area swarming... Mr. Chen?"
"Yes, I'm still here. Thank you."
"The cab'll be there in twenty minutes."
Paul Choy put down the phone. "Noble House Chen says thank you, Honourable Father," he told Four Finger Wu placatingly in their dialect, quaking under the stony eyes. Sweat was beading his face. He tried unsuccessfully to hide his fear of the others. It was hot and stuffy in the crowded main cabin of this ancient junk that was tied up in a permanent berth to an equally ancient dock in one of Aberdeen's multitude of estuaries. "Can I go with your fighters, too?"
"Do you send a rabbit against a dragon?" Four Finger Wu snarled. "Are you trained as a street fighter? Am I a fool like you? Treacherous like you?" He jerked a horny thumb at Goodweather Poon. "Lead the fighters!" The man hurried out. The others followed.
Now the two of them were alone in the cabin.
The old man was sitting on an upturned keg. He lit another cigarette, inhaled deeply, coughed and spat loudly on the deck floor. Paul Choy watched him, the sweat running down his back, more from fear than from the heat. Around them were some old desks, filing cabinets, rickety chairs and two phones, and this was Four Fingers's office and communications centre. It was mostly from here that he sent messages to his fleets. Much of his business was regular freighting but wherever the Silver Lotus flag flew, his order to his captains was: Anything, shipped anywhere, at any time—at the right price.
The tough old man coughed again and glared at him under shaggy eyebrows. "They teach you curious ways in the Golden Mountain, heya?"
Paul Choy held his tongue and waited, his heart thumping, and wished he had never come back to Hong Kong, that he was still Stateside, or even better in Honolulu surfing in the Great Waves or lying on the beach with his girl friend. His spirit twisted at the thought of her.
"They teach you to bite the hand that feeds you, heya?"
"No, Honoured Father, sorr—"
"They teach that my money is yours, my wealth yours and my chop yours to use as you wish, heya?"
"No, Honoured Lord. I'm sorry to displease you," Paul Choy muttered, wilting under the weight of his fear.
This morning, early, when Gornt had jauntily come into the office from the meeting with Bartlett, it was still before the secretaries were due so Paul Choy had asked if he could help him. Gornt had told him to get several people on the phone. Others he had dialled himself on his private line. Paul Choy had thought nothing of it at the time until he happened to overhear part of what was, obviously, inside information about Struan's being whispered confidentially over the phone. Remembering the Bartlett call earlier, deducing that Gornt and Bartlett had had a meeting—a successful one judging by Gornt's good humour—and realising Gornt was relating the same confidences over and over, his curiosity peaked. Later, he happened to hear Gornt saying to his solicitor, "... selling short... No, don't worry, nothing's going to happen till I'm covered, not till about eleven.... Certainly. I'll send the order, chopped, as soon as..."
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