The horizon beckoned. Soon I must go back to Hong Kong to take charge. A week or so. No hurry. Plenty of time.
What's the time now?
There was no need to turn and look at the clock, the angle of the sun told him it was about noon and he thought that normally he would order lovely rare roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, with rich gravy and roast potatoes, a bowl or two of diced roast chicken with fried rice and mixed vegetables, and other Chinese dishes that Ah Tok would make and he enjoyed--however much his mother and brother and sisters decried as tasteless, without nourishment, probably poisonous and only fit for heathens...
A slight sound. Angelique was curled up in the armchair, dwarfed by it, her face tearstained, and more unhappy than he had ever seen her.
"Christ, what's the matter?" "I'm, I'm ruined." Her tears began again.
"For God's sake, what're you talking about?"
"This, it was in today's mail." She got up and handed him a letter, tried to speak, couldn't. The sudden movement he made to take it twisted him and he barely managed to stop crying out.
The paper was green, like the envelope, dated Hong Kong, 23rd Sept., the letterhead Guy Richaud, Richaud Freres, and in French which Struan could read adequately: Darling Angelique, In haste. The business deal I told you about did not turn out very well, my Portuguese Macao partners cheated me so I lost heavily. All my present capital has vanished and you may hear lies spread by enemies that I am unable to make new banking arrangements so the company is in the hands of Receivers. Don't believe them, the future is bright, never fear, everything is in hand. This letter goes by tomorrow's mail ship. Today I have passage on the American steamer, Liberty, for Bangkok, where I am promised new financing from French Sources. I will write from there, in the meantime, I am your devoted Father.
P.s. By now you will be aware of the sad but expected news about Culum Struan. We have just heard about the vile Japper attack on Malcolm. I hope he's not badly hurt, please wish him well and give him my hopes for a quick recovery Struan's mind was in a turmoil. "Why are you ruined?"
"He's, he took all my money," she whimpered, "stole all my money and lost that as well, he's a thief and now, now I've nothing in the world. He stole all that I have, oh Malcolm, what am I going to do?"
"Angelique, Angelique, listen!" She seemed such a waif, so melodramatic, that he almost laughed. "For goodness' sake, listen, that's no problem. I can give you any money you wa--"
"I can't accept money from you," she cried out through her tears. "That's not right!"
"Why not? Soon we'll be married won't we?"
The crying stopped. "We... we will?"
"Yes. We'll, we'll make the announcement today."
"But father, he's," she sniffed tearfully like a child, "Andr`e told me he was sure that there was no business deal in Macao or anywhere and never was. It seems Father was a gambler and must have gambled it all away. Father had promised, he had promised Henri, Henri Seratard he would stop, and pay his bills.... Everyone knew but me, oh Malcolm I never knew, I feel so terrible I could die, Father stole my money, he swore to keep my money safe!"
Another burst of crying and she ran over to him and was on her knees beside the bed, her head buried into the counterpane. Tenderly he stroked her hair, feeling very strong and in command. The door opened and Ah Tok strode in.
"Get out," he bellowed. "Dew neh loh moh!" She fled.
Genuinely frightened, Angelique cowered deeper into the covering. She had never known his anger. He caressed her hair. "Don't worry, my darling, don't worry about your father, I'll see what we can do to help him later, but now you mustn't worry, I'm looking after you," his words ever more tender. Her sobbing lessened, the vast weight off her now that she had told him the truth and given him the news before he heard it from others-- and that he did not seem to care.
Andr`e's a genius, she was thinking, exhausted with relief. He swore that this would be Malcolm's reaction: "Just be honest, Angelique, tell Malcolm the truth, that you didn't know your father was a gambler, that this is the first you've heard about it and you're shocked beyond words, that your father has stolen your money--important you use the words stolen and thief--tell the truth, show him his letter andwiththe right amount of tears and tenderness this will bond him to you forever."
"But Andr`e," she had said miserably, "I daren't show him Father's letter. I daren't, his postscript sounds so awful..."
"Look! Without the second page the postscript just says, my hopes for a quick recovery. Perfect! The second page?
What second page? There, it's torn up and never existed."
Andr`e's nimble fingers glued the last shred of the reassembled second page into place. "There, Henri," he said and pushed it across the desk.
"Read for yourself." It had taken him no time at all to rebuild the page from the pieces he had seemingly thrown carelessly into his wastepaper basket.
They were in Seratard's office, the door locked. The page read: ... and hopes, as we discussed, you can position an early betrothal and marriage by whatever means necessary... He is the catch of the season and vital for our future, yours particularly. Struan will permanently solve Richaud Freres. Never mind that he is British, too young or whatever, now he's tai-pan of Struan's and can assure us of a smooth future. Be adult, Angelique, do anything necessary to bond him to you because your future is presently threadbare.
"That's not so terrible," Seratard said uneasily, "just a father's panic advice, reaching for straws. Struan is without doubt a wonderful catch for any girl and Angelique... who could blame a father?"
"That depends on the father. This, if used at the correct time in the correct way is another weapon over her, therefore over the Noble House."
"Then you think the poor girl will be successful?"
"We must work to make it so. Now that we've this evidence to use, if necessary, we must assist her as a matter of policy." Andr`e's lips were a thin cold line. "Not that I think she's a poor girl. She's the one who's prepared to snare him by any means necessary. Eh?"
Seratard sat back in the red leather chair.
His office bureau was tatty except for a few oils of modern, little-known French painters, Manet amongst them, that he collected cheaply through a Paris agent from time to time. "What's she doing but reacting to a young man's love?" He shoved the paper back. "I don't like these methods, Andr`e. They're distasteful. You encouraged the girl into the morass of half-truths by telling her to give him half the letter."
"Machiavelli wrote, "It is necessary for the State to deal in lies and half truths, because people are made up of lies and half truths. Even princes." And certainly, by definition, all Ambassadors and politicians." Andr`e shrugged. Carefully he folded the letter. "Perhaps we won't have to use it, but it's good to have it because we represent the State."
"Use it, how?"
"The fact that she tore it up and..."
"She didn't," Seratard said, shocked.
"Of course," Andr`e said coldly. "But it's her word against mine and who wins that contest? The fact that she tore up the second page and only showed Struan the first should be enough to damn her in his eyes.
This gives him a perfect excuse to annul any promise of marriage "as he had been deceived." His mother? If she knew about this she would concede us all sorts of concessions to gain possession of it, if he insists on marrying her, against her advice."
"I don't like blackmail."
Andr`e flushed. "I don't like lots of methods I'm obliged to use for our, I repeat our purposes." He put the page with the fine writing into his pocket. "Circulated in society or published, with the details, this document would destroy Angelique. In a court it would damn her. Perhaps it only shows the truth: that she is just an adventuress, in conspiracy with her father who is, who is at best a gambler and soon to be bankrupt, like her uncle. As to encouraging her, I only tell her what she wants to know and say. To help her. It's her mess, not mine or ours."