Noble House

"You're slowing up, aren't you, old chap?" Gavallan said^ then to Jacques, "Well?"
The Frenchman smiled. "Twenty that you, Andrew, will never charm such a lady into bed—and as to you, poor young Linbar. Fifty against your racehorse says the same."
"I like my filly for God's sake. Noble Star's got a great chance of being a winner. She's the best in our stable."
"Fifty."
"A hundred and I'll consider it."
"I don't want any horse that much." Jacques smiled at Phillip Chen. "What do you think, Phillip?"
Phillip Chen got up. "I think I'll go home to lunch and leave you stallions to your dreams. It's curious though that you're all betting the others won't—not that any of you could." Again they laughed.
"Stupid to give us the extra, eh?" Gavallan said.
"The deal's fantastic," Linbar Struan said. "Christ, Uncle Phillip, fantastic!"
"Like her derriere," deVille said as a connoisseur would. "Eh, Phillip?"
Good-naturedly Phillip Chen nodded and walked out, but as he saw Casey disappearing into the ladies' room, he thought, Ayeeyah, who'd want the big lump anyway?
Inside the ladies' room, Casey looked around, appalled. It was clean but smelled of old drains and there were pails piled one on top of another and some were filled with water. The floor was tiled but water-spotted and messy. I've heard the English are not very hygienic, she thought disgustedly, but here in the Noble House? Ugh! Astonishing!
She went into one of the cubicles, its floor wet and slippery, and after she had finished she pulled the handle and nothing happened. Sh^ tried it again, and again, and still nothing happened so she cursed and lifted off the top of the cistern. The cistern was dry and rusty. Irritably she unbolted the door and went to the basin and turned on the water but none came out.
What's the matter with this place? I'll bet those bastards sent me here deliberately!
There were clean hand towels so she poured a pail of water into the basin awkwardly, spilling some, washed her hands, then dried them, furious that her shoes had got splashed. At a sudden thought, she took another pail and flushed the toilet, then used still another bucket to clean her hands again. When she left, she felt very soiled.
I suppose the goddamn pipe's broken somewhere and the plumber won't come until tomorrow. Goddamn all water systems!
Calm down, she told herself. You'll start making mistakes.
The corridor was covered with fine Chinese silk carpet, and the walls were lined with oil paintings of clipper ships and Chinese landscapes. As she approached she could hear the muted voices from the boardroom and a laugh—the kind of laugh that comes from a ribald joke or a smutty remark. She knew the moment she opened the door, the good humor and comradeship would vanish and the awkward silence would return.
She opened the door and they all got up.
"Are you having trouble with your water mains?" she asked, holding her anger down.
"No, I don't think so," Gavallan said, startled.
"Well, there's no water. Didn't you know?"
"Of course there's no— Oh!" He stopped. "You're staying at the V and A so … Didn't anyone tell you about the water shortage?"
They all began talking at once but Gavallan dominated them.
"The V and A has its own water supply—so do a couple of other hotels—but the rest of us're on four hours of water every fourth day, so you've got to use a pail. Never occurred to me you didn't know. Sorry."
"How do you manage? Every fourth day!"
"Yes. For four hours, 6:00 A.M. till 8:00 A.M., then 5:00 till 7:00 in the evening. It's a frightful bore because of course it means we've got to store four days' supply. Pails, or the bath, whatever you can. We're short of pails—it's our water day tomorrow. Oh my God, there was water for you, wasn't there?"
"Yes, but. . . You mean the water mains are turned off? Everywhere?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes," Gavallan said patiently. "Except for those four hours every fourth day. But you're all right at the V and A. As they're right on the waterfront they can refill their tanks daily from lighters —of course, they have to buy it."
"You can't shower or bathe?"
Linbar Struan laughed. "Everyone gets pretty grotty after three days in this heat but at least we're all in the same sewer. Still it's survival training to make sure there's a full pail before you go."
"I had no idea," she said, aghast that she had used three pails.
"Our reservoirs are empty," Gavallan explained. "We've had almost no rain this year and last year was dry too. Bloody nuisance but there you are. Just one of those things. Joss."
"Then where does your water come from?"
They stared at her blankly. "From China of course. By pipes over the border into the New Territories, or by tanker from the Pearl River. The government's just chartered a fleet often tankers that go up the Pearl River, by agreement with Peking. They bring us about 10 million gallons a day. It'll cost the government upwards of 25 million for this year's charter. Saturday's paper said our consumption's down to 30 million gallons a day for our 3l/2 million population—that includes industry. In your country, one person uses 150 gallons a day, so they say."
"It's the same for everyone? Four hours every fourth day?"
"Even at the Great House you use a pail." Gavallan shrugged again. "But the tai-pan's got a place at Shek-O that has its own well. We all pile over there when we're invited, to get the slime off."
She thought again of the three pails of water she had used. Jesus, she thought, did I use it all? I don't recall if there's any left.
"I guess I've a lot-to learn," she said.
Yes, they all thought. Yes, you bloody have.
"Tai-pan?"
"Yes, Claudia?" Dunross said into the intercom.
"The meeting with Casey's just broken for lunch. Master Andrew is on line four. Master Linbar's on his way up."
"Cancel him till after lunch. Any luck on Tsu-yan?"
"No sir. The plane landed on time at 8:40. He's not at his office in Taipei. Or his flat. I'll keep trying, of course. Another thing, I've just had an interesting call, tai-pan. It seems that Mr. Bartlett went to Rothwell-Gornt this morning and had a private meeting with Mr. Gornt."
"Are you sure?" he asked, ice in his stomach suddenly.
"Yes, oh very yes."
Bastard, Dunross thought. Does Bartlett mean me to find out? "Thanks," he said, putting the question aside for the moment, but very glad to know. "You've got a thousand dollars on any horse on Saturday."
"Oh thank you, tai-pan."
"Back to work, Claudia!" He punched the number four button. "Yes, Andrew? What's the deal?"
Gavallan told him the important part.
"20 million in cash?" he asked with disbelief.
"In marvelous, beautiful U.S. cash!" Dunross could feel his beam down the phone. "And when I asked when Bartlett would confirm the deal the little scrubber had the bloody cheek to say, 'Oh it's confirmed now—I can commit up to 20 million on this deal without consulting him or anyone.' Do you think that's possible?"
"I don't know." Dunross felt a little weak in the knees. "Bartlett's due any moment. I'll ask."
"Hey, tai-pan, if this goes through . . ."
But Dunross was hardly listening as Gavallan ran on ecstatically. It's an unbelievable offer, he was telling himself.
It's too good. Where's the flaw?
Where's the flaw?
Ever since he had become tai-pan he had had to maneuver, lie, cajole and even threaten—Havergill of the bank for one—far more than ever he had expected, to stay ahead of the disasters he had inherited, and the natural and political ones that seemed to be besetting the world. Even going public had not given him the capital and time he had expected because a worldwide slump had ripped the markets to pieces. And last year in August, Typhoon Wanda had struck, leaving havoc in her wake, hundreds dead, a hundred thousand homeless, half a thousand fishing boats sunk, twenty ships sunk, one of their three thousand tonners flung ashore, their giant half-completed wharf wrecked and their entire building program smashed for six months. In the fall the Cuban crisis and more slump. This spring de Gaulle had vetoed Britain's entry into the Common Market and more slump. China and Russia quarreling and more slump. . . .