Noble House

From Shek-O they had slid along the southern road that curled and twisted until they got to Repulse Bay where she had stopped at the wonderful hotel for tea and cakes on the veranda, looking out at the sea, then on again, past Deepwater Cove to Discovery Bay where she stopped again at a lookout. "Look over there, Line, that's Castle Tok!" Castle Tok was a vast, incongruous house that looked like a Norman castle and was perched on the cliffside high over the water. "During the war the Canadians—Canadian soldiers—were defending this part of the Island against the invading Japanese and they all retreated to Castle Tok for a last stand. When they were overwhelmed and surrendered there were about two hundred and fifty of them left alive. The Japanese herded them all onto the terrace of Castle Tok and drove them by bayonet over the terrace wall to the rocks below."
"Jesus." The drop was a hundred feet or more.
"Everyone. The wounded, the … the others, everyone." He had seen her shiver and at once had reached out to touch her.
"Don't, Orlanda, that's such a long time ago."
"It's not, no, not at all. I'm afraid history and the war's still very much with us, Line. It always will be. Ghosts walk those terraces by night."
"You believe that?"
"Yes. Oh yes."
He remembered looking back at the brooding house, the surf crashing against the rocks below, her perfume surrounding him as she leaned back against him, feeling her heat, glad to be alive and not one of those soldiers. "Your Castle Tok looks like something out of the movies. You ever been inside?"
"No. But they say there are suits of armor and dungeons and it's a copy of a real castle in France. The owner was old Sir Cha-sen Tok, Builder Tok. He was a multimillionaire who made his money in tin. They say that when he was fifty a soothsayer told him to begin building a 'big mansion' or he would die. So he began to build and he built dozens of places, all mansions, three in Hong Kong, one near Sha Tin and many in Malaya. Castle Tok was the last one he built. He was eighty-nine but hale and hearty and like a middle-aged man. But after Castle Tok the story is he said enough, and quit building. Within a month he was dead and the soothsayer's prophecy came true."
"You're making it all up, Orlanda!"
"Oh no, Line, I wouldn't, not without telling. But what's true and what's false? Who really knows, eh, my darling?"
"I know I'm mad about you."
"Oh Line, you must know I feel the same."
They had driven on past Aberdeen, warm and together, his hand on her shoulder, her hair brushing his hand. From time to time she would point out houses and places and the hours went by imperceptibly, delightfully for both of them. Now, as they came down from the pass through the clouds and broke out of them, they could see most of the city below. Lights were not on yet, though here and there the huge colored neon signs down by the water's edge were beginning to brighten.
The traffic was heavy and on the steep mountain roads water still ran in the gutters with piles of fresh mud and rocks and vegetation here and there. She drove deftly, without taking chances, and he felt safe with her though driving on the wrong side of the road had been hair-raising on the bends.
"But we're on the correct side," she said. "You drive on the wrong side!"
"The hell we do. It's only the English who drive on the left. You're as American as I am, Orlanda."
"I wish I were, Line, oh so very much."
"You are. You sound American and you dress American."
"Ah, but I know what I am, my darling."
He let himself just watch her. I've never enjoyed watching anyone so much, he thought. Not Casey, not anyone in my whole life. Then his mind took him again to Biltzmann and he wished he had that man's neck in his hands.
Put him away, old buddy, away with the shit of the world. That's what he is—he and Banastasio. Bartlett felt another twinge go through him. He had had a phone call just before lunch, and an apology that was really an added threat.
"Let's break bread, baby, you'n me? Hell, Line, it's shitsville with you'n me hollerin'. How about steaks tonight? There's a great steak house off Nathan Road, the San Francisco."
"No thanks. I've got a date," he had said coldly. "Anyway, you made your point yesterday. Let's leave it at that, okay? We'll get together at the annual board meeting, if you attend."
"Hey Line, this is me, your old buddy. Remember we came through for you when you needed the cash. Didn't we give you cash up front?"
"Cash up front in return for shares which have been the best investment—the best regular investment you ever had. You've doubled your money in five years."
"Sure we have. Now we want a little of the say-so, that's only fair, isn't it?"
"No. Not after yesterday. What about the guns?" he had asked on a sudden hunch.
There was a pause. "What guns?"
"The ones aboard my airplane. The hijacked M14's and grenades."
"It's news to me, baby."
"My name's Line. Baby. Got it?"
Another pause. The voice grated now. "I got it. About our deal. You gonna change your mind?"
"No. No way."
"Not now, not later?"
"No."
There had been the silence on the other end of the line and then a click and the endless dial tone began. At once he had called Rosemont.
"Don't worry, Line. Banastasio's a top target of ours and we have lots of help in these parts."
"Anything on the guns?"
"You're in the clear. The Hong Kong brass here've withdrawn the lien on you. You'll hear that officially tomorrow."
"They found something?"
"No. We did. We checked out your hangar in L.A. One of the night watchmen remembered seeing a couple of jokers fiddling around in your landing bay. He thought nothing about it till we asked."
"Jesus. You catch anybody?"
"No. Maybe never will. No sweat. About Banastasio, he'll be off your back soon enough. Don't worry."
Now, thinking about it, Bartlett felt chilled again.
"What's the matter, darling?" Orlanda asked. "What is it?"
"Nothing."
"Tell me."
"I was just thinking that fear's lousy and can destroy you if you don't watch out."
"Oh yes I know, I know so very well." She took her eyes off the road a second and smiled hesitantly and put her hand on his knee. "But you're strong, my darling. You're afraid of nothing."
He laughed. "I wish that were true."
"Oh but it is. I know. " She slowed to go around a pile of slush, the road steeper here, water swirling in a minor flood in and out of the gutters. The car was hugging the tall retaining wall as she turned down into Kotewall Road and around the corner to Rose Court. When she came alongside he held his breath as she hesitated a moment, then firmly bypassed the foyer and turned into the steep down-path that led to the garage. "It's cocktail time," she said.
"Great," he said, his voice throaty. He did not look at her. When they stopped he got out and went to her side and opened the door. She locked the car and they went to the elevator. Bartlett felt the pulse in his neck throbbing.
Two Chinese caterers carrying trays of canapes got in with them and asked for the Asian Properties flat. "It's on the fifth floor," she said, and after the caterers had got out Bartlett said, "Asian Proper-ties're the landlords here?"