Norbert would be thirty-one in six days.

By forty, the normal retirement age, the average China trader was old. Five thousand for ten years was truly a princely sum, enough for him and all his generations, enough to buy a seat in Parliament, to become gentry, a squire with a manor house, married to a young bride with a fine dowry of good Surrey land.

It was easy to decide. He put his face close to Struan's and was happy to see the pain under the taut skin--of a height with him now that Struan hunched over his sticks. "Listen, young Malcolm, you tossed brandy in my face for lunch, you can kiss my arse for supper."

"You-sir-are-a-motherless-bastard!"

The older man laughed, a cruel jeering laugh. "You're an even bigger motherless bastard, in fact y--"' Babcott moved between them, his great height and size dwarfing them. "Stop it, both of you," he said angrily, "both of you! This is a public place and these quarrels should be settled in private as between gentlemen."

"He's not a bloody gen--"' "In private as gentlemen, Malcolm,"

Babcott said louder. "Norbert, what's your pleasure?"' "A duel's not my choice but it's what this bastard wants, so be it! Tonight, tomorrow, sooner the better."

"Not tonight, tomorrow, or any day, duelling's against the law, but I will be at your office at eleven." Babcott looked at Struan, knowing that no one here could prevent a duel if that was their mutual wish. He saw the dilated pupils and was sad for him and furious with him. Both he and Hoag had long since diagnosed the addiction but nothing they did or said had made any impression, nor could they prevent access to the drug. "I'll see you at noon, Malcolm.

In the meantime, as the senior British Official still in Yokohama, you are both ordered neither to address each other, or attack each other, in private or in public..."

Never mind about bloody Babcott, Struan was thinking now, even more confident, the brandy mixing nicely with the opiate. Tomorrow or the next day you'll send Jamie, no, send Dmitri to see Norbert--not Jamie, he's no longer to be trusted. We'll do it near the race course and the Noble House will give Norbert a noble funeral --and bloody Brock too if he ever comes here, by God! They've both forgotten you were the best revolver shot at Eton, and duelled that sod Percy Quill for calling you a Chinaman.

Killed him too and was sent down for it, though the affair was hushed up and settled by Papa for a few thousand guineas. Norbert will get his comeuppance ...

A stir in the room distracted him. Seratard had just come in and was surrounded and being greeted by the others, Andr`e Poncin behind him. Through his mist he heard Seratard saying the Yedo meeting had been concluded quickly after "we broke the deadlock and French compromises were accepted so no need to stay ..."

His ears stopped listening as his eyes focused on Andr`e. The taut, sharp-featured, straight-backed handsome Frenchman was smiling at Angelique who was smiling back more happily than she had for days. Jealousy began to swamp him but he put it away. Not her fault, he thought wearily, or Andr`e's, she's worth smiling at and I'm not good company and not myself, just sick to death of the pain and being helpless. God but I love that woman and need her to death.

He struggled up, made his excuses and thanked them for their hospitality. Seratard was his usual charming self. "But surely you'll stay? So sorry about the fire--we felt none of the earthquake at sea, not even a swell of any sort. Don't worry about your fiancee, we'll be delighted to have her company, Monsieur, as long as necessary while your apartments are repaired, of course you are welcome any time." He saw them to the door, Angelique insisting on taking Struan's arm to walk him home.

"I'm fine, Angel," Struan said, loving her.

"Of course, my love, but it's my pleasure," she said, bursting with goodwill now that Andr`e had returned. Only a few more hours and then I am free.

Dinner was a great success with Angelique radiant, Seratard full of himself at his success in Yedo, regaling them with his exploits in Algiers where he had been an official in charge of subjugation before this appointment, Vervene all the time vying for her attention to tell heroic versions of what he had previously achieved, all of them flushed by her company and abundant wine, a bottle of Burgundy per man, with champagne before to tickle the taste buds, and now again to settle the stomach. Then Andr`e Poncin began telling saucy tales of Hong Kong, Shanghai, and Kowloon where villagers from time to time really believed the Penis Plague was with them again when that appendage would disappear back into their bodies, so all the men would tie a string around it, anchoring it tightly to their necks to prevent the catastrophe.

"Oh, that's impossible, Andr`e, and naughty of you!" she said, her fan fluttering, amidst laughter and his protests that this was the absolute truth, sure it was now time for her to leave. She finished her second tall glass of champagne that went nicely with the previous three goblets of Ch`ateau d'Arcins, more than mellow herself--her relief that Andr`e had come back when he had promised, and her pleasure at speaking French for the whole evening, had overcome her usual caution, "Now I will leave you to your cigars and brandy--and naughty stories!"

"But only for a moment," Seratard said.

"Andr`e is going to play for us."

"Tonight, no," Andr`e said, too quickly. "If you don't mind, there are some papers I must ready for tomorrow, sorry."

"Everything can wait, pleasure before business,"

Seratard said as a genial order. "Tonight we must have music to finish the evening, something romantic for Angelique."

"Let him have some peace, Henri," she said, the wine making her cheeks rosy, delighted that Andr`e was clearly anxious to fetch the promised medicine. "You've taken him from his business long enough, after all he's not an official."

"Andr`e will adore to play for us."

"Ah, so Andr`e is always to be commanded, yes?

Then I must command you, Monsieur le Ministre, to excuse him this once... and me too, it's time for my bed." She got up, her knees a little weak. They surrounded her, protesting loudly.

"But I'm here tomorrow and for at least three days."

She offered her hand to Andr`e with a special smile, "Now you are free to go, I command you to guard our interests."

"You may count on it, Angelique."

"A last glass..."

She allowed herself to be persuaded to take it with her and they escorted her to ensure the bolts on the windows and new shutters of the boudoir and bedroom were secure.

"We decided to replace all our shutters since you were last here." Vervene said again what he had already told her earlier, his sparce hair awry, beaming tipsily, "even in last week's storm there were no rattles." All eyes noticed the filmy green peignoir and nightdress laid out on the bed that had been turned down invitingly by the heavyset maid who watched and waited balefully. Dimmed oil lamps and their alcoholic haze, made the room all the more enticing and her more provocative.

More reluctant good nights and sweet dreams and then she was alone with Ah Soh, the door to the corridor bolted. The maid undressed her and brushed her hair and put her crinoline away in the deep hanging cupboard with her other clothes, lingerie in the chest of drawers, all the while Angelique humming happily, content to be here, safe for tomorrow, elated to be alone and that the fire and earthquake had not harmed any of them or interfered with her plan but had made it simpler.

I will make peace between Malcolm and Jamie, bad for them to be estranged, she thought exhilarated, still thirsty, but smoothed and wine content. Thank God for Andr`e. I wonder what the Yoshiwara's like, and his girl. I'll encourage him to tell me about her and we can laugh together...