"I'm so terribly sorry," he said, saluting, and walked off.

Father Leo was last. Somberly he made the sign of the cross, saying the Latin words, his face mostly hidden.

"But he's not Catholic, Father," she said gently.

"I think he was one of us, senhora, in his heart." Father Leo's accent was thickened with grief, his night spent in prayer, asking what should he do, should he attend or not. "He would have seen the Light, you would have helped him, I'm sure of it. In nomine Patri..."

Unhappily he ambled away. Now only Jamie, Hoag and Skye stood with her on the jetty. "What now, Jamie?" she asked, a deep melancholy swooping over her.

"We wait a minute," he said.

Like the others he was feeling that he was part of a cheat, at the same time deeply moved and not a cheat. This is just to help a friend, he told himself.

You promised to guard his tail, and hers. That's what you're doing. Yes but it's cheating and I hate it. Forget that, you're their leader, act like one. "Captain Strongbow, cast off!

God speed!"

"Aye aye sir, thank you." The cutter eased away, dipping in the troughs, then picked up speed. Sea gulls mewed in her wake.

They watched her go.

"It feels so odd," she murmured, weeping silently. "It is, and it isn't. We're not wrong are we? Are we?"

Again Jamie made the decision for all of them.

"No," he said and took her arm and walked her home.

Just before sunset, Vargas knocked on the tai-pan's office door. "Mr. Gornt to see you, senhora. Monsieur Andr`e left a message that Monsieur Seratard would be honored if you would dine with him."

"Thank them but say no, perhaps tomorrow, perhaps.

Hello, Edward. Come in." Again she sat in an easy chair by the windows, the day dark and rainy. A white wine was opened and waiting in ice. One fine glass was upended in the ice and chilling. "Please help yourself, you're boarding now?"

"Yes, the tender's ready. Your health, Ma'am."

"And yours. Are you the only passenger?"

"I don't know." He hesitated. "You look wonderful, ethereal, and unobtainable, Ma'am."

"I will be sorry to see you go. Perhaps everything will be better when you return," she said, liking him as before. "Will you come back or first go to Shanghai?"

"I'll know better in Hong Kong. Where will you be staying? On the Peak in the Struan Great House?"

"I've not decided--finally--even if I'll go."

"But... you won't be at the funeral?" he asked, confused.

"I'll decide tomorrow," she said, wanting to keep him off balance, him and everyone, even Jamie. "Mr. Skye strongly advises me to stay here, and I don't feel well." She shrugged. "I'll decide tomorrow, I've a berth reserved. I desperately wish to be with him, I need to be there, and yet, if he's not buried as he wishes and I wish, then... then I've failed."

"You haven't failed him, Ma'am.

Everyone knows that."

"You won't fail me, will you, Edward? You'll deliver my letter to her, everything, as we discussed?"

"At once. A promise is a promise.

A matter of honor. Ma'am." He looked at her directly.

"And I promised too. Didn't I? A matter of honor. Eternal friendship."

The way she said the two words was a promise and not a promise. For the life of him he could not read her as he had before. Earlier he would have known how far that promise would take him. Now there was a barrier. I'm glad, he thought, for if there's a barrier for me it will exist for every man. Six months is still not much to wait and a perfect time.

So she may not be in Hong Kong. How does that affect me? "My plans, Ma'am? They depend on Tess Struan." He wanted to tell Angelique his real plan, but was far too shrewd to indicate that, even obliquely.

"I'm hoping she'll act on the information I'll give her. That will take a month, at least. If she wishes I'll wait the month and help, she'll need help, Ma'am. It all depends on her. If you arrive by mail ship we can talk more there. If not, may I write?"

"Of course, yes please. I would like that. By every mail. I promise I will keep you advised of my plans." She opened the drawer and took out an envelope. It was addressed to Mrs. Tess Struan. And unsealed. "You may read it."

"Thank you, Ma'am, but that's not necessary."

Angelique took it back, did not seal it but just tucked the flap into the back. "This will save you the trouble of steaming the flap open, Edward."

He laughed. "What makes you so sure I'd do that?"

"I would. It would be too much of a temptation.

But please seal it before you give it to her."

He nodded. "You once said, now you knew why your husband liked me, why I would be a dangerous enemy, an even more dangerous friend. Perhaps that applies to you, Angelique."

"Perhaps it does," she said simply. "I'm feeling my way in this new world, Edward. It's fraught with difficulties, and the quicksands. But you will find me very dependable once I've given my word, as I have. Do not forget I am French." A little smile. "Read it."

The letter read: Dear Mrs. Struan, by now you will have heard the terrible news about Malcolm--sorry that I cannot tell you in person but I have been advised by Dr.Hoag not to travel by Prancing Cloud or the mail ship.

I cannot tell you how distraught I am and have been. Let me just say simply I loved him with all my heart and tried to do the best I could while he was alive, and, too, after his death have been desperately trying to bury him as he wished, at sea, like his adored grandfather. But that was forbidden me.

Please, I beg you, please do for him what I failed to do.

But I have not failed him in a further duty.

The bearer of this letter was your son's friend. He brings information of great importance--that he had promised to give Malcolm the day he died, that he, Malcolm, was rushing to give you by Prancing Cloud: the means to destroy your everlasting enemies, Tyler and Morgan Brock. Mr.Gornt has sworn to me he will give every last detail to you. I beg you to implement it if it is what he purports it to be. The successful conclusion to that feud, and the elimination of that agony from your head is, I know only too well, all the epitaph Malcolm would wish.

She had dated it, and signed it Angelique Struan, Yokohama. There was a P.s.: Strange, isn't it, we who have so much in common--I hate my father too, he tried to destroy me too--have been so far apart, so unnecessarily.

Edward Gornt sealed the envelope thoughtfully.

He put it in his pocket and raised his glass.

"A long life, you're a remarkable woman, remarkable."

"How so?"

"You ask for nothing, give everything," he said with genuine admiration, and did not add, And you do not mention thirty days when, as women, that will be uppermost in both your minds--for if you are carrying his child, the Struan empire is mostly yours whether daughter or son, though a son would be perfect!

And even if you're not, an immodest claim on Struan's is just as perfect and unassailable.

In either case you will still marry me! "You are a great woman," he said calmly, "I hope I may be allowed to share an everlasting friendship."

He got up, gallantly kissed her hand and did not linger.

Alone again she nodded to herself, content, then poured wine into his glass--there were other glasses within easy reach but she chose his deliberately and sipped with added enjoyment. Then grimly raised the glass seawards: "God speed, Prancing Cloud." Another sip. And she smiled.

"Phillip!"

"Yes Sir William?"

"Here, take these. Are the rest of our dispatches ready?"

"Yes sir. I've done extra copies of both the Inquests, the death certificates, etceteras. I'll get your "private and confidential" to the Governor from the safe and that's the lot. Best if I take them aboard Cloud personally."