Am I buying it, or is it a permanent threat?"

"It's an insurance," he said, folding it and replacing it with care. "Now it goes back to a safe place, with details of the Affair Angelique, in case anything nasty happens to me."

Abruptly she laughed, unbalancing him.

"Oh Andr`e, do you think I'd try to murder you?

Me?"

"It would wreck any financial arrangement Tess might offer, may be forced to offer, and put you in the dock."

"How silly you are." She picked up her glass and sipped her champagne and he noticed, disquieted, how steady her hand was. She was watching him placidly, thinking how foolish he was, foolish to let her know he had done what he had done and was a total cheat, but even more foolish to rile against Hinodeh for preferring the dark--perhaps he looks awful naked--and more foolish to scream about the price he paid because both are insignificant if she's everything he says she is. "I'd like to meet this Hinodeh.

Please arrange it."

"Eh?"

Amused at his expression, she said, "What's so strange about that? I have an interest in her, I'm financing her, the love of your life.

Yes?"

Shakily he got up and went to the sideboard and poured brandy. "Would you like some?"

"No, thank you." Only her eyes had moved.

Again he sat opposite her. A draft played with the flame and made her eyes glitter.

"A hundred. Please."

"When do I stop paying, Andr`e?" she asked pleasantly.

The brandy tasted better than the wine. He faced that question. "When she's paid for, before you leave."

"Before I leave? You mean I can't leave until then?"

"When she's paid for, before you leave."

She frowned and went over to the desk and opened a side drawer. The little purse contained the equivalent of about two hundred Mex in gold oban. "And if there's no money?"

"It will come from Tess, there's no other way.

She'll pay, somehow we'll make that happen."

""We" will?"

"I promised," he said, the whites of his eyes bloodshot. "Your future is my future. At least on that we both agree."

She opened the purse and counted half. Then, not knowing why, put them all back and handed it to him.

"There's about two hundred Mex there," she said, smiling strangely. "On account."

"I wished I understood you. I used to."

"Then I was a silly young girl. Now I'm not."

He nodded slowly. Then took out the envelope and held it to the flame. She let out a little gasp as the corner caught and then it flared and he put it into an ashtray and together they watched it curl and twist and die. He crushed the ash with the bottom of his glass.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because you understand about Hinodeh. And like it or not we're partners. If Tess doesn't pay you I'm a dead man." He stuck out his hand. "Peace?"

She put her hand in his and smiled. "Peace.

Thank you."

He got up. "I'd better check on Prancing Cloud. If Tess's aboard, it will speed things up."

After he had gone she sifted the ashes but not a single word could be seen. Easy for Andr`e to forge a copy and tear it up and present it as the original and burn it--and still have the restored original secreted away for later use. That's just the kind of stratagem he would adore. Why burn the false one? To make me trust him further, to forgive the blackmail.

Peace? The only peace from a blackmailer is when the deadly exposure he threatens you with no longer needs to be hidden. In my case that's when SHE has paid, and the money banked. And after Andr`e gets what he wants--Hinodeh, perhaps.

What is it she wants? She hides from him in the dark. Why? Because of his color? To titillate? For revenge? Because he's not Japanese?

I know now that the act of love can go from terror to ecstasy to delusion, with every variation in between. My first time with Malcolm was in the light, the second in darktime and both were beautiful. With him of the other life always in the light and he was beautiful and deadly, his color beautiful, everything beautiful and deadly and terrifying and blindingly powerful, nothing like my husband Malcolm whom I truly loved. And honored--and honor still, and will forever.

Her sharp ear caught the toot of the cutter's steam whistle. She opened the curtains and saw the launch hurrying away from their jetty, port and starboard lights clear, Albert MacStruan in the cabin. In the roads Prancing Cloud was scarcely visible, downing sails and easing for moorings.

Her mind swirled aboard and in her mind she saw her enemy--as ever, thin-lipped, pale-eyed, tall and stiff-backed, bony and badly dressed --then sped away to the outer harbor and Malcolm's burial and she smiled, glorying in that victory, the sound of her heart pulsing in her ears. Then she curled up in her chair again-- his chair, their chair, another victory--and watched the dark become darker, only riding lights to be seen, hardly able to contain her excitement.

Surely Edward would be aboard.

The door to Jamie's office swung open and Vargas rushed in, out of breath, "Launch's left Cloud, senhor," he said, his heavy street clothes still on, hat and head scarf wrapped around his face, telescope in hand, "four or five passengers."

"Is she aboard?" Jamie did not look up from the packing case he was filling with papers. When there was no immediate answer his voice edged, "Damn it, is she aboard?"

"I... I'm... I think so."

"I said to let me know when you were sure, not before!"

"I'm, I'm sorry, senhor, I was at the end of the jetty and looked through the spyglass and thought I'd better report and ask what, what I should do."

"Go back and meet her, but first make sure all servants are ready, make sure there's a fire in the tai-pan's suite, she'll take that, Mr. MacStruan's sure to move out."

"But that will mean she'll be next door to Mrs.Angeli--"

"I know that for God's sake but that's the tai-pan's suite and that's the one she'll have!"

Vargas fled. Unable to resist, Jamie hurried to the window. The cutter was nearing shore.

Just riding lights outside and dancing in the chop.

He focused his binoculars. Vague shapes in the cabin but positively one a woman. No doubt about the bonnet, and no mistaking her tall, erect carriage and the way she rode the pitch and toss and tilt of the boat.

"Shit!" The breath sighed out of his mouth.

To steady the image, he leaned against the window. Not much better. One of the shapes he identified as Captain Strongbow more by his height and bulk than anything else. Two other men, no three-- one of them MacStruan.

The cutter came in fast, the storm damage on the prow still easy to see, not yet completely repaired. Curious bystanders waited under the swinging lantern on the dock, everyone muffled against the dreaded winter flux with hats and head scarfs that were now obligatory. Difficult to see faces but he thought he recognized Andr`e there, and... ah yes Vervene, Heavenly and, yes, and Nettlesmith. The vultures gathering, he thought, though like me, the main ones are watching from their windows.

Tonight the dark oppressed him. In his room his fire was good but now seemed to have lost its warmth.

His throat felt tight and his chest hurt.

Control yourself, he thought. She's not your problem.

Captain Strongbow was first onto the wharf in his heavy sea coat. Still difficult to see clearly but no mistaking him. Then, ah yes, MacStruan. They turned and helped her up.

She was wrapped against the cold, stiff-backed, dark clothes, dark bonnet tied with the inevitable heavy scarf. Her size. Shit!

The other two passengers climbed onto the jetty. He recognized them. A moment's hesitation then he went out and along the passage to the tai-pan's office. Angelique was peering into the dark through a crack in the curtain, her fire glowing nicely, lamps lit and the room cozy.