Never mind, I'll try later. He lowered himself as gently as he could. When his weight was off his waist and on his back he sighed with relief.

"Ayeeyah!"

"Patience, Malcolm," Babcott had said every day at every visit--three or four times daily.

"Sod patience!"

"Quite right too--but you really are doing fine."

"And when can I get up?"' "Now if you wish--but I wouldn't advise it."

"How long?"' "Give it a couple of weeks."

He had cursed openly but in many ways he was glad for the reprieve. It gave him more time to consider how he was going to deal with being tai-pan, with his mother, with Angelique, with McFay and pressing business problems.

"What about the guns for Choshu?"' McFay had asked a few days ago. "It'll be a huge continuing business."

"I've an idea. Leave it with me."

"Norbert will have sniffed these Choshus out long since and he's bound to make them an undercutting offer."

"The hell with Norbert and Brock! Their contacts are not as good as ours, and Dmitri, Cooper-Tillman and most of the other American China traders's on our side."

"Except in Hawaii," McFay said sourly.

In the last mail, ten days ago--no further news since then and the bimonthly steamer not expected for another five days--Tess Struan had written:...

The Victoria Bank has betrayed us. I believe they have been secretly supporting Morgan Brock in London with lavish letters of credit. With these, he has secretly bought out or bribed all our Hawaiian agents cornering the whole sugar market, excluding us totally.

Worse, though I've no proof, it's rumoured he has close contacts with the Rebel President Jefferson Davis and his cotton plantation owners, proposing to barter the whole crop against cotton futures for English mills --a deal that would make Tyler and Morgan the richest men in Asia. THIS MUST NOT HAPPEN! I am at my wit's end. Jamie, what do you suggest? Give this dispatch to my son with the same urgent request for help.

"What's your suggestion, Jamie?"' "I don't have one, Mal...

Tai-pan."

"If the deal's done the deal's done and that's the end of it. Say it is, could we intercept the cotton somehow?"' McFay had blinked. "Pirate it?"' Struan had said levelly, "If need be.

Old Man Brock would, he has in the past.

That's one possibility, the cotton will all go in his ships. Second: our Navy breaks the Union blockade and then we can all get all the cotton we want."

"It could, if we declare war on the Union.

Unthinkable!"

"I don't agree. For God's sake, we should come in on Davis's side, Southern cotton's our lifeblood. Then they'll win, otherwise they won't."

"Agreed. But we're equally dependent on the North."

"How do we take away his ships? There must be a way to break the chain. If he can't move the cargo he's bankrupt."

"What would Dirk do?"' "Go for the jugular," Malcolm had replied at once.

"Then that's what we have to find..."

Where and what is it? he asked himself again, lying quietly on the bed, willing his brain to work clearly on this problem and all the others.

Angelique? No, I'll think about her later --but I know I love her more every day.

Thank God I can write letters now. Must write to Mother again, if anyone should know the jugular it's her, isn't Tyler Brock her father and Morgan her brother but how dare she sneer at Angelique's family? Should I write to Angelique's father? Yes, but not yet, there's time enough.

So much other mail to catch up on, books to order from England, Christmas not so far away, the Jockey Club Charity Ball in Hong Kong, Struan's annual Ball to think about, meetings today: Jamie at least twice, Seratard this afternoon --what does he want? What else is planned for today? Phillip's coming to chat again after breakfast... wait a minute, no, not today.

Yesterday Sir William ordered him back to Yedo, to prepare the Legation for the meeting with the Council of Elders in twenty days.

"Will the meeting really take place, Sir William?"' he had asked when the Minister had visited him. With the fleet no longer protecting the Legation, and extensive though not overtly hostile samurai activity all around them, after a few face-saving days Sir William had considered it prudent to return to Yokohama, ostensibly to prepare for the delivery of the indemnity money.

"I think so, Mr. Struan. Perhaps not punctually, but yes the ceremonial will happen approximately then and we will have taken a real leap forward. If they produce the first payment of 5,000 pounds as promised... well, that will be a very good indication. By the way, I understand you've a steamer due to leave today for Hong Kong, could I prevail upon you to allow one of my staff and some urgent mail to go with her--my wife and two sons are expected soon and I have to make plans."

"Of course, I'll mention it to McFay.

If you want a berth on any of our ships to meet them just say the word."

"Thank you--I was planning two weeks vacation when they do. One gets hidebound, cooped up here, don't you think? Miss the bustle of Hong Kong, that's quite a city though damned if the people at Whitehall appreciate it! Plenty of good roast beef, some cricket or tennis, the theatre or opera, and several days at the races would be most welcome. When will you return?"' When?

News of our Tokaido disaster would have arrived almost a week ago, presuming the mail ship weathered the storm. Mother will have had a fit though showing nothing to outsiders. Will she come here on the first available ship? Possibly, but there's HQ to look after--and Emma, Rose and Duncan. With father dead, me not there, eighteen days is too long for her to be away. Even if she's already aboard there's at least another three or four days to prepare my defenses. Strange to consider her a possible enemy, if not enemy no longer friend.

Perhaps she's friend after all, she always has been, however distant, always attending father with little time for us.

"Hello, my son, how could I ever be your enemy?"' He was astonished to see her standing by the bed, his father also, and this was strange because he remembered his father was dead but it did not seem to matter, quickly out of bed without hurt and chatting with them happily in the cutter crossing Hong Kong harbor, storm clouds everywhere, both of them listening deferentially and approving his clever plans, Angelique sitting in the stern, her dress diaphanous, breasts beckoning, uncovered now, his hands there and lower, all uncovered now, her body writhing against his, hands caressing his face...

"Malcolm?"

He awoke with a start. Angelique was beside the bed, smiling at him, peignoir blue silk rich and discreet. The dream vanished, except the threat and promise of her body, ever pulsating in his subconscious. "I... oh I was dreaming, my darling, but it was about you."

"Oh yes? What?"

He frowned, trying to recollect.

"I don't remember," he said, smiling up at her, "except that you were beautiful. I love your gown."

She pirouetted gaily to show it off. "The tailor you asked Jamie to arrange made it!

Mon Dieu, Malcolm, me, I think he is marvelous--I ordered four dresses, I hope that's all right... oh thank you!" She bent down to kiss him.

"Wait, Angelique, wait, just a second. Look!" Carefully he raised himself, dominating the pain, took both supporting hands away and held them out to her.

"That's wonderful, cheri," she said, delighted, catching his hands. "Ah, Monsieur Struan, I think I'd better take care to be chaperoned all the time now, and never be alone with you in your bedroom."

Smiling she stepped closer, carefully put her hands on his shoulders, allowed his arms to go around her and kissed him. Her kiss was light, promising and avoided his need for more. Without guile she kissed his ear, then straightened, allowing his head to rest against her breast, the intimacy pleasing her--and him very much. Soft silk there, with that uncanny, irreplaceable, special warmth.