jamesclavell.noblehouse-第218章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　〃No；　no　thanks；　I'd　better　be　getting　back。　The　amah's　not　。。。　there's　no　room　for　her　so　she's　just　baby…sitting。　I've　got　to　drop　by　the　nursing　home　on　the　way　back；　just　to　check。〃
　〃Oh；　then　another　time。　Please　give　your　wife　my　regards。　How's　the　research　going？〃
　〃Fine；　thank　you。〃
　〃How　many　more　of　our　skeletons　have　you　wheedled　out　of　our　Hong　Kong　yan？〃
　〃Lots。　But　they're　all　good。〃　Peter　Marlowe　smiled　faintly。　〃Dirk　Struan　was　one　helluva　man。　Everyone　says　you　are　too　and　they　all　hope　you'll　best　Gornt；　that　you'll　win　again。〃
　Dunross　looked　at　him；　liking　him。　〃Do　you　mind　questions　about　Changi？〃　He　saw　the　shadow　pass　across　the　rugged　used　face　that　was　young…old。
　〃That　depends。〃
　〃Robin　Grey　said　you　were　a　black　marketeer　in　the　camp。　With　an　American。　A　corporal。〃
　There　was　a　long　pause　and　Peter　Marlowe's　face　did　not　change。　〃I　was　a　trader；　Mr。　Dunross；　or　actually；　an　interpreter　for　my　friend　who　was　a　trader。　He　was　an　American　corporal。　He　saved　my　life　and　the　life　of　my　friends。　There　were　four　of　us；　a　major；　a　group　captain；　a　rubber　planter　and　me。　He　saved　dozens　of　others　too。　His　name　was　King　and　he　was　a　king；　King　of　Changi　in　a　way。〃　Again　the　faint　smile。　〃Trading　was　against　Japanese　law　…　and　camp　law。〃
　〃You　said　Japanese；　not　Jap。　That's　interesting；〃　Dunross　said　at　once。　〃After　all　those　horrors　at　Changi；　you　don't　detest　them？〃
　After　a　pause　Peter　Marlowe　shook　his　head。　〃I　don't　detest　anyone。　Even　Grey。　It　takes　all　of　my　mind　and　energy　to　appreciate　that　I'm　alive。　Night！〃　He　turned　to　go。
　〃Oh；　Marlowe；　one　last　thing；〃　Dunross　said　quickly；　making　a　decision。　〃Would　you　like　to　go　to　the　races　Saturday？　My　box？　There'll　be　a　few　interesting　people　。。。　if　you're　researching　Hong　Kong　you　might　as　well　do　it　in　style；　eh？〃
　〃Thank　you。　Thank　you　very　much　but　Donald　McBride's　invited　me。　I'd　like　to　stop　by　for　a　drink　though；　if　I　may。　Any　luck　on　the　book？〃
　〃Sorry？〃
　〃The　book　on　the　history　of　Struan's；　the　one　you're　going　to　let　me　read。〃
　〃Oh　yes；　of　course。　I'm　having　it　retyped；〃　Dunross　said。　〃It　seems　there's　only　one　copy。　If　you'll　bear　with　me？〃
　〃Of　course。　Thanks。〃
　〃Give　my　best　to　Fleur。〃　Dunross　watched　him　go；　glad　that　Marlowe　understood　the　difference　between　trading　and　black　marketeering。　His　eyes　fell　on　the　Chinese　SI　man　who　still　watched　him　over　the　magazine。　He　walked　slowly　back　to　the　bar　as　though　lost　in　thought。　When　he　was　safe　inside　he　said　quickly；　〃Feng；　there's　a　bloody　newsman　downstairs　I　don't　want　to　see。〃
　At　once　the　barman　opened　the　countertop。　〃It's　a　pleasure；　tai…pan；〃　he　said；　smiling；　not　believing　the　excuse　at　all。　His　customers　frequently　used　the　servants'　exit　behind　the　bar。　As　women　were　not　allowed　inside　the　bar；　it　was　usual　that　it　was　a　woman　who　was　to　be　avoided　outside。　Now　what　whore　would　the　tai…pan　want　to　avoid？　he　asked　himself；　bemused；　watching　him　leave　a　generous　tip　and　hurry　away　through　the　exit。
　Once　on　the　street　in　the　side　alley　Dunross　walked　quickly　around　the　corner　and　got　a　taxi；　hunching　down　into　the　back。
　〃Aberdeen；〃　he　ordered　and　gave　directions　in　Cantonese。
　〃Ayeeyah；　like　an　arrow；　tai…pan；〃　the　driver　said　at　once；　brightening　as　he　recognized　him。　〃May　I　ask　what　are　the　chances　for　Saturday？　Rain　or　no　rain？〃
　〃No　rain；　by　all　the　gods。〃
　〃Eeeee；　and　the　winner　of　the　fifth？〃
　〃The　gods　haven't　whispered　it　to　me；　nor　the　foul　High　Tigers　who　bribe　jockeys　or　drug　horses　to　cheat　honest　people　out　of　an　honest　gamble。　But　Noble　Star　will　be　trying。〃
　〃All　the　fornicators'll　be　trying；〃　the　driver　said　sourly；　〃but　who's　the　one　chosen　by　the　gods　and　by　the　High　Tiger　of　Happy　Valley　Racetrack？　What　about　Pilot　Fish？〃
　〃The　stallion's　good。〃
　〃Butterscotch　Lass？　Banker　Kwang　needs　a　change　of　luck。〃
　〃Yes。　The　Lass's　good　too。〃
　〃Will　the　market　go　down　more；　tai…pan？〃
　〃Yes；　but　buy　Noble　House　at　a　quarter　to　three　on　Friday。〃
　〃At　what　price？〃
　〃Use　your　head；　Venerable　Brother。　Am　I　Old　Blind　Tung？〃
　
　Orlanda　and　Linc　Bartlett　were　dancing　very　close　in　the　semidarkness　of　the　nightclub；　feeling　the　length　of　each　other。　The　music　was　soft　and　sensual；　the　beat　good；　the　band　Filipino；　and　the　great　mirrored　luxurious　room　was　deftly　pool　lit；　with　private　alcoves　and　low　deep　chaises　around　low　tables　and　tuxedoed　waiters　with　pencil　flashlights　like　so　many　fireflies。　Many　girls　in　colorful　evening　dresses　sat　together　chatting　or　watching　the　few　dancers。　From　time　to　time　singly　or　in　pairs　they　would　join　a　man　or　men　at　the　tables　to　ply　them　with　laughter　and　conversation　and　drinks　and；　after　a　quarter　of　an　hour　or　so；　move　on；　their　movements　delicately　orchestrated　by　the　ever…watchful　mama…san　and　her　helpers。　The　mama…san　here　was　a　lithe　attractive　Shanghainese　woman　in　her　fifties；　well　dressed　and　discreet。　She　spoke　six　languages　and　was　responsible　to　the　owner　for　the　girls。　On　her　depended　the　success　or　failure　of　the　business。　The　girls　obeyed　her　totally。　So　did　the　bouncers　and　waiters。　She　was　the　nucleus；　the　queen　of　her　domain；　and　as　such；　fawned　upon。
　It　was　rare　for　a　man　to　bring　a　date　though　it　was　not　resented　…　providing　the　tip　was　generous　and　the　drinks　continuous。　Dozens　of　these　pleasure　places　of　the　night　were　spread　about　the　Colony；　a　few　private；　most　open；　catering　to　men　…　tourists；　visitors　or　Hong　Kong　yan。　All　were　well　stocked　with　dancing　partners　of　all　races。　You　paid　them　to　sit　with　you；　to　chat　or　to　laugh　or　to　listen。　Prices　varied；　quality　varied　with　your　choice　of　place；　the　purpose　always　the　same。　Pleasure　for　the　guest。　Money　for　the　house。
　Linc　Bartlett　and　Orlanda　were　closer　now；　swaying　more　than　dancing；　her　head　soft　against　his　chest。　One　of　her　hands　was　gently　on　his　shoulder；　the　other　held　by　his；　cool　to　his　touch。　He　had　one　arm　almost　around　her；　his　hand　resting　on　her　waist。　She　felt　his　warmth　deep　in　her　loins　and　almost　absently；　her　fingers　caressed　the　nape　of　his　neck　and　she　eased　a　little　closer；　drawn　by　the　music。　Her　feet　followed　his　perfectly；　so　did　her　body。　In　a　moment　she　felt　his　stirring　and　then　his　length。
　How　do　I　deal　with　him　tonight？　she　asked　herself　dreamily；　loving　the　night　and　how　perfect　it　had　been。　Do　I　or　don't　I？　Oh　how　I　want　。。。
　Her　body　seemed　to　be　moving　of　its　own　volition；　now　even　closer；　her　back　slightly　arched；　loins　forward。　A　wave　of　heat　swept　her。
　Too　much　heat；　she　thought。　With　an　effort　she　pulled　herself　back。
　Bartlett　sensed　her　leaving　him。　His　hand　stayed　on　her　waist　and　he　held　her　against　him；　feeling　nothing　but　her　body　under　his　hand；　no　undergarment。　So　rare。　Just　flesh　under　the　gossamer　chiffon　。。。　and　more　warmth　than　flesh。　Jesus！
　〃Let's　sit　for　a　moment；〃　she　said　throatily。
　〃When　the　dance　ends；〃　he　muttered。
　〃No；　no；　Linc；　my　legs　feel　weak。〃　With　an　effort　she　put　both　hands　around　his　neck　and　leaned　back　a　little；　keeping　herself　against　him　but　letting　him　take　some　of　her　weight。　Her　smile　was　vast。　〃I　may　fall。　You　wouldn't　want　me　to　fall；　would　you？〃
　〃You　can't　fall；〃　he　said；　smiling　back。　〃No　way。〃
　〃Please　。。。〃
　〃You　wouldn't　want　me　to　fall　would　you？〃
　She　laughed　and　her　laugh　thrilled　him。　Jesus；　he　thought；　slow　down；　she's　got　you　going。
　For　a　moment　they　danced；　but　apart；　and　that　cooled　him　a　little。　Then　he　turned　her　and　followed　her　close　and　they　sat　down　at　their　table；　lounging　on　their　sofa；　still　aware　of　their　closeness。　Their　legs　touched。
　〃The　same；　sir？〃　the　dinner…jacketed　waiter　asked。
　〃Not　for　me；　Linc；〃　she　said；　wanting　to　curse　the　waiter　for　his　ineptness；　their　drinks　not　yet　finished。
　〃Another　crème　de　menthe？〃　Bartlett　said。
　〃Not　for　me；　truly；　thanks。　But　you　have　one。〃
　The　waiter　vanished。　Bartlett　would　have　preferred　a　beer　but　he　didn't　want　that　smell　on　his　breath　and；　even　more；　he　did　not　want　to　spoil　the　most　perfect　meal　he　had　ever　had。　The　pasta　had　been　wonderful；　the　veal　tender　and　juicy　with　a　lemon　and　wine　sauce　that　was　mouth　tingling；　the　salad　perfect。　Then　zabaglione；　mixed　in　front　of　him；　eggs　and　Marsala　and　magic。　And　always　h