Free Tai-Pan by James Clavell Page B

the profit. She had thanked him but had never seemed interested in the money. From time to time she gave him more information. But she would never tell him how she started her double life, or why. Great God in Heaven, he thought, I’ll never understand people . . .
    And now, on the beach, he was wondering what Horatio would do when he found out. Impossible for Mary to keep her second life secret—she was sure to make a mistake.
    “What’s the matter, Mr. Struan?” Horatio said.
    “Nothing, lad. Just thinking.”
    “Do you have a ship leaving today or tomorrow?”
    “What?”
    “Going to Macao,” Horatio said with a laugh. “To take Mary to Macao.”
    “Oh, yes. Mary.” Struan collected himself. “Tomorrow, probably. I’ll let you know, lad.”
    He shoved his way through the merchants, heading for Robb, who was standing near one of the tables, staring out to sea.
    “What’s next, Mr. Struan?” Skinner called out.
    “Eh?”
    “We’ve the island. What’s the next move of The Noble House?”
    “Build, of course. The first to build’ll be the first to profit, Mr. Skinner.” Struan nodded good-naturedly and continued his way. He wondered what the other merchants—even Robb—would say if they knew he was the owner of the 
Oriental Times
 and that Skinner was his employee.
    “Na eating, Robb?”
    “Later, Dirk. There’s time enough.”
    “Tea?”
    “Thanks.”
    Cooper wandered over to them and lifted his glass. “To ‘Struan’s Folly’?”
    “If it is, Jeff,” Struan said, “you’ll all come down the sewer with us.”
    “Aye,” Robb said. “And it’ll be an expensive sewer if Struan’s has anything to do with it.”
    “The Noble House does do things in style! Perfect whisky, brandy, champagne. And Venetian glass.” Cooper tapped the glass with his fingernail, and the note it made was pure. “Beautiful.”
    “Made in Birmingham. They’ve just discovered a new process. One factory’s already turning them out a thousand a week. Within a year there’ll be a dozen factories.” Struan paused a moment. “I’ll deliver any number you want in Boston. Ten cents American a glass.”
    Cooper examined the glass more closely. “Ten thousand. Six cents.”
    “Ten cents. Brock’ll charge you twelve.”
    “Fifteen thousand at seven cents.”
    “Done—with a guaranteed order for thirty thousand at the same price a year from today and a guarantee you’ll only import through Struan’s.”
    “Done—if you’ll freight a cargo of cotton by the same ship from New Orleans to Liverpool.”
    “How many tons?”
    “Three hundred. Usual terms.”
    “Done—if you’ll act as our agent in Canton for this season’s tea. If necessary.”
    Cooper was instantly on guard. “But the war’s over. Why should you need an agent?”
    “Is it a deal?”
    Cooper’s mind was working like a keg of weevils. The Treaty of Cheunpi opened up Canton immediately to trade. On the morrow they were all going back to the Settlement in Canton to take up residence again. They would take over their factories—or hongs, as their business houses in the Orient were called—and stay in the Settlement as always until May when the season’s business was over. But for The Noble House to need an agent now in Canton was as foolish as saying the United States of America needed a royal family.
    “Is it a deal, Jeff?”
    “Yes. You’re expecting war again?”
    “All life’s trouble, eh? Is that na what Wolfgang was trying to say?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “How soon will your new ship be ready?” Struan asked abruptly.
    Cooper’s eyes narrowed. “How did you find out about that? No one knows outside our company.”
    Robb laughed. “It’s our business to know, Jeff. She might be unfair competition. If she sails like Dirk thinks she’ll sail, perhaps we’ll buy her out from under you. Or build four more like her.”
    “It’d be a change for the British to buy American ships,” Cooper said tensely.
    “Oh, we