"What's the matter, darling?" Orlanda asked. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

"I was just thinking that fear's lousy and can destroy you if you don't watch out."

"Oh yes I know, I know so very well." She took her eyes off the road a second and smiled hesitantly and put her hand on his knee. "But you're strong, my darling. You're afraid of nothing."

He laughed. "I wish that were true."

"Oh but it is. I know. " She slowed to go around a pile of slush, the road steeper here, water swirling in a minor flood in and out of the gutters. The car was hugging the tall retaining wall as she turned down into Kotewall Road and around the corner to Rose Court. When she came alongside he held his breath as she hesitated a moment, then firmly bypassed the foyer and turned into the steep down-path that led to the garage. "It's cocktail time," she said.

"Great," he said, his voice throaty. He did not look at her. When they stopped he got out and went to her side and opened the door. She locked the car and they went to the elevator. Bartlett felt the pulse in his neck throbbing.

Two Chinese caterers carrying trays of canapes got in with them and asked for the Asian Properties flat. "It's on the fifth floor," she said, and after the caterers had got out Bartlett said, "Asian Properties're the landlords here?"

"Yes," she said. "They're also the original builders." She hesitated. "Jason Plumm and Quillan are good friends. Quillan still owns the penthouse though he sublet it when we broke up."

Bartlett put his arm around her. "I'm glad you did."

"So'm I." Her smile was tender and her wide-eyed innocence tore at him. "Now I am."

They reached the eighth floor and he noticed her fingers tremble slightly as she put the key into her lock. "Come in, Linc. Tea, coffee, beer or a cocktail?" She slipped off her shoes and looked up at him. His heart was pounding and his senses reached out to feel whether the apartment was empty. "We're alone," she said simply.

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

She shrugged a little shrug. "It's only some things."

He put his hands on her waist. "Orlandaa"

"I know, my darling."

Her voice was husky and it sent a tremor through him. When he kissed her, her lips welcomed him, her loins soft and unresisting. His hands traced her. He felt her nipples harden and the throb of her heart equal his. Then her hands left his neck and pressed against his chest but this time he held her against him, his kiss more urgent. The pressure of her hands ceased and once more the hands slid around his neck, her loins closer now. They broke from the kiss but held each other.

"I love you, Linc."

"I love you, Orlanda," he replied, and the sudden truth of it consumed him. Again they kissed, her hands tender but strong, his own hands wandering and in their wake, fire. For him and for her. More of her weight rested on his arms as her knees weakened and he lifted her easily and carried her through the open door into the, bedroom. The gossamer curtains that hung from the ceiling to form the four-poster moved gently in the cool sweet breeze from the open windows.

The coverlet was soft and down-filled.

"Be kind to me, my darling," she whispered huskily. "Oh how I love you."

From the stern of the Sea Witch, Casey waved good-bye to Dunstan Barre, Plumm and Pugmire who stood on the wharf, Hong Kong side, where they had just been dropped, the late afternoon pleasant but still overcast. The boat was heading back across the harbor again Peter Marlowe and the girls had already been dropped off at Kowloon Gornt having persuaded her to stay on board for the extra trip. "I've got to come back to Kowloon again," he had told her. "I've an appointment at the Nine Dragons. Keep me company. Please?"

"Why not?" she had agreed happily, in no hurry, still in plenty of time to change for the cocktail party to which Plumm had invited her this afternoon. She had decided to postpone her dinner with Lando Mata for one day next week.

On the way back from Sha Tin this afternoon she had dozed part of the time, wrapped up warm against a stiff breeze, curled up on the wide, comfortable cushions that circled the stern, the other guests scattered, sometimes Gornt there at the cone, tall, strong and captain of the ship, Peter Marlowe alone in a deck chair dozing at the bow. Later they had had tea and cakes, he and Casey and Barre. During tea, Pugmire and Plumm had appeared, tousled and content, their girls in tow.

"Sleep well?" Gornt had asked with a smile.

"Very," Plumm had said.

I'll bet, she had thought, watching him and his girl, liking her big, dark eyes, svelte, a happy soul called Wei-wei who stayed with him like his shadow.

Earlier, when she and Gornt had been alone on deck, he had told her that none of these were casual friends, all of them special.

"Does everyone here have a mistress?"

"Good lord no. But, well, sorry, but men and women age differ entry and after a certain age it's difficult. Bluntly, pillowing and love and marriage aren't the same."

"There's no such thing as faithfulness?"

"Of course. Absolutely. For a woman it means one thing, for a man another."

Casey had sighed. "That's terrible. Terrible and so unfair."

"Yes. But only if you wish it to be."

"That's not right! Think of the millions of women who worked slave all their lives, looking after the man, scrubbing and cleaning and nowadays helping to support their children, to be shoved aside just because they're old."

"You can't blame men, that's the way society is."

"And who runs society? Men! Jesus, Quillan, you've got to admit men are responsible!"

"I already agree it's unfair, but it's unfair on men too. What about the millions of men who work themselves to death to provide~that jolly word to provide the money for others to spend, mostly women. Face it, Ciranoush, men have to go on working until they are dead, to support others, and more than frequently at the end of their lives, a hacking, shrewish wife look at Pug's wife for God's salcel I could point out fifty who are unnecessarily fat, ugly and stink literally. Then there's the other neat little female trick of the women who use their sex to trap, get pregnant to ensnare, then cry havoc and scream for a highly paid divorce. What about Linc Bartlett, eh? What sort of a wringer did that wonderful wife of his put him through, eh?"

"You know about that?"

"Of course. You ran a tape on me, I ran one on both of you. Are your divorce laws fair? Fifty percent of everything and then the poor bloody American male has to go to court to decide what proportion of his fifty percent he can retain."

"It's true Linc's wife and her attorney almost put him away. But not every wife's like that. But God, we're not chattel and most women need protection. Women throughout the world still get a raw deal."

"I've never known a real woman to get a raw deal," he said. "I mean a woman like you or Orlanda who understands what femininity means." Suddenly he had beaTned at her. "Of course, en route she has to give us poor weak bastards what we want to stay healthy."

She had laughed with him, also wanting to change the subject too difficult to solve now.

"Ah, Quillan, you're one of the bad ones all right."

"Oh?"

"Yes."

He had turned away to search the sky ahead. She watched him and he looked fine to her, standing there, swaying slightly, the wind ruffling the hairs on his strong forearms, his sea cap jaunty. I'm glad he trusts me and considers me a woman, she had thought, lulled by the wine and the food and by his desire. Ever since she had come aboard she had felt it strongly and she had wondered again how she would deal with it when it manifested itself, as it would, inevitably. Would it be yes or no? Or maybe? Or maybe next week?

Will there be a next week?

"What's going to happen tomorrow, Quillan? At the stock market?"

"Tomorrow can take care of tomorrow," he had said, the wind whipping him.

"Seriously?"

"I will win or I will not win." Gornt shrugged. "Either way I'm covered. Tomorrow I buy. With joss I have him by the shorts."

"And then?"

He had laughed. "Have you any doubt? I take him over, lock, stock and box at the races."

"Ah, you really want that, don't you?"

"Oh yes. Oh yes, that represents victory. He and his forebears have kept me and mine out. Of course I want that."

I wonder if I could make a deal with Ian, she had thought absently. Wonder if I could get the tai-pan to allow Quillan a box, his own box, and help make him a steward. Crazy for these two to be like bulls in a china shop there's more than enough room for both. Ian owes me a favor if Murtagh delivers.

Her heart fluttered and she wondered what had happened with Murtagh and the bank, and if the answer was yes, what Quillan would do.

And where is Linc? Is he with Orlanda, in her arms, dreaming the afternoon away?

She curled up again on the stern and closed her eyes. The salt air and the throb of the engines and the motion through the sea put her to sleep. Her sleep was dreamless, womblike, and in a few minutes she awoke refreshed. Gornt was sitting opposite her now, watching her. They were alone again, the Cantonese captain at the wheel.

"You have a nice sleeping face," he said.

"Thank you." She moved and rested on one elbow. "You're a strange man. Part devil, part prince, compassionate one minute, ruthless the next. That was a wonderful thing you did for Peter."

He just smiled and waited, his eyes strangely and pleasantly challenging.

"Line'sa I think Linc's smitten with Orlanda," she said without thinking and saw a shadow go over him.

"Oh?"

"Yes." She waited but he said nothing, just watched her. Pushed by the silence, she added involuntarily, "I think she's smitten with him." Again a long silence. "Quillan, is that part of a plan?"

He laughed softly and she felt his dominance. "Ah, Ciranoush, you're the strange one. I don"

"Will you call me Casey? Please? Ciranoush is not right."

"But I don't like Casey. May I use Kamalian?"

"Casey."

"What about Ciranoush today, Casey tomorrow, Kamalian for Tuesday dinner? That's when we close the deal. Eh?"

Her guards came up without thinking. "That's up to Linc."

"You're not tai-pan of Par-Con?"

"No. No, I'll never be that."

He laughed. Then he said, "Then let's make it Ciranoush today, Casey tomorrow and the hell with Tuesday?"

"All rightI" she said, warmed by him.

"Good. Now as to Orlanda and Line," he said, his voice gentle. "That's up to them and I never discuss the affairs of others with others, even a lady. Never. That's not playing the game. If you're asking if I've some devious plot, using her against Linc or you and Par-Con, that's ridiculous." Again he smiled. "I've always noticed that ladies manipulate men, not the other way around."

"Dreamer!"

"One question deserves another: Are you and Linc lovers?"

"No. Not in the conventional sense, but yes I love him."

"Ah, then are you going to marry?"

"Perhaps." Again she shifted and she saw his eyes move over her. Her hands pulled the blanket closer around her, her heart beating nicely, very conscious of him as she knew he was conscious of her. "But I don't discuss my affairs with another man," she said with a smile. "That's not playing the game either."

Gornt reached out and touched her lightly. "I agree, Ciranoush." The Sea Witch came out of the breakwater into the harbor waves, Kowloon ahead. She sat up and turned to watch the Island and the Peak, most of it cloud covered. "It's so beautiful."

"The south coast of Hong Kong's grand around Shek-O, Repulse Bay. I've a place at Shek-O. Would you like to see the boat now?"

"Yes, yes I'd like that."

He took her forward first. The cabins were neat, no sign of having been used. Each had shower stalls and a toilet. A small general cabin served them all. "We're rather popular with ladies at the moment because they can shower to their hearts content. The water shortage does have advantages."

"I'll bet," she said, carried along by his joviality.

Aft, separate from the rest of the boat, was the master cabin. Big double bed. Neat, tidy and inviting.

Her heart was sounding loud in her ears now, and when he casually closed the cabin door and put his hand on her waist she did not back off. He came closer. She had never kissed a man with a beard before. Gornt's body was hard against hers and it felt good to her, her breath picking up tempo, his lips firm and cigar tasting. Most of her whispered: Go, let go, and most of her said, No, don't, and all of her felt sensual in his arms, too good.

What about Linc?

The question barreled into her mind like never before and all at once her mind cleared and, carried along by his sensuality, she knew for the first time with absolute clarity that it was Linc she wanted, not Par-Con or power if that had to be the choice. Yes, it's Linc, just Linc, and tonight I'll cancel our deal. Tonight I'll offer to cancel.

"Now's not the time," she whispered, her voice throaty.

"What?"

"No, not now. We can't, sorry. " She reached up and kissed him lightly on the lips, talking through the kisses, "Not now, my dear, sorry, but we can't, not now. Tuesday, perhaps Tuesdaya"

He held her away from him and she saw his dark eyes searching her. She held her gaze as long as she could, then buried her head against his chest and held him tenderly, still enjoying the closeness, sure that she was safe now, and that he was convinced. That was a close one, she thought weakly, her knees feeling strange, all of her pulsating. I was almost gone then and that wouldn't have been good, good for me or Linc or him.

It would have been good for him, she thought strangely.

Her heart was pounding as she rested against him, waiting, re- couping, confident in a moment with warmth and gentleness and the promise of next week he would say, "Let's go back on deck."

Then all at once she felt his arms tighten around her and before she knew what was happening she was on the bed, his kisses strong and his hands wandering. She began to fight back but he caught her hands expertly and stretched her out with his great strength and lay across her, his loins pinioning her, making her helpless. At leisure he kissed her and his passion and her heat mingled with her fury and fear and want. As much as she struggled, she could not move.

The heat grew. In a moment he shifted his grip. Instantly she swept to the attack, wanting more though now she was preparing to fight seriously. Again his grip on her hands tightened. She felt herself swamped, wanting to be overpowered, not wanting it, his passion strong, loins hard, the bed soft. And then, as abruptly as he had begun, he released her and rolled away with a laugh.