Fortune is a Woman (43 page)

During that long winter in England he had thought many times of going back to Yorkshire to see his mother, but he didn't even know if she was still alive and anyway he was sure the police would be on to him in a flash. But the main reason he didn't go back was because he did not want his mother to see what he had become: a nothing, the lowest of the low. Not even a man.

He counted the coins in his pocket, ordering another drink and thinking about his next moves. It hadn't been hard to find out all about Francie Harrison; she was the most notorious woman in San Francisco, living openly with her Chinaman on top of Nob Hill. And they said she had a son, too—Sammy had seen him with his own eyes, though only at a distance—and it was then he had come up with his plan. He'd kept watch on Francie for weeks, he knew her movements and he knew that on Thursdays she went out for a few hours in the late afternoon. And that would be the time he would strike.

The bartender glanced anxiously at him as he passed him the drink; even in this rough area this guy looked wild with his lined yellow skin and hungry eyes. His back was permanently hunched and he looked as if for two pins he'd run a knife into you. Stepping discreetly into the back, he telephoned the local precinct and told the cops he had a suspicious-looking character in his bar. He glanced at Sammy as he returned and their eyes met. The bartender looked quickly away, nervously whistling an off-key melody. With an intuition learned from years of practice, Sammy sensed trouble; he downed his whiskey, threw a final menacing glance at the barman, and hurried outside.

The police understood the rarity of a call from any Barbary Coast saloonkeeper and sped to the scene, but by that time Sammy Morris was long gone, back to whatever hole in the wall or doorway would shelter him for another cold night.

CHAPTER 32

Lai Tsin devoted his life to his work. He traveled frequently to Hong Kong and each time he returned to his homeland he journeyed up the Yangtze River to visit the ancestral temple Elder Brother had built according to his strict instructions.

Elder Brother was growing fat on the monies he received from him monthly, but at least now Lai Tsin had the satisfaction of seeing that his child was no longer ragged and his wife's face was less haggard. The exquisite little gilded wooden temple had been built on the hill in the most favorable
fung-shui
position, sheltered in the curve of two adjacent hills and fronted by the winding slow-flowing river on the plain below, so that it received the best
ch'i,
or cosmic breath. It was immaculately maintained, though Lai Tsin doubted his brother had much to do with it, and he always managed to slip a little extra money into the poor wife's small hand, earning her undying gratitude.

Lilin's ancestral temple was small, the eaves and cornices were intricately carved and it was painted a deep vermillion that glowed like a flame on the distant gray-green landscape. When the evening sun glinted from the curving green-tiled roofs, turning the gilded eaves to burnished gold, the villagers and the river-travelers stopped to stare at its beauty and offer a prayer for the happiness of the spirits of Lai Tsin's mother and her children.

When he returned to San Francisco he summoned nineteen-year-old Philip Chen to his office and in the Mandarin Chinese they always spoke together, he said, "In two years I have taught you all I can about our business. I have decided the time has come for you to go to Hong Kong. Now we are ready to show the big hongs our power, to show them that we are here to stay and no longer need the crumbs from their tables." He placed the deed to the plot of land in the expensive central district on the desk in front of Philip and said with just the faintest touch of triumph in his voice, "Now we will build our headquarters in white granite to match theirs, with our golden name showing proudly to all of Hong Kong. You are to sail on your namesake ship, the
Philip Chen,
next week and you will take with you all the responsibilities and honor of your new position as comprador of the company." He looked affectionately at his son and smiled. "You will be the youngest comprador in Hong Kong. Many will try to scorn you and to cheat you, but I know that my trust in your abilities and your loyalty will not be misplaced."

Philip's voice shook with excitement as he realized he was to be the manager of the huge company. He thanked Lai Tsin and said, "Honorable Father, the honor you bestow on your lowly son is overwhelming. I will do everything in my power to uphold the interests of the company and to guard its face against the wiles of the big hongs and their jealousies. I will do my best to ensure that good joss remains with us and I will use my brains and my hands and as many hours of the day or night it takes to achieve the honor you have so generously given me."

Lai Tsin nodded, satisfied. "Then let us go visit your Honorable Number Two mother," he said, as the kindly Chinese woman with whom Philip had lived in the years following the earthquake was called. "We shall tell her of your success."

Lai Tsin's discreet black automobile with the Chinese driver was waiting outside to take them to Chinatown. Sammy Morris watched as their red taillights disappeared from sight, then he limped the couple of blocks to the nearest bar and placed a telephone call to the Mandarin's residence on Nob Hill.

The Chinese houseboy answered the phone, took the message, and delivered it to Ollie. The Mandarin had requested Ollie to meet him at his office as soon as possible; he had something important to show him.

Ollie glanced up from his homework, pleased. He knew he should tell his mother, but she had not yet returned from Annie's and there was no time to lose—the Mandarin had said as soon as possible. Flinging on his coat, he made for the door.

It was six o'clock on a cold February evening. Darkness had come early and already the moon was rising and the wind had swept the sky of clouds, leaving it clear and spangled with stars. Ollie hurried down the hill to the tram and from there he walked the last few blocks to the waterfront. He stopped for a few moments to admire the crowded merchant ships silhouetted against the sky before turning down the narrow street leading to the offices. He stared at it, puzzled; the building was in darkness, there wasn't even a light in the Mandarin's window. He tried the door but it was locked and he stepped back, wondering if he had come too late.

Sammy's footsteps were as soundless as a barefoot coolie's. Ollie did not hear him as he sprang from behind, thrusting an ether-filled pad over his nose and mouth, rendering him senseless in a mere few seconds.

***

Annie's new hotel was small but very chic, with seventy palatial rooms and a dozen richly appointed suites. It had the comfortably old-fashioned feel of an English country house, yet everything was of the latest design, from the showers to the heating, the elevators and the lamps, and of course, the food was exquisite, a more cosmopolitan version of her good plain food using the best seasonal ingredients, perfectly cooked and presented.

For Annie, running it was child's play. It was what she had always done, only more of it. Her days were busy and every night she enjoyed dressing in her best and going downstairs to personally greet her guests, sharing a little conversation and maybe a glass of champagne before seeing that they were seated for dinner and leaving them with a few recommendations from the menu she had drawn up herself.

Aysgarth's Hotel ran at ninety percent occupancy and the restaurant was one of the most famous and popular in the city. Money was flowing into Annie's personal coffers and she had good reason to feel pleased with herself. She worked hard; her guests needs came first; her hand-picked staff were well paid and happy; and she was already talking with the Mandarin about opening a second hotel in New York and another in Hong Kong.

She glanced affectionately at Francie across the tea table. She thought that for a woman in her early thirties who had gone through all she had in life, there wasn't a single line on her face. She still wore her heavy blond hair long and pulled back in a chignon and she had become one of San Francisco's smartest women, always immaculately turned out in clothes ordered exclusively from Paris, though she had never been there in her life. And though she owned few pieces of jewelry, what she had was impressive, like the rope of creamy nickel-sized South Sea pearls she always wore and the enormous Burmese ruby ring that matched her soft woolen dress.

"Quality," was the way Annie would have described her friend, and she didn't just mean the Yorkshire interpretation of "aristocratic," but the deeper sense of Francie's quality as a person. Annie knew that her days were filled with business meetings and her precious time with Ollie. Francie was a loyal friend and a loving mother; she gave everything she was to others and left little over for herself. But Edward Stratton was long gone and it was time for Francie to meet other people.

"Other
men,
you mean?" Francie retorted when Annie mentioned it to her. "You must be dreaming, Annie. You forget who I am. Who do you suppose would want to be seen with the notorious Francie Harrison?"

Annie sighed exasperatedly. "I'm still not sure it was a good idea, you living with the Mandarin—it only adds to the gossip."

"Well, at least it gives them something concrete to talk about," Francie said carelessly. "What do you suppose they hate most—that he is Chinese? Or that he's a man?"

Annie shook her head and poured more tea. "You've given them a double-header."

Francie shrugged. "Anyway, I'd better get back and check on Ollie and his homework." She laughed, her eyes softening with affection as she thought of him. "You know him, he'll do anything to get out of it." As she kissed Annie good-bye she said, "Will you join us at the ranch this weekend? And
no,
I just don't want to hear you are too busy again. This hotel takes up your entire life."

"That's the way I like it," Annie replied firmly. "And I'll think about the ranch, Francie. We've a full house this weekend, there's the Republican Party meeting and you know how demanding those politicians can be."

"Well, I can't blame them for choosing to stay at Aysgarth's. It must be the loveliest hotel in the world."

Annie smiled modestly. "Oh, I don't know, maybe in Paris there's another." She laughed and added, "But they'll not beat my food, even in Paris."

Francie walked back up the hill from Aysgarth's. She hated taking her car for such short distances, and anyway she could use the exercise. It was seven-fifteen when she got home and the houseboy greeted her in the hall with the news that master Ollie had been summoned to see the Mandarin. Surprised, she telephoned the office and when there was no reply she assumed they were on their way home and went upstairs to tidy herself for dinner.

Fifteen minutes later she came back down, smiling as she smelled the delicious aroma of ginger and chili coming from the kitchen; the Chinese cook doted on Ollie and each night he prepared special dishes for him.

A few minutes later the phone rang. She was in her bedroom and she grabbed it quickly and said, "Ollie?"

The man on the other end of the phone laughed, a short ugly sound that held no humor. "Ollie's here with me, Francie," he told her. "Down at the warehouse."

"Who is this?" she demanded, suddenly frightened.

"Don't you know? Don't you remember? Well, no, I suppose you wouldn't, would you? After all, you thought you'd finished me off years ago. But here I am, back from the grave, Francie, haunting you just the way Josh haunts me."

Francie's face paled. She gripped the receiver so tightly, her knuckles showed white. "Sammy Morris," she whispered.

"Ollie's waiting right here for you, Francie. Why don't you come and get him.
Only, don't bring any of your bastard Chinese hatchet men this time. And no police either. Or you know what to expect."

The line went dead and she stared numbly at it for a second, then she threw down the receiver and ran for the door, flinging her coat over her shoulders as she went. Ollie was in mortal danger—he was alone at the warehouse with Sammy Morris. She turned and ran back again, grabbing the small pistol from the drawer by her bed. The Mandarin had given it to her for her protection years ago when the tongs were warring with each other and he had felt she might be in danger. Now she meant to use it on Sammy Morris.

The narrow street in front of the warehouse was in darkness and Sammy had left the boy where he lay while he'd quickly broken a window and groped his way to the office. He'd drawn the window shade and found the telephone, turned on the light and called Francie, so choked with bitter excitement at the sound of her voice he could barely speak. But his real triumph had come when he'd realized how terrified she was and he had laughed out loud. Didn't they say the way to a woman's heart was through her children? Well, this time he had Francie's heart and he was going to mangle it to pieces. Only then would she know how he felt about Josh.

He found his way to a side door, pulled back the bolts and went back outside to get the boy, cursing as he stumbled in the darkness. Picking up the unconscious lad he threw him over his shoulder and carried him into the office. He flung him roughly into the chair and stepped back and looked at him.

The dose of ether had been a heavy one, he'd wanted no trouble and the boy was still unconscious. His head was tilted back and his gray eyes were half-open. And as he looked at him Sammy's face paled. He was looking at the young Josh. He clutched his head in anguish; one part of his mind was telling him this was Josh's son, the other was refusing to accept it. He was flung backward in time, back to Montgomery Terrace with his best friend, Josh; he would do anything for Josh, and Josh would do anything for him. Stabbing pains shot through his brain, his blood pulsed so hard he felt his head would burst and he suddenly fell, senseless as the boy, to the floor.

The smell of kerosene revived him, stinging his nostrils, choking him and he sat up, coughing. The room was in darkness again and he reached out to touch Josh, glad he was still there. His best friend had not left him after all. He lifted his head, sniffing the air, sensing danger. There was a flash of white light and the warehouse behind him suddenly exploded into orange flames. He stared numbly at it for a few seconds and then he dragged himself to his feet. The whole place was burning, the flames were leaping toward him, throwing strange shadows over the boy Josh's face and he knew he had to save him.