changed.
Didn't fall for it, did I? Tug thought smugly. I wasn't born yesterday, was I?
They strolled up the covered pathway, pausing to admire the lotus flowers and water-lilies and the rhododendrons until they turned through an arched gateway festooned with drapes of blue wistaria and abruptly the main house was disclosed.
It was stunning, a creation of unblemished white marble and ceramic rooftiles in peaks and gables, modern and yet timelessly classical.
Tug did not miss a stride, and sensed the young man's disappointment beside him. He had expected Tug, like all other visitors, to gawk.
The patriarch, Ning Heng H'Sui, was very old, older than Tug by ten years or more. His skin was dried and folded like that of the unwrapped mummy of Rameses II in the Cairo Museum, and spotted with the foxing of age. On his left cheek grew a mole the size and colour of a ripe mulberry. It is a common Chinese superstition that the hairs growing from a facial mole bring good luck, and Heng H'Sui had never shaved his. A bunch of hair sprouted from the little purple cauliflower and hung down in a silver tassel below his chin above the simple tunic of cream- coloured raw silk he wore.
So much for the dragon embroidery he tried to rig me with, Tug thought, as he took his hand. It was dry and cool and the bones were light as a bird's.
Heng was desiccated with age; only his eyes were bright and fierce.
Tug imagined that the giant man-eating dragons of Komodo might have eyes like that.
I trust you have rested after your journey, Sir Peter, and that you are comfortable in my poor house. His voice was thin and dry as the sound of the wind rustling the autumn leaves and his English was excellent.
They exchanged pleasantries while they measured and sized each other.
It was their first meeting. Alt Tug's negotiations up until this point had been with the elder sons.
All the sons were here now, waiting behind their father, the three elder brothers and Cheng.
One at a time Heng H'Sui waved them forward with a birdlike flutter of his pale dry hand, and they greeted Tug courteously in strict order of seniority.
Then Cheng helped his father back to his cushioned seat overlooking the garden. It was not lost on Tug that the youngest, rather than the eldest, was so honoured. Though there was no exchange of glances between the other brothers and no change of expression, Tug felt the sibling rivalry and jealousy so strong in the sweet mountain air that he could almost taste it. All this was good intelligence he was gathering about the family.
Servants brought them pale jasmine tea in bowls so fine that Tug could see the outline of his own fingers through the china.
He recognized the cream on white leaf design, so subtle and understated as almost to elude casual examination. The bowl was a masterpiece of a fifteenth-century potter of the Ching emperor of the Ming dynasty.
Tug drained the bowl and then, as he was about to set it down on the lacquered tray, he let it slip from his fingers. It struck the cedarwood floor and shattered into a hundred precious fragments. I am so sorry, he apologised. How clumsy of me.
It is nothing. Heng H'Sui inclined his head graciously, and gestured for a servant to sweep away the broken shards. The servant was trembling as he knelt to the task. He sensed his master's wrath. I do hope it was not valuable? Tug asked, testing him, trying to unsettle him, paying him back for the trick with the dragon robe. An angry man, one with hatred in his heart, has his judgement impaired. Tug studied Heng H'Sui for a reaction.
They both knew that Tug was fully aware that the bowl was priceless.
It was of no value, I assure you, Sir Peter. A mere trifle.
Think no more of it, the old man insisted, but Tug saw that he had got to him. There was a man of passion lurking behind that dried-out mask with the tasselled cheek piece. However, the old man was exhibiting class and style and control. A worthy adversary, Tug decided, for he had no illusion as to any fiduciary relationship between them merely on account of the mutually convenient and probably transient partnership of BOSS and the Lucky Dragon.
With the breaking of the bowl he had achieved a momentary advantage over the patriarch. He had thrown him off balance.
The old man sipped the last of the pale tea from his own bowl which was identical to the one which Tug had broken, and then held out his hand with a quiet word of command.
One of the servants knelt and placed a square of silk in his wrinkled paw. Heng H'Sui wiped out the bowl carefully and then wrapped it in the silk and handed it to Tug. A gift for you, Sir Peter. I hope that our friendship will not be as frail as this little bauble.
Tug conceded that Heng had snatched back the advantage.
Tug was left with no option but to accept the extravagant gift and the loss of face that the subtle rebuke entailed.
I will treasure it for the generosity of the giver, he said. My son, Heng indicated him with a flick of his blue- yeincd hand, tells me that you have expressed a desire to see my collection of ivory. Do you also collect ivory, Sir Peter? I don't, but I'm interested in all things African. I flatter myself that I know more than the average man about the African elephant. I know how much value your people place on ivory.
Indeed, Sir Peter, never dispute the efficacy of charms with a Chinese, especially those of ivory. Our entire existence is ruled by astrology and the courting of fortune. The Lucky Dragon? Tug suggested. The Lucky Dragon, certainly. Heng's parchment dry cheeks seemed about to tear as he smiled. And the Dragon at my gate has fangs of pure ivory. I have been caught up in the spell of ivory all my life. I started my career as an ivory-carver in my father's shop.
Yes, I know that the netsuke that bears your personal chop fetches prices equivalent to those of the great master carvers of antiquity, Tug told him. Ah, those were made when my eye was sharp and my hand steady. Heng shook his head modestly, but did not deny the value of his own creations. I would dearly love to see some examples of your work, Tug suggested, and Heng gestured to his youngest son to help him rise. So you shall, Sir Peter.
So you shall.
The ivory museum was at a distance from the main house.
