Mr. Maudling had finally gone the way of all flesh, to be replaced by an equally courteous and competent gentleman, Mr. Augustus Thornleigh.
“How much have I got left?” Lee asked Mr. Thornleigh.
Augustus Thornleigh studied him in fascination. The tale of Alexander Kinross’s first appearance at the Bank of England was still retold—the tool box, the buckskins, the battered hat—and here was another to add to it, the banker thought. Smooth skin weathered to the color of light oak, that bizarre pigtail, the darkness of the face and its strange light eyes. He wore a chamois suit surely pretty much like the one Sir Alexander had, but no hat, and the upper garment was more a shirt than a coat, open halfway down a chest the same color as his face. Yet his accent was elegantly pear-shaped and his manners impeccable.
“Something in excess of half a million pounds, sir.”
The fine black brows flew up, strikingly white teeth showed in a grin. “Dear old Apocalypse earns on!” Lee said. “What a relief. Though I must be the only Apocalypse shareholder who keeps withdrawing rather than depositing.”
“In one way, Dr. Costevan. Deposits do come in your name regularly from the Company.” Mr. Thornleigh looked mildly enquiring. “May I ask what your personal investments are?”
“Petroleum,” said Lee tersely.
“Oh! A coming industry, sir. Everyone is saying that the horseless carriage will replace the horse, which has the farriers and horse breeders in a fine fit of despondency.”
“Not to mention the saddlers.”
“True, true.”
They chatted on until a teller brought Lee the bank notes he had asked for, then Mr. Thornleigh rose to escort his client off the premises.
“You just missed Sir Alexander,” he said.
“He’s in London?”
“At the Savoy, Dr. Costevan.”
DO I, OR DON’T I? Lee asked himself as he hailed a hackney. Oh, what the hell, why not?
“The Strand—the Savoy, actually,” he said, climbing in.
Having nothing smaller, Lee gave the driver a gold sovereign which the man pocketed in a flash and pretended was a shilling for fear that the coin was a mistake. Not that Lee was there to witness this charade; he walked into the hotel and demanded a room from a smooth fellow in butler’s gear who was parading up and down the foyer.
Oh, bother! thought the fellow, how do I go about explaining in a tactful manner that this peculiar chap can’t afford us?
At which moment Alexander walked down the stairs wearing a morning suit and top hat.
“Complete to a tee, Alexander!” Lee called. “What a fop you’ve turned into in your old age!”
The Great Man seemed to cover the thirty feet in one bound, took the peculiar chap in a hard hold and kissed his cheek.
“Lee! Lee! Let me look at you! Och, far rather what you’re wearing than this pox doctor’s clerk’s outfit!” Alexander cried, smiling from ear to ear. “My dear boy, you’re a sight for sore eyes! Are you staying anywhere?”
“No, I was just asking for a room.”
“There’s a spare one in my suite if you’d honor me.”
“I’d be glad to.”
“Where’s your luggage?”
“Don’t have any. I lost all my European clobber in a little skirmish with some Baluchis about a thousand years ago. What you see is what you get,” said Lee.
“This is Dr. Lee Costevan, Mawfield,” said Alexander. “One of my fellow directors. Be a good chap and ask my tailor to come around tomorrow morning, would you?” Then off he went toward the stairs, an arm flung around Lee’s shoulders.
“No lift?” Lee asked, absurdly pleased to see him.
“Not these days. I don’t get enough exercise.” One hand groped for the pigtail and flapped it. “Have you ever cut it?”
“I trim the ends from time to time. Weren’t you going somewhere important?”
“Fuck important, you’re important!”
“Why do we all pick up my mother’s bad language? How is she?”
“Very well. I’ve just arrived from Kinross, so it’s a mere six weeks since I last saw her.” Alexander grimaced. “She won’t travel with me anymore, says it wears her out.”
His mouth went dry; Lee swallowed. “And Elizabeth?”
“Also very well. Absorbed in Dolly—did you hear about poor Anna? I can’t remember exactly when you disappeared.”
“You’d best tell me all of it again, Alexander.”
SO IN THE END no apology was tendered because none was needed; the two men sat over a long lunch in Alexander’s suite as if they had last met yesterday, yet last met a century ago.
“You’re needed, Lee,” Alexander said.
“If I can be part-time, yes, I’m happy to be needed.”
Which led to a description of Lee’s activities in Persia and his hopes for the petroleum industry. Alexander listened intently, intrigued by the fact that his own reminiscences of Baku had led Lee into this field.
“I didn’t realize at the time,” he said, “because I couldn’t speak any of the languages, that the locals had discovered how to refine the crude oil sufficiently to fuel their engines. But of course they couldn’t crack it to separate the best fractions, and Dr. Daimler hadn’t come along with his internal combustion engine either. Such a simple thing! Making the fuel work inside the cylinder instead of externally. I swear, Lee, that raw materials come along at exactly the right time to make some new invention not only feasible, but practical.”
But Alexander wasn’t in favor of the Persian enterprise. “I don’t know much about the country, but it’s bankrupt, volatile and very much at the mercy of the Russians. Thornleigh at the Bank of England says that Russia is going to try for control through banking, or a bank. Persia’s in need of loan money, and Britain’s behaving a bit like a girl who’s been proposed to once and confidently expects to be proposed to several more times, so why not say no for a while? Keep on with it as long as you can, Lee, but my advice is to get out the moment you can do so without losing your shirt.”
“I’m rapidly inclining to the same viewpoint,” said Lee with a sigh, “yet there’s more money in petroleum than in gold.”
“And being in on the ground floor is an advantage. However, I think you’ve made your move just a little too early. I’ve gone in a different direction—not petroleum, but rubber. We now have thousands of acres planted with Brazilian Para rubber trees in Malaya.”
“Rubber?” Lee asked, frowning.
“It’s becoming ubiquitous—used for almost anything. Motor cars need tires made of rubber, preferably a rubberized canvas outer tire and an air-filled inner tube of pure rubber. Bicycles have leaped ahead since pneumatic tires. Springs, valves, washers, waterproofed fabrics and over-shoes, rubber sheets for hospital beds, cushions, gas bags, machine belts, inked stamps, rollers—an almost endless list. They make electrical cable insulation of rubber now instead of gutta-percha, and there’s a rock-hard rubber called vulcanite that resists corrosion by acids or alkalis.”
He was away; Lee leaned back, stomach replete with a juicy steak, and watched the play of emotions cross Alexander’s face. He hadn’t really changed; he probably never would. Like most sinewy men, he had looked old when he was young and would look young when he was old. As thick as ever, the hair was almost white and gave him a leonine cast because he still wore it down to his shoulders, and the eyes had lost none of their obsidian fire; despite his insistence that he needed to climb stairs for exercise, he hadn’t put on an ounce.
Though his nature had softened again, perhaps due to the business with Anna and Dolly—Lee wasn’t sure. Just that the arrogance and imperiousness that Lee had seen in Kinross had now crumbled to reveal the old Alexander. As dynamic as ever, still possessed of that unerring instinct for what was the right thing to go into—rubber, for pity’s sake! Yet softer, kinder, more—merciful. Something had taught him humility.
“I have a gift for you,” Lee said, fishing in his shirt poc
ket. The photographs had to come out, and before he could transfer them to the opposite pocket Alexander had leaned across to pluck them from his hand. Still some imperiousness!
“Your mother I can understand, but Elizabeth?”
“Mum sent me three to India,” Lee said easily. “Of her, of Nell, and of Elizabeth. I lost Nell somewhere.”
“Ruby’s more tattered than Elizabeth.”
“I look at her far more often.”
Alexander handed the photographs back. “Will you come home, Lee?” he asked.
“First—here it is.”
A look of awe on his face, Alexander studied the coin. “An Alexander the Great drachma, and a very rare one! Superb condition—I would say, mint, except that’s impossible.”
“It was given to me by the present Shah of Persia, so who is to know? It might have sat untouched since your namesake left Ecbatana—the Shah said it came from Hamadan, which was Ecbatana.”
“My dear boy, it’s priceless. I can’t thank you enough. So will you come home?” he pressed.
“In a little while. I want to look at the Majestic first.”
“So do I. They say she’s the best battleship in the world.”
“I doubt that, Alexander. What possesses the Royal Navy to keep on putting their twelve-inch guns in barbettes instead of turrets? I think the American navy goes one better with turrets.”
“Whichever, the things are too slow—fourteen knots! And the Krupp steel is better armor than Harvey’s. Kaiser Wilhelm is beginning to build battleships too,” said Alexander, savoring his cheroot. “Personally I think that the Royal Navy is eating up too big a portion of the British Government’s money.”
“Oh, come, Alexander,” said Lee gently, “I may have been out of things for four years, but I doubt the British are hard up.”
“They have the Empire to rape, yes, but the business slump we’ve been enduring in Australia is worldwide. The truth of the matter is that building battleships is keeping men employed, for there are no ocean liner keels in the shipyards of the Clyde.”
“How are things in New South Wales?”
“Grim. Banks have been collapsing one after the other since 1893, though that was the worst year. Foreign investment capital was pulled out in a hurry. I tried to tell Charles Dewy years ago not to deposit in Sydney, but he wouldn’t listen. As well that Constance has two sons-in-law of shrewder disposition than Charles was.” The black eyes twinkled. “Henrietta is still unattached. I don’t suppose you’re looking for an excellent wife?”
“No.”
“Too bad. She’s a good girl destined, I fear, to be an old maid. Like Nell, she’s too fussy and too pushy.”
“How is Nell?”
“Doing medicine at Sydney University, if you believe that.” Alexander scowled. “Graduated with First Class Honors in mining engineering, then enrolled in second-year Medicine. Women!”
“Good for Nell. Medicine must be hard going for a woman.”
“After engineering? Rubbish!”
“She’s your daughter, Alexander.”
“Don’t remind me.”
“And what of federation?” Lee asked, changing the subject.
“Och, it’s a foregone conclusion, though New South Wales isn’t keen. I think that’s because Victoria is. There’s no love lost between those two colonies. Victoria will gain.”
“And the trade unions?”
“The shearers and general laborers have joined together to form the A.W.U.—the Australian Workers’ Union. The miners—coal, naturally—are as pugnacious as ever, and the Labor Electoral League is dying to try its luck in a federal parliament.”
“Which leads me to a burning question—whereabouts is the capital of the new nation to be?”
“By rights, in Sydney, but Melbourne won’t countenance that. The most anyone will concede is that the capital should be in New South Wales somewhere.”
“Anywhere but in Sydney, eh?”
“Too easy to make it Sydney, Lee. Oldest settlement, et cetera. I’ve heard every town from Yass to Orange. Still, one must be thankful for small mercies. Sir Henry Parkes can’t be the first prime minister because he died last year.”
“Good lord! There passes an era. Who’s the new Great Man?”
“No one. In New South Wales, a fellow called George Reid. In Victoria, Turner, though he’ll not be prime minister. It’s for all the world like the rivalry between England and France.”
“The French are well in the lead with the motor-car.”
“That won’t last,” said Alexander cynically. “They don’t have the experience with steeling iron that the Americans and the British do. They can precision engineer, but Germany pinched all their metallurgists, industrial plant and Alsace-Lorraine after the Franco-Prussian War. The French have never recovered.”
“I’m surprised you don’t have a motor-car yet, Alexander.”
“I’m waiting for Daimler to produce something really worth having. The Germans and the Americans are the best precision engineers in the world, and the engine design is so simple. The wonderful thing about a motor-car, Lee, is that you don’t need a degree in engineering to fix it. A little mechanical aptitude and a few tools, and Mr. Motor-Car Owner can fix it himself.”
“It will decrease the amount of noise on the roads too. No iron-bound wheels on the vehicles, no iron-shod hooves on its horses. Easier to turn, easier to drive than a horsed carriage. I’m surprised that you haven’t gone into manufacturing it.”
“Someone in Australia already is—they’re going to call their horseless carriage the Pioneer. But no, for the time being I’ll stick to steam,” said Alexander.
AFTER LEE had been provided with suitable apparel, the pair set out for the naval dockyards in Portsmouth armed with letters of introduction, there to prowl all over the Majestic.
“You’re right about her speed, Alexander—she’s slow. The American ships are doing eighteen knots with heavier armaments, though admittedly with thinner armor plating.” Lee eyed the coal hatches thoughtfully. “She takes two thousand tons, they say—enough to sail five thousand miles at twelve knots. But I’d be willing to bet that it’s older ships will sail the oceans. At her cost, she’ll be kept in the North Sea.”
“I read your mind as if it were sending flags up a mast, Lee. They’re putting the Parsons steam turbine engine into liners and merchant ships, and I’ve even heard that the Royal Navy has put it into a few torpedo boats. When they put it into one of these fifteen-thousand-tonners and change from barbettes to good rotational turrets, they’ll have a real battleship.” Flashing Lee a grin, Alexander trotted down the gangway with a twirl of his amber-headed cane and a wave in the direction of the bridge. “Let us,” he said as they walked into a misty rain, “keep an eye on developments, eh?”
“I read your mind as if it were sending flags up a mast,” said Lee gravely.
OF COURSE the engineering works of Mr. Charles Parsons had to be inspected, together with several other factories producing innovative machinery, but by August they were on a ship for Persia and the Peacock oilfields. There Lee found that his Farsi-fluent American second-in-command had done well in his absence, and would go on doing well. No more excuses; he had to go home.
Half of him had expected that Alexander would decide to visit his plantations of Brazilian Para rubber trees in Malaya en route, but no. They boarded a fast steamer in Aden that was heading straight for Sydney.
“That is,” said Lee, “via Colombo, Perth and Melbourne. I think therein lies the reason for Sydney’s unpopularity as the national capital. Perth may as well be on another continent, but ships get to Melbourne first. It’s another thousand miles up to Sydney, so a lot of ships don’t bother going on to Sydney. Now if some way could be found to approach Australia from the north, Sydney would be far more important than Melbourne.”
He did a lot of rather feverish talking during that voyage, unwilling to give Alexander the slightest hint that he dreaded returning to
Kinross. How would he manage to behave normally to Elizabeth, especially given that Alexander was determined to keep him closer than ever before? He could live in the Kinross Hotel, yes, but since Anna’s departure Alexander had moved all of his administrative duties and paperwork to his own house; the offices in town had been partially converted to a research facility under the aegis of Chan Min, Lo Chee, Wo Ching and Donny Wilkins. Lee was to work with Alexander at all times, and would certainly have to eat lunch at the house, if not dinner.
The years had been lonely, only bearable because of what he had learned from the monks of Tibet; were it not for Elizabeth, Lee believed that he might have elected to stay there, abandon all the training and precepts his mother and Alexander had instilled in him for a life that had a hypnotic element to it, a communal synchrony governed by the soul. The Oriental in him liked that, could have been happy living on the top of the world removed from time, pain, yearning. Except that Elizabeth mattered more, and that was a mystery. Not one look or gesture of encouragement, not one word to give him hope. Yet he couldn’t banish her from his mind, or cease to love her. Is it that some of us do genuinely have a soul mate, and, having found that soul mate, are borne along helplessly on the tide forever striving to engulf and dissolve in the soul mate? Make one out of two?
“Have you told Ruby and Elizabeth that we’re on our way?” he asked Alexander as the ship neared Melbourne.
“Not yet, but I can actually telephone them from Melbourne. I thought that was the way to go,” said Alexander.