to see him. The gentleman was in the bar.
Dorothy was waiting for him by the notice-board. They, or rather they and Arlene, had decided not to go ashore immediately, but wait until after lunch. When the purser's clerk had made out the receipt, Greg went over to her.
"Darling, I meant to tell you before. There's a man here who wants to see me on business. It'll only take a few minutes. I'll see you up on the sports deck."
Dorothy pulled a face. "Business? I thought we'd left that behind."
"It's nothing important."
"I didn't know you did any business here."
"It's just a man I promised to see." There was nothing untrue about the statement; nevertheless he did not feel quite easy about it. "I'll tell you the story later," he added. "Look, darling, do you mind holding on to the camera for me?"
He went up to the bar. It was crowded with dock police, customs officials, and the usual collection of 'business' visitors thirsty for free drinks. The steward who had brought him the message pointed to a table in the corner of the bar. Greg made his way over.
Seated at the table with an open brief-case in front of him was a middle-aged Chinese. He wore a well-pressed light-grey suit and thick tortoiseshell glasses. He was writing busily in a loose-leaf notebook. As Greg approached, he glanced up.
"Mr. Tan?"
"Mr. Nilsen?" As he spoke he rose and they shook hands.
Mr. Tan's voice and manner were subdued, and his hand was like a soft bag of chicken bones. It would have been difficult to conceive of anyone less piratical. Greg, whose imagination had had three days to prepare for the encounter, was disconcerted.
"My son-in-law in Hong Kong cabled me that you would be passing through Manila," Mr. Tan said easily. "He hoped that I might perhaps be of some service to you and Mrs. Nilsen."
"Well, that's very kind of you, Mr. Tan. But I rather understood that there was a matter of business you wanted ..."
"Do you or Mrs. Nilsen know Manila?" Mr. Tan's interruption was so gentle in tone that Greg scarcely noticed the firmness of it.
"No, we don't."
"Then, may I make a suggestion? I have my car on the wharf. It would be a favour if you would allow me to place it at your disposal."
"Mr. Tan, I don't think . . ."
Mr. Tan held up a slender hand. "And an additional favour if you would allow me to be your host at lunch. You understand, I do not have the professional skills of my son-in-law, but my driver knows Manila well and can show you what there is to see."
"As a matter of fact, Mr. Tan, we've sort of committed ourselves to taking another passenger along with us. A lady."
"She is included in the invitation," Mr. Tan said promptly.
"I think . . ."
"I understand perfectly, Mr. Nilsen. Please feel free to consult with your wife before you accept."
Greg hesitated. "Mr. Tan, I think I had better explain that I have not mentioned to my wife the business we might have to discuss."
"Naturally, Mr. Nilsen, one does not trouble ladies with business." He smiled. "I am in the so-called import-export market. That is a very loose term covering everything from powdered milk to earth-moving equipment."
Greg nodded uncertainly. "I guess so. If you'll excuse me I'll go and find my wife."
Half an hour later the four of them left the ship and walked along the quay to the car park. As they approached, a pink Cadillac swung out of the parking line and pulled up alongside them. A Filipino driver sprang out to open the doors and they all got in.
Mr. Tan took them to his house for lunch. It was in the Spanish style and built on a hillside overlooking the bay. Mrs. Tan, obviously a second wife, proved to be young, very attractive, and a graduate of the University of Southern California. She wore toreador pants, and barbecued steaks for them on the patio. Arlene was enchanted. Mr. Tan talked about Philippine politics, skin diving and the amusing misfortunes of an American film company who were trying to shoot on location up in the hills. He did not once
Dorothy was waiting for him by the notice-board. They, or rather they and Arlene, had decided not to go ashore immediately, but wait until after lunch. When the purser's clerk had made out the receipt, Greg went over to her.
"Darling, I meant to tell you before. There's a man here who wants to see me on business. It'll only take a few minutes. I'll see you up on the sports deck."
Dorothy pulled a face. "Business? I thought we'd left that behind."
"It's nothing important."
"I didn't know you did any business here."
"It's just a man I promised to see." There was nothing untrue about the statement; nevertheless he did not feel quite easy about it. "I'll tell you the story later," he added. "Look, darling, do you mind holding on to the camera for me?"
He went up to the bar. It was crowded with dock police, customs officials, and the usual collection of 'business' visitors thirsty for free drinks. The steward who had brought him the message pointed to a table in the corner of the bar. Greg made his way over.
Seated at the table with an open brief-case in front of him was a middle-aged Chinese. He wore a well-pressed light-grey suit and thick tortoiseshell glasses. He was writing busily in a loose-leaf notebook. As Greg approached, he glanced up.
"Mr. Tan?"
"Mr. Nilsen?" As he spoke he rose and they shook hands.
Mr. Tan's voice and manner were subdued, and his hand was like a soft bag of chicken bones. It would have been difficult to conceive of anyone less piratical. Greg, whose imagination had had three days to prepare for the encounter, was disconcerted.
"My son-in-law in Hong Kong cabled me that you would be passing through Manila," Mr. Tan said easily. "He hoped that I might perhaps be of some service to you and Mrs. Nilsen."
"Well, that's very kind of you, Mr. Tan. But I rather understood that there was a matter of business you wanted ..."
"Do you or Mrs. Nilsen know Manila?" Mr. Tan's interruption was so gentle in tone that Greg scarcely noticed the firmness of it.
"No, we don't."
"Then, may I make a suggestion? I have my car on the wharf. It would be a favour if you would allow me to place it at your disposal."
"Mr. Tan, I don't think . . ."
Mr. Tan held up a slender hand. "And an additional favour if you would allow me to be your host at lunch. You understand, I do not have the professional skills of my son-in-law, but my driver knows Manila well and can show you what there is to see."
"As a matter of fact, Mr. Tan, we've sort of committed ourselves to taking another passenger along with us. A lady."
"She is included in the invitation," Mr. Tan said promptly.
"I think . . ."
"I understand perfectly, Mr. Nilsen. Please feel free to consult with your wife before you accept."
Greg hesitated. "Mr. Tan, I think I had better explain that I have not mentioned to my wife the business we might have to discuss."
"Naturally, Mr. Nilsen, one does not trouble ladies with business." He smiled. "I am in the so-called import-export market. That is a very loose term covering everything from powdered milk to earth-moving equipment."
Greg nodded uncertainly. "I guess so. If you'll excuse me I'll go and find my wife."
Half an hour later the four of them left the ship and walked along the quay to the car park. As they approached, a pink Cadillac swung out of the parking line and pulled up alongside them. A Filipino driver sprang out to open the doors and they all got in.
Mr. Tan took them to his house for lunch. It was in the Spanish style and built on a hillside overlooking the bay. Mrs. Tan, obviously a second wife, proved to be young, very attractive, and a graduate of the University of Southern California. She wore toreador pants, and barbecued steaks for them on the patio. Arlene was enchanted. Mr. Tan talked about Philippine politics, skin diving and the amusing misfortunes of an American film company who were trying to shoot on location up in the hills. He did not once
Similar Books
Played: “Sometimes you never know who is playing who, until the damage is done."
Bad-Boy Storyteller
