CHAPTER TWO
OCTOBER
1
MICKY MIRANDA was worried. He sat in the lounge of the Cowes Club smoking a cigar, wondering what he had done to offend Edward. Edward was avoiding him. He stayed away from the club, he did not go to Nellie’s, and he did not even appear in Augusta’s drawing room at teatime. Micky had not seen him for a week.
He had asked Augusta what was wrong but she said she did not know. She was a little odd with him and he suspected that she knew but would not say.
This had not happened in over twenty years. Every now and again Edward would take offense at something Micky did and go into a sulk, but it never lasted more than a day or two. This time it was serious—and that meant it could jeopardize the Santamaria harbor money.
In the last decade, Pilasters Bank had issued Cordovan bonds about once a year. Some of the money had been capital for railways, waterworks and mines; some had been simple loans to the government. All of it had benefited the Miranda family directly or indirectly, and Papa Miranda was now the most powerful man in Cordova, after the president.
Micky had taken a commission on everything—although nobody at the bank knew this—and he was now personally very rich. More significantly, his ability to raise the money had made him one of the most important figures in Cordovan politics and the unquestioned heir to his father’s power.
And Papa was about to start a revolution.
The plans were laid. The Miranda army would dash south by rail and lay siege to the capital. There would be a simultaneous attack on Milpita, the port on the Pacific coast that served the capital.
But revolutions cost money. Papa had instructed Micky to raise the biggest loan yet, two million pounds sterling, to buy weapons and supplies for a civil war. And Papa had promised a matchless reward. When Papa was president, Micky would be prime minister, with authority over everyone except Papa himself. And he would be designated Papa’s successor, to become president when Papa died.
It was everything he had ever wanted.
He would return to his own country a conquering hero, the heir to the throne, the president’s right-hand man, and lord over his cousins and uncles and—most gratifyingly—his older brother.
And now all of that had been put at risk by Edward.
Edward was essential to the plan. Micky had given Pilasters an unofficial monopoly of trade with Cordova, in order to boost Edward’s prestige and power at the bank. It had worked: Edward was now Senior Partner, something he could never have achieved without help. But no one else in London’s financial community had got a chance to develop any expertise in Cordovan trade. Consequently the other banks felt they did not know enough to invest there. And they were doubly suspicious of any project Micky brought to them because they assumed it had already been turned down by Pilasters. Micky had tried raising money for Cordova through other banks, but they had always turned him down.
Edward’s sulk was therefore deeply disquieting. It was giving Micky sleepless nights. With Augusta unwilling or unable to shed any light on the problem Micky had no one to ask: he himself was Edward’s only close friend.
While he sat smoking and worrying, he spotted Hugh Pilaster. It was seven o’clock, and Hugh was in evening dress, having a drink alone, presumably on his way to meet people for dinner.
Micky did not like Hugh and he knew the feeling was mutual. However, Hugh might know what was going on. And Micky had nothing to lose by asking him. So he stood up and went over to Hugh’s table. “Evening, Pilaster,” he said.
“Evening, Miranda.”
“Have you seen your cousin Edward lately? He seems to have vanished.”
“He comes to the bank every day.”
“Ah.” Micky hesitated. When Hugh did not invite him to take a seat he said: “May I join you?” and sat down without waiting for a reply. In a lower voice he said: “Would you happen to know whether I’ve done anything to offend him?”
Hugh had looked thoughtful for a moment, then said: “I can’t think of any reason why I shouldn’t tell you. Edward has discovered that you killed Peter Middleton, and you’ve been lying to him about it for twenty-four years.”
Micky almost jumped out of his chair. How the devil had that come out? He almost asked the question, then remembered he could not without admitting his guilt. Instead he feigned anger and stood up abruptly. “I shall forget you ever said that,” he said, and he left the room.
It took him only a few moments to realize that he was in no more danger from the police than he had ever been. No one could prove what he had done and it had all happened so long ago that there would be no point in reopening the investigation. The real danger he faced was that Edward would refuse to raise the two million pounds Papa needed.
He had to win Edward’s forgiveness. And to do that he had to see him.
That night he could do nothing, for he was engaged to go to a diplomatic reception at the French embassy and a supper party with some Conservative members of Parliament. But the next day he went to Nellie’s at lunchtime, woke April up, and persuaded her to send Edward a note, promising him “something special” if he would come to the brothel that night.
Micky took April’s best room and booked Edward’s current favorite, Henrietta, a slim girl with short dark hair. He instructed her to dress in a man’s evening clothes with a top hat, an outfit Edward found sexy.
By half-past nine in the evening he was waiting for Edward. The room had a huge four-poster bed, two sofas, a big ornate fireplace, the usual washstand, and a series of vividly obscene paintings set in a mortuary, showing the slavering attendant performing various sexual acts on the pale corpse of a beautiful young girl. Micky reclined on a velvet sofa, wearing nothing but a silk robe, sipping brandy, with Henrietta beside him.
She quickly got bored. “Do you like these pictures?” she asked him.
He shrugged and did not answer. He did not want to talk to her. He had very little interest in women for their own sake. The sexual act itself was a humdrum mechanical process. What he liked about sex was the power it gave him. Women and men had always fallen in love with him and he never tired of using their infatuation to control, exploit and humiliate them. Even his youthful passion for Augusta Pilaster had been in part the desire to tame and ride a spirited wild mare.
From that point of view, Henrietta offered him nothing: it was no challenge to control her, she had nothing worth exploiting her for, and there was no satisfaction in humiliating someone as low down on the scale as a prostitute. So he smoked his cigar and worried about whether Edward would come.
An hour went by, and then another. Micky began to lose hope. Was there some other way to reach Edward? It was very difficult to get to a man who really did not want to be seen. He could be “not at home” at his house and unavailable at his place of work. Micky could hang around outside the bank to catch Edward leaving for lunch, but that was undignified, and anyway Edward could easily just ignore him. Sooner or later they would meet at some social occasion, but it might not happen for weeks, and Micky could not afford to wait that long.
Then, just before midnight, April put her head around the door and said: “He’s arrived.”
“At last,” Micky said with relief.
“He’s having a drink but he says he doesn’t want to play cards. He’ll be with you in a few minutes, I’d guess.”
Micky’s tension mounted. He was guilty of a betrayal about as bad as could be imagined. He had allowed Edward to suffer for a quarter of a century under the illusion that he had killed Peter Middleton when in fact Micky had been the guilty one all along. It was a lot to ask Edward to forgive.
But Micky had a plan.
He posed Henrietta on the sofa. He made her sit with the hat over her eyes and her legs crossed, smoking a cigarette. He turned the gaslights down low then went and sat on the bed, behind the door.
A few moments later Edward came in. In the dim light he did not notice Micky sitting on the bed. He stopped in the doorway, looking at Henrietta, and said: “Hullo—who are you?”
She looked up and said: “Hello, Edward.”
“Oh, it’s you,” he said. He shut the door and came inside. “Well, what’s the ‘something special’ April has been talking about? I’ve seen you in a tailcoat before.”
“It’s me,” Micky said, and stood up.
Edward frowned. “I don’t wish to see you,” he said, and turned toward the door.
Micky stood in his way. “At least tell me why. We’ve been friends too long.”
“I’ve found out the truth about Peter Middleton.”
Micky nodded. “Will you give me a chance to explain?”
“What is there to explain?”
“How I came to make such an awful mistake, and why I never had the courage to admit it.”
Edward looked mulish.
Micky said: “Sit down, just for a minute, by Henrietta, and let me speak.”
Edward hesitated.
Micky said: “Please?”
Edward sat on the sofa.
Micky went to the sideboard and poured him a brandy. Edward took it with a nod. Henrietta moved close to him on the sofa and took his arm. Edward sipped his drink, looked around, and said: “I hate these paintings.”
“Me too,” said Henrietta. “They give me the shivers.”
“Shut up, Henrietta,” said Micky.
“Sorry I spoke, I’m sure,” she said indignantly.
Micky sat on the opposite sofa and addressed Edward. “I was wrong, and I betrayed you,” he began. “But I was sixteen years old, and we’ve been best friends for most of our lives. Are you really going to throw that away for a schoolboy peccadillo?”
“But you could have told me the truth at any time in the last twenty-five years!” Edward said indignantly.
Micky made his face sad. “I could have, and I should have, but once a lie like that is told, it’s hard to take it back. It would have ruined our friendship.”
“Not necessarily,” Edward said.
“Well, it has now … hasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Edward said, but there was a tremor of uncertainty in his voice.
Micky realized the time had come to go all out.
He stood up and slipped off his robe.
He knew he looked good: his body was still lean, and his skin was smooth except for the curly hair at his chest and groin.
Henrietta immediately got up from the sofa and knelt in front of him. Micky watched Edward. Desire flickered in his eyes, but then he glowered obstinately and looked away.
In desperation Micky played his last card.
“Leave us, Henrietta,” he said.
She looked startled, but she got up and went out.
Edward stared at Micky. “Why did you do that?” he said.
“What do we need her for?” Micky replied. He stepped closer to the sofa, so that his groin was just inches from Edward’s face. He put out a tentative hand, touched Edward’s head, and gently stroked his hair. Edward did not move.
Micky said: “We’re better off without her … aren’t we?”
Edward swallowed hard and said nothing.
“Aren’t we?” Micky persisted.
At last Edward replied. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes.”
The following week, Micky entered for the first time the hushed dignity of the Partners’ Room at Pilasters Bank.
He had been bringing them business for seventeen years, but whenever he came to the bank he was shown to one of the other rooms, and a walker would fetch Edward from the Partners’ Room. He suspected that an Englishman would have been admitted to the inner sanctum a lot faster. He loved London but he knew he would always be an outsider here.
Feeling nervous, he spread out the plan for Santamaria harbor on the big table in the middle of the room. The drawing showed an entirely new port on the Atlantic coast of Cordova, with ship repair facilities and a rail link.
None of it would ever be built, of course. The two million pounds would go straight into the Miranda war chest. But the survey was genuine and the plans were professionally drawn, and if it had been an honest proposal it might even have made money.
Being a dishonest proposal it probably ranked as the most ambitious fraud in history.
While Micky explained it to them, talking of building materials, labor costs, customs duties and income projections, he struggled to maintain an appearance of calm. His entire career, the future of his family and the destiny of his country depended on the decision made in this room today.
The partners were also tense. All six were there: the two in-laws, Major Hartshorn and Sir Harry Tonks; Samuel, the old queen; Young William; and Edward and Hugh.
There would be a battle, but the odds were on Edward’s side. He was Senior Partner. Major Hartshorn and Sir Harry always did what their Pilaster wives told them, and the wives got their orders from Augusta, so they would back Edward. Samuel would probably back Hugh. Young William was the only unpredictable one.
Edward was enthusiastic, as expected. He had forgiven Micky, they were the best of friends again, and this was his first major project as Senior Partner. He was pleased to have brought in such a big piece of business to launch his term of office.
Sir Harry spoke next. “The proposal is carefully thought out, and we’ve been doing well with Cordova bonds for a decade. It looks an attractive proposition to me.”
As anticipated, the opposition came from Hugh. It was Hugh who had told Edward the truth about Peter Middleton, and his motive had surely been to prevent this loan issue. “I’ve been looking at what has happened to the last few South American issues we’ve handled,” he said, and he handed round copies of a table.
Micky studied the table while Hugh continued. “The interest rate offered has gone up from six percent three years ago to seven and a half percent last year. Despite that increase, the number of bonds remaining unsold has been higher each time.”
Micky knew enough about finance to understand what that meant: investors were finding South American bonds less and less attractive. Hugh’s calm exposition and relentless logic made Micky fume.
Hugh went on: “Also, in each of the last three issues, the bank has been obliged to buy bonds in the open market to keep the price up artificially.” Which meant, Micky realized, that the figures in the table understated the problem.
“The consequence of our persistence in this saturated market is that we now hold almost a million pounds’ worth of Cordova bonds. Our bank is gravely overexposed to that one sector.”
It was a powerful argument. Trying to stay cool, Micky reflected that if he were a partner he would now vote against the issue. But it would not be decided purely by the financial reasoning. There was more at stake here than money.
For a few seconds no one spoke. Edward looked angry, but he was restraining himself, knowing it would appear better if one of the other partners contradicted Hugh.
At last Sir Harry said: “Point taken, Hugh, but I think you may be overstating the case a little.”
George Hartshorn concurred. “We’re all agreed that the plan itself is sound. The risk is small and the profits are considerable. I think we should accept.”
Micky had known in advance that those two would support Edward. He was waiting for Young William’s verdict.
But it was Samuel who spoke next. “I understand that you’re all reluctant to veto the first major proposal brought in by a new Senior Partner,” he said. His tone suggested that they were not enemies divided into opposing camps, but reasonable men who could not help but agree given a little goodwill. “Perhaps you’re not inclined to place much reliance on the views of two partners who have already announced their resignations. But I’ve been in the business twice as long as anyone else in this room, and Hugh is probably the most successful young banker in the world, and we both feel this project is more dangerous than it looks. Don’t let personal considerations lead you to dismiss that advice out of hand.”
Samuel was eloquent, Micky thought, but his position had been known in advance. Everyone now looked at Young William.
At last he spoke. “South American bonds have always seemed more risky,” he began. “If we had allowed ourselves to be frightened of them we would have missed out on a great deal of profitable business during the last few years.” This sounded good, Micky thought. William went on: “I don’t think there’s going to be a financial collapse. Cordova has gone from strength to strength under President Garcia. I believe we can anticipate increasing profits from our business there in future. We should be looking for more such business, not less.”
Micky let his breath out in a long, silent sigh of relief. He had won.
Edward said: “Four partners in favor, then, and two against.”
“Just a minute,” said Hugh.
God forbid that Hugh should have something up his sleeve, Micky thought. He clenched his jaw. He wanted to cry out a protest but he had to suppress his feelings.
Edward looked crossly at Hugh. “What is it? You’re outvoted.”
“A vote has always been a last resort in this room,” Hugh said. “When there is disagreement between the partners we try to reach a compromise that everyone can assent to.”
Micky could see that Edward was ready to squash this idea, but William said: “What have you got in mind, Hugh?”
“Let me ask Edward something,” Hugh said. “Are you confident that we can sell all or most of this issue?”
“Yes, if we price it right,” Edward said. It was clear from his expression that he did not know where this was heading. Micky had a dreadful premonition that he was about to be outmaneuvered.
Hugh went on: “Then why don’t we sell the bonds on a commission basis, rather than underwriting the issue.”
Micky muffled a curse. That was not what he wanted. Normally, when the bank launched, say, a million pounds’ worth of bonds, it agreed to buy any unsold bonds itself, thereby guaranteeing that the borrower would receive the full million. In return for that guarantee, the bank took a fat percentage. The alternative method was to offer the bonds for sale with no guarantee. The bank took no risk and received a much lower percentage, but if only ten thousand of the million bonds were sold, the borrrower would get only ten thousand pounds. The risk remained with the borrower—and at this stage Micky did not want any risks.
William grunted. “Hmm. That’s an idea.”
Hugh had been cunning, Micky thought despondently. If he had continued to oppose the scheme outright, he would have been overruled. But he had suggested a way of reducing the risk. Bankers, being a conservative breed, loved to reduce their risks.
Sir Harry said: “If we do sell them all, we still make about sixty thousand pounds, even at the reduced commission. And if we don’t sell them all we shall have avoided a considerable loss.”
Say something, Edward! thought Micky. Edward was losing control of the meeting. But he seemed not to know how to get it back.
Samuel said: “And we can record a unanimous decision of the partners—always a pleasant outcome.”
There was a general murmur of assent.
In desperation, Micky said: “I can’t promise that my principals will agree to that. In the past the bank has always underwritten Cordovan bonds. If you decide to change your policy …” He hesitated. “I may have to go to another bank.” It was an empty threat, but would they know that?
William was offended. “That’s your privilege. Another bank may take a different view of the risks.”
Micky saw that his threat had only served to consolidate the opposition. Hastily he added: “The leaders of my country value their relationship with Pilasters Bank and would not wish to jeopardize that.”
Edward said: “And we reciprocate their feelings.”
“Thank you.” Micky realized there was no more to be said.
He began to roll up the map of the harbor. He had been defeated, but he was not ready to give up yet. That two million pounds was the key to the presidency of his country. He had to have it.
He would think of something.
Edward and Micky had arranged to have lunch together in the dining room of the Cowes Club. It was planned as a celebration of their triumph, but now they had nothing to celebrate.
By the time Edward arrived, Micky had worked out what he had to do. His only chance now was to persuade Edward secretly to go against the decision of the partners, and underwrite the bonds without telling them. It was an outrageous, foolhardy and probably criminal act. But there was no alternative.
Micky was already sitting at the table when Edward came in. “I’m very disappointed about what happened at the bank this morning,” Micky said right away.
“It was the fault of my damned cousin Hugh,” Edward said as he sat down. He waved at a waiter and said: “Bring me a big glass of Madeira.”
“The trouble is, if the issue isn’t underwritten, there’s no guarantee the harbor will be built.”
“I did my best,” Edward said plaintively. “You saw that, you were there.”
Micky nodded. Unfortunately it was true. If Edward had been a brilliant manipulator of other people—like his mother—he might have defeated Hugh. But if Edward had been that sort of person he would not be Micky’s pawn.
Pawn though he was, he might resist the proposal Micky had in mind. Micky cudgeled his brains for ways of persuading or coercing him.
They ordered their lunch. When the waiter had left Edward said: “I’ve been thinking that I might get a place of my own. I’ve been living with my mother too long.”
Micky made an effort to be interested. “You’d buy a house?”
“A small one. I don’t want a palace, with dozens of parlormaids running around putting coal on fires. A modest house that can be run by a good butler and a handful of servants.”
“But you’ve got everything you need at Whitehaven House.”
“Everything but privacy.”
Micky began to see what he was driving at. “You don’t want your mother to know everything you do….”
“You might want to stay with me overnight, for example,” Edward said, giving Micky a very direct look.
Micky suddenly saw how he could exploit this idea. He feigned sadness and shook his head. “By the time you get the house I shall probably have left London.”
Edward was devastated. “What the devil do you mean?”
“If I don’t raise the money for the new harbor, I’m sure to be recalled by the president.”
“You can’t go back!” Edward said in a frightened voice.
“I certainly don’t want to. But I may not have the choice.”
“The bonds will sell out, I’m sure,” Edward said.
“I hope so. If they don’t …”
Edward hit the table with his fist, making the glasses shake. “I wish Hugh had let me underwrite the issue!”
Micky said nervously: “I suppose you have to abide by the decision of the partners.”
“Of course—what else?”
“Well …” He hesitated. He tried to sound casual. “You couldn’t just ignore what was said today, and simply have your staff draw up an underwriting deal, without telling anyone, could you?”
“I could, I suppose,” Edward said worriedly.
“After all, you are Senior Partner. That ought to mean something.”
“It damn well should.”
“Simon Oliver would do the paperwork discreetly. You can trust him.”
“Yes.”
Micky could hardly believe Edward was agreeing so readily. “It might make the difference between my staying in London and my being recalled to Cordova.”
The waiter brought their wine and poured them each a glass.
Edward said: “It would all come out, eventually.”
“By then it will be too late. And you can pass it off as a clerical error.” Micky knew this was implausible and he doubted if Edward would swallow it.
But Edward ignored it. “If you stay …” He paused and dropped his eyes.
“Yes?”
“If you stay in London, will you spend nights at my new house sometimes?”
That was the only thing Edward was interested in, Micky realized with a surge of triumph. He gave his most winning smile. “Of course.”
Edward nodded. “That’s all I want. I’ll speak to Simon this afternoon.”
Micky picked up his wineglass. “To friendship,” he said.
Edward clinked glasses and smiled shyly. “To friendship.”