Hotbed (6 page)

‘You've done one, have you? Or you've got some other indicators. So, who?'

Harpur said: ‘On the other hand, sir, I don't mind at all when
you
ask
me
a straight question.'

‘That means zilch. You never reply, anyway. You've seen something, have you?'

‘In which respect, sir?'

‘Something that says who Ralphy's spy will be. A meeting somewhere? That kind of thing?'

And maybe Iles also knew about a meeting somewhere, such as the Agincourt car park. Often the weaponry in these set-tos with Iles was a show of ignorance.

‘Patience is another vital quality for that kind of infiltrator,' Harpur replied, ‘plus the ability to see behind bullshit big talk and spot whether a real Kill Ember mission is on.'

‘I'm fond of Ralphy, Col. His delusions are worthwhile delusions, not like my own.'

‘I wouldn't say he holds you in total contempt, sir.'

‘And then, Mansel,' Iles said. ‘So winningly in touch with culture.'

‘I've never heard him speak badly of you, sir. But, then, he's a wily sod.'

‘Equipoise – that's what we've achieved, Col – equi meaning settled, poise meaning the state of things. A settled state of things. Yes, we've achieved that, Harpur. I include you in this, Col, despite your ungovernable, traitorous dick. If someone were to ask me to say in one word what is the basic nature of our operations here I would instantly reply, “Equipoise.” We've had peace on the streets from that equipoise between Ralph and Manse.'

‘And from your treatment of them, sir. The brilliant blind-eyeing, as long as they disallowed violence.'

‘And now, is what we've accomplished all at risk?' Iles replied. ‘Am I supposed tamely to let this happen? Does an architect stand by and watch his most prized building burn down? Did anyone else see it?'

‘What?'

‘This meeting.'

‘Which?'

‘Ralphy and his chosen one,' Iles said.

‘Did your Agincourt source say there'd been a meeting?'

‘It was at the Agincourt, was it? Some quiet area? Outside? The car park's dark there, isn't it?'

‘Is that what your source said?'

‘What?'

‘Outside at the Agincourt.'

‘You were down there, were you, Harpur? You saw them? This was one of your damned independent saunters.'

‘I know Ralph likes the period flavour of the Agincourt name but thinks the phoney armour vulgar,' Harpur answered. ‘Yet he puts up with it, no tantrums. I think he has in mind that equipoise you mentioned. The responsibility is weighty, but he will not shirk it.'

‘Identification?'

‘Of?'

‘Jerk – the one with Ember at the meeting.'

‘That would be important – if there
were
a meeting.'

‘Could you make him out?' Iles said.

‘Anyone down there would have trouble getting a proper view. As you mentioned, sir, the car park used to be very dark – possibly still is. You weren't present watching in a personal capacity, were you? I doubt that. A loiter of this kind – hardly a role for an Assistant Chief.'

Yes, Harpur realized he should consider whether Iles hadn't simply guessed in his inspired, magical way about the meeting, but
knew
of it from his ‘source', or even because he, Iles, himself, had been at the Agincourt that night – ‘around' the Agincourt that night – and had spotted not just Ralph and Turret, but Harpur in the old pool car. It was the kind of knowledge Iles in his hoarding style would possibly choose to keep buttoned up for the present, in case he could use it later to injure/humiliate/ demoralize/bewilder Harpur as part of some scheme. Iles loved schemes, especially when they injured/humiliated/ demoralized/bewildered anyone he had a grievance against: a lot. That was part of the rank. If the ACC's information came from someone at the dinner, not from his own observations, this source might well turn out to be the lad Harpur had seen emerge at the side of the Agincourt. He quickly retreated into cover, then reappeared, obviously having watched Ralph and Turret until they withdrew back into the hotel, leaving the car park apparently clear. Harpur had asked the computer to tell him about someone with the characteristics he'd noted at the Agincourt and a search came up with Samuel Quint Aubrey Evox, one of Mansel's Health Pensions and Security (HPS) staff, very clued up and vastly roughhouse. Could Iles really have got something going with Evox? Iles was at least as clued up and roughhouse, so perhaps they drew together naturally. As Iles had said, he recognized the value of sources, and knew where to find them. He didn't stay at his desk. This might mean the ACC realized the back door meeting had been between Ralph and Joachim Brown. Iles could get hold of facts, as well as factors and contexts.

No shilly-shallying, Ralph took Joachim Brown into the drawing room at Low Pastures, the drawing room itself. Ember thought this would be a soul-refreshing education for Brown. The big windows looked out over paddocks and fields to the sea. Brown was bound to feel the sheer, damn . . . well . . . the sheer, damn established
grandeur
of it all. Ralph did not consider himself, personally, as being central to this grandeur, not its, as it were, essence. That would have been preposterous vanity, and Ralph loathed any kind of pompousness. When he referred to grandeur, he meant the vista, the serenity and sweep of Low Pastures. Of course, Ember realized that by owning the vista, serenity and sweep of the place, he was bound to acquire some of the grandeur himself. He always tried not to make too much of this, though.

He opened a bottle of Sauvignon and poured out a glass each. Lately, he'd come to think of Chardonnay as too ‘populist'. They sat in armchairs facing each other. Ralph knew he must achieve a working balance of apparently opposed effects. Brown would be to some degree overwhelmed by Low Pastures, and Ember, in fact, wanted that, worked for it. But he'd also like Turret reasonably at ease, not made wholly speechless and/or gibbering by the timeless, prestige spread, and the inevitable status of its present freeholder.

Near the end of the after-dinner partying at the Agincourt, Ember had found a moment to talk to Brown, who could still be mistaken for cold sober. ‘Come out to the rear door for a second, would you, Joachim,' he'd said. Ember spoke the name with no hint of retch or giggle. The shadowiness might be favourable now. Ralph went first. Soon, Brown joined him. He had a long but lively face, slightly arched nose, clear blue eyes, a small pale moustache and chin-tip beard. He wore a dark, three-piece suit, almost certainly made for him, and more or less adequately made. It would be unjust to blame someone like Brown for not knowing the difference between a reasonable tailor and a major one yet. ‘I've been glancing through the records of various people, with a certain prime project in mind,' Ralph said. ‘Your CV interested me. One or two things I'd like to discuss with you. Look in at Low Pastures, on Friday at two thirty in the afternoon, will you?'

‘Low Pastures?' Brown had seemed surprised, even thrilled. Ember understood this, actually expected it. On moral hygiene grounds, he hardly ever asked people from the firm to his home. Ralph's wife and daughters might be there. They had to be kept clear of the trade. Usually, he wanted the property itself kept clear of the trade. Ralph saw himself as guardian of Low Pasture's dignity and wholesomeness: a vast responsibility. But he thought it could be useful to allow Turret entrance, and he picked a time when the girls would be at school and Margaret weekend shopping. Admittedly, he had once let Mansel Shale into Low Pastures for dinner, though Ralph would never regard this as a precedent.

On the edge of the Agincourt car park, Ember had said: ‘Confidentiality's important. We won't hang about now. People are beginning to leave and some will come out here or around the side of the building from the front. Let's talk in comfort on Friday. We won't return to the banqueting room together. Wait a little while.' Ralph went back. Brown followed, but not at once. They didn't speak again at the hotel.

So, yes, Ralph had realized Brown would be impressed, awed, by the invitation. But if you were going to ask someone to take on a damned hazardous job for you, special preparatory kindnesses might be wise. Brown must know from talk within the company what a rarity this was, an accolade. And then, Ralph guessed that sight of the manor house and grounds on Friday afternoon would have its effects. If Brown didn't already realize Ralph's social and business standing he'd definitely sense it as he drove up the wide, curving Low Pastures drive, at first tarmac, then large-stone, golden gravel, between an avenue of larch, conifers and beech. The Spanish consul had lived here more than two hundred years ago, and, later, a lord lieutenant of the county. Ralph did not believe in mentioning such former residents too frequently, and did not need to, because most locals knew the history. The house was shown on old Ordnance Survey maps, and under its current name.

Secrecy of the meeting could be better preserved at Low Pastures, as long as Brown kept quiet. In the drawing room, Ralph said: ‘Joachim, I'm looking for an assessment – an opinion – a survey – yes, an assessment, opinion, survey of the firms as of now from someone younger, and from someone who in the ordinary course of business has regular contact with our own people and Manse's. You, as a courier – and, at what are you now, twenty-seven? – you seem to suit. A fresh pair of eyes. I value that kind of scrutiny. Of course, I carry out such rigorous examinations myself continually, but comments from someone else, and from a different, perhaps sceptical, generation, can bring a new perspective. I thought that, out here at my home, we might be able to examine matters with a little more detachment. I look at the way things run and, of course, I'm used to them running like that, so I might subconsciously feel this must be the right way – the only way – for them to run. You're not pre-conditioned in this fashion.'

Ralph thought he could shape the talk so Brown would see improved wages plus a hint of possible advance in the firm to departmental head, even eventual leadership succession, or at least deputyship. And this might not be altogether false. No, certainly not altogether. Ember's wife, Margaret, would love him to get clear of the detailed running of the business – not the Monty, perhaps, but the rest. She'd left him for a while recently because he refused to change, taking the children with her, though she came back fairly soon.
*

Brown said: ‘You want a verdict on the firms? Well, they go along all right, as far as I can see, Ralph.'

‘They do, they do. But, then, the future. How does that shape up in your opinion?'

‘I don't see any difficulties. I'm way down the ladder, though, so possibly I wouldn't. I don't know enough, maybe.'

‘Are you satisfied as a courier?'

‘I'm learning the business.'

Ralph enjoyed this. Brown was terse, perhaps through nerves at this stage, but cogent. ‘A good answer,' Ember said. ‘A great answer – one I might have given myself, back in the early days of the business.'

‘It's true.'

Ember said: ‘The business, as you call it, is complex, Joachim.'

‘Well, yes. But I expect every company above a certain size is going to have its intricacies and –'

‘Because, of course, it is two businesses, though two businesses acting as if one. At present.'

‘At present?'

‘At present. That's why I asked how you saw the future,' Ralph said.

‘You think there are difficulties?'

‘I think there might be changes, developments.'

‘But I'd say again, this must be true of most businesses. They have to push forward or get left behind.'

So, he could opine and quack, given careful, encouraging treatment, and a little time. Ralph didn't mind the niggly argumentativeness too much, as long as he curbed it when necessary – and ‘when necessary' would be when he went into Manse's operation. He'd be there to listen and watch, not fucking well quibble over every damn thing said to him, like a
Newsnight
interviewer.

However, some independence and belligerence in Brown might be pluses. These could be seen as leadership qualities. Ralph would admit that, occasionally, he did feel he needed a lieutenant, and a lieutenant who could one day take over the grind of day-to-day control, with Ralph a figurehead, although, of course, still powerful, still in final charge. Perhaps the invitation to Low Pastures carried all these hints, anyway. It suggested Ralph already esteemed Brown, had selected him from many and considered that this superb venue was spot on, to match his rare abilities. Compare the Prime Ministerial country house, Chequers. Only visitors of stature received a welcome there, not dogs-bodies. They must shape up and fit in. It was true that just before Ralph, a fairly considerable local villain, Caring Oliver Leach, had Low Pastures. This unseemly recent period could never cancel all the property's previous distinction, though.

No, arranging an encounter with Brown at Low Pastures gave their talk undoubted calibre. Discussions which might lead ultimately to the slaughter of Manse Shale needed a prestige setting, surely. The main gates bore a Latin inscription on a plaque,
Mens cuiusque is est quisque
, meaning ‘A man's mind is what he is.' This plaque had come to Ralph with the estate. There was another at a second, minor pair of gates, to the rear of Low Pastures, leading to what used to be the home farm. Maybe they had been put there by the Spanish consul. Definitely not by Caring Oliver! Ralph agreed with the message on the principal gates, which he'd had translated for him by a lecturer at the university. Minds certainly counted in life. But, clearly, minds could not add up to the
whole
of life. If Manse had to be wiped out, this would inevitably be a very physical, not intellectual, matter, as far as the actual killing went, though there would be considerable thinking behind it, and a mind – Ralph's. Today's chat, for instance, derived very much from Ralph's mind, and might turn out to be preparation for that extermination of Manse. He thought of asking Brown what he made of the main gate inscription – did he see minds as important? But then Ralph decided it might be cruel to expose Turret's ignorance of what the words meant.

Ralph knew that many great thoughts came down to us through the classical tongues. Although he had never learned Latin himself, he greatly supported it. He wanted his daughters taught the language, plus, possibly, Greek later. For fuck's sake, if you sent your children to a fee-paying school this was what you looked for on the timetable. But the head teacher wouldn't give way and Venetia and Fay learned classical tales, and so on, in English – what Ralph called ‘soundbite Aeschylus'. He considered that story about Atalanta and the golden apples stupid when you read it in English, as he had from one of the children's books. Atalanta said she would only marry a man if he could beat her in a running race. Nobody could until a lad came along and put golden apples on the track. Atalanta went to get them, which obviously slowed her down, and she lost the race and had to marry Hippomenes. This dopey stuff needed to be in ancient Greek, so it didn't come over straight at you – you'd be too tied up translating it to think how daft it was.

Ralph, personally, cleaned the main gates plaque every few weeks and made certain the screws holding it did not corrode and become insecure. He would have seen such deterioration as symbolic, hinting at the decline of so much that had been traditional and worthwhile in Britain. This plaque helped give Low Pastures its unique status. Turret was sure to see it and wonder as he turned into the grounds. For Brown to discover that someone of Ralph's blatant worth wanted him to take on a special commission would inevitably bring excitement: make Joachim ready to accept, eager to accept, regardless of the hellish peril.
Joachim
, for God's sake! His parents must really be something, or barmy. Ember had the idea they'd be the sort who'd take holidays in the Black Forest, camping by a brook and drinking the water regardless.

Ralph liked to apply psychology when selecting someone for a task. As he understood it, this lad, Brown, had a brother who played major roles in West End theatres and at Stratford. Perhaps, then, Joachim felt left behind – a failure. He might be desperate to excel in a career, and impress those fruity parents:
Mother, father, your Joachim has broken through via a dear friend and colleague, Mr R. Ember!
Ralph didn't mind helping someone to that sort of little triumph. By sending Brown to spy on Manse and his crew, Ralph would surely be opening up new and glittering career prospects for him, as long as he survived.

In fact, Ralph felt a duty to let some of his own strength and success seep down to any promising apprentice. It was how humankind progressed. Margaret Thatcher had surely been right on this: if you made it easy for the rich to get richer some of the wealth would reach the less rich, through more gardening jobs in the big houses and deckhands for private yachts. But Brown would understand that for any leg-up to come Ralph must certainly be preserved in place, so as to retain the power to lift him. Clearly, this meant there should be no destruction of Ember by Manse, or Brown was scuppered himself. It would be another reason for Turret to jump at the reconnaissance assignment inside Shale's outfit and bring Ember reports and possible forebodings. Destruction
of
, not
by
, Manse might then be a solution, a regrettable, forced solution, but one which Brown would undoubtedly be proud to have helped initiate.

‘You have a brother who's an actor, I understand,' Ember remarked. ‘A star, I gather. In that famous play, The
Duchess of Malfi
.' Best rub it in a bit.

‘We don't keep contact.'

‘Oh.'

‘Probably my fault. I drifted away.'

‘You haven't seen him – seen him perform? That's surprising.'

‘I did go to the Almeida when they had a few weeks there.'

‘Good? Were you able to get backstage and congratulate him?'

‘I just drifted away.'

‘Brother v brother rivalry? A sibling's success intolerable to you? Very common, very understandable.'

‘We're different.'

‘I find that strange.'

‘What?'

‘You to be out there in the body of the theatre watching your brother, and he never aware of it. But perhaps he
was
aware of it. They can peep at the audience unobserved sometimes, can't they? He might have seen you there. Perhaps he expected you to go and call on him afterwards.'

‘No, he wouldn't expect that or wish it.'