Moroccan Traffic (22 page)

‘Does he?’ said Morgan. He followed me down the steps and into the silent public rooms. The drivers of the Voitures de Collection had dispersed and so had most of the cars, departed back to Marrakesh to prepare for their start in the morning. We sat, as before, in the comfortable dusk of the central room with its hunting weapons, one of which was no longer there. Morgan said, ‘The chauffeur’s outside. We could go.’

I didn’t answer him, because he couldn’t be serious. I said, ‘You kept your word. Sir Robert appreciates loyalty. Mr. Morgan, he will do everything he has promised.’

He didn’t answer. He closed his eyes. Looking at him, his narrow ringleted head sunk in the embroidered wool cushions, his eyes shut, I saw he was actually sleeping. A director of Kingsley’s. I sat as erect as I could, and waited for the footsteps descending the stairs.

When they came, I knew from the very sound it was bad news. First emerged Roland Reed, his bathrobe elegant, his expression oddly apologetic as he made for some wing of the ground floor and, presumably, his proper clothes. Miss Rita Geddes came next, her red head flaming, her strong feet grasping their way down the steps. She not only saw me, she came over and looked at Mo Morgan. ‘That’s a really nice fellow,’ she said. ‘You tell him. Here. I brought down your dispatch-case.’ And smiling warmly, she pushed the case under my chair before passing through the same doorway as Reed.

Last of all came Sir Robert Kingsley. I thought I’d missed him. Then I realised that, of course, he had stayed to vacate the room formally. He walked downstairs, his bearing easy, his expression sardonic. ‘Dear Wendy,’ he said. ‘The riff-raff have prevailed. Have they gone?’

It was easy to tell whom he meant. ‘Yes, Sir Robert,’ I said. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing cataclysmic,’ he said. ‘We are not to assume our seats beside the present management of the MCG company, and I must say that personally, I feel nothing but gratitude. There is nothing more to be said. Is Mr. Morgan capable of bearing you home?’

‘His driver is,’ I said. ‘Sir Robert? I’m so terribly sorry.’

‘Why?’ he said. ‘It might have been good for business but, my dear, I don’t think I could have borne it. Don’t be concerned. It’s of no possible import. Go home. Don’t trouble your head. Enjoy yourself.’ He knew that I couldn’t: he was just being kind. But I stood, smiling, and watched as he strolled out of the hotel and got into his car.

Then Mo Morgan unaccountably woke, and reached under my chair, and drew out my briefcase. This he laid on his knees and unlocked with keys from my handbag. Then he flung back the lid and sat looking. Inside, the spindles on my recording machine were still slowly turning. Morgan switched them off and took out the tape. Then, and only then, he released the climbing-grip he had used to keep me from fighting him.

I snatched my wrists back and rubbed them, still ejaculating. I said, ‘What d’you think you are doing? That’s mine! How did you know that was there?’

He closed the case on the machine and looked up. He still held the cassette in one hand. He said, ‘Legacy of the jungle. We’ve exceptional hearing.’

I believed him. I remembered something as well. The case had arrived from my mother that morning. Along, of course, with Mo Morgan’s washing. I didn’t speak. He went on talking.

‘You taped it all, like a good secretary, and probably no one else knows that you did. You don’t want me to hear it?’

I took my time, answering. My wrists were sore, and I was furious. It probably didn’t matter whether he heard the playback or not: in fact, it might reassure him. Dismissing his staff from a difficult meeting was a card Sir Robert occasionally played. It left him alone, without apparent defences, and sometimes the other side fell for it. He liked the drama, as well. Eventually I said, ‘I can’t stop you. But you’ve no right to do this.’

He said, ‘I might disagree with you there.’ We had both risen. He had the case in one hand, and had slipped the cassette into his back trouser pocket. There wasn’t much room.

I said, ‘Where are you going to play it? Here? In the car with the driver?’

‘No, Wendy,’ he said. A surge of powerful noise from outside the hotel told that the Harley-Davidson was being revved up. It escalated into a roar which increased in volume and then started to fade. The Ritas, the triumphant Ritas had removed themselves finally.

Morgan said, ‘I’ll keep it private. But wherever we go, I think we should hear it together.’ Towards the end, his voice faded, and I saw he was gazing beyond me. I turned.

Tramping busily towards us was the feminine half of the Ritas. The dyes of her poncho had run, and her stretch pants had shrunk and she had no hat and, as yet, no new paint on her face, but she looked as friendly as ever, and perfectly helpful. She came to a halt and examined Mo Morgan. ‘Ah, you’ve got the tape,’ she said, viewing his buttock. ‘That’s nice. You’ll want to hear it of course. Mo, I’ve sent Rolly off on the Harley and unless you give me a lift, I’ll need to walk all the way back to Marrakesh. Can you drive?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr. Morgan slowly.

‘Good, because I’ve paid off your driver. No need for an audience. And I got a rubber band off a box. Here it is, so wind up your hair: it’s a muddle . You’d do better with bicycle clips. Are you for speaking to me again? If not, bend your mind to it quickly and see if you can. And come on.’ She had turned and was walking out of the hotel, waving a hand at the desk. We found ourselves walking beside her. I realised it and stopped.

‘You haven’t asked me, Miss Geddes,’ I said. ‘I wouldn’t go with you anywhere.’

‘Rita,’ she corrected. ‘Then I’ll just have to hike. I’ve the legs for it.’ She didn’t look worried. She said, ‘By the way, the takeover plan isn’t off, it’s just become sort of radical. You really ought to know what Sir Robert was saying. Because I’m not dead convinced that he’ll tell you.’

‘But then you don’t know him,’ I said.

She looked at me with her sandy lashes. Her face without paint was as vivid in its own gaudy way as with. She said, ‘I know. Not the way you do, but still. Take a chance. Listen to me. Hear the tape. Go straight back and tell Sir Robert everything. I won’t stop you, or Rolly, or Johnson. Mo might.’

Morgan suddenly said, ‘All right, I’ll buy it. You’ve refused to sell, but Kingsley’s still want your company, yes? So they’re planning a hostile takeover bid, right? A bid to capture MCG and get rid of its management, you?’

‘Right,’ said Rita Geddes.

‘Which means you’re still the enemy?’

‘Depends what you both call an enemy. It’s getting late,’ Miss Geddes said. ‘Come on, Mo. Take me or leave me?’

It wasn’t late: it was mid-afternoon. She was the enemy. I didn’t want to take her with us. Morgan walked to the car that brought us and stood, one hand on the bonnet. He turned. He said, ‘OK. We’ll risk it. I drive, and you and Wendy sit in the back, and at the first sign of trouble I hit you with this boar-spear I have. Incidentally, he did save your life.’

‘I know,’ said Rita Geddes. ‘Thank God. There, at least, we know where we stand.’

‘Then why are you fighting him?’ I said. I didn’t want to get into the car. I didn’t know what to do, but I had to trust Mr. Morgan.

Miss Geddes looked at me. I tried not to think of her as Rita. She said, ‘Hell, I don’t know. I don’t like being made to do something I don’t want to do by somebody bigger. I was brought up all wrong.’ And getting a resigned nod from Morgan, she got into the car.

We both followed, and Morgan checked over the various controls and got started. As we drove off from Asni, a solitary monkey hurled a rock at us from the hotel roof. It hit the post between our two open windows and filled our laps with glittering pieces of genuine amethyst. The monkey seemed pleased.

We joined the road to Marrakesh, turning right out of the forecourt. After a while, Miss Geddes lifted the tape recorder out of my case and sat silently nursing it. I wondered why she was putting off time. Then she said, ‘All right. Give me the cassette,’ and took it from Morgan.

I was at her elbow, but she didn’t need me to help. She slid the cassette into place, rewound it to the beginning, and then wound it fast-forward to the moment when Morgan and I left the meeting. There she stopped it again.

A moment passed. Morgan said, ‘What is it?’ He was driving less than well, with a frown on his face that wasn’t usually there.

Miss Geddes said, ‘I know what’s in the tape; I was there. I just wanted to warn you. There were bad scenes: real shit-and-fan category. So I’m not doing this for a laugh, or to get back at someone, or anything. It’s just a thing you must hear; and I’m sorry.’

Morgan said, ‘We should play it later, maybe?’ I saw their eyes meet in the mirror.

‘No dice,’ said Rita Geddes. ‘It can’t be helped, Mo. It can’t bloody be helped.’ And she pressed the button and set the tape going.

The recording we heard, above the sounds of the car engine and of our own breathing was very clear. The briefcase had been under my seat: it was unlikely that Sir Robert would have remembered it, even had he known I was taping. His was the first voice I heard, after the click as the door shut behind Morgan and me. It was, to begin with, a little crisp but quite pleasant. He said, ‘I am sorry to ask you to stay, when you clearly feel there is nothing to gain from it. But there is one matter I must insist on discussing, whatever you and I feel about the words we have just exchanged. Would you oblige me by coming back and sitting down?’

The tape ran silently. Rita Geddes said, ‘If it concerns Wendy and Mo, I don’t mind staying.’

‘It does,’ said Sir Robert. ‘Miss Geddes.’ The tape emitted sounds of chairs moving. In front of me, Mo Morgan gave no sign he was listening. The tape continued with a sharp, stuttering sound, as if a coin had been dropped on the table. I looked at it quickly. Sir Robert resumed, still speaking crisply and pleasantly. He said, ‘Do you know what that is? It’s a listening device. I found it here, in this room. Did you arrange to have it installed?’

‘Hardly,’ said Roland Reed. ‘We have reasonably good memories, Sir Robert.’

‘I will take your word for it,’ Sir Robert said. ‘It is of no material interest, as I found it before the meeting began. I use a scanner, as I expect you both do, as a matter of course. I would have mentioned it before, except that it opens a wider matter, the matter of business ethics. As you know,’ Sir Robert said, ‘there exists, as there should, a recognised code of ethical practice. Where it is breached, it is difficult for two companies to continue doing business together. Where it is seriously breached, it is a matter for the courts. On the other hand, an individual case of malpractice or personal misconduct might not be the fault of the employing company. It might indeed be grateful to have the offence drawn to its notice. We, Kingsley’s and MCG, have not been free of this blight during our recent exchanges.’

‘You suspect Wendy and Mo,’ said Rita’s voice. It was, as ever, helpful.

‘On the contrary,’ Sir Robert said. ‘I have asked them to leave because I think they are in danger of becoming the innocent victims of other people. The bug in this room is not the first example of espionage in our dealings with one another. You say you are not responsible for this: neither, patently, am I. It is worth, I think, devoting a moment to think who might be so interested in the affairs of our two companies.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Roland Reed. ‘I don’t see the need. If there are internal or external problems of spying or sabotage, we should expect to deal with them ourselves. And you and we no longer have meetings to safeguard.’

‘Perhaps not with each other,’ said the Chairman. ‘But what future meetings with others may not be endangered? And here is a chance to exchange notes. Today, for example. Is there anyone we know who has been in Asni before, and could have suborned a member of staff – it would require as much – to put this in place? Mr. Johnson, I believe, but we know he will receive a full oral report from yourselves. Mr. Oppenheim, I am told; but he is a friend of Mr. Johnson and the same may apply. What about Mr. Pymm? He is a journalist with an interest in financial and international affairs: does he also undertake private investigative commissions? Mr. Johnson had his suspicions at Essaouira.’

‘Sir Robert,’ said Rita Geddes, ‘if you want to know who’s behind Mr. Pymm, you’re going to have to find it out for yourself. I wouldn’t tell you if I could. Anything else?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Sir Robert, ‘that you feel like that. You might remember that the valiant Miss Helmann was kidnapped, it seems, for the information she possessed and which she still possesses. To find the spy would at least ensure her safety.’

‘Send her home,’ Rita said. ‘She’ll be safe in a week, the rate your figures change. We really have to be going.’

‘Then,’ said Sir Robert, ‘let us move immediately from the question of outside espionage to something closer to the matter of ethics we were speaking about.’

He paused only, it seemed, to draw breath, but both Reed and Miss Geddes spoke together. Reed won. He said, ‘On the other hand, Sir Robert, let us not. Mudraking is not of great interest to either of us. Is this your only reason for keeping us?’

‘No,’ said Sir Robert. From that single soft word, I knew he was about to bring out his cannon. I found I was shivering with a kind of fearful excitement. I knew, from the changing sounds of the tape that he had risen, as he often did at such a point, and had walked a little distance away. His voice was still clear, though fainter. I could see him at the end of the table, a wrist perhaps laid on a chairback. In the same gentle way he repeated, ‘No. I should have preferred to place my reasoned explanation before you, but you force me to be blunt. You have told me you don’t wish to become part of my firm. You are not convinced by the data with which I have provided you. You have finished by saying, as if it ended the matter, that MCG do not intend to sell to Kingsley Conglomerates.

‘I am not sorry. I rather expected it. But of course, that is only the preliminary. You may not yourselves wish to sell, but very shortly you will find that your shareholders are eager to do so. I and my Board will take pleasure in submitting to them by mail a statement of the true position of the company in which their money is invested, and the personal qualities of its Board and some of its preferential shareholders. I felt I should properly inform you of this before you departed. I felt you should have an opportunity, both of you, to make some comment. Perhaps you wish to make none.’