A Dangerous Fortune(12)
“Knock it down,” said Seth. “Go in for refrigeration.”
Papa did not like people telling him what to do, and Micky felt a little anxious. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Edward. “Papa, I want to introduce you to my best friend,” he said. He managed to ease his father away from Seth. “Allow me to present Edward Pilaster.”
Papa examined Edward with a cold, clear-eyed gaze. Edward was not good-looking—he took after his father, not his mother—but he looked like a healthy farm boy, muscular and fair-skinned. Late nights and quantities of wine had not taken their toll—not yet, anyway. Papa shook his hand and said: “You two have been friends for many years.”
“Soul mates,” Edward said.
Papa frowned, not understanding.
Micky said: “May we talk business for a moment?”
They stepped off the terrace and onto the newly laid lawn. The borders were freshly planted, all raw earth and tiny shrubs. “Papa has been making some large purchases here, and he needs to arrange shipping and finance,” Micky went on. “It could be the first small piece of business you bring in to your family bank.”
Edward looked keen. “I’ll be glad to handle that for you,” he said to Papa. “Would you like to come into the bank tomorrow morning, so that we can make all the necessary arrangements?”
“I will,” said Papa.
Micky said: “Tell me something. What if the ship sinks? Who loses—us, or the bank?”
“Neither,” Edward said smugly. “The cargo will be insured at Lloyd’s. We would simply collect the insurance money and ship a new consignment to you. You don’t pay until you get your goods. What is the cargo, by the way?”
“Rifles.”
Edward’s face fell. “Oh. Then we can’t help you.”
Micky was mystified. “Why?”
“Because of old Seth. He’s a Methodist, you know. Well, the whole family is, but he’s rather more devout than most. Anyway, he won’t finance arms sales, and as he’s Senior Partner, that’s bank policy.”
“The devil it is,” Micky cursed. He shot a fearful look at his father. Fortunately, Papa had not understood the conversation. Micky had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Surely his scheme could not founder on something as stupid as Seth’s religion? “The damned old hypocrite is practically dead, why should he interfere?”
“He is about to retire,” Edward pointed out. “But I think Uncle Samuel will take over, and he’s the same, you know.”
Worse and worse. Samuel was Seth’s bachelor son, fifty-three years old and in perfect health. “We’ll just have to go to another merchant bank,” Micky said.
Edward said: “That should be straightforward, provided you can give a couple of sound business references.”
“References? Why?”
“Well, a bank always takes the risk that the buyer will renege on the deal, leaving them with a cargo of unwanted merchandise on the far side of the globe. They just need some assurance that they’re dealing with a respectable businessman.”
What Edward did not realize was that the concept of a respectable businessman did not yet exist in South America. Papa was a caudillo, a provincial landowner with a hundred thousand acres of pampas and a work force of cowboys that doubled as his private army. He wielded power in a way the British had not known since the Middle Ages. It was like asking William the Conqueror for references.
Micky pretended to be unperturbed. “No doubt we can provide something,” he said. In fact he was stumped. But if he was going to stay in London he had to bring this deal off.
They turned and strolled back toward the crowded terrace, Micky hiding his anxiety. Papa did not yet understand that they had encountered a serious difficulty, but Micky would have to explain it later—and then there would be trouble. Papa had no patience with failure, and his anger was terrifying.
Augusta appeared on the terrace and spoke to Edward. “Find Hastead for me, Teddy darling,” she said. Hastead was her obsequious Welsh butler. “There’s no cordial left and the wretched man has disappeared.” Edward went off. She favored Papa with a warm, intimate smile. “Are you enjoying our little gathering, Se?or Miranda?”
“Very well, thank you,” said Papa.
“You must have some tea, or a glass of cordial.”
Papa would have preferred tequila, Micky knew, but hard alcohol was not served at Methodist tea parties.
Augusta looked at Micky. Always quick to sense other people’s moods, she said: “I can see that you’re not enjoying the party. What’s the matter?”
He did not hesitate to confide in her. “I was hoping Papa could help Edward by bringing new business to the bank, but it involves guns and ammunition, and Edward has just explained that Uncle Seth won’t finance weapons.”
“Seth won’t be Senior Partner much longer,” Augusta said.
“Apparently Samuel feels the same as his father.”
“Does he?” Augusta said, and her tone was arch. “And who says that Samuel is to be the next Senior Partner?”
2
HUGH PILASTER WAS WEARING a new sky-blue ascot-style cravat, slightly puffed at the neckline and held in place with a pin. He really should have been wearing a new coat, but he earned only 68 pounds a year, so he had to brighten up his old clothes with a new tie. The ascot was the latest fashion, and sky-blue was a daring color choice; but when he spied his reflection in the huge mirror over the mantelpiece in Aunt Augusta’s drawing room he saw that the blue tie and black suit looked rather fetching with his blue eyes and black hair, and he hoped the ascot gave him an attractively rakish air. Perhaps Florence Stalworthy would think so, anyway. He had started to take an interest in clothes since he met her.