by Ken Follett
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."
2
WITHOUT WARNING, Edward's wife Emily moved into Whitehaven House.
Although everyone still thought of it as Augusta's house, Joseph had in fact bequeathed it to Edward. Consequently they could not throw Emily out: it would probably have been grounds for divorce, and that was just what Emily wanted.
In fact Emily was technically mistress of the house, and Augusta just a mother-in-law living there on sufferance. If Emily had openly confronted Augusta there would have been a mighty clash of wills. Augusta would have relished that, but Emily was too adroit to fight her openly. "It is your home," Emily would say sweetly. "You must do whatever you wish." The condescension was enough to make Augusta flinch.
Emily even had Augusta's title: as Edward's wife she was the countess of Whitehaven now, and Augusta was the dowager countess.
Augusta continued to give orders to the servants as if she were still mistress of the house, and whenever she got the chance she would countermand Emily's instructions. Emily never complained. However, the servants became subversive. They liked Emily better than Augusta--because she was foolishly soft on them, Augusta thought--and they found ways to make Emily's life comfortable despite Augusta's efforts.
The most powerful weapon an employer had was the threat of dismissing a servant without a character reference. No one else would give the servant a job thereafter. But Emily had taken this weapon away from Augusta with an ease that was almost frightening. One day Emily ordered sole for lunch. Augusta changed it to salmon, sole was served, and Augusta dismissed the cook. But Emily gave the cook a glowing reference and she was hired by the duke of Kingsbridge at a better wage. And for the first time ever, Augusta's servants were not terrified of her.
Emily's friends would call at Whitehaven House in the afternoon. Tea was a ritual presided over by the mistress of the house. Emily would smile sweetly and beg Augusta to take charge, but then Augusta would have to be polite to Emily's friends, which was almost as bad as letting Emily play the role of mistress.
Dinner was worse. Augusta would have to suffer her guests telling her how sweet Lady Whitehaven was to defer to her mother-in-law by letting her sit at the head of the table.
Augusta had been outmaneuvered, a new experience for her. Normally she held over people's heads the ultimate deterrent of expulsion from the circle of her favor. But expulsion was what Emily wanted, and that made her impossible to frighten.
Augusta became all the more determined never to give in.
People began to invite Edward and Emily to social functions. Emily would go, whether Edward accompanied her or not. People began to notice. When Emily had hidden herself away in Leicestershire, her estrangement from her husband could be overlooked; but with both of them living in town it became embarrassing.
Once upon a time Augusta had been indifferent to the opinion of high society. It was a tradition among commercial people to regard the aristocracy as frivolous if not degenerate, and to ignore their opinions, or at least to pretend to. But Augusta had long ago left behind that simple middle-class pride. She was the dowager countess of Whitehaven and she craved the approval of London's elite. She could not allow her son churlishly to decline invitations from the very best people. So she forced him to go.
Tonight was a case in point. The marquis of Hocastle was in London for a debate in the House of Lords, and the marchioness was giving a dinner party for such few of her friends as were not in the country hunting and shooting. Edward and Emily were going, and so was Augusta.
But when Augusta came downstairs in her black silk gown she found Micky Miranda in evening dress drinking whisky in the drawing room. Her heart leaped at the sight of him, so dashing in his white waistcoat and high collar. He stood up and kissed her hand. She was glad she had chosen this gown, which had a low bodice that showed off her bosom.
Edward had dropped Micky after finding out the truth about Peter Middleton, but it had only lasted a few days, and they were now closer friends than ever before. Augusta was glad. She could not be angry with Micky. She had always known he was dangerous: it made him even more desirable. She sometimes felt frightened of him, knowing he had killed three people, but her fear was exciting. He was the most immoral person she had ever met, and she wished he would throw her to the floor and ravish her.
Micky was still married. He could
probably divorce Rachel if he wanted to--there were persistent rumors about her and Maisie Robinson's brother Dan, the Radical member of Parliament--but it could not be done while he was the minister.
Augusta sat on the Egyptian sofa, intending that he should sit beside her, but to her disappointment he sat opposite. Feeling spurned, she said: "What are you here for?"
"Edward and I are going to a prizefight."
"No, you're not. He's dining with the marquis of Hocastle."
"Ah." Micky hesitated. "I wonder if I made a mistake ... or he did."
Augusta was quite sure Edward was responsible and she doubted whether it was a mistake. He loved to watch prizefighting and he was probably intending to slide out of the dinner engagement. She would soon put a stop to that. "You'd better go on your own," she said to Micky.
A rebellious look came into his eye, and for a moment she thought he was going to defy her. Was she losing her power over this young man, she wondered? But he stood up, albeit slowly, and said: "I'll slope off, then, if you'll explain to Edward."
"Of course."
But it was too late. Before Micky reached the door Edward came in.
Augusta noticed that his skin rash was inflamed tonight. It covered his throat and the back of his neck and reached up to one ear. It troubled her, but he said the doctor insisted it was nothing to worry about.
Rubbing his hands in anticipation, he said: "I'm looking forward to this."
Augusta said in her most authoritative voice: "Edward, you cannot go the prizefight."
He looked like a child who has been told that Christmas is canceled. "Why not?" he said plaintively.
For a moment Augusta felt sorry for him and almost backed down. Then she hardened her heart and said: "You know perfectly well that we are engaged to dine with the marquis of Hocastle."
"That's not tonight, is it?"
"You know it is."
"I shan't go."
"You must!"
"But I dined out with Emily last night!"
"Then tonight will make two civilized dinners in a row."
"Why the deuce are we invited anyway?"
"Don't swear in front of your mother! We're invited because they are friends of Emily's."
