‘When do we make the disclosure that there has been a miscalculation and that our production has been higher than previously thought.’
‘Whenever you judge the time right,’ said the Finance Minister.
‘Not yet,’ said Lydia. ‘It’s got to be absolutely precise. Our borrowings are going to be astronomical so they’ve got to be completely confident about our credit worthiness.’
‘We’re extending our loans throughout Africa, of course,’ said Malik. ‘It won’t appear unusual, if it’s spotted: there’s a tradition of our lending to the Third World.’
‘It’ll be interesting to see the Western reaction when we make our application,’ said Lydia.
‘There’ll be a rush to lend to us,’ predicted Malik.
‘Lemmings rush,’ said Lydia. Why the hell couldn’t he see how much she wanted him!
Chapter 6
The message from his father was waiting when they returned to the stables from their morning ride. ‘A summons from on high!’ Janet said. She took off her hat, shaking her hair free. She smiled at him and Pike smiled back, thinking that she looked beautiful. He’d enjoyed the morning with her.
‘You still going back today?’ she said, as they began walking towards the main house.
‘I think so,’ he said. ‘I’ve been away from New York for a while. I’ve got things to do.’ He hoped she hadn’t regarded the previous night as anything more than it had been.
‘Are we going to see more of each other?’
‘Of course,’ he said.
‘That was too quick,’ she protested. She smiled again, unoffended.
‘I’d like to,’said Pike.
‘Sure?’
No, he thought. If their families discovered they were seeing each other, all that damned-fool stupidity would start all over again. ‘Sure I’m sure,’ he said.
‘When?’
‘I’ll call you.’
‘That’s one of the world’s three great lies,’ she said. ‘The other two are dirty. Have you heard the one about herpes?’
The brittle barrier was coming up again, Pike recognized. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I promise I’ll call.’
Just before they reached the house she halted, so he had to stop with her. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘What for?’
‘Coming on strong: I didn’t mean to.’
‘You haven’t,’ he lied. ‘Some time during the week,’ he said. ‘Honestly.’
‘You were always polite,’ she said doubtfully.
From Carlton’s immediate approach when they entered the house Pike realized the butler had been waiting for his return, so he decided against changing, going instead to the study to which the man directed him. When Pike entered, his father was standing at the window, watching the preparations by the pool for a buffet lunch.
‘I’ve kept you from your guests,’ Pike apologized at once. ‘I’m sorry.’
His father turned back into the room. ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘A lot of people are leaving early, to make plane connections back to Europe. I’ve some early goodbyes to say.’
He indicated the drinks table but Pike shook his head.
‘I’m glad you came down,’ said his father. ‘So’s your mother.’
‘We had breakfast together this morning,’ said Pike.
‘She told me. And good to see you with Janet Ambersom again.’
Pike walked to the window at which his father had been standing when he entered the room. By the pool he saw his mother talking to Janet’s parents: they seemed to be laughing a lot.
‘Satisfied with the way everything went?’ he asked, still looking from the window.
‘Everyone’s worried to hell about Latin America: Eastern Europe, too. All it needs is some itty-bitty bank that no one has ever heard of to declare a default and the money system is going to come tumbling down, like a pack of cards.’
Pike turned back into the room. ‘It shouldn’t have been built like a pack of cards in the first place,’ he said.
‘Don’t I know it!’ said his father. ‘At least I’ve tried to impose some control while I’ve been at the Fund.’
‘I’ve heard criticism on Wall Street that you’ve been too deflationary,’ said Pike.
‘Purposely,’ insisted his father. ‘How the hell else are we going to get some sort of stable sanity! It’ll work in Brazil; Mexico too, although they don’t like it. Argentina is the problem, like it’s always been.’ He seemed suddenly to make up his mind, going to the drinks table and pouring himself bourbon. Momentarily he stood with his back to his son and then he turned, abruptly. ‘Judge my time with the IMF,’ he demanded.
Pike frowned at the request. ‘Very good,’ he said awkwardly.
‘Just very good!’
‘No,’ conceded Pike, unsure why his father wanted the praise. ‘You’ve read the commentaries, like I have. It’s pretty unanimous that it’s been a brilliant directorship.’
The older man smiled wolfishly. ‘Which is how it’s been meant to look.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What do you think I intend doing, when I leave the Fund?’
Pike made an uncertain gesture. ‘Go back to the Chase, I suppose.’ Which is why I got away, he thought.
The other man shook his head. ‘That would be going backwards, not forwards.’
‘What’s left, after the IMF?’ said Pike.
‘Think!’ demanded his father.
This was how it had always been, question and answer, like some goddamned quiz. A quiz he’d always been expected to win. So what the hell was the right answer! There was only one that came immediately to mind but Pike found it difficult to accept. His father was a heavy contributor: twice he’d attended inauguration ceremonies by personal invitation, but Pike had never imagined the man wanting to get personally involved. ‘Politics?’ he said.
His father smiled. ‘You’re good Tom: damned good.’
Pike wished his feeling of relief hadn’t been visible. ‘How?’ he said.
‘What’s the US economy like now?’ returned his father.
One day, thought Pike, he’d get a response instead of a query. Surer now he said, ‘High rates; tight money. Inflation coming down but at the expense of employment.’
His father nodded. ‘And there are presidential elections within six months of my leaving the IMF.’
‘So?’ demanded Pike, determined to get his father to answer a question.
‘The policy is good finance but bad politics: Nelson Jordan is in his first term and determined to get the second but he won’t at the moment. He’s looking around for a better financial policy and I’m going to give it to him, rather than somebody else.’
‘Somebody else?’
‘Harry Ambersom is due to leave the World Bank, around the same time as I leave the IMF. He wants the Treasury too.’
‘So it’s a competition?’ Like it always was, with all of them, thought Pike.
‘Something like that,’ said his father. ‘Jordan is an astute man: at the moment my track record is about the same as Ambersom’s: maybe a point or two better.’
‘I wish you luck,’ said Pike.
‘I want more than your good wishes.’
Pike felt a stir of unease. ‘What else?’
‘I spoke to Volger several times about you last week,’ disclosed the older man. ‘Got behind the platitudes that I knew he’d come up with, when I asked about you. He’s genuinely impressed.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ said Pike cautiously.
‘He says you’re one of the best analysts in the Federal: one of the best bankers, too. That’s a pretty good combination, for what I want.’
Pike shook his head. ‘There are dozens, just as good.’
‘Who aren’t my sons,’ said the man. ‘I want someone I can trust: someone with whom I can talk through problems. I want you to come with me to the IMF, Tom. I only generalized with Volger, of course, until I’d spoken to you, but I know he�
��d let you go if I asked him.’
Back into the cage, thought Pike. Back into the father-dominated environment where people sneered because of the implied favouritism and perched like vultures waiting for the mistakes they could peck at.
‘I’m very happy where I am,’ he said.
‘The opportunities are greater at the IMF,’ said his father, unthinkingly choosing the right lure.
‘What happens at the end of your term?’ demanded Pike.
‘Whatever you want to happen. Back to the Federal. Or the Chase. Or stay with me here in Washington. In politics.’
All so simple. ‘I don’t know,’ he said uncomfortably. The proposition sounded attractive.
‘I’m not expecting a decision today,’ said his father genially. ‘No hurry, not for weeks yet. Take all the time you want to think about it.’
A difficult choice, Pike decided. The charge of nepotism was a logical one: it was to prove himself that he’d moved. But the opportunities were greater at the IMF, because of what was happening. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said.
‘We’d make a fine combination, Tom. Establish the name of Pike right up there among the giant ones,’ said his father enthusiastically. ‘Wouldn’t that be great!’
‘Great,’ agreed his son dutifully. He decided against telling his father of Ambersom’s offer: that would only increase the pressure.
‘I’m proud of the name,’ declared the man. ‘Aren’t you?’
Pike looked at his father across the desk, unable to discern the new direction in the conversation. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Why say something like that?’
‘We’ve got a heritage,’ continued the older man, gesturing around the family house. ‘Traditions that go back. A dynasty, if you like; something that should be preserved.’
‘I would have thought you were doing a pretty good job of preserving it,’ said Pike.
‘I was always sorry you and Janet didn’t have a son.’
‘I would have thought it fortunate we didn’t, in view of the way the marriage turned out.’
‘You still make a fine couple.’
Jesus Christ, thought Pike: the goddamned man wanted to manipulate him from bedroom to boardroom and back again. ‘It’s over!’ he said. ‘Properly and legally over.’
‘Knocked at your door last night,’ said his father. ‘Thought we might have had our talk then.’
Pike swallowed, trying to stop himself colouring. ‘I went for a walk,’ he said, the first thing that occurred to him.
‘The grounds are nice at night.’
‘Yes.’
‘No trouble with security patrols?’
‘No,’ said Pike. Sneaky old bastard, he thought.
‘Good. They get jumpy sometimes.’
‘They didn’t last night.’
‘You’ll think seriously about what I said? About joining me?’
‘Yes.’
‘And let’s see more of each other; we’ve grown too far apart in the last few months.’
‘I’d like that,’ said Pike emptily.
‘I’m very proud of you, Tom. You know that, don’t you?’
No, decided Pike. He didn’t know it because his father had never told him before. ‘I hadn’t thought about it,’ he said. Another lie.
‘Well I am,’ said his father. ‘Very proud indeed.’
Pike packed after showering, so by the time he got to the garden the buffet was crowded. He was glad.
‘You can’t go now!’ protested his mother when he started to say goodbye.
‘The shuttle gets busy later in the afternoon,’ he said.
‘Our plane is taking people back. There’ll be room for you, I’m sure.’
‘The shuttle will be all right,’ said Pike. On an estate of God knows how many acres he felt claustrophobic.
‘I thought we’d have lunch with the Ambersoms: we’ve waited.’
‘I’ll apologize.’
‘Nothing wrong, is there?’ demanded his mother, alertly.
‘Of course not,’ said Pike. ‘Everything’s fine.’
Despite his earlier warning, he was conscious of the disappointment on Janet’s face when he announced he was leaving.
‘Expected you to lunch with us,’ said her father.
‘Sorry, sir,’ said Pike. ‘Plane to catch.’
‘There’s plenty of planes.’
‘I’ve a lot to do in New York.’
‘You won’t forget our little conversation, will you?’ said Ambersom.
Pike saw the looks pass between Janet and her mother. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I won’t forget.’
‘Harry says he’s invited you up to sail sometime?’ said Mrs Ambersom. She was a well-preserved woman, blue-washed hair in rigid grooves.
‘I’d like that,’said Pike.
‘So would we,’ said the woman.
He shook hands with Janet’s father, kissed her mother and then his own, and when he broke away to go to the front of the house to his car, Janet got up from her chair to walk with him.
‘They’re practically fixing dates!’ she said.
‘I got it too.’
‘It’s my fault, or at least because of me. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s not important,’ he said.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I suppose it’s not.’
‘That didn’t sound like I meant it to.’
‘Forget it,’ she said. ‘What was the little conversation you had with my father?’
‘Nothing,’ said Pike.
‘About us?’
‘No.’
He tossed his grip into the back of the car and said, ‘I don’t envy you the rest of the day.’
‘I’ll manage.’
‘Take care,’ he said, uncertain how to leave her.
‘Call?’
‘I said I would.’
‘I’m being pushy again.’
‘Seems to have been part of the weekend.’
‘Bye,’ she said.
‘Goodbye,’ he said.
Chapter 7
Burnham manoeuvred himself next to her on the homeward flight but Jane wished he hadn’t, because they were surrounded by bank people and any intimacy was impossible. During the flight she became aware of his nervousness. He kept getting from his seat, making excuses to speak to the governor and other members of the Court or the delegation; then he took some papers from his briefcase and made the pretence of reading, as if he were practically unaware of her presence. The meal gave them the excuse to talk: under the cover of the tray and the flap upon which it was placed he moved his leg to press against hers, but she didn’t answer to pressure.
What’s the matter?’
‘It seems bloody stupid, that’s all.’
‘I thought we’d made up.’
Jane didn’t bother to reply. The food seemed tasteless, so she stopped bothering to eat.
‘Parker’s preparing the delegation assessment,’ said Burnham, nodding to another director ahead of them on the Concorde flight. ‘Everyone’s very impressed with you.’
‘That’s good.’
‘You’re not making yourself much fun to be with.’
She wasn’t, Jane realized miserably: which was stupid. She’d known what she was doing, when it started. He’d never lied to her, about being married: always talked openly about Marion, in fact. So why couldn’t she do what other mistresses did, accept the situation as it was and grab at whatever was possible between them? ‘We weren’t together as much as I’d hoped,’ she said. ‘Now you’re going back home.’
‘I don’t suppose I’ll be able to get away at all next week.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ she said.
‘I’ll try.’
Their luggage came up separately on to the carousel, for which she was grateful, because it meant they were not together when the bank party emerged into the public section of the arrival building. Marion was waiting for him with the children. She didn’t want to but Jane couldn’t avoid seeing how the childr
en clustered around his legs and the way Marion eagerly kissed him and then clutched his arm, as if frightened to let him go. Jane hurried by and got into one of the arranged cars with two of the supervisors: she managed to sustain a monosyllabic conversation along the motorway and was glad her apartment was in Kensington, which meant she was the first to get out.
She put her cases down immediately inside the door, momentarily slump-shouldered and miserable, teeth clamped tight against the need to cry. The sensation gradually went, although when she tried to take a deep breath there was a tiny sob in it.
She lifted her case at last, carrying it into the bedroom: everything smelt musty and unused. She was a neat, almost obsessively tidy person. Tissue paper was interleafed throughout her clothing to prevent creases, and as she unpacked she carefully folded each sheet and stored it in the bottom drawer of her closet for the next time she travelled.
The kite she’d bought in Georgetown for her sister’s son was in the last case. She stared at it, remembering the American and his invitation to New York. If she’d accepted it she wouldn’t be facing an empty Sunday, like all the other empty Sundays. He would have expected her to sleep with him, of course. Had he been with her, right now, in the apartment, she would have done. Not for the sex. Just to have someone hold her and want her: not to feel so achingly lonely. Jane blushed at the thought, embarrassed by it. Hurriedly she put the kite away and took the cases back out into the lobby.
She wandered around the empty apartment, opening windows in the lounge and the kitchen to get air into the place. In the kitchen she idly opened cupboards and then the refrigerator, aware that she had nothing to eat. Despite leaving the Concorde lunch she wasn’t hungry, but she would have liked a drink. There was a milk machine in Kensington High Street, but she decided not to bother.
There was a report to write. Jane went to the bureau and opened her briefcase, staring in at the documentation she had collected in Washington. Then she closed it again. She didn’t feel like writing reports, either.
She bathed leisurely and put on a housecoat. There were films on two television channels: she’d seen one and the other was a Western and she didn’t like Westerns. The Paul Scott novel she’d bought but forgotten to take to Washington was lying on the table beside her chair. She got to page five before conceding that the words weren’t registering and she put it down again.
Kremlin Conspiracy Page 7
