Treason if You Lose

by Peter Rimmer

  “Did they teach you all that at Oxford?”

  “Word for word. Never underestimate the English. Mr Bowden’s words, not mine. Especially the ones with the pukka accents. William Smythe was right. The Americans want us out of the colonies. They even want us to go to war. I’m surprised that factory survived the depression, which still isn’t over, by the way, looking at those figures. America needs a war in Europe to get its economy going. We spend the money, they supply the goods. Perfect for America.”

  “You were rude to them, Tinus.”

  “I’m a colonial. They expect colonials to be rude. Everyone does.”

  “They’ll never come back.”

  “Oh yes they will. When they talk all sweet and nice I want fifty-one per cent or no deal. You have to control the cheque book, Uncle Harry. Control the company or you have nothing. To quote Mr Bowden, ‘owning a minority of a private company isn’t owning anything at all’.”

  “I’m glad I gave you the Morgan.”

  “So am I. Driving that sports car during three years at Oxford was a perfect pleasure.” Tinus was grinning, his adrenaline pumping.

  “And they taught you more than good manners and how to play cricket by the look of that meeting.”

  “I learnt to play cricket at Bishops. Our Alma Mater. What time are we meeting Cousin George for dinner?”

  “He’s coming round to the hotel at six o’clock.”

  “Then let’s go and look at the river. Who knows when we’ll be back in New York.”

  “Making money out of the plight of soldiers doesn’t appeal to me.”

  “Doesn’t appeal to me either.”

  “I like the idea of a walk.”

  “Let’s go see New York.”

  4

  The owner of the Italian restaurant lived over the shop, something Harry found out later. The receptionist at the Independence had given Tinus the tip. By the time Cousin George arrived there was still no sign of Genevieve. Her note had said she was celebrating with Mr Hollingsworth and Gregory L’Amour, who was back in town, along with the rest of the crew who had been on call to help the producer get the money they all needed to make Holy Knight. Tinus, a little miffed it seemed to Harry, had made no comment. The cab driver said he knew the way and dropped them off outside the restaurant. None of them had any idea which part of town they were in.

  “Just go straight in,” the cab driver said ominously.

  “Don’t look at me,” said Cousin George. “I’m of Canadian descent who farms tobacco in Virginia.”

  “That much we have in common, George. A couple of hicks,” said Harry.

  Opening the restaurant door for his cousin George, Harry smelt food that instantly made his mouth water.

  “It seems Jean knows her restaurants,” said Tinus complacently, quickly closing the door to follow the cab driver’s instructions, while trying not to look over his shoulder for the New York mafia.

  “So you know her name,” said Harry.

  “In America they wear their names on their sleeves, or in Jean’s case on her lapel. I think displaying her name is obligatory in American hotels. Genevieve would have liked this place. Cosy. Informal. Not a dozen tables and all tucked into nooks and crannies.”

  “Just the place to do business in private,” said Harry, looking around.

  “Jean sent us,” said Tinus to the man who had greeted them at the door.

  “Come this way.”

  “What wine would you suggest, Mr Russo?”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Over the door into your restaurant. We are from Africa, my nephew and I. Please bring us food and wine that you would eat and drink with your wife.”

  The man went off giving them a suspicious look after pointing to a table next to a pillar.

  “They’re going to murder us,” said Cousin George. “I don’t think he’s ever heard of Jean. How did your meeting go with the bank?”

  As they sat down a large, round bottle of wine covered with raffia was plonked on the table. The table was already set with cutlery and glasses.

  “Enjoy. I come help you drink it later. Very expensive. My wife make you her ravioli. Everything from Italy. All the ingredients from Italy.”

  “You don’t know Jean?”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “Independence Hotel.”

  “Expensive hotel. I bring second bottle shortly. Enjoy.”

  “He’s drunk,” said Tinus happily.

  “So long as his wife’s sober… They want us to invest in cans of meat, George. War profiteers before the war starts. Can you use some capital on the farm, George? Your father sent grandfather the tobacco seed for us to get started on Elephant Walk. Keep it in the family, so to speak. I’m never good doing business with strangers.”

  “Why don’t you come to Virginia and see? Every farmer can use more money to increase his gross turnover. The overheads on a farm stay the same. Got to grow more.”

  “I’d like that. Tinus didn’t like the firm Jacob brought along today. Didn’t like the directors. They called him junior. What do you need money for in Virginia?”

  “To buy the farm next door. The equipment I already have can farm his land.”

  “Now you’re talking my language. Putting money into an idea I can’t see for something that hasn’t happened is not my idea for a good investment. I want to see what I have bought. Want to be sure my money can’t be stolen. Farmland, now that’s an investment. Something you can safely leave to your children. Not something that is here today and gone tomorrow. My ideas have been building ships, designing new aircraft. Not some get-rich-quick scheme that when it works gives nothing but money. No satisfaction. Not something you can look at and be proud of when you get old. I never understood the point of making money for the sake of making money and using it to show off. I want to be able to enjoy what I have. I enjoyed expanding Colonial Shipping. I’m doing the same on the farm. Look at it. Be part of it… Can we fly, George? Time is short. How far are we from your place in Virginia?”

  “This is America. The home of the Wright Brothers. I think Russo is coming to join us. Tinus, start pouring the wine. That Genevieve is sure some girl. Where’d she go tonight? Oh well, farmers with titles they can’t use are no good to a girl like Genevieve.”

  “They got the money from Jacob Rosenzweig to make the Holy Knight,” said Tinus. “There’s more to making films than appearing on screen. Even her Uncle Robert got roped in. It’s business for her tonight. I’m sure she’d prefer to be here.”

  “Do you two have something going?”

  “I wish we had, Cousin George. I’m just a kid without a job. How can I compete? Better to stay good friends than make a mess of it.”

  The restaurant began to fill up. Groups of big men with fat stomachs. One table, the only big one, was entertaining women as far as Tinus could see round the pillar. Thinking of Genevieve finding somewhere more important to be, made him flat after the high from showing Jacob Rosenzweig what he could do, the job in London still on the table if he wished to pick it up. They were just friends from before Genevieve became famous, taking her out of his range. There were always so many people around. People wanting something for nothing. Better to be alone on the farm in Rhodesia than get his hopes up. Better to know his limitations. Her world would always be more exciting than his.

  What he hated most was the way Gerry Hollingsworth looked at her, the thought of them together now giving Tinus a feeling of revulsion. Gregory L’Amour was a young man who envied Tinus being a pilot. If anything had happened between them it was their affair. That was natural. An affair with an old lecher who thought his stars his property made Tinus recoil in disgust. Just the thought of his hands on Genevieve. Maybe his Uncle Harry was wrong, he thought. That making so much money could buy a temporary possession knowing more money was coming in to pay for the next passing fad. That everything in life was temporary, to be bought and used and thrown away, while the search went on for somet
hing else on which to spend the money. That possessing a girl like Genevieve was no different to possessing a new car, something to be had and shown off like all the other possessions. Which brought Tinus back to why people like that needed all that money: because without their money they were nothing, which made Tinus feel better about Gerry Hollingsworth and how he thought of him.

  In between the ravioli and the homemade ice cream, Tinus watched Russo join them and help drink the wine. The man was a happy drunk, amusing everyone. With a smile on his face from the wine and Genevieve in better perspective, Tinus sat back and listened to the ebullient owner of the small restaurant.

  “This is my whole life, from upstairs where I live to downstairs where I work. We don’t go further than here. Why should we? Good food and good wine. My friend playing the most beautiful musical instrument in the world over there, also my cousin. My wife in the kitchen. New friends every night. This, my friends, is how to live. I am a most happy man.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Cousin George.

  “So will I,” said Tinus. “To happiness. To hell with the wealth.”

  “Elephant Walk,” said Harry, raising his glass.

  “Virginia,” said Cousin George.

  “To life,” said Russo.

  Smiling, Tinus continued to watch them quietly, having said enough for one day. Russo was drunk, no doubt about it, with the three of them not so far behind.

  “To peace,” said Tinus so quietly nobody heard above the talk and the man playing something that vaguely resembled a violin. Once at Oxford Tinus had seen a picture of a man standing up in a gondola playing such an instrument but never found out its name; like Russo’s cousin, they both used a bow to make the strings give forth the sound.

  Later, when the two bottles of wine were finished, they ordered a third. Cousin George was by then sentimentally talking about his children. Russo cried just a little, at how beautiful his daughters looked. Even Uncle Harry went through a sentimental moment talking about his own though strangely, for Tinus, leaving out any mention of Frank.

  When Russo’s wife joined them, a woman as round as she was tall, still with a beautiful face, she didn’t seem to mind her husband being drunk. She was still wearing her apron from the kitchen. The beautiful daughters were nowhere to be seen. The party at the big table with the girls was making a lot of noise. Russo waved at them, smacking his lips to his hand. The big, fat men at the other small tables did not look so menacing to Tinus. With all the wine he had drunk, Tinus was glad he didn’t have to work the next morning. He hoped Genevieve was having just as good a time. Very quickly the wife became drunk too, making Tinus think she had been drinking in the kitchen; that all Italians drank and enjoyed themselves.

  By the time the fourth bottle of wine appeared on the table the people from the big table had joined them, bringing their chairs. Two of the men sang a sad song while Russo’s cousin played in the background looking sad. One of the girls began to cry. Looking at her, Tinus could see she was very drunk. One of the men who was not singing sadly wiped the tears from her cheek. The girl cried some more. Even Tinus felt the song was sad, not understanding any of the words. Everyone in the room was having a wonderful time.

  Tinus began worrying how Russo was going to collect the money. At the end a very pretty girl came down the stairs from the apartment above and gave every table a bill. She was smiling. Uncle Harry left the girl a big tip on the plate. Mrs Russo gave Uncle Harry a kiss making everyone bang on the tables. Tinus thought Uncle Harry would have preferred the daughter to give him the kiss.

  Tinus remembered falling into the taxi on top of Cousin George when they finally got outside. They were all laughing, everyone declaring undying friendship with Russo. Everyone from the restaurant had come out on the street to see them off. When Tinus looked through the back window of the departing cab everyone was going back inside. Uncle Harry shook his head, looking at Tinus.

  “Now I know why that first taxi driver had a note of warning in his voice when he dropped us at the restaurant,” Uncle Harry was saying. “I don’t think Russo charged us for all the wine. I’m going to sleep like a log.”

  When they reached the Independence Tinus was the only one still awake. His Uncle Harry was snoring. So was Cousin George. Jean was not on the desk. The old man who must have been the night porter gave them their keys. They were all being quiet.

  “Now that was a night,” said Cousin George.

  Passing the door of Genevieve’s silent room, Tinus found his door, fumbled the key, waved at Uncle Harry having the same trouble at the next door to him and went inside. Without thinking of pyjamas Tinus went to bed, falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. For a moment he had thought the room was going round.

  5

  When Tinus woke his head was pounding like someone on his door.

  “Go away.”

  “It’s Uncle Harry. Let me in, Tinus. The men from Chicago are downstairs wanting breakfast.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Eight o’clock.”

  “I thought war had broken out with all that pounding.”

  Tinus got up in his underpants and let his uncle into the room.

  “You look awful, Tinus. Jean phoned up to my room. Said two men were in the lobby. I asked ‘where’s the lobby’. She said on the first floor. You have to be careful in America. Everything is different. The ground floor is the first floor, the lobby the reception. The two men are probably still standing at the desk. They want to buy us breakfast.”

  “How can you sound so cheerful?”

  “They told me they want to sell us forty per cent. Get your clothes on. In America they start their business over breakfast.”

  “God forbid.”

  “Hurry up, nephew. The nice men are waiting.”

  “This time, Uncle Harry, you can do all the talking. And remember, fifty-one per cent. And I want those figures.”

  “Strong coffee, waffles with maple syrup. Scrambled eggs with a side dish of jam. You’ll feel much better. What they offered me on the breakfast menu yesterday. Can you imagine scrambled eggs with jam?”

  “I'm going to be sick.”

  “Then hurry up. I will be downstairs in the restaurant with our guests. I’ve never seen anyone work so quick in my life.”

  “You’d work that fast if you were going bust. Running out of money tightens the sphincter.”

  “Have you seen Genevieve?”

  “Not yet… Now, move, please.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Quieter, Uncle Harry.”

  “We flew every morning at dawn when the weather permitted.”

  “But not with heads like mine. Did I imagine it but was there a pretty girl at the end of the evening?”

  “Russo’s daughter. She collects the money. Now that’s what I call a family. And yes, she was very pretty. Like her mother, I guess, when her mother was the same age. Cousin George is booking our flight to Virginia just up the street.”

  “You two were snoring in the taxi!”

  “A couple of old dogs who know the tricks. We both forced three pints of water down our throats before we went to bed. Flushes out the hangover. Trick I learnt in the RFC. Can’t afford to have a hangover in a dogfight. You’d be wise to remember that, Tinus. Germany has issued a ruling to confiscate Jewish property, and German troops are starting to subjugate the Sudetenland. It’s getting worse and looking very ominous. It was all in the paper I found under my door. Do you know, I rather like America.”

  “Give me five minutes and I’ll be right down. I feel bloody terrible.”

  The shower helped. Gathering his thoughts and trying to remember what he had said the previous day to the Americans from Chicago, the words of his tutor Mr Bowden came back to him. Mr Bowden had been prone to giving impromptu lectures, the personal words to Tinus often more important than formal lectures in the classroom.

  “You can’t work on a hangover, Tinus. The brain is scrambled. Better to
leave it alone. You’ll have to redo the work anyway. Anyone who thinks he can do good work drunk or with a hangover is a fool. In business, you have to drink, one of the hazards of doing business. The best men of the business can recall drunken conversations word for word and use alcohol to find out what the opposition is thinking. Drunks blurt out the truth and don’t remember what they said, giving you an advantage. Try and keep behind with the drinks. One of my previous students drinks a glass of water between rounds. You’ll find your own method. There is no difference between a drunk and a fool. A fool and his money are easily parted is an old cliché but like so many old sayings it is very true. Never be dishonest in business or the dishonesty will come back to haunt you. Always. Letting another man spill information is not dishonest. It’s his problem and not foul play. Never forget that, Tinus. The only reason we have successfully run an empire, like the Romans, is our honesty. And you never, ever do business with a dishonest man. You couldn’t bribe a Roman official. You can’t bribe the British. When everyone is made to be honest the world runs smoothly. When the British Empire goes as many wish, there will be much jubilation among those who would like to be dishonest. For a short while. People who wish for something like that should be careful of what they wish for. The moment the rules are broken, the system will collapse. Always be honest and you will succeed in life. You will be able to live with yourself. Letting a man get himself drunk is a good way to find out if he is honest. From the mouths of babes and drunks comes the truth. Just remember what I said. Never, ever, do a deal drunk or on a hangover or you will live to regret it. You won’t find that in the economics of business. There’s more to life than book learning. Most of it is common sense. Just think, Tinus. Always think.”

  Downstairs in the almost empty restaurant Tinus said not a word, remembering the advice of his tutor. Trying to think clearly was impossible. Even the smell of a cooked breakfast made him want to be sick. How his Uncle Harry seemed so bright was beyond his comprehension, despite Uncle Harry drinking all the water before he went to sleep. There was no sign of Genevieve or Cousin George in the hotel restaurant. The two men engaged in the conversation with Uncle Harry looked at him every now and again, expecting, Tinus thought through the throbbing in his head, another attack. Maybe, after all, the hangover was working to their advantage. Within a brief interplay between the two men and Uncle Harry their percentage of ownership rose to fifty-one per cent. Uncle Harry was offered the non-executive chairmanship of the board of directors. The rate of interest on the Brigandshaw loan rose a full percentage point. It seemed to Tinus, drinking his black coffee, his Uncle Harry was enjoying being back in the game of business. When the two men got up to go, shaking his hand and the hand of Uncle Harry, Tinus silently gave up his thanks to Mr Bowden for making him keep quiet.