‘What you think of as dignity, Harpur, most call moral decomposition. He’d need exceptionally good, accurate people.’
‘Who would?’
‘Manse. The best man stands very close. Shale won’t want to get hit by friendly fire at his wedding. Or the bride. Yes, he’d probably worry about her, too. Manse in the Marriages and Deaths columns of the same Times issue – he’d loathe the idea of that.’
‘It might turn out to be a really fine occasion.’
‘Might it? In any case, that doesn’t guarantee anything afterwards. Consider the younger Royals. Or, for instance, my wife and myself. This was a considerable occasion, her father something more or less worthwhile in Town Planning, and stretch limos for guests before stretch limos were everywhere.’
‘I for one would have bet on it.’
‘But what happens after a few years?’ Iles’s voice began to rise once more. ‘You’ll see what I’m getting at, won’t you, Harpur? Won’t you, Harpur? She and someone I thought of as a dear, admittedly loutish, but unswerving colleague decided they would –’
‘If only one of them were killed in a gang battle – Ralph or Manse – which would you prefer it to be, sir?’ Harpur replied.
‘Of course, Sarah can’t understand now how or why she ever took up with someone of your make, Col. We often have a chuckle together at the preposterousness of it when looked back on.’
‘I believe one sign of a good marriage is husband and wife can chuckle together. That kind of joint chuckling is a true bond.’
‘Ralphy will dither, naturally,’ Iles said. ‘He’ll have spotted that Manse most likely wants to see him off. But, because Ralph is Ralph, he’ll hesitate for as long as he can. He’ll try to prove to himself that his dreads and suspicions are unwarranted. That will be so Ralphy. Part fear, part decency. In his generous, nervy style, he craves to think Manse really is a jolly good fellow despite the ferret features and art collection. Do you know what I’d guess, Col?’
Iles’s guesses often amounted to clairvoyance. ‘I wonder, sir,’ Harpur said.
‘Yes, I suppose you would.’
‘Many admire your guess facility.’
‘I’d say Ralph will try to put someone into Manse’s firm to take some soundings, get at his intentions.’
‘A spy?’
‘But for the best of reasons – Ralphy-type, should-I? must-I? shall-I? reasons.’
‘Plant an observer? Your contact told you this, has some evidence of this?’
‘Of course fucking not, Harpur. My contact describes what is there to be seen and heard at the Agincourt. Nothing else. The factualness of the facts. This is as much as you can expect from a source. It’s my function to see past these, Col – to envisage, to posit, to anticipate. This is the factor realm.’
Yes, the thing was, when Iles did some of his positing and all the rest of it he generally posited spot on. Harpur had seen this happen so regularly. And perhaps he’d seen it happening at the back of the Agincourt the other night – that secret, secretive, exchange between Ralph and Turret Brown. Iles might be right about Ember’s methods. He would favour slow, stage-by-stage tactics – hesitant, cagey tactics. Hardly tactics at all. Ralph could take action, but he didn’t like it much. Was he lining up someone to do a bit of a crafty drift into Mansel’s grace and favour? Joachim would be a fair bet. His work as a courier brought a lot of intermingling. There’d be some half-open doors for him to try to edge through. Iles might have spotted the meaning of that meeting if his car-park source told him of it, or if he’d seen it himself. Perhaps Iles deserved the gold across his cap for gifted inklings, even if his outfits did get saliva’d sometimes.
‘Do you think he knows someone who could infiltrate like that and stay safe and effective, sir?’
‘Don’t be smartarse, Harpur.’
‘In which respect, sir?’
‘“In which respect” what?’
‘“Smartarse” in which respect?’
‘Because it sickens me when you ask a straight question,’ Iles said.
‘In which respect, sir?’
‘I know it means you already have the answer, or half the answer. You wouldn’t humble your paltry little self more by showing ignorance. You’ve found out who’s going in for him, have you?’
‘This would need to be someone who can hear the unspoken, read the unexpressed. Nobody’s going to say outright to him, “We’re planning to do Ralph.” Or not at first, anyway.’
‘You’ve found out who’s going in for him, have you, Harpur?’
‘I’ll do a data sift, and see if I can sort out some likelies.’
‘You’ve done one, have you? Or you’ve got some other indicators. So, who?’
Harpur said: ‘On the other hand, sir, I don’t mind at all when you ask me a straight question.’
‘That means zilch. You never reply, anyway. You’ve seen something, have you?’
‘In which respect, sir?’
‘Something that says who Ralphy’s spy will be. A meeting somewhere? That kind of thing?’
And maybe Iles also knew about a meeting somewhere, such as the Agincourt car park. Often the weaponry in these set-tos with Iles was a show of ignorance.
‘Patience is another vital quality for that kind of infiltrator,’ Harpur replied, ‘plus the ability to see behind bullshit big talk and spot whether a real Kill Ember mission is on.’
‘I’m fond of Ralphy, Col. His delusions are worthwhile delusions, not like my own.’
‘I wouldn’t say he holds you in total contempt, sir.’
‘And then, Mansel,’ Iles said. ‘So winningly in touch with culture.’
‘I’ve never heard him speak badly of you, sir. But, then, he’s a wily sod.’
‘Equipoise – that’s what we’ve achieved, Col – equi meaning settled, poise meaning the state of things. A settled state of things. Yes, we’ve achieved that, Harpur. I include you in this, Col, despite your ungovernable, traitorous dick. If someone were to ask me to say in one word what is the basic nature of our operations here I would instantly reply, “Equipoise.” We’ve had peace on the streets from that equipoise between Ralph and Manse.’
‘And from your treatment of them, sir. The brilliant blind-eyeing, as long as they disallowed violence.’
‘And now, is what we’ve accomplished all at risk?’ Iles replied. ‘Am I supposed tamely to let this happen? Does an architect stand by and watch his most prized building burn down? Did anyone else see it?’
‘What?’
‘This meeting.’
‘Which?’
‘Ralphy and his chosen one,’ Iles said.
‘Did your Agincourt source say there’d been a meeting?’
‘It was at the Agincourt, was it? Some quiet area? Outside? The car park’s dark there, isn’t it?’
‘Is that what your source said?’
‘What?’
‘Outside at the Agincourt.’
‘You were down there, were you, Harpur? You saw them? This was one of your damned independent saunters.’
‘I know Ralph likes the period flavour of the Agincourt name but thinks the phoney armour vulgar,’ Harpur answered. ‘Yet he puts up with it, no tantrums. I think he has in mind that equipoise you mentioned. The responsibility is weighty, but he will not shirk it.’
‘Identification?’
‘Of?’
‘Jerk – the one with Ember at the meeting.’
‘That would be important – if there were a meeting.’
‘Could you make him out?’ Iles said.
‘Anyone down there would have trouble getting a proper view. As you mentioned, sir, the car park used to be very dark – possibly still is. You weren’t present watching in a personal capacity, were you? I doubt that. A loiter of this kind – hardly a role for an Ass
istant Chief.’
Yes, Harpur realized he should consider whether Iles hadn’t simply guessed in his inspired, magical way about the meeting, but knew of it from his ‘source’, or even because he, Iles, himself, had been at the Agincourt that night – ‘around’ the Agincourt that night – and had spotted not just Ralph and Turret, but Harpur in the old pool car. It was the kind of knowledge Iles in his hoarding style would possibly choose to keep buttoned up for the present, in case he could use it later to injure/humiliate/ demoralize/bewilder Harpur as part of some scheme. Iles loved schemes, especially when they injured/humiliated/ demoralized/bewildered anyone he had a grievance against: a lot. That was part of the rank. If the ACC’s information came from someone at the dinner, not from his own observations, this source might well turn out to be the lad Harpur had seen emerge at the side of the Agincourt. He quickly retreated into cover, then reappeared, obviously having watched Ralph and Turret until they withdrew back into the hotel, leaving the car park apparently clear. Harpur had asked the computer to tell him about someone with the characteristics he’d noted at the Agincourt and a search came up with Samuel Quint Aubrey Evox, one of Mansel’s Health Pensions and Security (HPS) staff, very clued up and vastly roughhouse. Could Iles really have got something going with Evox? Iles was at least as clued up and roughhouse, so perhaps they drew together naturally. As Iles had said, he recognized the value of sources, and knew where to find them. He didn’t stay at his desk. This might mean the ACC realized the back door meeting had been between Ralph and Joachim Brown. Iles could get hold of facts, as well as factors and contexts.
Chapter Three
No shilly-shallying, Ralph took Joachim Brown into the drawing room at Low Pastures, the drawing room itself. Ember thought this would be a soul-refreshing education for Brown. The big windows looked out over paddocks and fields to the sea. Brown was bound to feel the sheer, damn . . . well . . . the sheer, damn established grandeur of it all. Ralph did not consider himself, personally, as being central to this grandeur, not its, as it were, essence. That would have been preposterous vanity, and Ralph loathed any kind of pompousness. When he referred to grandeur, he meant the vista, the serenity and sweep of Low Pastures. Of course, Ember realized that by owning the vista, serenity and sweep of the place, he was bound to acquire some of the grandeur himself. He always tried not to make too much of this, though.
He opened a bottle of Sauvignon and poured out a glass each. Lately, he’d come to think of Chardonnay as too ‘populist’. They sat in armchairs facing each other. Ralph knew he must achieve a working balance of apparently opposed effects. Brown would be to some degree overwhelmed by Low Pastures, and Ember, in fact, wanted that, worked for it. But he’d also like Turret reasonably at ease, not made wholly speechless and/or gibbering by the timeless, prestige spread, and the inevitable status of its present freeholder.
Near the end of the after-dinner partying at the Agincourt, Ember had found a moment to talk to Brown, who could still be mistaken for cold sober. ‘Come out to the rear door for a second, would you, Joachim,’ he’d said. Ember spoke the name with no hint of retch or giggle. The shadowiness might be favourable now. Ralph went first. Soon, Brown joined him. He had a long but lively face, slightly arched nose, clear blue eyes, a small pale moustache and chin-tip beard. He wore a dark, three-piece suit, almost certainly made for him, and more or less adequately made. It would be unjust to blame someone like Brown for not knowing the difference between a reasonable tailor and a major one yet. ‘I’ve been glancing through the records of various people, with a certain prime project in mind,’ Ralph said. ‘Your CV interested me. One or two things I’d like to discuss with you. Look in at Low Pastures, on Friday at two thirty in the afternoon, will you?’
‘Low Pastures?’ Brown had seemed surprised, even thrilled. Ember understood this, actually expected it. On moral hygiene grounds, he hardly ever asked people from the firm to his home. Ralph’s wife and daughters might be there. They had to be kept clear of the trade. Usually, he wanted the property itself kept clear of the trade. Ralph saw himself as guardian of Low Pasture’s dignity and wholesomeness: a vast responsibility. But he thought it could be useful to allow Turret entrance, and he picked a time when the girls would be at school and Margaret weekend shopping. Admittedly, he had once let Mansel Shale into Low Pastures for dinner, though Ralph would never regard this as a precedent.
On the edge of the Agincourt car park, Ember had said: ‘Confidentiality’s important. We won’t hang about now. People are beginning to leave and some will come out here or around the side of the building from the front. Let’s talk in comfort on Friday. We won’t return to the banqueting room together. Wait a little while.’ Ralph went back. Brown followed, but not at once. They didn’t speak again at the hotel.
So, yes, Ralph had realized Brown would be impressed, awed, by the invitation. But if you were going to ask someone to take on a damned hazardous job for you, special preparatory kindnesses might be wise. Brown must know from talk within the company what a rarity this was, an accolade. And then, Ralph guessed that sight of the manor house and grounds on Friday afternoon would have its effects. If Brown didn’t already realize Ralph’s social and business standing he’d definitely sense it as he drove up the wide, curving Low Pastures drive, at first tarmac, then large-stone, golden gravel, between an avenue of larch, conifers and beech. The Spanish consul had lived here more than two hundred years ago, and, later, a lord lieutenant of the county. Ralph did not believe in mentioning such former residents too frequently, and did not need to, because most locals knew the history. The house was shown on old Ordnance Survey maps, and under its current name.
Secrecy of the meeting could be better preserved at Low Pastures, as long as Brown kept quiet. In the drawing room, Ralph said: ‘Joachim, I’m looking for an assessment – an opinion – a survey – yes, an assessment, opinion, survey of the firms as of now from someone younger, and from someone who in the ordinary course of business has regular contact with our own people and Manse’s. You, as a courier – and, at what are you now, twenty-seven? – you seem to suit. A fresh pair of eyes. I value that kind of scrutiny. Of course, I carry out such rigorous examinations myself continually, but comments from someone else, and from a different, perhaps sceptical, generation, can bring a new perspective. I thought that, out here at my home, we might be able to examine matters with a little more detachment. I look at the way things run and, of course, I’m used to them running like that, so I might subconsciously feel this must be the right way – the only way – for them to run. You’re not pre-conditioned in this fashion.’
Ralph thought he could shape the talk so Brown would see improved wages plus a hint of possible advance in the firm to departmental head, even eventual leadership succession, or at least deputyship. And this might not be altogether false. No, certainly not altogether. Ember’s wife, Margaret, would love him to get clear of the detailed running of the business – not the Monty, perhaps, but the rest. She’d left him for a while recently because he refused to change, taking the children with her, though she came back fairly soon.*
Brown said: ‘You want a verdict on the firms? Well, they go along all right, as far as I can see, Ralph.’
‘They do, they do. But, then, the future. How does that shape up in your opinion?’
‘I don’t see any difficulties. I’m way down the ladder, though, so possibly I wouldn’t. I don’t know enough, maybe.’
‘Are you satisfied as a courier?’
‘I’m learning the business.’
Ralph enjoyed this. Brown was terse, perhaps through nerves at this stage, but cogent. ‘A good answer,’ Ember said. ‘A great answer – one I might have given myself, back in the early days of the business.’
‘It’s true.’
Ember said: ‘The business, as you call it, is complex, Joachim.’
‘Well, yes. But I expect every company above a certain size is going to
have its intricacies and –’
‘Because, of course, it is two businesses, though two businesses acting as if one. At present.’
‘At present?’
‘At present. That’s why I asked how you saw the future,’ Ralph said.
‘You think there are difficulties?’
‘I think there might be changes, developments.’
‘But I’d say again, this must be true of most businesses. They have to push forward or get left behind.’
So, he could opine and quack, given careful, encouraging treatment, and a little time. Ralph didn’t mind the niggly argumentativeness too much, as long as he curbed it when necessary – and ‘when necessary’ would be when he went into Manse’s operation. He’d be there to listen and watch, not fucking well quibble over every damn thing said to him, like a Newsnight interviewer.
However, some independence and belligerence in Brown might be pluses. These could be seen as leadership qualities. Ralph would admit that, occasionally, he did feel he needed a lieutenant, and a lieutenant who could one day take over the grind of day-to-day control, with Ralph a figurehead, although, of course, still powerful, still in final charge. Perhaps the invitation to Low Pastures carried all these hints, anyway. It suggested Ralph already esteemed Brown, had selected him from many and considered that this superb venue was spot on, to match his rare abilities. Compare the Prime Ministerial country house, Chequers. Only visitors of stature received a welcome there, not dogs-bodies. They must shape up and fit in. It was true that just before Ralph, a fairly considerable local villain, Caring Oliver Leach, had Low Pastures. This unseemly recent period could never cancel all the property’s previous distinction, though.
No, arranging an encounter with Brown at Low Pastures gave their talk undoubted calibre. Discussions which might lead ultimately to the slaughter of Manse Shale needed a prestige setting, surely. The main gates bore a Latin inscription on a plaque, Mens cuiusque is est quisque, meaning ‘A man’s mind is what he is.’ This plaque had come to Ralph with the estate. There was another at a second, minor pair of gates, to the rear of Low Pastures, leading to what used to be the home farm. Maybe they had been put there by the Spanish consul. Definitely not by Caring Oliver! Ralph agreed with the message on the principal gates, which he’d had translated for him by a lecturer at the university. Minds certainly counted in life. But, clearly, minds could not add up to the whole of life. If Manse had to be wiped out, this would inevitably be a very physical, not intellectual, matter, as far as the actual killing went, though there would be considerable thinking behind it, and a mind – Ralph’s. Today’s chat, for instance, derived very much from Ralph’s mind, and might turn out to be preparation for that extermination of Manse. He thought of asking Brown what he made of the main gate inscription – did he see minds as important? But then Ralph decided it might be cruel to expose Turret’s ignorance of what the words meant.