by Bill James
Of course, on the other fucking hand, suppose they asked Ralphy Ember to become a Sir or even a Corporal of the British Empire, that gent would have his ‘Yes please, your majestic Majestical’ letter on its way back to Buckingham Palace by return or sooner. Already some people called him ‘Milord Monty’. If he ever made it to Sir Ralph it would be because he really did the magic on that dregs of dregs club, the Monty, and zoomed it up the social league. But, on the whole, Manse considered that probably neither of them would get picked for accolades by the narrow sods who decided these things in smart state rooms up there. They only dished out gongs to friends they knew from Eton College or Alcoholics Anonymous. This was called The System. Well, Manse had worked out his own system and a lot of it operated here, around Valencia Esplanade.
He parked in Dring Place and then went on foot along the Esplanade itself. Nobody would touch a car belonging to Mansel Shale and the Jaguar was all-round recognized. The Esplanade had tall old houses facing the sea. Probably it got called Valencia Esplanade because in them times you could watch freighters on their way to and from Spain carrying bauxite or lintels or oranges or that kind of thing. Someone had told Manse that the word ‘esplanade’ itself came from Spain, which could help explain half the name. It might of been Ralphy who mentioned this. Ralphy thought he knew every fucking thing because he went to college as a mature student for a while. Down there they probably had lectures on words such as ‘esplanade’.
These houses used to be truly select on account of their size and the outlook – owned by merchants, ships’ masters, custom house biggies – but then, when the port trade started to go down, so did the class of the houses. Landlords divided them up into rooms and flats, referred to as ‘multi-occupied’. You’d see mattresses, armless teddy bears, old fridges and such in the front gardens, which was not gardens any more. This used to depress Manse, although the multiness meant there was more customers handy to buy stuff from his staff on the street. Now, though, people seemed to realize again these was great, solid houses in a great spot and they was getting done up and going back to one family living there, pretty shrubs or golden gravel out front. This had not knocked sales of the substances too bad here yet, but Manse and Ralph watched the accounts. They might have to get a discussion going on the topic soon, described as ‘regentrification’, Ralph said. He had a word for everything.
Making his way along the Esplanade, Shale had short chats with several of his pushers. He gave true praise for their work, as any sensible chief of a firm would, and picked up good funds in tens and twenties to rebuild his readies. Obviously, all his reps was totally banned from taking fifties, due to many fakes in circulation. Tens and twenties did cause that bulk, but it had to be and, as Manse said sometimes, it was better to have bulk than bugger all. He went on alone towards the end of the Esplanade, enjoying the breeze off of the bay and the sound of waves curling on to the beach, then pulling back over the pebbles with a grating roar. The sea was not one of Manse’s favourite space fillers. He had an idea that one day it would get up over the Esplanade and other Esplanades worldwide and just drown everything – cities, out-of-town shopping centres, TV masts, soccer players’ mansions, churches, snooker halls. This dread had been with him since long before the tsunami chaos in Indonesia. That only showed Shale how damn right he might be. He’d always realized Nature could be a total, ungovernable sod. It just went its own way, like that clever maniac, Iles. Cliffs and sea walls was supposed to keep back the great waters, and good luck to them, but any time he walked a coast path he had his fucking fingers crossed and his eyes as sharp as sharp in case he noticed too much forward briny creep. Tonight, though, he considered the sea sounded all right and like what would be termed by estate agents a ‘feature’ of the area, meaning a happy extra, such as a train station or bowling green. Esplanade houses given the treatment made more than half a million these days.
He saw Hilaire Wilfrid Chandor approaching, also alone and on foot, jeans, black open-necked shirt, black slip-ons of most probably decent quality. Shale would of passed him with maybe an RIP nod, nothing more. Obviously, Manse’s main thought was Chandor ought to of been morgued after that Laguna outing, and this, plus the previous disgusting behaviour of his troupe, and maybe himself, at the rectory, might prevent ordinary conversation on an Esplanade stroll. It was not something you could go up to an acquaintance and say, You should be fucking dead, mate, as dead as that character you debased my rectory stairs with. But Chandor stopped in front of him: ‘I knew you came here regularly, Mansel,’ he said. ‘I planned a one-on-one intercept. So, here we are. I thought it time we talked privately.’
This one-to-one was another that did not have nothing to do with that poet, John Cleats. ‘Re what?’
‘And talked where we knew there couldn’t be that other kind of intercept.’
‘If you’re referring to phone taps, it’s something I fortunately don’t never have to worry about,’ Mansel said. ‘I believe it’s only them seriously suspected of something by the police get that kind of intrusion. Is this why you’re bothered?’
Chandor gazed into the darkness towards the sea. ‘Do you know what this reminds me of?’ he replied.
‘What what reminds you of?’
‘The breakers.’
‘They come and go.’
‘In the film, Atlantic City USA, a young crook and an aged crook, Burt Lancaster, make their way along the promenade, the old man full of tales – probably false – about his big-time past as a villain. The young crook says: “I’d never seen the Atlantic ocean until just now.” Lancaster replies: “Ah, you should have seen the Atlantic ocean in those days.” ’
Manse guessed this might be meant as a kind of joke. But what Lancaster said seemed damned sensible to Manse, because in the old days the ocean had turned out to be more or less OK, and usually stayed on the proper side of the promenade, the ocean side. This was simple to prove. You couldn’t tell it would do that for ever in the future, though, could you? Manse hated smartarse lines from films. ‘I don’t watch crime movies,’ he said.
‘When I say it’s time we talked, what I have in mind among other matters is that episode with the Laguna recently.’
‘Laguna?’ Manse replied.
‘Chauffeur up front, you in the back, and in a project where you and he could have scatter-gunned and seen off not just myself and colleagues but that ugly cop, as well. I regard this as a magnificent act of mercy on your part and, yes, of statesmanship, Mansel. It’s one to which I must respond. The chauffeur looked angered by the failure to clinch, which makes me certain this humane order came from you – probably as a second thought. Thank you. But a touch-and-go moment? I’m grateful yet also worried. That’s why I’d like talks now, before any question of a repeat.’
‘Laguna?’ Manse replied.
‘It’s all right. I don’t think Harpur noticed you.’
‘Noticed me where?’
‘This was a beautifully planned coup, I’ll give you that.’
Some would regard that as a compliment but not Manse. What this jolly boy meant was Manse could handle all the scheming and backroom, blueprint stuff, like some clerk or field marshal, but failed when the moment came in the actual street, the way Panicking Ralphy so often did. Shale resented any sort of comparison with Ember.
‘And perhaps after that rectory incident we deserved it, I’ll give you that, too,’ Chandor said.
A wooing time?
‘But then, bent low in the Laguna, you get a sudden creative vision of what could be possible between you and me, Mansel – the positives. And you have the guts even so late to countermand execution of . . . countermand execution of the executions. A decisive word, up from the rear leg space to the driver. This was maturity. This was, indeed, statesmanship.’
A wooing time. ‘You refer now to the dead one on my rectory stairs – I’ve never heard of a filthier trick than that,’ Shale said. ‘It might be all right for London, but this is a tidy town.’
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br /> ‘Excessive, undoubtedly.’
‘In someone’s extremely personal, cherished family home,’ Shale replied.
‘Trove. You mention London, Mansel – Trove did a slice of work there for me and really skimmed. I mean, really. We’re talking up to a hundred grand in dribs and drabs. He thought I hadn’t noticed – like that secretary woman who milked her bosses’ bank accounts of millions in the City of London. Well, me, I did notice, I notice just before he finds I’ve moved down here and comes looking for more work – and more skimming. So he had to go.’
‘He didn’t have to go on my fucking stairs. His partner’s around, searching. There’s sadness to this. And cruelty.’
‘Meryl? I’m not sure whether she knew what sort he was, although she must have realized he brought in exceptionally big earnings, not shop assistant’s pay. She came to us at my marina offices, yes. Of course she did. He’d told her he had property contacts, so she visits all the firms here that do property and she soon reaches us. Plus she’s absorbed some sort of buzz locally, I’d guess. She’s with a reporter and a couple of kids. I understand her concern.’
‘What kids?’
‘These are Harpur’s kids. They’re sort of looking after her. She’s been to the police. They’re not going to do much, are they? Britain has 200,000 people go missing every year. Trove’s just another one. We treat Meryl and her little group absolutely right – with kindness and sympathy and promises to keep an eye and ask around. But, obviously, we can’t help.’
‘No, you can’t tell them he was put dead on my stairs – the stairs of a fucking much-respected Church property dating right back.’
‘I hope she’ll return to London and try to forget all this. I’ve said before – I do regret that now, the body and lifting the pix. It wasn’t necessary, Manse. We just wanted you to know we were in the neighbourhood as a permanency and serious about commerce. I’d told my people this was our aim – to give you some kind of unmistakable and perhaps mildly forceful message, a cautionary shock, and left the detail to them. We see someone beautifully established like you and your firm, and we know that an ordinary approach and request in search of an entrée to the trade scene will get rejected. I wanted a little out-of-the-blue pressure – something to make you receptive, Mansel, amenable. A sign. Or known as semiotics. But my people overdid things. Luckily we were able to put matters more or less to rights for you following your highly justified phone call.’ He sighed: ‘Yes, Graham Trove. Ask anywhere around Eltham and they’ll tell you, a skimmer. And then the cheek of wanting to go on further operations with us. I can see how this would inflame some of my people, but that doesn’t excuse the brutishness of their behaviour. You’re right – they’ve witnessed and taken part in a lot of very rough battling in London and, unfortunately, bring those standards here.’
More threats. Shale wanted an end to this meeting. It was not good to be seen talking to Chandor and gazing conjoint towards the environmental sea like buddies. ‘I’ve got some other calls to make,’ he said.
‘Two things forced me to accelerate my programme, and got me down here solo to put a proposal, Mansel,’ Chandor replied. ‘One, obviously, the Laguna operation. This shows real possible peril for me – its flair and aptness. I can do without a further attempt, thanks, which I might not live through. But, then also its positive side, the cancellation. I take that as promising, Mansel.’
‘Where is all this supposed to have happened, for fuck’s sake, the “Laguna operation”?’
‘In addition, I note the invite from Ralphy Ember to Low Pastures for you and your wife,’ Chandor replied. ‘My information is, this never happened before. I couldn’t say why – snobbery? Ralph’s disdain? – but apparently that’s how it was. What does it show? I’d say it plainly reveals an increased closeness. This could make conditions even trickier for me, couldn’t it? Your cartel with Ember, looked on permissively by Iles, getting stronger, more solid. And so, I decide I should get in at once, before these new conditions have properly settled and cemented.’
‘Low Pastures?’ Shale said.
‘You and your missus, acceptable guests at the manor house – unprecedented as I hear.’
‘I don’t care what you fucking hear.’
‘I put a tail on Trove’s girl, Meryl Goss, after she called on us, naturally. She could be stirring some delicate material and I wanted her monitored. Harpur’s kids go off – go home, I suppose – but a couple of my folk follow Meryl and her pal, the girl reporter, to the Monty. They’d presumably be looking for Ralph Ember as a font of gossip. Rumour reaches him via club members, and perhaps more than rumour. He’s apparently not there and they decide to go out to his home. My lads follow. They get their car out of sight and watch from behind cover inside the grounds – plenty of shrubs and trees. The house is lit up and there seems to be some kind of occasion going on. The women – Goss and the reporter – get invited in, just the same. Obviously, we can’t know what they discovered, if anything. After a while they come out and drive away in the journalist’s Renault. My contingent follow again.
‘But Meryl Goss goes to a Bed and Breakfast in Quith Street and that seems to be the end of activities for the night. The journalist turns towards the middle of the city and is obviously also on her way to bed. Our lads decide they can restart the watch on Meryl Goss from the boarding house next morning but are curious about what goes on that night at Low Pastures – or they make themselves curious. They know I’m interested in Ember – am interested in any firm that seems to dominate. And, additionally, Mansel, these are two of the people I savaged recently for what they’d done at your rectory. Most likely they were scared of coming to me with nothing, scared of getting blamed for a second cock-up. So, they go back and put an eye on Ralphy’s place again. Soon, they see the famous Jaguar arrive, chauffeur in place, cap on, and you and your wife come out from Low Pastures – you in a terrific suit, they said, and a great mauve shirt, aglint under an external security light. Ralph Ember also appears, to say goodbye. They feel they’ve got something to report now, don’t they? And me, I’d agree. Significant. A suit like that.’
‘A social outing. Routine.’ Shale had listened for any accidental hint from Chandor that he personally was at the rectory for all those unforgivable events, and perhaps in the party who followed Meryl Goss, also. He heard no evidence for either, but believed it about both. Manse wanted to focus his hate on somebody, not on some firm. It seemed obvious to him that when Chandor spoke of the suit and shirt this was mockery, not meant as a true compliment.
‘That kind of tarted-up mateyness with Ralph is in some ways a difficulty for me, as I’ve mentioned,’ Chandor said. ‘But in some ways a plus, Mansel. I like to look for advantages in even the most dire events – seemingly dire. That’s how I’ve progressed. It means Ember listens to you, respects your views. Well, certainly. It’s probably always been so. I gather there are conferences between you and him at your house, as well as the regular beanfeasts for your respective mobs at the Agincourt Hotel. But this elevation to treasured guest level at Ralph’s manor house emphasizes his recognition of your status and wisdom. As I see it, Mansel, you could talk to him about possible advantages in opening up your alliance to a third member – a third member with a store of very dynamic, very workable, very tested ideas, believe me. This wouldn’t take anything from you, from either of you. It’s expansion, not division. I’ve put in a lot of thought on potential development of the substances commerce here.
‘Yes, you speak to Ralph. It would be no good coming from me. He’d see it as a try at levering, as menaces, even. And if, despite your recommendation, Ember is unhelpful – well, I admit, that’s possible. He’s panicky but he can also turn stubborn, I expect. I’ve had a thorough look at the Monty layout, though, you know. All right, there’s a poetic shield. And it’s very . . . very . . . well, poetic – just a bit of decor, no protection except from some hasty amateur chancer who pops in at the door, is afraid to go further, and trie
s a shot or two. And this only if Ralph happens to be where he’s supposed to be behind the bar. That’s not how Ember would be done in a properly managed ploy if he remained obstructive. I suggest, Mansel, that what we have to ask about someone who believes a shield of that kind can possibly provide real protection, is whether he’s capable of leading a major firm. Have his wits and judgement begun to go? Has the famous inclination towards panic become dominant in him? Can you afford association with such a one, and dependence, to a degree, on such a one?’
Chapter Eight
Harpur could tell his daughters wanted a major discussion. These sessions usually made him very uneasy, and he would have liked to dodge out, but the girls came suddenly and together into the sitting room at 126 Arthur Street and sat opposite him, in that planned way they had, undemure, dogged, foolable, of course, but not easily foolable. ‘Chandor,’ Jill said.
‘This is a property firm on the marina, dad,’ Hazel said.
‘Right,’ Harpur replied. ‘You’ve spoken about it before. Featured in “the buzz”, yes?’
‘We went to see them,’ Jill said.
‘Who?’ Harpur said.
‘I told you – Chandor and his people,’ Jill said. ‘Chandor himself and Rufus Somebody and Maurice Somethingelse.’
‘I meant, who went to see them?’ Harpur said.