Hotbed

by Bill James

  The last two dinners at the Agincourt had turned raucous and unpleasant, with angry barracking from some guests. Back then, people feared that intruder firms from Eastern Europe and elsewhere might steal some of the trade, and there’d been a feeling that Ralph and Mansel underestimated this danger, and lacked a credible resistance policy. Some staff seemed convinced that the Agincourt occasions then amounted only to calculated distractions from the dark state of things. These worries no longer existed, though, as the menace had been removed. Tonight’s dinner radiated harmony and peace and nobody heckled Ralph or did huge groan-yawns or put shots into the ceiling.

  He liked to give a single, main theme to any speech he made – a substantial, inspiring theme. He thought of this theme as ‘overarching’. Ralph scorned after-dinner performers who merely strung together a batch of anecdotes and coarse jokes. After the few sentences about trade topics, and the hearty congratulatory song to that cocky, ungrateful slob, Manse, Ralph went on to his central subject for this occasion, loyalty.

  ‘I look around the handsome room here with its many reminders of another time and I ask myself what was it, in the end, that brought victory to King Henry V at Agincourt,’ he said. ‘Oh, I know, I know, some would answer, superior weaponry. And I certainly do not gainsay the British longbow’s value. But the longbow alone could not have done it. No, it was the men led by Henry and firmly, gloriously, loyal to him who secured this triumph. Without their spirit and devotion not even the longbow could have won the day. And similar important, glorious loyalty I see present here tonight. Oh, yes. All right, I admit that, on the face of it, loyalty would appear a difficult commodity to create and keep, because there are two firms involved, not one. Outsiders considering our separate organizations might have expected any loyalties to be split, even – let us admit – to be at odds with one another. In fact, some would argue that destructive rivalry between the two firms was inevitable, part of their core nature, this governed by jungle law, which, as we all recognize, is no law at all, only a belief in unchallengeable, brutal power. But those of us actually concerned with the two companies know this to be deeply incorrect – know because we are part of a possibly unique bipartisan loyalty – know because we watch and experience it in daily operation – know that such shared, such double, such undivided loyalty, does magnificently exist – exists as magnificently as the loyalty of those Agincourt warriors, those “dear friends” in Shakespeare’s words, who went “once more unto the breach” with Henry in 1415. I think of you as my “dear friends”. Together we will triumph.’ Ralph reckoned the applause that came now contained a fair bit of authenticity. Quite a few diners rose to give a standing ovation that went on a decent while: not Manse, of course.

  Afterwards, at the bar, Shale said: ‘I didn’t know, Ralph.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Naomi being in the Bible.’

  ‘Book of Ruth. OT.’

  ‘I’ve read some of Revelation about the end of things. This is a bit of a frightener, but we mustn’t shut our eyes to it. I like to be ready for any difficulties.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Naomi suffers quite a packet but is then all right.’ Ember could see Turret over Manse’s shoulder. Brown seemed relaxed, though not pissed out of his mind and legless. He’d stay controlled, on top of a situation, affable yet discreet. As Ralph watched, Brown chatted with a group of Shale’s people, then took a few paces and talked just as much at ease with half a dozen ARLs and couriers from both outfits. Ember observed confidence there, but no brassiness and no wish to dominate. He blended in. He talked occasionally. He listened non-stop. Ralph diagnosed flair, the kind that might not figure in dossier data. Ralph occasionally joked about his ‘flair for spotting flair’.

  ‘Naomi suffers?’ Shale said.

  ‘Several people around her, close to her, die. It’s tough.’

  ‘That right?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Turret obviously had acceptability, and therefore access. This was a terrific plus. Ember said: ‘“Naomi” meant “pleasant”, but she wanted to change her name to “Bitter” because of all her foul luck.’

  ‘Die how?’ Shale replied.

  ‘But then her daughter-in-law, Ruth, has a baby and this gets Naomi OK again before the First Book of Samuel.’

  ‘Die how? What do you mean, “close to her”?’ Shale was short, square-built with a snub face. He looked powerful, but didn’t sound like that for the moment. He’d fixed his animal eyes on Ralph, obviously keen for an answer. He seemed to sense some dire undertone in what Ralph told him.

  ‘Yes, really close,’ Ember said.

  ‘I think she’s all right now – this Naomi, I mean. Mine.’

  ‘I’m sure, Manse.’

  ‘She’ve got me to look after her.’

  ‘Certainly. But you think there’s going to be trouble, Manse? What sort?’

  ‘Women can turn bitter, though,’ Shale replied.

  ‘It’s sad.’

  ‘Well, you most probably know that for yourself, Ralph.’

  ‘Mood swings.’

  ‘They got their own way of looking at life, most of them. They’re entitled. Usually it’s shit,’ Shale said.

  ‘We should always be ready for their carry-on, Manse, often in a sympathetic fashion. I see that as a male duty.’

  ‘I don’t say they ought to be the same all the time. They got their rights, in a way. You’ll never hear me argue different. Women are human beings as much as we are, no question, absolutely no question, Ralph. Their knees developed like ours so they walk upright. They got a quite worthwhile role. They can have passports, and drive cars, and be judges. Things have come on a lot since they was all just squaw types. But often they’re a real unholy pain.’

  ‘We have to try to –’

  ‘I don’t mean by accident – like being a pain without knowing it. Some of them fucking mean it, Ralph. These say to theirselves, “How can I deliver this bastard agony plus agony?” And they’re great at giving theirselves an answer. Remember in arithmetic lessons where they taught us to put an asterisk on a figure that can’t be got rid of in a division sum, it just goes on for ever? That’s what they do with agony for us. They put an asterisk against it. Oh, yes, they’re so smart at thinking up wounds for men. No poncy longbow would knock them back when they’re like that. No poncy armour would keep out the poison.’

  As far as Ralph could see, J.B.F. Brown wasn’t carrying a pistol under his jacket tonight, despite the Turret name. Either that or his suit was brilliantly cut to conceal any gun lump. Ralph didn’t really mind which. Both showed grand tact. He said: ‘On the other hand, Manse, women do have their more helpful side. I’m sure Naomi will be a real asset to you and the –’

  ‘Look, Ralph, I was afraid you might of heard them bad rumours. You probably hear a lot of rumours at the Monty.’

  Yes, Ralph did hear a lot of rumours at the club he owned in Shield Terrace, the Monty: grubby, low-life rumours. It was that kind of place – for now. He longed to smarten it, respectabilize it. ‘Rumours? Bad rumours?’ God, had Shale picked up that Ralph expected a kill move from him? Manse might sound thick, but he could read a scene all right and plumb a situation. He wouldn’t have been at the top of his firm otherwise all these years. He was never going to win that prize for oratory at Oxford University, but he saw things.

  ‘Bad,’ Shale said.

  ‘Rumours about what?’

  ‘Take this discussion we been having re women, Ralph.’

  ‘Bad rumours about women? But which? Not bad rumours about Naomi? I can assure you, Manse, nothing of that sort has come to –’

  ‘No, no, Naomi’s different. Remember my first wife, Ralph?’

  ‘Sybil? Yes, of course.’

  ‘I don’t know what that name means, but it didn’t ought to be “pleasant”, I can tell you. She could get bitter.’

  ‘A trying time. We
all –’

  ‘Very bitter.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘She went off with some optician or roofer – living in North Wales. Ivor. Or maybe a vet.’

  ‘Best put all that behind you now you have Naomi as a fixture, a lovely fixture, Manse, and a new mother for Matilda and Laurent.’

  ‘Put it behind me?’ This was almost a shout, a tormented shout. A few people looked across at Shale, Brown one of them. ‘I can put it behind me,’ Manse said. ‘That’s all I’d like to do – put it be-fucking-hind me. But Syb? She’s heard I’m getting remarried and, suddenly, she starts wondering if she done right, flitting like that. Why I referred to it – the way they change. They goes one way and then another. No explaining it. She came back for a while, you know. This wasn’t just flitting, but reflitting.’

  ‘Well, yes, I heard that.’

  ‘She got fed up over there in Wales. It’s to be expected, in a place like Wales. But then, after a while, she’s off again, back to him. That don’t mean she’s decided she’s happiest with him. It means she just felt like another move. Then she demanded the divorce. That’s her, not me, Ralph. I didn’t want it – the final wrap-up. But she kept on, and it had to happen. And now? It’s like this, Ralph: jealousy was always big with Syb. Miserable jealousy. So, now she gets to know about the wedding and this really franticizes her. She hates it. Most likely she’s thinking about the money. Well, of course she is. Don’t tell me opticians make real funds. Or roofers, or even vets. It’s all taxed, Wales or not. She says she can’t stand the notion of a strange mother for her children. So fucking caring! And late. She didn’t worry about the children or me when she walked out, and walked out again, and then wouldn’t let up until divorce. What bothers her now? It’s the money.’

  ‘But she chose to leave, Manse. The money didn’t seem to matter.’

  ‘It didn’t matter then. She had a taste for someone else and went to him. Twice. How they are, Ralph. They got undoubted impulses. Famous for it. Just watch for a thin line of sweat on their top lip. You ever noticed that on your wife’s top lip? That means impulse. Or perhaps the signs are different with your wife. Maybe she turns nervy and twitchy, can’t sit still, shuffling her feet all the time, and not listening properly to what you’re talking about. That’s impulse.’

  ‘No, I haven’t noticed anything like that with Margaret.’

  ‘Syb could be lovely to me and really special in the womanly sense, such as passion and sweetness. Of course she could or would I ever of married her? Then, though, all that gets a bit shaky. Time’s a sod. You probably know what I mean, with your wife, Ralph. So, impulse sends Syb off to Wales, brings her back and then sends her there once more. But now? A new situation, yes? Yes. It’s a wedding. This word really gets to them – “wedding”, or, even worse, “marriage”. Wedding is just a day, but marriage is for keeps in quite a number of cases. Yes, she collected a nice heap through the divorce, but suddenly she sees some other woman will get her mitts on everything left here, and legally get her mitts on it, being a totally documented wife – on the business, the art, seven-bed home with Edwardian-style octagonal conservatory, cars, built-in wardrobes, hardwood strip floors, wine cellar – everything. That’s why I say “a new situation”. That’s why I say “bitter” and “jealous”. You sure you haven’t picked up no rumours?’

  ‘What rumours?’

  ‘These rumours are definitely around, Ralph.’

  ‘Unpleasant rumours?’

  ‘That she’ll come back and vandalize the wedding.’

  ‘Sybil? But how, Manse?’

  ‘She’ll work out how. She’s bitter but she’s also brazen. Such as carrying on – screaming and shouting in the aisle and that, while the service is actually going its holy way, the vicar in full togs. Abuse at full screech. Flinging language. The fuck word. The cunt word. Tearing at posies. Disregarding in toto the holy setting. Most probably roaring to the congregation how I bought Naomi’s rings – engagement and wedding – with charlie profits. She’ve got the strength and the bitterness. This is a big woman, Ralph. Plenty of lung. You can’t put bouncers on the doors of a church. Don’t the Bible say, “compel them to come in”, not “compel Syb to stay fucking out”?’

  ‘Oh, Manse, I wouldn’t really think she –’

  ‘Them rings was paid for with clean cash, I swear, Ralph – from a Premium Bonds win, which are proper, straight, government things, right? Oh, some might say, but which money did I use to buy the bond what won? Was that from, say, cocaine deals? But can I remember when them deals was years ago, and the money just piled up with other money, not money kept special for rings, but left in the bank for whatever kind of requirement arrived, such as school fees, or holidays or anything else, and an engagement and wedding would come in the anything else brackets, not at all expected at the time?’

  ‘You could hardly be asked to keep labels on very various moneys, Mansel, showing their origin.’

  ‘Labels – exactly, Ralph. Crazy. You’re quick. You get the point fast. Always did.’

  ‘Moneys flow in as a tributary might into a major river, and it would be absurd to try to distinguish one bit of water from the rest once this has occurred.’

  ‘My feeling, too, Ralph.’

  ‘It would be the view of anyone reasonable who examined this situation fairly, Mansel.’

  ‘One of the ARLs knew I was getting engaged and he come up with a nice ring, genuine stones. A very nice ring, and deeply, all-round genuine. He’d took it from someone after negotiations to cover half a debt. I’m not saying he ripped it off her finger, the fucking debt-dodger, but he claimed it, as correctly per the tradition and entirely no blood or flesh entailed in this recovery, he swore. Possibly he even gave a receipt. He said it would do me just right. He was trying to be helpful, Ralph, but I had to tell him I couldn’t do that – not use a ring coming from that sort of quarter on Naomi. It would be unkempt. I told him to raise cash on it and make sure this cash went into the firm’s account.’

  ‘You were always a one for protocol and the ordinary, fundamental, decencies, Manse.’

  ‘Someone got to be or where are we, Ralph? There’s proper behaviour and there’s behaviour.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘I know the one I’d pick.’

  ‘And most people would guess which you’d pick, Manse.’

  ‘I go for a big single diamond.’

  ‘That chimes with your personality, Mansel – unfussy, obvious, genuine worth.’

  ‘Well, I hope so. But, look, Ralph, don’t let tales like that about Syb put you off.’

  ‘Off what?’

  ‘Off the best man job. Please.’

  ‘Put me off? As you say, these are tales, only tales. Speculation. Besides, nothing would prevent me from –’

  ‘I know – we all know – I know how you detests vulgarity and rough behaviour, especially in a church among vestments and effigies. If you hear this gossip, you might pull out, dreading a scene. But we need you there, Ralph, me and Naomi. Yes, need you. Like the ceremony wouldn’t be complete without you. We’re lucky to get a church that will take a couple of divorceds, but this luck is not worth a fart if you was to quit in disgust at what Syb might do and not wanting to be involved, which I’d recognize was within your rights.’

  ‘Nothing will stop me, Manse,’ Ember replied. ‘Nothing. I’ve heard no stories, and even if I had I wouldn’t care. This is a rare – a unique – privilege.’

  Ember had one hand on the bar, about to pick up his drink. Shale put his hand over Ralph’s and pressed down for a moment. ‘Thank you, thank you, Ralph. I know for definite Naomi will be so content now, content and proud. This is like that event in the Bible making a fine future, what you mentioned just now.’

  ‘Ruth’s baby?’

  ‘True.’

  God, Ember did need some rapid clarit
y on what schemes Manse had under way. Did this creepy hand contact really mean something, a wholesome, eternal bond, after all, an authentic thank-you, a bracing pledge, nearly at the blood-brother level? It was Ralph’s shooting hand, immobilized for nearly a minute. When it happened, Ralph thought of that Godfather scene where Luca Brasi puts his hand on a bar and Sollozzo, the Turk, drives a knife through it, pinning Luca there while he’s garrotted. Were those earnest pleas about the best man role real, or tricks, or traps? He must try to line up something with Brown and make the first approach now.

  Chapter Two

  Alone in an old, unmarked police pool Ford, Harpur saw Ralph Ember take two or three steps from a rear door of the Agincourt Hotel into the car park, and then stop. They were graceful steps – what one would expect from Ralph. He believed he had style. Ralph probably thought he had more of it than others might, but, just the same, Ralph felt a responsibility to move elegantly and offer his profile at favourable angles. He seemed to be waiting for somebody. Although most of the car park was dark, a single security lamp near the door made him identifiable, but his profile couldn’t at all come over in full glory through the dimness.

  Naturally, Harpur wondered whether Ember had managed to get something going with a girl dinner guest or a waitress, and expected her to follow him out now, possibly for something quick and doggie, or, more likely, to fix an arrangement for a better time. Ralph could undoubtedly pull. He looked quite a bit like the young Charlton Heston in, say, Ben Hur or El Cid – the same fine boniness of face and tall, wide-shouldered body. A long scar along one side of his jaw intrigued some women and gave a pretext for fluttering their investigative fingers on him, stroking that slightly raised line of shiny pink skin until other shiny pink skin reached the agenda, while clucking with sympathy and big, admiring curiosity. They thought the mark must hint at a story, and a story with Ralph as magnificent, though damaged, hero. The damage rated for them as highly as the magnificence because it ignited their caring side. Harpur had seen women react like this to Ember several times and occasionally wished for a face scar himself. About Harpur, though, people said he resembled a fair-haired Rocky Marciano, not a film star: undefeated and unscarred world heavweight boxing champion just after the war.