‘And as Comrade Kirov has already explained with the Algemene bank,’ endorsed Malik, ‘each of those listed has extensive domestic and international holdings and affiliates. For every one bank, you can calculate a ripple effect upon at least twenty more banks and financial institutions.’
‘What beyond Germany?’ asked Korobov.
‘Italy is another country with an over-sensitive reaction to financial upheaval,’ said Lydia. ‘There’s the Commerciale Italiana, the Nazionale dell’ Agricoltura, the Nazionale del Lavoro, the Popolare di Novara, the Toscana, the Banco di Napoli, the Banco di Roma …’ she hesitated, looking up from the papers before her. ‘The Banco di Roma will cause the greatest repercussion here. Being ninety per cent state owned it controls at least twenty banks within the country, with forty international links.’ She went back to her records again. ‘There are in addition the Banco di Santo Spirito, the Banco di Sicilia, the Cassa di Risparmio delle Provincie Lombarde and their subsidiary banks in Firenze, Genova, Tirolo and Verona and the Credito Italiano.’
She stopped, dry-throated, and drank from the water-glass to her right. If the pedantic Pushkov wanted facts then he could have them, she thought. Lydia felt irritated at the man’s attitude towards Malik.
‘France?’ persisted Pushkov.
‘A similar approach to that of the Netherlands,’ said Lydia. ‘In France the combination is, however, quite internal. It’s called Gisofra and is composed of the Banque Nationale de Paris, Credit Lyonnais and Société Genérate. In addition, we are hoping to involve the Commerciale pour l’Europe, the Banque de l’lndochine et de Suez, the Française du Commerce Exterieur, the Worms, the Caisse Centrale des Banques Populaires, the Compagnie Financière de Paris et des Pays-Bas, the Credit Commercial de France, the Credit du Nord, and the Credit Industriel et Commercial.’
Lydia reached for the water again, so Malik took up the listing. ‘In Switzerland the grouping is intended to include Credit Suisse, Union Bank of Switzerland, the Swiss Banking Corporation and the Swiss Volksbank.’
Lydia went on, ‘Consortia are being established to include in addition banks from Spain, Portugal, Luxemburg, Ireland, Belgium and all three of the Scandinavian countries …’ She lifted her papers. ‘I have the names, if you would like them.’
‘I think we can accept them in a written report,’ said Lenev.
‘Just Europe?’ said Pushkov.
‘No,’ said Malik at once. ‘The Far East, as well. In Japan, the combination involves the Bank of Tokyo, Dai-Ichi Kangyo, Daiwa, Fuji, Hokkaido Takushoku, the Industrial Bank of Japan, Kyowa, Long-Term Credit Bank of Japan, Mitsubishi, the Mitsubishi Trust and Banking Corporation and the Nippon Credit Bank. The Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank are linked in a funding group with the Overseas-Chinese Banking Corporation of Singapore.’
‘Why the concentration on Japan?’ asked Korobov.
‘The Western opinion, despite the current reverse of its balance of payments difficulties, is that Japan is the economic miracle of the post-war years. And because of the close links with American finance.’ said Lydia. ‘In addition, we’ve also got an already agreed consortium involving the Australia and New Zealand Banking Group, the Bank of New South Wales, the Commercial Banking Company of Sydney and the Commercial Bank of Australia, the Commonwealth Banking Corporation and the National Bank of Australasia.’
‘I’m worried that it will be impossible to conceal the full extent of the loans, with such an extensive involvement,’ said Pushkov.
Lydia conceded that he was a clever man to have isolated perhaps the greatest weakness of the whole proposal. ‘We think the situation is under control,’ she said. ‘The ceiling of every loan has been minutely calculated in every country. Nowhere has a major bank been included if its subsidiary links with other major institutions might cause too much suspicion. The Bank of England has probably got the best central supervisory system for their clearing-houses and here we’ve been particularly careful. There’ll be an impression of great activity but we don’t think it will be possible for a sufficiently accurate count to cause any early apprehension.’
‘No American banks have been itemized,’ said Pushkov.
‘None are, not yet,’ said Malik.
The Politburo group waited and when the Finance Minister did not continue Pushkov said, ‘Why not?’
‘We want them to come to us,’ said Lydia.
‘Come to us!’
‘A number of the European and Far-Eastern banks already involved in the funding have affiliation with American finance. They’ll know what’s happening, but not to what degree. They’ll realize the potential and start clamouring to be let in.’
‘That’s speculation,’ said Korobov, just ahead of Pushkov.
‘Speculation,’ agreed Lydia. ‘But it’s based upon the studied reaction over a twenty-year period of Western bankers. ‘We speculated about every Western reaction so far, and every time that speculation has proven us right.’
Korobov looked down at the table, irritated at having been the one caught out by the question. Coming to his colleague’s rescue, Pushkov said, ‘What happens if, for the first time, this particular assessment is wrong; that they don’t come to us?’
Lydia smiled. ‘Then we go to them,’ she said simply. ‘There’s no dictated order of preference. Indeed, to the West, the way our negotiations are progressing will show good business acumen: we are seeking the best interest rates and repayment periods possible. American rates are still higher than those of Europe, and when we do get involved with the Americans, we shall have a good bargaining base.’
Pushkov smiled, an expression which surprised Lydia. ‘We had to be sure,’ he said, and she realized he was making an apology for his persistence.
‘We understand,’ said Malik, still the more accomplished Kremlin politician.
‘I take your assurance,’ continued the economics expert. ‘Nothing appears to have been overlooked.’
‘How long will everything take?’ said Lenev, who had been prepared to let the other two Politburo members dominate the questioning.
‘It is an estimate which we will have to adjust practically from day to day when we see how fast the loan agreements are being reached, not just with us but with Poland and Hungary, Czechoslovakia and Romania,’ said Lydia. ‘But I would think three months.’
‘It seems a long time,’ said Lenev.
‘This concept has been evolving for ten years,’ reminded Malik.
‘I admire your patience,’ said Korobov.
They went to the Russkiy Zal, to the same private room, for the first time since their affair began and then afterwards to her apartment, the usual conclusion to any evening they spent together. They were sure of each other now, enjoying the experimentation, neither embarrassed nor offended by the needs of the other.
‘I want to ask Irena for a divorce.’
‘What!’ She pulled away, staring across the bed at him, just able to discern his features in the half darkness.
‘A divorce,’ he repeated. ‘I want to divorce her and marry you.’
She turned away from him, lying on her back and staring up at the ceiling.
‘Well?’he said.
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Don’t you want to marry me?’
‘I don’t know that either,’ she replied honestly. Would he be enough, for ever?
‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I am pleased … flattered …’ she stumbled. ‘It’s just a surprise.’
‘You didn’t think I just wanted you as a mistress, did you?’
‘I hadn’t thought about it,’ she lied. She had thought about it, on numerous occasions since the affair had started. She admired Vladimir Malik as an economist and she liked him as a man and he was kind and considerate. And the sex that she needed so badly had so far nearly always satisfied her. So she had wondered how it would end; or continue. And she’d wondered something else, too. Whether she loved him. She wished she k
new the formulae of love as well as she knew the formulae of economics.
‘I have,’ he said. ‘I want you as a wife.’
‘How do you think Irena will react?’
‘I don’t think she’ll be surprised. Or even upset,’ he said. ‘It’s not been good for a long time. But Irena’s reaction isn’t the thing that’s concerning me at the moment. It’s your reaction.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘Are you saying you don’t want to marry me?’
‘Of course not!’ She turned back to him, feeling out hurriedly for his hand.
‘What then?’
‘I told you: I’m surprised.’
She felt him move towards her and then his lips, lightly against her cheek. ‘Please marry me,’ he said. ‘Please say yes.’
‘Yes,’ she said. She wasn’t someone who made decisions like this, impulsively, without any consideration: without time to think and debate the arguments against the counter-arguments and assemble everything in parallel equations and contrasting graphs.
Chapter 18
Even the prospect of seeing Jane Rosen again couldn’t completely lift the ennui from Tom Pike; indeed, he wasn’t absolutely sure that the feeling of flatness wasn’t the underlying reason he was considering a weekend in London at all, rather than the need to be with her again. For weeks – months – there had been the gradual developments in Russia to assemble and assess; compilations and reports that had earned him the reputation he’d always sought. And wanted to keep. Like an athlete going through the qualifying rounds he’d developed a pace and a rhythm and suddenly, when he’d imagined the medal to go for, there weren’t any more hurdles to cross. Nothing that could be recognized as a hurdle, anyway. The loan-raising was continuing, of course. And Soviet now. As soon as the rumours had started he’d canvassed the banks – not just the Wall Street establishments but the smaller out-of-town and state institutions – and managed to confirm some minimal affiliate association: but he’d already forecast that development and the trend wasn’t solid enough for him to make any sort of intelligent guess as to the amount. He supposed the Warsaw confirmation about a government-free union to replace Solidarity was a further indication of how right he’d been, but that seemed a long time ago now, just like the Washington conference that had anticipated its establishment. Everything had became routine. The Federal Reserve was a routine and the daily, inconclusive discussions with Volger were routine and the drifting relationship with Janet was a routine.
Pike knew he was being stupid about Janet: stupid in maintaining the affair because the sex was good and he enjoyed sex and because it was easier to let it go on than to end it. Weak, as well as stupid. So was he going to avoid the exhibition? That was the initial inclination but almost immediately he rejected it. Weakness again, he thought. Stupidity too. The exhibition was the first major occasion since Janet had been re-established as the director of the Ambersom gallery, the hanging of work by some unknown artist she’d discovered and whom, through Ambersom influence, she’d been promoting for the past two months, with radio and newspaper and television interviews. She’d notice his absence, maybe, but it was the night’s event for the names of Washington as well as those from Manhattan, so his non-appearance wouldn’t appear the rejection he wanted it to be.
The Amberson gallery was at 62nd and 2nd and by the time Pike’s cab got uptown the traffic was already beginning to tail-back from the event. He waited ten minutes to travel to 61st from 60th and then paid the taxi off, to walk the remaining block. Police had erected crush barriers to keep onlookers back. The building was whitened by the glare of an outside TV recording team and, as he slowly edged through to join the entry-line, Pike saw that the majority of the men were wearing evening dress. He wasn’t, and his invitation was scrutinized closely at the door. Just inside there was a long table and a group of secretaries, listing the names of the arrivals. Alongside were more press and television cameras.
Pike allowed himself to be carried further into the gallery by the automatic movement of the crowd: it thinned beyond the entrance bottle-neck, but not much. He saw Janet in the middle of a group of people in the main salon: the only others he recognized were her mother and father. Ambersom saw him and waved and Pike smiled back. When he got closer Ambersom came forward to meet him.
‘Quite a crowd,’ said the World Bank chairman proudly.
‘It’s very good,’ agreed Pike.
Janet saw him at last and made a kissing motion with her lips. Pike smiled back, aware of the man close to her, frequently cupping her elbow in his hand. The man was extremely slim, thin almost, with black hair tumbled around a sallow face. Like the majority of the crowd, he wore evening dress. He became aware of Pike’s attention and held the eye contact. Pike looked away.
‘How’s things at the Fed?’
Pike shrugged at Ambersom’s question. ‘Pretty good,’ he said.
‘You must be the man they all listen to now.’
‘That’s not quite the way it works,’ said Pike.
‘Still hearing good things about you,’ said the man.
‘I do what I’m paid for,’ said Pike. It was Janet who’d accused him of practising modesty, he remembered. Like everything else, that seemed a long time ago.
‘I’d still like you to come across to the World Bank with me,’ said Ambersom.
‘I’m not sure that I’m ready for a move yet,’ said Pike.
‘Don’t miss your chance, Tom,’ said Ambersom. ‘There’s a lot of opportunity there: it’s the place to get noticed.’
Janet saved him, breaking away from the crowd and bringing the slim man with her. ‘Darling,’ she gushed. ‘Meet Leon: Leon Santez. It’s his exhibition. Isn’t it fantastic!’
‘Fantastic,’ agreed Pike, shaking the offered hand. It was a brief, limp contact. Pike was surprised to see the artist so formally dressed. Why had he expected the stereotype of jeans and sweatshirt? he wondered. There was more eye contact.
‘I’m very fortunate to have the opportunity,’ said the man politely.
‘We’ve three television stations and The New York Times and the Washington Post are giving us coverage.’ Janet stopped, pecking sideways to kiss the man on the cheek. ‘You’re going to be famous, darling. Famous!’
Ambersom touched Pike briefly on the shoulder and said, ‘Why not call me soon: we’ll talk further,’ and moved back to join his wife.
‘What’s that about?’ asked Janet.
‘Nothing important,’ said Pike. She was excited and happy at being the centre of attention, he thought; but then she always had been.
One of the television crews she’d talked about approached the artist, leading him away to a side room for an interview. Janet hesitated, as if she were unsure whether to follow, then turned back to her ex-husband. ‘He doesn’t need any help,’ she said.
‘He doesn’t look as if he does.’
‘He’s so promotable!’ said the woman. ‘Don’t you think he’s wonderful?’
‘Wonderful,’ said Pike. ‘Quite a crowd.’
‘The crowd,’ said Janet. ‘I’ve checked the arrival sheets: the turnout’s been wonderful.’ She looked around her, smiling and waving to people she recognized. ‘There’s even talk of taking it on tour, Chicago, Washington, Philadelphia and Los Angeles.’
She looked back to him. ‘I’ve made it, all on my own.’
‘Congratulations,’ he said. For the first time Pike began looking properly at the paintings displayed. They were furturistic and quite beyond his comprehension, kaleidoscopes of splodged colours and arrow-like lines. ‘Would you go on the tour?’
‘Probably,’ she said. ‘I don’t want anything to go wrong.’
‘Be an interesting trip.’
She came back to him frowning. ‘What’s the matter?’ she said.
‘Nothing,’ he said.
‘You needn’t be jealous, darling,’ she said. ‘He’s gay.’
‘I’d guessed he was gay and I wasn�
��t jealous,’ he said patiently. Damn her for misunderstanding.
‘I’ve got to circulate,’ she said.
‘Go ahead.’
‘There’s a table booked at the Four Seasons for afterwards: I’ve included you.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘Things to do.’
She had moved away but now she came back. ‘What things?’
‘Work,’ he lied.
She felt out for his hand. ‘Please,’ she said, shedding the brittleness. ‘It’s my night: don’t spoil my night.’
‘I really am busy.’ Weak, he thought; weak and stupid.
‘Please!’
‘Just for a while,’ he said.
Still holding his hand she came forward and kissed him on the cheek, as she had the artist. ‘Have you tucked up in your own bed by ten,’ she promised.
It was her bed, not his, two o’clock in the morning, they were both coming down from the coke and he was sore from the sex.
‘Perfect end to a perfect day,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he said. Why the hell had he allowed it to happen again, like all the other times?
‘Sorry about the work.’
Momentarily he forgot, then he said, ‘I can do it tomorrow.’
‘There’s a terrific party up at the house this weekend: the French and the Australian teams have arrived for America’s Cup practice.’
‘I’m going away this weekend.’ He felt a brief satisfaction, which he decided was juvenile.
He felt her turn towards him in the darkness. ‘Where?’
‘Europe,’ he said. ‘England.’ He hesitated and said, ‘Business.’
‘At the weekend!’
‘I’m going on Friday: there’s a Saturday meeting.’
‘I’d included you in the plans for everything.’
‘Which was taking me for granted.’
There was another movement as she moved on to her back. ‘Sorry,’ she said tightly.
‘We’re not married any more, Janet.’
‘I said sorry.’
‘We’ve both been letting it happen,’ he said, taking the opportunity. ‘Which was silly.’
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