Full of Money

by Bill James

  ‘To be alongside you in the plushness of the Savoy? Absolutely.’

  She went into an expansive, multi-furl laugh: ‘Gallant! But I meant you and Dione Pellotte, of course. Some family to bring on to your side via romance!’

  ‘Lucky but maybe also a teeny bit brave?’ Pye-Oram asked. ‘Her father, formidable.’

  ‘Don’t see that,’ Bale said. Of course, Bale did see it, did see risk. And he knew people had begun to talk about him and Dione. In his office the other day, Larry Edgehill told Rupe he had been more or less ambushed on Whitsun by Dione’s father and baggage-man, and quizzed over Bale’s future. ‘When I say quizzed, I don’t really mean quizzed, of course, Rupert,’ Larry had said. ‘I was being instructed to look after your career because you have to buy somewhere off Temperate Acres and take proper care of Dione. Don’t talk about this, Rupe. You might get a new programme, anyway. We don’t want it to look as if Pellotte fixed that.’

  ‘As it happens, I saw Dione’s daddy-o himself at an Anthony Powell conference,’ Selina had said.

  ‘Powell’s one of his interests. Dione told me,’ Bale said.

  ‘Yes, one of his interests,’ Selina said. ‘Loot’s another. And he knows how to wield it. Perhaps we should be grateful.’

  ‘In what sense?’ Pye-Oram said.

  ‘In an awards sense,’ she said.

  ‘What’s that mean?’ Pye-Oram said.

  ‘His pal actually gave a keynote talk,’ Selina replied. ‘He stood at the lectern and, do you know . . . he stood there looking . . . yes, looking full of money. Remember that phrase from, I think, The Great Gatsby – somebody in the tale seems “full of money”?’

  ‘Daisy Buchanan. Gatsby says her voice is full of money,’ Bale replied.

  ‘This was his suit,’ Selina said.

  ‘In what respect?’ Pye-Oram asked.

  ‘In a fucking money respect,’ Selina answered, and another thorough laugh crackled. ‘The best sort! His suit a-bulge with currency. And Pellotte’s, too. I loved it. But loved it. So raw. So blatant. So absolutely street. I mean, the conference, hyper-literary and well behaved, and these two flaunting profits. That’s the kind they are.’

  ‘Which?’ Bale said.

  ‘They’d been garnering dues, hadn’t they? Trade barons and also lit fans. Delicious!’ Selina said. ‘People sell for them and are entitled to commission – only commission. If they try to cream off more, they catch severe trouble. Maybe they’ve got some two-timer or slow payer in their network– so they pop in and sort him out. Those pockets are undisguised, elemental, living power. You’re mightily fortunate to have that sort of influence working for you, now you’re cuddling up to Dione, Rupe. Result? We get shortlisted like this, and maybe even win – the rumours say so. Win! You’re lucky, and we’re lucky because we appear with you. We get drawn along in your sparkling wake. Yes, Hector’s right, too: Pellotte’s formidable.’

  Bale said: ‘But what’s he to do with the awards, with the short-listing?’

  ‘Oh, quite.’ Selina belly-laughed. ‘He’s probably a very loving, very proud, father, you know,’ she said. ‘Concerned for his daughter. And, by extension, concerned for those she takes up with, such as you, chairman Rupe.’

  ‘His money reaches the judges – is that what you mean?’ Bale asked.

  ‘He is money. And the judges are known.’

  ‘That’s preposterous,’ Bale said. But Selina heard plenty, some rumour, some truth.

  Momentarily, she paused again from knife-and-forking. She spoke quietly now, to take in only Bale and Pye-Oram: ‘Rupe, rest assured that, when people ask whether you and Sandine only got that rare magic going over Insignia because you were shagging the arse off her on an established basis, I refute this. Obviously, I don’t know whether you were shagging the arse off her, but a denial seems wisest. It would be bad for gossip like that to get about.’

  ‘This is what I meant by bravery,’ Pye-Oram said. ‘You with Dione Pellotte while the Sandine thing is still very in the minds of everyone.’

  ‘And then I hear of a long chat on the main Whit Festival road between Pellotte and his aide and someone who might be our dear producer, Larry Edgehill. I ought to ask him, but it’s occasionally better to know something without its being known, you know.’

  Yes, and Rupert kept quiet about what Larry had told him. In any case, Larry had asked for secrecy.

  Pye-Oram said: ‘Pellotte, a bit of a mystery. When I was still into a habit myself I bought from a lad on Whitsun called Hodge, Gordon Hodge, Hodgy. Gordon Basil Hodge – part of Pellotte’s outfit. The sort who’d produce those “dues” you mentioned, Selina. He said Pellotte could be an absolute gem, charming, sort of father of his people, if you played along. Meaning, of course, if you paid up in full. Not otherwise. His manners then are tearing off heads.’

  ‘Did Hodge play along?’ Selina said.

  ‘He had grand notions. Image. Kids in private school. I moved from him. He seemed dangerous, not helpful to know and deal with. Then I got myself clean, anyway. Perhaps Hodgy’s still around. I doubt it, but he might be.’

  And, yes, he was still around. At Pellotte’s house after the Savoy, Bale realized he’d just crossed with ‘Hodgy’ in the front garden.

  ‘I imagine she was at the award do tonight,’ Pellotte said.

  ‘Who?’ Bale said.

  ‘Sandine,’ Pellotte said.

  ‘The panellist?’ Vagrain asked.

  ‘Yes, Priscilla Sandine,’ Dean said. ‘Late twenties. Whiz-kidette. Columnist and would-be film maker. A flat in Ealing. Lives solo. Two accesses to the flat. Via the front door, naturally, but also a fire escape. A Bertram Caliph Sommerdale alarm system. There appears to be no regular timetable to her movements, except a walk for the newspapers just after ten o’clock on Sundays, using a pedestrian crossing near the post office both going and coming. Say twelve minutes in all. This is rain or shine, always alone and never bothering with an umbrella. Am I right, you saw On the Frontier at the theatre with her? The Auden-Isherwood bilge. You two sitting together.’

  ‘That’s the usual sort of thing,’ Bale said. ‘Panellists often go to the theatre or cinema or concert hall together.’

  ‘Slightly apart from the others?’ Dean said.

  ‘I always think of William Walton as being like that,’ Bert Marsh said. ‘This is the fucking trouble with it.’

  ‘Like what?’ Dean said.

  ‘On the frontier,’ Bert said.

  ‘I think the other one does live in Hampstead now,’ Dean said.

  ‘Karen?’ Dione said. ‘Yes, Hampstead. She came into some money. And she’s partner in a couriering firm. Have you been there?’

  ‘Been there?’ Vagrain replied.

  ‘I believe you met her at a signing, Mr Vagrain?’ Dean said. ‘In the Voluminous shop.’

  ‘Of course, you live on Temperate Acres, don’t you, Mr Bale – Rupert?’ Vagrain said. ‘This is luck! Distinguished representatives from each, Whitsun and Temperate present together. That must be rare. Useful in my research. Balance.’

  ‘Rare enough,’ Pellotte said. ‘I’ll concede that. I believe, though, that Rupert and I can get on. All the same, I was saying, before you arrived, Dione, Rupert, that I’m not convinced about the wisdom of a book based on Whitsun and Temperate.’

  ‘I’d put the idea on ice for a few years, Abel,’ Dean said.

  ‘Daddy can be like this sometimes, Mr Vagrain. Known as “a domain matter”. Spoken in a big, weighty voice.’ She said the words in a big, weighty voice. ‘“Domain matters” get exceptional treatment. Whitsun and Temperate would be a “domain matter”.’

  Bale also considered now, and considered again, Pye-Oram’s tale about the pusher called Hodge and his fear of Pellotte, if he turned against you. It gave Rupe a mild shiver, but intrigued him, too. In Rupe’s thinking, it made Pellotte’s actual support of him – Rupert Bale – even more valuable by contrast. ‘Someone mentioned Hodge at the Savoy,’ Bale said. �
�Just an aside, really.’

  ‘Who?’ Pellotte said.

  ‘Daddy doesn’t like people nosing into the business,’ Dione said.

  ‘Is Hodge of some significance, then?’ Vagrain asked. ‘Oh, great! These insights could be of enormous help with the book. I’ll talk to him.’

  ‘They were discussing me at the awards dinner, were they?’ Pellotte said, ‘then got on to Hodge?’

  ‘Is Hodge in some way dubious?’ Vagrain asked.

  ‘Was a connection implied between Adrian and Hodgy?’ Dean asked.

  ‘There’s talk, and there’s loose talk,’ Pellotte said. ‘People like Hodge might mention all sorts if asked for information by an outsider – by you as a distinguished writer, Abel. Hodge would want to impress, regardless of veracity. We certainly could not recommend him as a source for your work, Abel, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Sad, really about GBH,’ Dean said.

  Seventeen

  Esther found she awoke some mornings with the words ‘To hell with the Olympics’ either in her slowly surfacing head or actually on her lips and spoken, though she couldn’t be sure at what volume. Usually, Gerald would be already up, working out piteously on the rowing machine downstairs, so the curse remained unheard, except by her guardian spirit, if she had actually uttered it, and if she had one.

  Anyway, to hell with the Olympics. They were more than a decade off, suppose they ever came to London at all, but causing her big, present-day trouble and angst just the same. People – powerful, focused people – wanted a spruced and serene Whitsun and Temperate soon – or sooner – and she had two unsolved killings around her neck: a commonplace, territorial William Walton killing; a keep-your-nose-out-scoop-merchant killing.

  And now talk of a potential third. That’s what it undoubtedly was.

  She’d got pretty well nowhere with the original two: Dean Feston and Gabrielle Barter Cornish brought in for chats, and released after chats; other chats at St John’s with the vicaress and Joel Jeremy North, plus Mrs North – very plus Mrs North – equally unprogressive.

  Number Three? Possible number three? At present she had Larry Edgehill, television producer, seated in front of her desk at Central. He seemed knocked about by guilt and possibly fear. ‘Normally, I don’t know that I’d mention this kind of thing,’ he said. ‘It’s a sort of grassing, I suppose. And that means very dangerous. I’m scared. But . . . well, I know you to at least some extent, and, of course, your husband, via the programme and so on, and it . . . well, it becomes easier, perhaps even necessary. Yes, perhaps even necessary.’

  ‘I know Gerald is pleased to be coming on A Week in Review.’

  ‘He’ll be fine, I’m sure.’ Edgehill stayed silent and blank faced for a moment. Then he said: ‘That’s not really what I want to talk about. It’s to do with the Whitsun situation, and perhaps beyond Whitsun.’

  ‘Yes? Nothing sensitive you say now will involve you in trouble. I’ll see to that.’ Talk to me, talk to me, if you’ve got something real stored there, ‘real’ meaning fit to base a charge/charges on right away, and able to stand up in court. I begin to unravel. I’ve heard you live on Whit, haven’t I, so you get insights, intimations, murmurings? Edgehill had telephoned and then arrived half an hour later. She’d guessed it would be to do with more than the programme.

  ‘I’m concerned about someone called Hodge,’ Edgehill said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I feel a responsibility for him. It’s stupid, I suppose, but I do.’

  ‘He’s unsafe?’

  ‘He asked for help and . . . well, I ignored it.’

  ‘What kind of help?’

  ‘Have you heard of him? Gordon Basil Hodge, Larch Street, Whitsun.’

  ‘Were you in a position to help?’ Esther replied.

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘How did you know each other? Is he a neighbour?’

  ‘Not a near neighbour. He’d picked up some gossip about me. It made Hodge imagine I could get him out of a mess. He arranged a meeting – in the street. He thought I had some influence.’

  ‘Influence via the programme? Via TV?’

  ‘In a way, yes.’

  ‘Which way?’

  ‘As a go-between.’

  ‘Between?’

  ‘Between him and some business heavies he’d upset.’

  Editing at work here. But she knew the names would come eventually. When people were uncertain whether they should spill, they spilled in droplets only at first. Eked. It meant they could change their minds, back out. But, in any case, Esther thought she could supply much of the detail already. Hadn’t there been the custody conversation with Ivor Frank Caple, code cover Luke Totnes, hauled in for passing dud notes? Esther could learn from that. Caple had been ready to guess for Esther where the counterfeits had most recently come from – Gordon Basil Hodge of Larch Street, Whitsun. Perhaps Caple guessed right. After all, past form showed he got fifty per cent of his information OK. Gordon Basil Hodge might have been skimming, and seriously enraging his master, Adrian Pellotte, and Pellotte’s chaperone, Dean Feston: ‘some heavies he’d upset’ as Edgehill mildly phrased it. Caple: could she do anything for him? He was still inside. Tricky. But she’d try.

  ‘I might have driven Hodge into stupid risk-taking,’ Edgehill said.

  ‘Because you failed him – that is, of course, in his view you failed him?’

  ‘Maybe my view, too. I feel irresponsible – cowardly. So, here I am, taking a risk, trying to compensate – trying to get brave.’

  ‘You’re worried that he’ll look for some other method of getting these heavies off his back? A more dangerous method? You have evidence?’

  Edgehill thought, she knows some of this already, the secretive bitch. But how? Does she talk to Udolpho? Or, to put it the more likely way, does Udolpho talk to her, on the quiet, just as he talked to Edgehill on the quiet? What was it he’d called his newspaper shack – a thing of ‘centrality’, a hub? This morning, when Edgehill looked in for the papers, Udolpho had said in a real comfort-ye voice: ‘He doesn’t want you to fret about it, Larry, not suffer guilt. He understands. I think he knows now it was wrong to approach you that way. Like presumptuous? If you ask me, he’s come to see that someone in your media executive position would have to be so careful about what you might get pulled into.’

  ‘That wasn’t why I—’

  ‘The real point being, Larry – he’s all right now. He’s got the future beautifully organized. Morale up.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad,’ Edgehill had said.

  ‘Like from a sudden vision. It’s shown him the way.’

  ‘Grand.’

  ‘He’s that sort.’

  ‘Which?’

  ‘He’ll always come back from what looks like the dumps. He’s not one to fold – no collapse. You two had your chat up Chancery Lane and it didn’t turn out right. At first – disappointment. Even some rattiness, I wouldn’t be surprised. One drink only with him, then vamoose, as I understand it. You know the way the mind can go topsy-turvy for a little while in someone pressured like Hodgy. But then a reappraisal. Return to coolness and a switch to Plan B. This is what I mean about coming back. Gordon Hodge is the sort who’ll make sure he has a Plan B. Defeat? He’s got no time for it. There are two daughters away at a terrific school paid for with much gold. That’s his sort. And great taste, I understand, as to the inside of his property.’

  ‘It wasn’t that I refused to help him, Udolpho. I couldn’t help him. I don’t have the kind of influence he imagined – not with the people he feared might become . . . well, troublesome.’ And this was certainly on the way to being true.

  ‘Troublesome would have been on the cards, yes,’ Udolpho said. A couple of commuters had showed for papers and cigarettes. Udolpho served them. When he and Edgehill were alone again, he said, ‘Perhaps a lot of Whitsun folk got the wrong ideas from that conversation on Gideon Road.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My impression is, Gordon Hodge r
ecognizes this now.’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘More direct,’ Udolpho said.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘These are words he used re his forthcoming schemes, which are in hand. When I say “in hand” I’m referring to beyond just thoughts and ideas. “More direct.” The kind of words I’d expect from Gordon.’

  ‘What does it mean, “more direct”?’ Edgehill said.

  ‘Oh, yes, much more direct. That’s my impression.’

  ‘How, exactly?’

  ‘He’s not one to spell everything out.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Sort of oblique? Many people who get things under way are like that. They talk oblique, but when they act, they go straight at it. This is a kind of superstition. They don’t want to say too much in case it all just stays at saying it.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Also, the walls of this place, if you can call them walls. Not exactly sound proof. When Gordon talks, there’s often a – there’s often a security side to things. Keep it vague? But some of us can interpret.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Not exactly cryptic. Indicators. But my guess?’ Udolpho said. ‘Can I offer you my guess?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘He’s been to see them.’

  ‘Pellotte and Dean?’

  ‘Direct, as he said.’

  ‘He called on Pellotte at home?’

  ‘I underline that this is a guess only.’

  ‘Based on what?’

  ‘To what purpose, this visit, you’ll ask?’ Udolpho replied.

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘My bet is he’d speak to them along certain lines. Words of this sort: “Adrian, Dean, there’s been an unfortunate, accidental lapse, in no way caused by school fees or other pressures, a simple miscalculation on my part in a business sense, a delay in payment and other snags” – there’s talk of forged notes, you know, Larry – “so, Adrian, Dean, please give me some mission, some task, to handle for you. Please. This will wipe out the problematical aspects of our recent relationship, which it would grieve me to see endangered.” You’ll be familiar, Larry, with the phrase quid pro quo. And, as the Bible has it, “Here am I, send me.”’