letter.
“I don’t know why you don’t have some nice music on,” she said.
He smiled. He had not told her what he used the radio for, as it was
against the law to listen to police radio. “I’m not very musical,” he
said.
She shook her head resignedly, and went out.
Bertie opened the letter. It was his monthly check from the Evening
Post. He had had a good spell: the check was for five hundred pounds.
Bertie paid no tax. He found it difficult to spend all his money. The
job compelled him to live fairly simply. He spent every evening in pubs,
and on Sundays he went out in the car, his one luxury, a bright new Ford
Capri. He went to all sorts of places, like a tourist: he had been to
Canterbury Cathedral, Windsor Castle, Beaulieu, St. Albans, Bath,
Oxford; he visited safari parks, stately homes, ancient monuments,
historic towns, racetracks, and fun fairs with equal enjoyment. He had
never had so much money in his life. There was enough to buy everything
he wanted, and a little left over to save.
He put the check in a drawer and finished cleaning the frying pan. As he
was putting it away the radio crackled, and a sixth sense told him to
listen carefully.
“That’s right, blue Bedford six-wheeler. Alpha Charlie London two oh
three Mother. Has it what? I
Distinguishing marks? Yes, if you look inside you’ll notice it has a
most unusual feature–six large boxes of used notes.”
Bertie frowned. The radio operator at headquarters was being funny,
obviously; but what he said implied that the missing van was carrying a
large sum of money. That sort of van did not go missing accidentally.
It must have been hijacked.
Bertie sat down at his table and picked up the phone.
Felix Laski and Nathaniel Fett stood up when Derek Hamilton entered the
room. Laski, the would-be buyer, and Hamilton, the vendor, shook hands
briefly, like boxers before a fight. Laski realized with a shock that he
and Hamilton were wearing identical suits: dark blue with a pinstripe.
They even had the same six-button double-breasted jacket without vents.
But Hamilton’s gross body took away any elegance the style had. On him,
the most beautiful suit would look like a length of cloth wrapped around
a jelly. Laski knew, without looking in a mirror, that his own suit
appeared to be much more expensive.
He told himself not to feel superior. The wrong attitude could ruin a
negotiation. He said: “Nice to see you again, Hamilton.”
Hamilton nodded. “How do you do, Mr. Laski.”
The chair squeaked as he sat down.
The use of “Mr.” did not escape Laski. Hamilton would only employ the
unadorned surname with his equals.
Laski crossed his legs and waited for Fett, the broker, to open the
proceedings. He studied Hamilton out of the corner of his eye. The man,
might have been handsome in his youth, he decided: he had a high
forehead, a straight nose, and bright blue eyes. Right now he looked
relaxed, with his hands folded in his lap. Laski thought: He has made up
his mind already.
Fett said: “For the record, Derek owns five hundred and ten thousand
shares in Hamilton Holdings, Limited, a public company. Another four
hundred and ninety thousand are owned by various parties, and there are
no unissued shares. Mr. Laski, you offer to buy those five hundred and
ten thousand shares for the sum of one million pounds, on condition the
deed of sale is dated today and signed at twelve noon.”
“Or that a letter to that intent is so dated and signed.”
“Quite so.”
Laski tuned out as Fett continued to enunciate formalities in a dry
monotone. He was thinking that Hamilton probably deserved to lose his
wife.
A woman as vivacious and highly sexed as Ellen was entitled to a
full-blooded love life: her husband had no right to let himself run to
seed.
Here I am, he thought, stealing the man’s wife and taking away his
life’s work, and still he can make me squirm by calling me Mister.
“As I see it,” Fett was concluding, “the deal can be done just as Mr.