A Strange Likeness (12 page)

She had no notion of how to reply to that. It was the most direct statement he had yet made of any interest in her. So she smiled and said, ‘Knowing you, I think that when the time comes you'll do exactly what you ought.'

Alan nodded, regretting that he had to leave early. He had, he told her, urgent business to do in the morning, and he needed a clear head. She watched him go, wondering how many other men in the vast assembly took their duties as seriously as Alan Dilhorne did.

 

He was up at dawn. He put on his finest togs, as Ned called them, and went off into the rabbit warrens of the City where the greatest names in money had their offices.

He ended up at Rothschild's, where his name took him into an imposing office where he talked to a youngish man of smooth appearance. They were closeted together for an hour and a half, which was a long time for the smooth man to spend with an unknown who was under thirty.

At the end of it sherry was brought in, and biscuits, on a silver salver. The two men drank to the fact that if matters went in a certain direction they might do business together immediately. If not, however, and the smooth man fully understood that this was problematical, there would be business done between them in the long, rather than, the short run.

When Alan had gone the smooth man entered an office where a slightly younger version of himself sat, who asked, ‘Well, brother Lionel?'

The smooth man laughed. ‘Very well, brother. I've just met the wariest young devil since father Nathan came to London, and if he doesn't take the City by storm some time soon, then I've lost my talent for judging men!'

 

Alan was consequently late in arriving at Dilhorne's—much to his staff's surprise. He went straight to Johnstone's office to ask him a question whose answer he thought that he already knew.

Alan was abrupt. ‘What percentage of our bills are brokered through Waldheim's?'

‘All our continental business, which is substantial, as you know. For once my predecessor worked out a good deal: good for them and good for us. Sebastian Waldheim
is a tight-fisted swine, but honest. No kickbacks—unlike Simpson's.'

‘And who is the senior partner there?'

‘Mr Sebastian is the senior and Mr Julian is the junior—but Mr Sebastian never sees clients. Everything is done through Mr Julian.'

‘He'll see me, I think,' said Alan, grinning at Johnstone's dubious face. ‘Now, ask Phipps to give me as much detail about it as he can in the next half-hour, there's a good fellow. Tell him it's urgent.'

He missed luncheon to read through what Phipps had prepared for him, before walking to the dirty alley off Cheapside where Waldheim's offices were. He was stopped at the door by a porter who asked him his business while looking askance at his splendid clothes.

‘I've come about some debts,' said Alan cheerfully.

‘Have you, indeed?' sneered the porter, jumping to all the wrong conclusions. ‘Just go through there.'

‘There' proved to be a grimy cubby-hole with a hard-faced clerk standing before an old-fashioned tall desk. He turned at Alan's entrance and pointed to a chair with his quill, saying repressively, ‘Wait.'

‘Sorry,' said Alan cheerfully. ‘Can't. I'm a busy man.'

‘If you've come to settle debts, or pay interest, or to announce a default for that matter, you'll wait,' said the clerk severely.

‘I am not the principal,' said Alan. ‘I represent the debtor.'

‘You represent the debtor?' The clerk's stare took in Alan's gentlemanly clothes. ‘No matter. It's all one.'

‘Not to me it isn't.'

‘And pray who may you be?' The clerk's sneer was a work of art.

‘Nemo. You may call me Nemo.'

The clerk's stare grew. He knew that Nemo, translated, meant Nobody, but decided not to let that trouble him.

‘Well, Mr Nemo, whom do you represent?'

‘I'm tired of exchanging chit-chat with underlings,' said Alan. His accompanying smile was so agreeable it almost took the sting out of his words. ‘I'll speak to your superior—or nobody.'

The clerk ignored this and repeated, ‘Whom do you represent?'

‘His name is Victor. Loring. But any bargaining I do will be with Mr Sebastian.'

The clerk gave a short laugh. ‘Him! There's nothing to represent. He can't pay; he's for the Marshalsea.'

‘I've come to ask for time and consideration for him—of Mr Sebastian, if you please.'

‘Mr Sebastian speaks to nobody. Everyone in the City knows that. In any case, he'll get neither. In a fortnight we shall send in the bailiffs and the tipstaff.'

Alan said, ‘If Mr Sebastian speaks to nobody then he must speak to me, seeing that I am Nemo, or nobody.'

‘By no means—' began the clerk.

Alan raised his voice to a powerful bellow. ‘I
demand
to speak to Mr Sebastian, since you are losing him business.'

He waved Victor's bills in one hand and some accounts and invoices in the other.

‘The answer's the same.'

‘Ah, but what about these?' His voice had now reached its best quarterdeck shout, learned on the Macao run. ‘I don't think that Mr Sebastian will like losing all these contracts with Dilhorne and Sons, as well as a good settlement with Victor Loring.'

In the wall against which the clerk's desk stood was a door, divided in two at the middle. At this last statement
the top half flew open and a testy middle-aged gentleman looked out.

‘What the devil is all this noise about Dilhorne's and Loring? What's going on? I can't work in this din, young man. Can't you satisfy, Mr Needham?'

Alan spoke before the clerk could answer. ‘No, because I wish to speak to Mr Sebastian.'

‘Who the devil are you to speak to me?'

‘His name's Mr Nemo,' said the clerk, hastily putting his oar in.

‘Mr Nemo? Mr Nobody? Bah! He's pulling your leg.'

Alan gave Mr Sebastian the present of his most brilliant smile. ‘Well, to be truthful, it's Dilhorne, actually. Alan—one of the principals in Dilhorne and Sons. I was told that Mr Sebastian spoke to nobody, so I called myself Nemo so that you might speak to me. You follow my logic, sir, I trust? I'm troubled that you might lose all your business with us, Mr Sebastian. You wouldn't like that, would you?' He was all ingenuous charm.

‘Damn your impudence, boy. But it's possibly easier to talk to you than argue with you. Though I'm dam'd if I can see why you shouldn't talk to Needham.'

‘Only talk to principals,' smiled Alan, ‘being one myself.'

Mr Sebastian rolled his eyes to heaven. ‘Oh, very well, time is money, I suppose. Come in and have done.'

Mr Sebastian's office was little grander and little cleaner than his clerk's cubby-hole.

‘Now, what is all this?' he barked. Be dam'd if the young puppy didn't look more like a pugilist than a businessman.

Alan sat down. ‘I've come to ask you to be a little easier over Mr Victor Loring's debts—me being his agent in this matter. Oh, I know that he's in deep, but you'll
get little out of him if you throw him into the Marshalsea.'

‘And little out of him if he isn't!' Mr Sebastian's bark was more savage than ever.

‘Agreed. But I am in a position to exercise pressure on him and put him where he might be able to earn a little and pay it back slowly.'

‘No, no, and no again. That's not how I do business. I write off my losses.'

‘Oh, I do so agree with you,' exclaimed Alan earnestly. ‘And that's how I do business in New South Wales. But Victor, worthless though he is, is my cousin, and I'm honour-bound to try to save him. Don't refuse me, Mr Sebastian, I beg of you. Just think of all those beautiful contracts you have with Dilhorne and Sons which are coming up for renewal soon.'

His smile was angelic.

‘By God, I do believe that you're blackmailing me, you dam'd young puppy!'

‘Oh, yes, sir, I am. In a dreadful cause, too, but I really mean what I say. Very wrong of me, I know—but you leave me with no alternative.'

‘If you don't renew I'll see that others won't deal with you, either.'

‘Oh, dear. I thought that you might say that. But it's too late, sir. I've already shaken hands with Rothschild's on the possibility of a better deal than you can offer me. They are quite aware that I wish to renew with you, seeing how well we have dealt together, but if you feel unable to do so—for whatever reason—they will take over our business at once.'

Sebastian Waldheim stared at the smiling young devil opposite to him, who added, ‘Think how well you'll be doing if you close with me. You keep all the Dilhorne
contracts and get some return from worthless Victor Loring, too. It beggars belief, don't it?'

‘By God,
you
beggar belief, boy! Your contracts are too good to lose, I admit. Particularly if Rothschild's want them. Good payers, Dilhorne's. You're not lying to me, I trust?'

Alan bowed at this tribute.

‘Never. Before I left Mr Lionel he gave me this.' He fetched from his pocket the letter which Lionel had written earlier, promising to take over Dilhorne's business if he failed to make terms with Waldheim's.

‘What's in it for them, if I do renew?'

‘Well, there are other inducements, sir, as we begin to expand now that I'm running the English end of the business. We spoke at length of them—I can't tell you any more than that, naturally.'

‘Naturally!' snorted Mr Sebastian. ‘By God, boy, you'll go far—if you don't hang first, that is. I'll tell Needham to call off the bailiffs. I'll want some cash down, mind, as earnest of your good faith. We'll settle a reduced interest before you go so that Mr Victor Loring won't be a dead loss.'

‘I thought that you might want some money first,' said Alan. ‘That's why I've brought a banker's draft for £2,500 with me.'

‘And your money, not his or Dilhorne's, I'll be bound,' said Mr Sebastian shrewdly. ‘What are you getting out of this? Apart from the joy of coercing me, that is?'

‘Not much,' Alan admitted. ‘But indirectly I've lost Victor and his family infinitely more than £2,500. I owe him something and I intend to try to make him see the light a little in future.'

‘The hopefulness of youth,' said Mr Sebastian wryly. ‘Well, young man, you seem to know what you're doing,
even if you don't know quite why you're doing it! I'll see you again when we sign the renewals, both for Loring's debts and your business.'

He paused before adding, ‘And you may buy me a dinner worth eating straight away—it's not often anyone bests me, so the occasion is worth celebrating!'

 

Alan knew that his really difficult task lay in persuading Victor to co-operate with his plans for him. Common sense told him that Victor would refuse, and if he did then the agreement with Sebastian Waldheim would fail. Victor would be unable to pay the money-lender and would inevitably end up in the Marshalsea.

His cousin Clara was waiting for him in her pretty, shabby drawing room. Caroline was with her. He was dressed to drive out to the Star and Garter for supper with Frank Gresham and a few friends so he hoped that his business would not take long.

He raised his brows involuntarily when he saw that Victor was absent. Clara interpreted his look correctly. ‘Oh, he's come downstairs, cousin Alan,' she said nervously. ‘He's in the study. He's been there all day, except for meals. I'll take you there.'

She led him to the study, where he found Victor standing by the window, his back to the door. He turned on hearing Alan enter. His face was yellow, but he had shaved and was well turned-out.

‘So, the Golden Boy is back,' he said derisively. ‘Did they put the red carpet out for you at Waldheim's?'

Alan was unruffled. ‘Of course. I dined with Mr Sebastian in the early evening and drank sherry with Lionel Rothschild this morning.'

Victor's smile was ugly. ‘No need to bam me, Alan. I'm your cousin, remember?'

‘No bamming,' returned Alan equably. ‘Both my statements were true. Sebastian Waldheim and I reached an agreement over your debts. You'll not go to the Marshalsea, but there are conditions.'

Victor stared at him. ‘You spoke to Sebastian Waldheim? No one speaks to Sebastian Waldheim. How in God's name did you do that?'

‘God had nothing to do with it,' offered Alan. ‘We struck a business deal, Sebastian and I. But it depends on you. You might not like the conditions.'

Victor sat down suddenly. ‘What conditions?' What did you bind me to? Where's the catch?'

‘Well, I gave Sebastian a sweetener in the shape of a banker's draft for £2,500, which cleared some of what you owed him straight away. After that we decided on a low rate of interest for you, to be paid six-monthly, not quarterly. So, all being well, the Marshalsea is not a prospect for you.'

Victor was fascinated. ‘You know I've nothing left. How do I pay his low rate of interest? Or pay you for your banker's draft, for that matter?'

‘Well, that's the difficult bit, I do admit. I am, however, prepared to take you on as a junior clerk at Dilhorne's under Phipps. You'll get a salary, which won't be large, but if you reform yourself and stop drinking and gambling it will help you and my cousins to live—if frugally.

‘Part of your salary will be commuted, so that Phipps can pay Waldheim's interest for you each six months until you are fit to manage your own affairs. The draft I'm prepared to write off. I think that my mother will agree that it's a fair portion of the estate to be gifted to you, seeing that Sir John encouraged you to live beyond your means, and then disinherited you for doing so.'

‘Become one of your clerks! I'm a gentleman. I'd die rather.'