Kindling (18 page)

“They all do that, Mr. Warren. You’ll have no difficulty to get them back again, once the Yard starts up. Sharples was a jolly little town before—before this happened to us. Everybody liked Sharples.”

He glanced at her curiously, smiling a little. “I suppose it was always full of smoke and steam, and raining all the time?”

“It wasn’t,” she said defensively. “And, anyway, the towns up there are all like that. But Sharples was a nice size, and people were happy there.”

He said, “I know.”

They continued with their lunch, chatting of other things. With the coffee, she said:

“I’ve been thinking a lot since last we met, about what you told me of the difficulty of getting anyone to order the first ship.” He was silent. “Do you see your way to get over that now?”

He smiled. “I suppose I must, mustn’t I? Otherwise I wouldn’t have gone to see Grierson.”

She coloured. “I’m so sorry,” she said, a little stiffly. “I suppose that’s confidential.”

He smiled. “Discreditable things are usually confidential,” he said. “I thought everybody knew that.”

She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

He met her eyes. “Do you think I’m an honest man?”

“Of course I do.”

“Well, I’m not. Nor is anybody else who gets business out of Laevatia.”

He turned, and called the waiter for the bill. “If you’ve got time this afternoon, I’d like you to come with me. I’ve got to do some shopping.”

He paid the bill, and they went out into the clamour of the Strand. He hailed a taxi.

“Where are we going to?” she asked.

He smiled. “Old Bond Street,” he said to the driver. “Conolly’s—the jewellers, you know. On the right-hand side.”

They got into the cab. The girl turned to him. “What are we going there for?”

“To buy an umbrella,” he said shortly. She looked at him curiously, but did not ask any more questions.

He took her into the shop. The manager came forward to meet them, bowing a little. “Everything is quite in order now, Mr. Warren,” he said quietly. “I think you will be satisfied this time.”

Warren nodded. “May I see it?”

The manager spoke quickly to an assistant, who vanished into the back regions. The girl turned to Warren. “This isn’t an umbrella shop,” she said. “What is this all about?”

The assistant returned, bearing with him a red leather case some three feet long. He handed it to the manager, who laid it on a table in a shaft of sunlight. He opened it.

The sun threw dazzling reflections from the jewels on the handle, the silver stick; the pale green silk lay there translucent, shimmering. The girl caught her breath.
“But what a wonderful thing!” she exclaimed. “It
is
an umbrella, isn’t it?”

“Certainly, Madam,” said the manager gravely. He lifted it from the case, undid the silk retaining band with delicate care, and opened it. Warren took it from him and examined it critically.

“That’s all right now,” he said. “I’ll take it away with me. You cleared the cheque?”

The manager bowed. “Everything is quite in order, Mr. Warren.” He took it from him, and began to fold it. “It is a beautiful piece of work, in its own style. The Maharajah of Bitapore was visiting our workrooms yesterday, and admired it very greatly. He wished to buy it, but I had to tell him that it was already sold. It is for an Oriental gentleman, I suppose?”

Warren nodded. “That is so.”

The umbrella was laid back on its bed of cream-coloured kid, and the lid closed down. The assistant hailed a taxi, and the case was carried out and installed ceremoniously with them in the cab. Warren gave the address of his flat.

“Is that where you live?” asked the girl.

He nodded. “If you don’t mind coming along, I’ll take this thing up there.”

In the flat he laid it on the table of his sitting-room. The girl fingered the case. “May I see it again?”

“Of course.”

She lifted it from the case and opened it again; the jewels gleamed brightly in the sunlight. “It really is a beautiful thing,” she said at last. Who is it for?”

“It’s for the Treasurer of Laevatia. We should call
him the Chancellor of the Exchequer. Opposite number to Mr. Neville Chamberlain.”

She stood for a moment. “Do you mean you’re giving it to him as a present?”

“That’s right. Quite a nice one, isn’t it?”

“It must have cost an awful lot of money.”

“About three hundred pounds.”

“Is it because he’s helping you to get an order for the ships?”

“Yes. It’s a bribe.”

She looked uncomfortable. “I’ve heard about this sort of thing, of course. Do you have to do a lot of it in your business?”

“I’ve never done it before.”

She stared at him in wonder. “Are you having to bribe anyone else?”

He smiled. “One or two. But we don’t use the word bribe, much. We say, satisfy them.”

“What else have you had to give?”

“Let’s see. So far it’s about four thousand pounds in cash, this umbrella, and a case of Worcester sauce.”

She laid the umbrella down, and turned towards the window. “You don’t like doing this business, Mr. Warren, do you?”

“No,” he said simply. “I don’t.”

“It doesn’t fit in with your reputation, either.”

“What do you know about that?”

She smiled. “We asked the auditors, Mr. Williams and I. And they found out from London, and told us who you were.”

He stared at her. “You mean you got a confidential report on me?”

She nodded. “It didn’t say anything about bribing the Chancellor of the Exchequer.”

“I should hope it didn’t.”

She eyed him for a moment. “Why are you doing all this, Mr. Warren?”

“Because I want to see Sharples get cracking again.”

There was a silence.

“I asked you to come and see this thing this afternoon,” he said, “because I wanted you to understand. It’s not going to be very easy to get Sharples going. I’d go so far as to say it can’t be done by ordinary business—I told you that from the first.”

“I know,” she said quietly.

“It can’t be done in kid gloves. Nobody’s going to get that Yard working again and keep his hands clean.”

There was a long silence after he said that. The girl moved over to the window and stood looking out upon the traffic of the street below, the sunlit pavements. Warren remained standing by the table; he picked up the umbrella and rolled it, and put it carefully in its case.

“That’s not very nice,” she said at last.

“No. But it’s true.”

She turned towards the door. “I must be going on. It’s been terribly good of you to give me lunch, and tell me what you have, Mr. Warren.”

“That’s nothing,” he said gravely. “But—be discreet for a bit longer. I’ll tell you when you may begin to talk about it in Sharples.”

She nodded. “I understand.” She turned to him, and held out her hand. “Good-bye. And all the luck in the world.”

He took her hand. “Good-bye,” he said, and stood for a few moments after she had gone. Then he went down to the office.

Heinroth rang him up on the next day. “I’ve been going round about,” he said. “That Laevatian Government thing of yours. It’s not an easy proposition—as, of course, you know. But there’s a certain amount of interest, after all. If you like, I’ll come along to you and we can have a talk.”

“How much can your lot write?” asked Warren directly.

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk about. I should think another twenty-five per cent.”

Warren nodded. “Come right along. With what I’ve got we’re practically home upon the underwriting then.”

He rang off and sat for a time in thought. Morgan, his secretary, slipped in.

“The solicitors rang up while you were away,” he said. “They rang again this morning—yes, Page and Mayne. They wanted to serve some papers. I said that you would get in touch with them.”

“Lord, yes,” said Warren. “I’ll do that at once.”

He had forgotten all about his divorce.

T
HREE
days later, his underwriting tentatively arranged, Warren left for Visgrad via Berlin by air. In that three days he had registered the Hawside Ship and Engineering Company Ltd., with a nominal capital of one hundred pounds and seven clerks as its subscribers. His own name did not appear.

He reached Visgrad late one evening, dined at his hotel, and went out to the Gonea.

Pepita greeted him effusively. “M’sieur, you are returned! I declare, I am very content. It has been dull here in the evenings since M’sieur went back to London. Only a fat Austrian, who made a proposal so rude—you understand, M’sieur, quite intolerable. I have hit him on the face, and broken his spectacles.”

“That must have been amusing, Mademoiselle.”

She gave him one of her brilliant smiles. “He was so angry. He has made complaint to the management, but I have told them—” she leaned forward volubly—“I have told them—I am artiste—I do not sleep with the clientèle. It is not in my contract, that.”

He nodded. “Quite right. It would not be dignified for an artiste to be like a common girl.”

She smiled again. “M’sieur, you understand so well. I declare, I am very content that you have returned. And, M’sieur, I have received a letter from Sulina, from the Sister of the Annunciation. She has said that my
little one has been enchanted with her presents, and with the perambulator. All day she has promenaded in the garden of the convent, M’sieur, to play that she was nurse—you understand? And, M’sieur, the Sister has said that it has been necessary that the perambulator should be at the side of her bed so that she would sleep content. It was well thought of, that, M’sieur.”

Warren said, “I am glad that I have been able to give so much happiness, Mademoiselle.”

She nodded. “It was well thought of, and very kind. M’sieur, we have worked to remind M. Theopoulos and M. Potiscu of your business—Hélène, Virginio, and myself. It has not been allowed to rest because you have been in London. M’sieur will be satisfied with the progress.” She hailed a waiter.

“Virginio—ask him if he will come to M’sieur.”

Virginio came to them, and bowed from the waist.

“Enchanté,”
he said.

Warren bowed. “A great pleasure. Permit me to offer you a glass of wine.”

The dancer slipped into a seat. “Pepita will have told you that our business has progressed, M’sieur,” he said. “The good Hélène has arranged with M. Theopoulos that the Heads of your Agreement were presented to the Cabinet eight days ago, and M. Potiscu has spoken for the Treasury.”

Warren asked, “The Cabinet has approved?”

“I declare, M’sieur,” said Pepita, “it would have made a situation quite insupportable if they had not approved. I have said to all the world—here, you understand, M’sieur, in the Gonea—I have said to Rita, and to Maria, and to Bertha the friend of M. Lutonski, and to
Lorissa, and to Jeanne—I have said to all the artistes who are accustomed to the company of a Minister, you understand, M’sieur—I have said that it is necessary that the Cabinet should approve the business. You will understand, I have told them of your great kindness to my little one and all the world has agreed—quite of one mind, M’sieur—it has been necessary that the Cabinet should approve.”

Virginio said, “The Ministers have agreed the Heads of the Agreement, as presented by the Commission, M’sieur. All is now in order for the final documents to be prepared, granting to M’sieur the right to make the issue on those terms for three months. It will be necessary, however, for the constitution of the Board to be further discussed.”

Warren eyed him curiously. “You have good information of the business.”

The other bowed slightly. “M’sieur need have no fear. It is quite accurate.”

Warren stayed with them for an hour, then left before the Ministers arrived and went to his hotel.

Next morning he went down to the Treasury, a long parcel tucked beneath his arm.

He laid it on the table in the office of the Treasurer. “I have consulted with my colleagues,” he said to M. Potiscu after the preliminary courtesies. “They were quite desolated that you had asked so small a present. To them, and also to myself, it has not seemed fitting that a man of such influence should receive a present only of an umbrella.”

M. Potiscu smiled, and made a deprecating gesture, his eyes fixed upon the case in childlike eagerness.

Warren continued, “But since that was your wish, M’sieur, we have resolved that the umbrella should be of the very best that London could produce. Never in the world, M’sieur, has there been such an umbrella before.”

He opened the case; the Chancellor of the Exchequer beamed with delight and reached for the handle.

“No Indian Rajah,” said Warren, embarking on a flight of fancy, “has ever had an umbrella such as this one. It is the finest that has ever been produced. It cost,” he said, instinctively doubling up, “no less than six hundred pounds.”

The effect was all that he had hoped for. The Minister exclaimed with delight at the price, opened the umbrella, examined it, held it above his head, glancing furtively at the mirror.

“It is too kind,” he said. “And the Worcestershire sauce also?”

“But certainly,” said Warren. “I have had that sent direct to the residence of M’sieur from my hotel.”

It was some time before he could get him down to business.

He left the Treasury an hour later; M. Potiscu was accommodating but inattentive and Warren judged it better to leave him to the enjoyment of his present. He went over to the English Club, and up into the smoking-room for a pink gin.

He found the Air Attaché there, with the Consul and an Under-Secretary. They greeted him affably and stood him a drink. “How’s London?”

“Raining,” said Warren. “Here’s luck.”

The Consul leaned towards him. “I understand your
matter went before the Cabinet the other night,” he said. “I hope it is progressing well?”

Warren nodded. “I was very pleased to see how well it had been going in my absence. I had expected that it would have been at a standstill.”

“I think, Mr. Warren,” said the Consul weightily, “you may have to thank His Excellency for that. I believe that he has expressed to M. Deleben that your proposals were viewed favourably by His Majesty’s Government.”