Kindling (19 page)

Warren nodded. “I am sure that must have had a great influence on the matter,” he said gravely.

The open window of the first-floor smoking-room led on to a balcony overlooking the Litescu. The Air Attaché, lounging by the window looking down into the street, stiffened to attention.

“Good God!” he said. “Come and take a load of this.”

The others got up and looked out. Down the rotten pavement on the other side of the street strutted M. Potiscu, the umbrella held above his head as a sunshade. The sun shone brilliantly upon the pale green silk, the silver stick, and shot bright coloured beams in all directions from the handle. A small admiring crowd was following him.

“It’s old Potiscu,” said the Air Attaché.

“Whatever is that thing he’s got?” asked the Under-Secretary.

“It’s an umbrella. With a silver stick. And just look at the handle.”

They looked in silence as the Treasurer passed by, a very happy man.

“Where do you think he got that from?”

“Blowed if I know. Looks as if it cost somebody a packet.”

“You mean, somebody’s slipped it him?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Who’s trying to get something out of him these days?”

Warren moved hastily towards the door. “I must be getting on. See you in the bar to-night?” He left the club.

The Air Attaché looked after him, and laughed. “Did he slip that across?”

The Consul looked up, startled. “Oh—I hope not, very much. His Excellency would be very much upset if that were so.”

“Never mind,” said the Under-Secretary diplomatically. “Perhaps it isn’t.”

The next fortnight passed in a welter of business. Warren was joined at his hotel by two members of the firm of naval architects; they turned a sitting-room into a drawing office to cater for the modifications to the oil tankers required by M. Theopoulos. In addition to that side of the business, there was the legal side. After long consultation with the Commercial Secretary, Warren picked a small Armenian Jew to be his legal adviser. Mr. Pennington was careful to point out that he was not an honest man, but opined that he was probably more honest than the rest. Warren reinforced him with a solicitor from London.

Most evenings he went into the Gonea and spent an hour with Pepita. He played Polski Bank with M. Theopoulos on two or three occasions, losing about forty pounds each time; the Laevatian was unable to repeat his first epic coup.

He took Pepita out again one Sunday into the high mountains, driven by a Greek. They drove all day among the pine-woods and the flowers, relaxed and content. Once Warren said:

“You have saved one half of the hundred and fifty thousand francs which is your aim, Mademoiselle—is it not so?”

She nodded energetically. “It is now a little more than one half. It is now possible for me to save more quickly—you understand, M’sieur—one becomes known to the clientèle.”

“When you have reached a hundred and fifty thousand francs, you will retire from dancing, Mademoiselle?”

“But certainly. It is not pleasant, this life of moving always to a new place, M’sieur. That makes itself plain.”

“What will you do?”

“I shall go back to Corsica, to Sulina. It is my own place, that.”

“Is Sulina a big town?”

She shook her head. “No, M’sieur—not a big town. It is in the south, a town, you understand, where the houses are not separate—compact, standing as a block upon the hillside two kilos from the sea, in the olive woods.”

“Will you find much there to occupy you, Mademoiselle?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I declare, M’sieur, I do not care to be occupied all day. My little one is there, and there will be an occupation for me, is it not so? The Sisters of the Annunciation take care of my little one, and that is good, you understand, M’sieur,
but it will be better that I shall take care of her for myself.”

Warren nodded.

“Perhaps,” she went on, “I shall teach the young girls how to dance.” She laughed suddenly. “Perhaps,” she said, “I shall marry, and then I shall grow fat.” She made an expressive motion with her hands to indicate an ample bust.

“Perhaps,” said Warren, “I shall come one day to Sulina to see how fat you have become, and to see your little one. And to drink champagne with you again.”

She laughed. “But, M’sieur, we have no champagne in Sulina—not even Greek champagne. We have only our own wine, which is pink in colour, and very sour. You would not like it, M’sieur, I assure you.”

He smiled. “That we will see.”

Her face fell, and she grew serious. “It will be necessary for us to wait for some years, first,” she said. “It is insupportable, that, M’sieur, to have to wait so long.”

He patted her hand. “One must have courage, Mademoiselle,” he said.

She smiled. “That is necessary. And it is necessary also to take exercise, that one may not grow fat too soon. Let us stop the car, M’sieur, and walk a little in the woods.”

He took her back to Visgrad in the afternoon, in time for her repose before the opening of the cabaret.

The business was drawing towards its climax. The Agreement was in draft form in two languages, giving to Warren the right to form the company upon certain terms, defined in the Agreement, for a period of three
months. The order for the ships was incorporated in an appendix to the Agreement, as one of the terms agreed. This document went into draft in seven successive stages, bandied from lawyers to Government and back again to lawyers. It progressed, however, as well as could be expected.

“Glad I’m not that fellow Warren,” said the Air Attaché. “Works from nine in the morning till ten at night, and then goes out to roister with Theopoulos and Potiscu. A great life for them as likes that sort of thing.”

Quite suddenly, it was finished. Warren sat back in his chair one evening, and stared at the little Jew. “I’ll take that amendment,” he said. “It doesn’t mean anything, anyway.”

He stared at the little man. “That’s the end, then,” he said wonderingly. “You can go ahead and get that engrossed for signature now.”

“Okay, boss,” said the Armenian.

Warren went down next morning to see M. Potiscu. “The Agreement is now being engrossed,” he said. “If it is suitable to you and to M. Theopoulos, we could meet to-morrow afternoon at the British Consulate to sign the documents.”

The little rotund man before him bowed. “I will speak with M. Theopoulos.”

“I should be infinitely obliged.”

A look of cunning crept into the stolid little face before him. “God,” thought Warren, “what’s coming now?”

“You will return at once to London, after the signing?” asked the Laevatian.

“But certainly. Is it that I can do you any service there?”

The Treasurer bowed. “I am infinitely obliged, M’sieur. It is the umbrella, that your group were so kind as to send for me. I have considered the matter, and I find it is not quite what I require.”

Warren gazed at him dumbly.

“Perhaps, M’sieur, you would be so good as to return it to the shop, and give me the six hundred pounds instead?”

Warren pulled himself together. This was the culmination of the business; he knew it, and the Laevatian knew it. A false move now would throw the business back for many months.

He bowed. “M’sieur,” he said, “it would give me the greatest pleasure. I will arrange with the bank, and to-morrow evening meet you with the notes in the Gonea.”

The little man beamed oilily. “You are so kind. And the umbrella?”

“Perhaps you would be so good as to have it sent to my hotel, M’sieur?”

He never saw it again. M. Potiscu said that somebody in the hotel must have stolen it. It was a pity.

Next day, with some ceremony, the documents received their signatures in the office of the Consul, being signed on British territory.

“His Excellency will be very pleased that this is satisfactorily arranged,” remarked the Consul, after it was over and the Ministers had gone. “We like to do everything we can to help on British trade.”

“Perhaps you would tell His Excellency,” said Warren
gravely, “that without his help I could not have concluded the deal. I am very deeply grateful for all his assistance.”

He may have been. But he went back to his hotel and booked a passage on the morning service to Berlin, and then did his packing. He tore up a great amount of paper, drafts of various agreements, and burned the pieces in the grate. Then he went down and dined alone, and went out to the Gonea.

That evening he played Polski Bank again for the last time with Theopoulos, and, assisted by Virginio, lost twenty pounds to keep him sweet for the future. In a dark corner he gave six hundred pounds in dinars to Potiscu. In another dark corner he gave two pounds to Virginio, commission on Theopoulos. Quite openly he gave a bracelet to Hélène worth about twenty pounds.

The grey dawn was showing round the edges of the curtains before he had an opportunity to speak to Pepita alone.

“Mademoiselle,” he said, “this is the end. I go back to my own country in an hour or two, and I do not expect to return for many months—perhaps, if all goes well, for years.”

She nodded. “For me, also, there will be a change. To-day I have received from Smyrna the offer of an appointment—a good offer, M’sieur, that one must not refuse. You understand, I have been twice in Smyrna before, and now I am artiste known to the clientèle. One can demand a good engagement, so.”

“Do you like Smyrna, Mademoiselle?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “It is as good as Visgrad. It is not gay like Athens, or even Istanbul, but the
engagement is a good one, and one will save money.”

He eyed her for a moment. “Mademoiselle,” he said, “without your aid I could not have succeeded in my business. I should have departed for England, if you had not introduced me to Theopoulos.”

She laughed merrily. “The English, they get sleepy too soon. It is droll, that.” She laid her hand upon his own. “M’sieur, I am glad that you have been successful in your business. I declare, I am happy that I have been able to keep you from your bed that night, and to help the meeting with the Minister. M’sieur, you were kind to my little one, and that sort of kindness one does not forget.”

He smiled. “Mademoiselle, I know that you seek no reward for what you did. Nevertheless, without your aid the business could not have been done.” He produced an envelope from his breast pocket. “Mademoiselle, in a big business, such as the one that I have now concluded here, it is possible to pay commission for the help that is received. One more drop to the bucket will not greatly matter, when the scale of the business is considered.”

He handed her the envelope. “You should take this to the Credit Lyonnais in the Litescu,” he said. “They will arrange for the money to be paid in Corsica without difficulty of the exchange.”

She dropped her eyes. “M’sieur, you are too kind. It was not for this that I have tried to help you.”

“I know that, Mademoiselle,” he said.

She tucked the envelope unopened into her bag. “We will dance once more, M’sieur?” she said.

   ·   ·   ·   ·   ·

That afternoon she left the little hotel where she lived, and went walking through the town in a blaze of passion. She was a shade too elegantly dressed, as ever; she tripped along on her high, patent-leather heels, her face aflame.

She turned into the French bank in the Litescu. She stormed up to the counter, and flung a slip of paper at the clerk.

“This draft—it is not good?” she inquired scornfully. “One makes a mock of me? Ah—I declare, it is insupportable, that!”

Nonchalantly, the clerk picked up the slip of paper and unfolded it; impassively he studied it. “One moment, Mademoiselle,” he said, and retired to the back regions.

She was a little damped by his indifference. “I declare—I will not wait to be insulted once again,” she exclaimed. “It is not right that one should treat me so.”

In the bank nobody paid the slightest attention to her outburst. She remained by the counter, tapping one foot irritably upon the floor.

The clerk returned.

“You deceive yourself, Mademoiselle,” he said courteously. “This is a cheque of the English financier, M’sieur Ouarren, value seventy-five thousand francs, French. We have special instructions to receive this cheque. It is in order, perfectly.”

She gripped the counter, and stood staring at the cheque, fascinated. “Ten thousand pardons,” she said at last, in a low tone. “I thought that one had mocked himself of me.”

Slowly she raised her head, and stood there staring
down the marble hall towards the door, wide open in the sun. Outside, across the dusty street, there was a gap between the houses; she could see the hill behind the town, rising in folds to the high mountains, blue-grey with olive woods. There would be little farms up there with cobbled paths and small, walled pastures: there would be terraced gardens for the vines and for the flowers, the roses, the carnations, and mimosa.

It would be like that in Sulina.

A
FORTNIGHT
later, Mr. Donald Grierson came to Sharples.

He had spent the previous day in London with Warren. He was a red-haired, burly man of good north-country stock, about forty years of age, energetic and outspoken.

“Oh, aye,” he said, “they let me go all right. The Clydeside aren’t that full of work. Mind, they wanted to know what I was going to, but I didn’t let on.”

Warren asked: “Have you been in Sharples recently?”

Grierson shook his head. “I was there four years back. Not since. They tell me things is very bad in Sharples.”

Warren nodded. “Now, let me show you what I’ve done so far.”

Grierson laid his hand upon a heavy roll. “These are the plans?”

They worked on steadily all through the day. At the end of it Grierson faced him across the table.

“Well, Mr. Warren,” he said thoughtfully, “I’d like you to know how it all strikes me before I go up North on to the job, the way we’ll understand each other from the start.”

He drew through a dead pipe between his teeth. “The architects are good, and the designs are good. You’ve been well advised there. And the price you’ve got—well,
in the Clydeside to-day, we’d reckon that a fair price, that you’d not lose much on, any road. You’ve done a good job getting those ships at that price, Mr. Warren.” He smiled broadly. “I’d like to know how it was done.”