A Dangerous Fortune (33 page)

Micky had been the Cordovan Minister for a year. Getting the job had required all his cunning, but it had also cost his family a fortune in bribes back home. He had promised Papa that all that money would return to the family, and now he had to make good his promise. He would rather die than let his father down.

He brought Edward into the minister’s chamber, a grand room dominated by a full-size Cordovan flag. He went to the big table and spread out a map of Cordova, weighing down the corners with his cigar case, the sherry decanter, a glass, and Edward’s gray top hat. He hesitated. It was the first time he had ever asked someone for half a million pounds.

“Here is Santamaria Province, in the north of the country,” he began.

“I do know the geography of Cordova,” Edward said peevishly.

“Of course you do,” said Micky in a soothing voice. It was true. Pilasters Bank did a healthy volume of business with Cordova, financing its exports of nitrate, salt beef and silver and its imports of mining equipment, guns and luxury goods. Edward handled all that business, thanks to Micky, who as attache and then minister had made life difficult for anyone who did not want to use Pilasters Bank to finance their trade with his country. In consequence Edward was now seen as the leading London expert on Cordova. “Of course you do,” Micky repeated. “And you know that all the nitrate mined by my father has to be transported by mule train from Santamaria to Palma. But what you may not know is that it is perfectly possible to build a railroad along that route.”

“How can you be sure? A railroad is a complicated thing.”

Micky took a bound volume from his desk. “Because
my father commissioned a survey by a Scottish engineer, Gordon Halfpenny. All the details are in here—including the costs. Take a look.”

“How much?” Edward said.

“Five hundred thousand pounds.”

Edward riffled through the pages of the report. “What about politics?”

Micky glanced up at the big portrait of President Garcia in the uniform of commander-in-chief. Every time Micky looked at the picture he vowed that one day his own portrait would occupy that spot on the wall. “The president favors the idea. He believes it will strengthen his military grip on the countryside.” Garcia trusted Papa. Ever since Papa had become governor of Santamaria Province—with the help of two thousand Westley-Richards short-barreled rifles made in Birmingham—the Miranda family had been the president’s fervent supporters and close allies. Garcia did not suspect Papa’s motive for wanting a railway to Palma: it would enable the Miranda family to attack the capital within two days instead of two weeks.

“How will it be paid for?” said Edward.

“We’ll raise the money on the London market,” Micky said airily. “In fact I thought Pilasters Bank might like to have the business.” He tried to breathe slowly and normally. This was the climax of his long and painstaking cultivation of the Pilaster family: this was to be his reward for years of preparation.

But Edward shook his head and said: “I don’t think so.”

Micky was astonished and dismayed. At worst he had thought Edward would agree to think about it. “But you raise money for railroads all the time—I thought you’d be pleased to have the opportunity!”

“Cordova isn’t the same as Canada or Russia,” Edward said. “Investors don’t like your political setup, with
every provincial caudillo having his own personal army. It’s medieval.”

Micky had not thought of that. “You floated Papa’s silver mine.” That had happened three years ago, and had brought Papa a useful hundred thousand pounds.

“Exactly! It turned out to be the only silver mine in South America that struggles to make a profit.”

In truth the mine was very rich, but Papa was skimming the profits off the top and leaving nothing for the shareholders. If only he had left a little margin for the sake of respectability! But Papa never listened to such counsel.

Micky fought down a panicky feeling, but his emotions must have shown on his face, for Edward said worriedly: “I say, old boy, is it terribly important? You look upset.”

“To tell you the truth, it would mean quite a lot to my family,” Micky admitted. He felt that Edward must be able to raise this money if he really wanted to; it could not be impossible. “Surely, if a bank with the prestige of Pilasters were to back the project, people would conclude that Cordova must be a good place to invest.”

“There’s something in that,” Edward said. “If one of the partners put the idea up, and really wanted to push it through, it could probably be done. But I’m not a partner.”

Micky had underestimated the difficulty of raising half a million pounds. But he was not beaten. He would find a way. “I’ll have to think again,” he said with forced cheerfulness.

Edward drained his sherry glass and stood up. “Shall we go to lunch?”

That night Micky and the Pilasters went to see
H.M.S. Pinafore
at the Opera Comique. Micky got there a few minutes early. While he was waiting in the foyer he ran into the Bodwin family, who were Pilaster hangers-on:
Albert Bodwin was a lawyer who did a lot of work for the bank, and Augusta had once tried quite hard to get the daughter, Rachel Bodwin, to marry Hugh.

Micky’s mind was on the problem of raising the money for the railroad, but he flirted with Rachel Bodwin automatically, as he did with all girls and many married women. “And how is the movement for female emancipation, Miss Bodwin?”

Her mother blushed and said: “I wish you wouldn’t speak of it, Señor Miranda.”

“Then I shan’t, Mrs. Bodwin, for your wishes are to me as Acts of Parliament, legally binding.” He turned back to Rachel. She was not exactly pretty—her eyes were a little too close together—but she had a good figure: long legs, a narrow waist and a deep bust. In a sudden flash of fantasy he imagined her with her hands tied to the head of a bed and her naked legs spread, and he enjoyed the picture. Glancing up from her bosom he caught her eye. Most girls would have blushed and turned away, but she gave him a look of remarkable frankness and smiled, and it was he who felt embarrassed. Looking for something to talk about he said: “Did you know that our old friend Hugh Pilaster has returned from the colonies?”

“Yes, I saw him at Whitehaven House. You were there.”

“Ah yes, I forgot.”

“I always liked Hugh.”

But you didn’t want to marry him, Micky thought. Rachel had now been on offer in the marriage market for many years, and she was beginning to look like stale goods, he thought unkindly. Yet his instincts told him she was a deeply sexual person. Her problem was undoubtedly that she was too formidable. She frightened men off. But she must be getting desperate. Approaching thirty and still single, she would surely be wondering if she were doomed to the life of a spinster. Some women might contemplate
that with equanimity, but not Rachel, Micky felt.

She was attracted to him, but then so was almost everyone, old and young, male and female. Micky liked it when rich and influential people fell for him, for it gave him power; but Rachel was nobody and her interest in him was valueless.

The Pilasters arrived and Micky turned his attention to Augusta. She was wearing a striking evening gown in deep raspberry-pink. “You look … delicious, Mrs. Pilaster,” he said in a low voice, and she smiled with pleasure. The two families chatted for a few minutes, then it was time to take their seats.

The Bodwins were in the stalls but the Pilasters had a box. As they separated, Rachel gave Micky a warm smile and said quietly: “Perhaps we will see you later, Señor Miranda.” Her father overheard and looked disapproving as he took her arm and hurried her away, but Mrs. Bodwin smiled at Micky as they left. Mr. Bodwin doesn’t want his daughter to fall for a foreigner, Micky thought, but Mrs. Bodwin is not so choosy anymore.

He worried over his railroad loan throughout the first act. It had not occurred to him that Cordova’s primitive political setup, which had allowed the Miranda family to fight their way to wealth and power, might be seen by investors as risky. That probably meant he could not get the railroad project financed by any other bank. The only way to raise the money would be to use his inside influence with Pilasters. And the only people he might be able to influence were Edward and Augusta.

During the first interval he found himself alone in the box with Augusta for a few moments, and he tackled her immediately, knowing that she appreciated the direct approach. “When will Edward be made a partner in the bank?”

“That’s a sore point,” she said sourly. “Why do you ask?”

He told her briefly about the railroad, leaving out Papa’s long-term aim of attacking the capital. “I can’t get the money from another bank—none of them knows anything about Cordova, because I’ve kept them all away for Edward’s sake.” It was not the real reason but Augusta would not know that: she did not understand the business. “But it would be a success if Edward could push it through.”

Augusta nodded. “My husband has promised to make Edward a partner as soon as he marries,” she said.

Micky was surprised. Edward marry! The idea was startling—and yet why should it be?

Augusta went on: “We have even agreed on a bride: Emily Maple, the daughter of Deacon Maple.”

“What’s she like?”

“Pretty, young—she’s only nineteen—and sensible. Her parents approve of the match.”

She sounded about right for Edward, Micky thought: he liked pretty girls but he needed one he could dominate. “So what obstacle is there?”

Augusta frowned. “I simply don’t know. But somehow Edward never quite gets around to asking her.”

This did not surprise Micky. He could not imagine Edward’s marrying, no matter how suitable the girl. What did he have to gain from marriage? He had no desire for children. But now there was an incentive: the partnership. Even if Edward did not care about that, Micky did. “What can we do to encourage him?”

Augusta gave Micky a sharp look and said: “I have a funny feeling that he might go ahead if you were married.”

Micky looked away. That was perceptive of her. She had no idea what went on in the private rooms of Nellie’s brothel—but she had a mother’s intuition. He, too, felt that if he married first, Edward might be more willing. “Me, marry?” he said with a little laugh. Naturally he
would marry, sooner or later—everyone did—but he saw no reason to do so yet.

However, if it was the price of financing the railroad …

It was not just the railroad, he reflected. One successful loan would lead to another. Countries such as Russia and Canada raised fresh loans every year on the London market—for raifroads, harbors, water supply companies and general government finance. There was no reason why Cordova should not do the same. Micky would take a commission, official or unofficial, on every penny raised; but more importantly, the money would be channeled to his family’s interests back home, making them ever richer and more powerful.

And the alternative was unthinkable. If he let his father down over this he would be never be forgiven. To avert his father’s wrath he would marry three times over.

He looked back at Augusta. They never spoke of what had happened in old Seth’s bedroom back in the September of 1873, but she could not possibly have forgotten it. It had been sex without intercourse, infidelity without adultery, something and nothing. They had both been fully clothed, it had lasted only seconds, yet it had been more passionate and moving and searingly unforgettable than anything Micky had ever done with the whores at Nellie’s brothel, and he felt sure it had been a momentous passage for Augusta too. How did she really feel about the prospect of Micky’s getting married? Half the women in London would be jealous, but it was so hard to know what Augusta felt in her heart. He decided to ask her directly. He looked into her eyes and said: “Do you want me to marry?”

She hesitated. He saw regret in her face for a moment. Then her expression hardened and she said firmly: “Yes.”

He stared at her. She held his look. He saw that she meant what she said, and he was oddly disappointed.

Augusta said: “It must be settled soon. Emily Maple and her parents won’t be kept in suspense indefinitely.”

In other words I’d better get married quickly, Micky thought.

I will, then. So be it.

Joseph and Edward returned to the box and the conversation turned to other matters.

Throughout the next act Micky thought about Edward. They had been friends now for fifteen years. Edward was weak and insecure, eager to please but without initiative or drive. His life’s project was to get people to encourage and support him, and Micky had been supplying that need ever since he started doing Edward’s Latin prep at school. Now Edward needed to be pushed into the marriage that was necessary for his career—and for Micky’s.

During the second interval Micky said to Augusta: “Edward needs someone to help him at the bank—a clever clerk who will be loyal to him and look after his interests.”

Augusta thought for a moment. “That’s a very good notion indeed,” she said. “Someone you and I know and trust.”

“Exactly.”

Augusta said: “Do you have someone in mind?”

“I have a cousin working for me at the ministry. His name is Simon Oliver. It was Olivera but he anglicized it. He’s a smart boy and completely trustworthy.”

“Bring him to tea,” Augusta said. “If I like the looks of him I’ll speak to Joseph.”

“Very well.”

The last act began. He and Augusta often thought alike, Micky mused. It was Augusta he should be married to: together they could conquer the world. He pushed that fantastic notion out of his head. Who was he going to marry? She should not be an heiress, for he had nothing
to offer such a girl. There were several heiresses he could easily captivate, but winning their hearts was only the start: there would be a prolonged battle with the parents and no guarantee of the right result. No, he needed a girl of modest background, one who liked him already and would accept him with alacrity. His eye roamed idly around the stalls of the theatre—and lit on Rachel Bodwin.

She fit the bill perfectly. She was already half in love with him. She was getting desperate for a husband. Her father did not like Micky much but her mother did, and the mother and daughter together would soon overcome the father’s opposition.