Tango (16 page)

‘I’ll tell them you had no money.’
Señor
Finn nodded, still laughing. A thought struck William. ‘Would you like some?’

‘Money?’

‘Yes. Do you want any?’

Señor
Finn stopped laughing. ‘You have some?’

William took out all the loose change from his pocket, plus a couple of banknotes. Eyed by the terrier, he walked forward and held out his hand over the fire.
Señor
Finn’s
palm was broad and hard.

‘
Gracias, señor.
’

It had never before occurred to William that
Señor
Finn might be in need of money. He could have given him a little every day. He would from now on.

‘I’ll see you again soon.’

‘
Gracias, señor.
’

William approached the black Mercedes with a kind of light-hearted fatalism. He would see Theresa again that night, not all was lost, everything else was peripheral. A soldier wearing the
olive-greens of the security police got out of the car and opened the rear door. Manuel Herrera got out. He too wore olive-greens but with a holster and pistol. His boots were polished and he
looked spruce and pleased with himself. When he smiled, his big even teeth reminded William of the six Imperial War Graves.

‘Perhaps your English masochism has a point,
Señor
Wooding. It is bracing to walk in such weather in such a place.’

‘Soldiers’ weather,’ said William.

The thought seemed to please Manuel. They shook hands and Manuel held out his other arm. ‘Let us walk on the beach for a while. I’m not detaining you?’

‘Of course not.’

‘It is your coat that should be detained, for carrying hammers. Tell me,
Señor
Wooding, why do you have such an old coat and such a strange one, so unfashionable? Surely
you or your company could afford a new one? Your company particularly.’

‘I like it. I’ve had it a long time.’

‘You are a traditionalist?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘An interesting position in time of revolution.’

‘At least people know where I stand.’

‘That would be helpful if it were true.’

William did not respond. His instinct was to leave it to Manuel to say what he wanted. He did not want to be difficult nor to betray himself by being nervously helpful. They crunched along the
shingle, heading away from
Señor
Finn’s hut. The wind and spray whipped in from the sea. It wasn’t easy to walk on the slippery shingle and they plodded for a while with
heads down.

‘
Señor
Wooding,’ Manuel began again, now in the politely formal tone he had used when they first met in the covered market. ‘
Señor
Wooding, I
have something to say, something informal – off the record, as journalists say. I like you and you are an asset to our country. We need people like you, foreigners who are sympathetic and
understanding to help us build a prosperous and peaceful society. We do not want to drive foreign investment away, we want the opposite so that we can all work together, all be equal, no one poor,
everyone happy and internationally peaceful and non-aligned. Do you understand me?’

The phrases were familiar to William from his readings of the local press. ‘I think so.’

‘Non-aligned,’ Manuel repeated deliberately. ‘And fair and prosperous. And we wish to help you so that you can help us. We can help in all sorts of ways. For instance, an order
has been placed with your company by the Ministry of Information, has it not? Very good. I imagine your company welcomes business’ – he paused just long enough to glance at William with
a slight smile – ‘and no doubt more government business could be arranged. Also, I understand you have a problem with strikes at present. Indeed you went to see for yourself, did you
not?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes. It does not look capable of resolution but I’m sure it could be if the right words were spoken. The problem is, how to get them spoken?’

There was a vindictive gust of wind and another shower of fine spray hit the sides of their faces. William saw with satisfaction that Manuel was discomforted; he stepped with un-soldierlike
hesitation on the treacherous shingle and once or twice he shivered. He was waiting for a response. William, who enjoyed the weather and felt the cold less than most people, let him wait.

‘Shall we turn round?’ suggested Manuel.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were in a hurry.’

‘I am not, but I do not wish to keep them waiting.’

Manuel spoke almost crossly and there was another pause. He glanced at the sea, to which he was now closer than William. It was a thick menacing brown, a sign of more rain in the hills, and the
waves fell upon the beach with sullen repeated spite.

‘What is important is that you should not interfere,’ Manuel continued, in a tone that was more crisp and curt. ‘Do your job, by all means – we don’t mind that
– but don’t interfere with what is happening here. If you do, I cannot answer for the consequences.’

‘I don’t want to interfere.’

‘Good. Then we can agree.’

‘But I’m not sure what you mean.’

‘I think you know,
Señor
Wooding. You were at school with the president. That is fine. Naturally, you wish – perhaps for old times’ sake or perhaps to help your
business interests – to be friendly with him. That also is fine. But let it stop there. Our president is a young man who is still feeling his way. Do not plot with him,
Señor
Wooding. The masses – the people of our country – would be very unhappy if he were to lose his way and it would be very inconvenient for many people, including yourself. It would not
help the cause of social justice. You enjoy special protection because of your friendship. Please do not abuse it. Do you understand what I say?’

Manuel ignored the spray now, watching for William’s reply. William felt the nervousness he had so far kept at bay. His stomach tightened but he remained determined. ‘I hear what you
say.’

‘You see, our country has had bad government for many years, for generations. Now we have a chance to bring good government. We will do anything – anything – to succeed. We
will take any help we can from whoever will give it. We will pay any price to make sure that our country has the right sort of government for ever.’

‘What if the people don’t want it?’

‘The people will not sabotage what is in their best interests. Neither will anyone else,
Señor
Wooding.’

Back at the car Manuel’s manner was cheerful and offhand. He said farewell like one who had just played and won his weekly game of squash. William was pleased to see how wet he was down
one side.

‘Thank you for the walk,’ he said. Manuel showed his big teeth again, and shut the door.

William continued on his way. He expected to be overtaken by the car but wasn’t. When he reached the point where the road turned inland he looked back. The black Mercedes had reversed
until it was now opposite
Señor
Finn’s hut. William smiled to think how little change they might be getting out of him.

‘Are you all right?’

William started. ‘Yes, I was looking out of the window.’

‘You haven’t done anything else since you got in.’

‘Lot to think about. This big order from the Ministry of Information as well as all this . . . you know . . . funny business.’

‘Oh yes, the funny business. How’s it going?’

The entryphone rang. Sally answered it before William could move. He hadn’t, in fact, been thinking about work or about Box’s business. He’d been trying to decide what he
should tell Sally about Theresa. The more he thought about it the less it seemed there was to tell. It amounted to: I am in love with the prostitute I told you about and have proposed marriage to
her. She has not said that she’s in love with me and I don’t think she wants to marry. In fact, I’m not sure she’s speaking to me at present. I thought you should know.

It wouldn’t do; yet it was lodged like a great lump in the middle of his forehead and any other thoughts had somehow to find their way round it. Moreover, the idea of leaving Sally lost
all credibility in her presence. In the abstract it was something he could contemplate but when he was with her it was impossible. She was Sally, as familiar to him now as he was to himself, a part
of his life, not a separate section that could be hived off – privatised, as it were – but integral. It would feel like an amputation of half his nervous system.

She came back from the hall. ‘It’s Max, my boss. He’s dropping some books off. I ought to give him a drink, do you mind? We can eat later.’

‘Of course not. In fact, I’ve got to go out. More funny business.’

‘More? Getting a bit much, isn’t it? You’ll be working for them full-time soon.’

She sounded as if she didn’t mind and so he described very quickly what he had to do that night. She was neither resentful nor jealous, which made him feel more guilty.

‘So you’ve just got to drop this woman off at the palace?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, if you’re not back by the time I eat I’ll put your dinner in the oven.’

‘Okay.’

Max Hueffer was a tall academic-looking man with black hair, chiselled features and large heavy-rimmed spectacles that seemed to do all the self-assertion necessary. His voice was quiet and his
manner assured. William felt he might well have been shaking hands with a successful international lawyer or a distinguished specialist in nervous diseases. Max said he was very pleased to meet
William, he’d heard a lot about him.

William asked Max where he came from.

‘Wyoming.’

‘Wyoming.’ William rolled the word round his mouth. ‘I’ve never met anyone from Wyoming.’

Max smiled. ‘Not many people have. Not many there and not many leave it.’

‘It’s a romantic name. It feels good to say it. I’d like to go there.’

‘William, don’t be silly.’ Sally was by the cupboard and she looked round with an excited smile. ‘You’re never romantic about places.’

‘I am about places I’ve never been to.’

‘He’s right,’ said Max. ‘Don’t chew him up. It is a romantic name and it is a romantic place. Big and beautiful. You should go there some day.’

Max had a whisky. William was in no hurry and so he had one, too. Sally had a gin and tonic, something she rarely did. For a while she and Max talked about the books Max had brought and about
the school, where one of the courses was proving troublesome. Max turned courteously to William.

‘At least in your business it’s not so much people you’re dealing with as things,’ he said. ‘People are trouble. You’re better off with things.’

‘Except that the people who are supposed to be working for me are all on strike at the moment.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Well, they don’t work directly for me, that’s part of the trouble. Because of all these new laws I’ve got no control.’

‘Bad position to be in. What happened?’

William told him. Max was a sympathetic and informed listener. He asked intelligent questions and made sensible pronouncements. William described his visit to the factory and the apparent
element of political control. It struck him that Max might be a useful source of more information which he could report to Box.

‘Things are coming to a head,’ said Max.

‘In what way?’

‘I reckon the Sovs and Cubans might move in seriously pretty soon if nobody does anything. And where they move, they stay. It’s not a question of opposition. Once they’re here
there ain’t any. Unless someone does something to stop them pretty damn quick.’

‘Who could do that – the president?’

Max shrugged. ‘Not sure he’s got the freedom to manoeuvre. He’s the joker in the pack, that’s the trouble. No one knows how strong his position is, nor what he really
wants. Including him, I guess.’

William would have liked to have told him what Manuel had said that evening, but he could not do that without revealing how he knew Manuel and why Manuel had spoken as he did. Box would not have
approved of bringing the Americans in on the affair. ‘What does your embassy think? Ours doesn’t seem to have much of a clue.’

Max grinned and touched his heavy glasses. ‘You know what embassy people are like – so scared of being wrong you have to practically beat them up in a corner before they commit
themselves to anything more than another drink.’ Sally laughed. ‘But I did get one of the political section guys to tell me the other day that they wouldn’t be surprised if half
of them were expelled soon. There’s been a lot of anti-US propaganda and it’s increasing. It all fits a pattern.’

William finished his whisky and said he had to see a client. Max stood and said he supposed he’d better be getting along, too. William urged him to stay, to have one more whisky, like the
embassy people. Max laughed and agreed.

‘Won’t be long,’ William said to Sally, ‘but don’t wait.’

She smiled. ‘I’ll put it in the oven.’

It was another wet night, still blustery, with very little traffic and hardly any people. The tree-tops swayed and sheets of old newspaper were blown about the streets. At the
corner by the city’s only vegetarian restaurant, recently gone out of business, a broken billboard swung to and fro like the sail of an abandoned yacht. A black cat crouched to avoid it
before disappearing into the grass behind. Flower baskets suspended from the lampposts jerked and twisted precariously. It was as if the city had abandoned itself.

There were cars parked outside the club, though, including Theresa’s Dodge which had not moved since William’s attempts to start it. Not much light showed through the curtains but
the house gave its usual impression of shabby comfort and warmth. William noticed for the first time the size and proportion of the Georgian-style windows. Someone had said that El Lizard lived in
the roof. That seemed appropriate.

She was standing in the hall talking to a group of people. When she saw him she broke off, picked up her handbag and fur coat from a chair and hurried towards him. She wore a black dress that
seemed both tight and loose, simultaneously suggesting and accentuating the contours of her body. It was held in at the waist by a thin gold belt.