Wicked Pleasures (109 page)

‘Yeah. Shops and garages mainly. Outer London. And beyond, if my information is correct.’

‘So?’

‘Well, so they’re using cash. To buy sites, to build, to fit out.’

‘So?’

‘According to my informant, it’s Arab money.’

Max guessed Jake’s informant was one of his brothers. He had three: all in Special Branch. Jake said their job required much of the same qualities as his.

‘Oh Jake, for God’s sake. We all know about the Arabs and their cash. It pours into Praegers every day. And who’s your informant anyway? You read too many of those thrillers.’

‘Friend of the family. As you might say. Anyway, this money isn’t coming into Praegers. Or indeed any bank. It’s straight into the bricks and mortar.’

‘What, in petro dollars?’

‘No, you fool, someone’s changing it for them. But it’s not seeing the inside of any bank account.’

‘Uh-huh. You mean it’s dirty money?’

‘Could be. Very dirty. Or so my informant assumes.’

‘Who’s your informant, Jake?’

Jake tapped his nose. ‘Never inform on an informer. Let us say he’s in the employ of the government.’

‘You mean he’s a cop?’

‘I didn’t say that. Did I?’

‘No you didn’t say that, Jake. Well, it’s all very exciting, but what’s it got to do with me? Why are you telling me anyway?’

‘I’m telling you because I think you might recognize a tie-up here. And given the situation at Praegers, you might find it useful. Now as I understand it the money’s coming into the country in Swiss francs. Then being changed here again for sterling.’

‘Shit,’ said Max.

‘Precisely. What was that new account you announced on a few months ago? That electronics company?’

‘Shit,’ said Max again. Then he said, ‘Oh for God’s sake, Jake. There are zillions of Swiss companies.

‘I’d look at the board,’ said Jake. ‘I did. Lot of funny names on that board. Not all of them Swiss. Arab, quite a few of them. Including a Mr Al-Fabah. Now isn’t he a client of yours? Or rather of your Mr Drew’s? If I had to put my
money on anything right now, I’d say Mr Al-Fabah was having some money laundered for him very nicely, washed and starched and ironed, and then bringing it in here and using it for buying his shops.’

‘Well someone’s got to be changing the francs,’ said Max.

‘Indeed they have. Look into it, my son. I would. And if you get anything that might interest me and my friend, let me know, there’s a good lad.’

After that they dropped the subject. They were pleasantly drunk; they went downstairs to the restaurant; there was a party of traders sitting extremely noisily over a bottle of 1939 Armagnac which had cost them £145.

‘They’re betting on the number of drops left in it,’ said the manager rather wearily. ‘I wish they’d just hurry up and finish it.’

Jake knew one of the traders; he and Max were invited to join in the game.

It ended at eleven; Max had lost £100, Jake had won £500. He said they should go to a club; they went to several. At five, it didn’t seem worth going home. Max and Jake went back to Mortons, crashed out on the floor for a couple of hours and then staggered down to the restaurant for breakfast.

‘I’ll have to get a shirt,’ said Max. ‘This one stinks.’

‘I’ve got a couple in my desk,’ said Jake. ‘Keep ’em there for emergencies. Let me have it back.’

‘I’ll do better than that,’ said Max. ‘I’ll get you a new one.’

‘That’s my boy,’ said Jake.

Max got to Praegers at eight. It was already buzzing. Shireen, Chuck’s very sexy new secretary, was whisking along the corridor, her arms full of files; Max reached out and patted her inviting little bottom. She turned round and frowned at him and dropped the files.

‘That was your fault,’ she said, trying to sound cross.

‘I’m sorry. Let me help you pick them up.’

He carried them along the corridor for her, put them on her desk. ‘There you are, darling. Any time you need me, just say the word. In fact, why don’t I buy you a drink tonight, just to show you how sorry I am?’

Shireen hesitated. Max knew what she was thinking: that he was not Chuck’s favourite person and that he was engaged to the girl who adorned the cover of her
Cosmopolitan
that month. But vanity and greed won.

‘That’d be nice. But I mustn’t be long, I have to meet my girlfriend.’

‘Tell her to join us.’

One thing led to another that evening. Shireen found herself plied with champagne, told she was a clever girl and ought to consider training as a dealer, and then taken out to supper at Langans. She did refuse to go back to Praegers with him, to pick up the shirts he had bought for himself and Jake that day; a week ago her friend had gone back to the bank she worked for late at night with one of the traders, she said, and they had finished up having sex on the floor.

‘Doesn’t sound too bad,’ said Max, grinning at her.

‘Well it was, actually,’ said Shireen, ‘the night porter watched them on the security video.’

Max finally drove her home to Bromley in his Porsche and fell exhaustedly into bed at two, not before eliciting from her the information that Chuck was away the following week for two days in Zurich, visiting the new electronics company. Max remarked casually that he thought he had been there last week as well and Shireen said yes, he was always going over, it was such an important new client, and Chuck was just about the most conscientious, as well as the kindest, most generous boss she had ever known. Every time he went to Zurich, she said, he brought her some really nice present back. Max said he had thought the electronics company was in Geneva, and Shireen said it was, but Chuck often visited a contact in Zurich at the same time.

It all seemed to be fitting together very neatly.

He told Jake, but he didn’t tell anyone else. Charlotte had enough to worry about.

Jake told him it was certainly interesting, but his friend would need something a little more tangible. ‘Like knowing there was a numbered bank account. He must be doing something with the money. The commission on laundering is at least twenty per cent.’

‘I’ll keep working on Shireen,’ said Max.

John Fisher was looking more terrible every day. He wouldn’t tell Max what the matter was, but one day in early September he said he couldn’t stand it any longer and resigned. That afternoon Chuck Drew sent for him, and he came out of the office looking even worse and said he had agreed to stay on, and that Chuck had given him a raise.

‘Are they blackmailing you or are they blackmailing you?’ said Max.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Fisher. He had lost a lot of weight.

It had seemed such a good idea, the party. It was Max’s idea, born out of a row he had been having with Gemma. He said it was time they had a party. Gemma said they’d had a party and Max said he didn’t call the middle-aged bash put on by her father a party and he wanted a proper one. It was he said (casting his mind about slightly wildly) to celebrate his twenty-first birthday; Gemma said that wasn’t until December and it was bad luck to do it early, and Max told her he would celebrate his birthday whenever he fucking well liked. Gemma told him she was sick of his filthy language, and Max took her home; next day he apologized, but the party still seemed a good idea. He wanted a real party, an epic party, he said, he wanted everyone there. He told Gemma it could be to celebrate their engagement again if she liked, that was fine by him, just so long as it happened. Appeased by the thought of yet another public confirmation of her future as the Countess of Caterham, Gemma agreed.

Angie offered them her house. ‘I’d love it. I could do with a party.’

Gemma threw a tantrum at the prospect of the party being at Angie’s. ‘It will
turn into her party, and that awful old woman will be there, and anyway people will think it’s odd.’

‘If you mean Angie’s gran, I do assure you she’ll be at the party wherever it is,’ said Max, ‘and if anyone thinks it’s odd, I don’t want them there.’

Charlotte however told him he couldn’t have his twenty-first and engagement party at Angie’s. ‘Gemma’s right. Have it at Eaton Place.’

‘I don’t think Alexander would like that,’ said Max. ‘And anyway I’d be worried to death about things getting damaged.’

‘I think he’d like it very much,’ said Charlotte, ‘and I really think most of your guests are past the stage of throwing up in the drawing room.’

‘Want to bet?’ said Max gloomily.

But Charlotte was right; Alexander was delighted, and said he would send out the invitations in his name.

The whole thing got out of hand very quickly. By the time Max and Gemma had drawn up a list of friends, it was already looking like a hundred people; then Alexander said, given the nature of the party, there must be some family. Max said OK, as long as that included Melissa – which led to Georgina saying of course it did, and so must it include Kendrick – which meant inevitably that Freddy must be sent an invitation. ‘And Mary Rose,’ said Tommy firmly. ‘She must come, if her children are there. I shall look after her. We can dance together, how wonderful.’

Fred and Betsey were sent an invitation but turned it down, both pleading ill health; Catriona and Martin Dunbar were also invited at Alexander’s insistence. Max complained vociferously about them, saying that if Catriona was coming, he might as well have the rest of the stables, and that Martin was enough to put a damper on the Rio Carnival and if they came he’d cancel the whole thing. Georgina told Max he was rude and insensitive and that the Dunbars were a great deal nicer than most of his horrible friends and rushed out of the room in tears; in the event they refused also, but Max had often wondered since why Georgina had been so upset about it all. She was a very odd girl at times. He supposed it was Kendrick’s bloody dithering that was making her so stressed. Max resolved to have a word with Kendrick at the party.

The guest list grew to 150, then to 200. The house was not big enough. There would have to be a marquee. ‘That’ll be great,’ said Angie happily, ‘we can have a disco out there, and dancing.’

The date set was 10 September. ‘Everyone will be back from holiday,’ said Max, ‘and people like Melissa won’t have gone to college yet.’

The entire financial community of London appeared to be coming, and a very large slice of the Sloane population as well. Charlotte looked with slight trepidation on the mix of the Jake Josephs, and Max’s colleagues on the trading desk, and Gemma’s girlfriends, almost all of whom seemed to work in art galleries or were applying for jobs as chalet girls. Max told her not to be so old-fashioned: ‘Those girls need waking up a bit, they’ll all have a ball.’

The Mortons had accepted, but had said (to Max’s relief) they could not stay very long; they had a house-party of Japanese financiers in the country that weekend.

Much of the modelling fraternity was coming, including the American girls able to work their bookings to be in London for the weekend, almost every photographer Max had ever worked with, and a considerable smattering of designers and journalists; the whole thing was being seen as the launch of the autumn party season, and anybody who had not received an invitation and could possibly imagine themselves to have a right to one was making hasty plans to be out of the city that night, lest their social disgrace should be witnessed.

Two days before the party, John Fisher came to Max looking deeply embarrassed and said he couldn’t after all come to the party. ‘I’m sorry, Max. Family problems. Got to go home.’

‘Oh for fuck’s sake,’ said Max. ‘I don’t mind you not coming, well I do, of course, but I do mind you lying to me. Tell me what’s going on, John; I might even be able to help.’

Fisher looked more desperate than ever; then he said almost inaudibly, ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘I know what you’re to do,’ said Max. ‘You’re to come and have a drink with me tonight and tell me what’s going on. You’re going to end up in a bin at this rate.’

It took two bottles of beaujolais to get John Fisher talking; Vernon Bligh had been putting huge pressure on him to push certain issues, when he’d refused a couple of heavies had arrived at his flat, offering to break his legs, and when he’d actually given in his notice, Chuck Drew had sent for him and said they had enough on him to report him to the Securities and Investment Board. He suggested to Fisher that he would be wiser to stay, and then clapped him on the back and gave him a raise, telling him his future in Praegers UK was looking very rosy.

‘Oh for God’s sake,’ said Max. ‘Why on earth didn’t you say anything before? We can take you to old man Praeger, and get this whole thing wrapped up. He won’t listen to anything Charlotte and I say; but this’ll do it for us. Swear you’ll come. Next week. Then you’ll be off the hook.’

‘Yeah, but I’ve still been breaking the law,’ said Fisher desperately.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Max. ‘Have any of the other salesmen been going through this?’

Fisher didn’t know; he said it was not something you talked about in the men’s room; Max said he was sure they had and that they’d sort the whole thing out the following week. He poured Fisher, looking more cheerful than he had seen him for weeks, into a taxi, went home and called Charlotte. Charlotte was just going to the airport to meet Gabe but said she’d call him and discuss it later. She didn’t actually ring and came in next morning looking slightly sheepish and very sleek, with dark rings under her eyes; Max grinned at her and said she obviously had more important things on her mind than a little insider trading, and the whole thing had better wait until after the party.