Leaving Papa to his own devices for the day, he went out and walked across the bridge into the financial district, which was called the City because it covered the square mile of the original Roman city of London. Traffic was at a complete standstill around St. Paul's Cathedral as carriages, horse buses, brewers' drays, hansom cabs and costermongers' barrows competed for space with a huge flock of sheep being driven to Smithfield meat market.
Pilasters Bank was a big new building with a long classical frontage and an imposing entrance flanked by massive fluted pillars. It was a few minutes past noon when Micky went through the double doors into the banking hall. Although Edward rarely got to work before ten, he could generally be persuaded to leave for lunch any time after twelve.
Micky approached one of the "walkers" and said: "Be good enough to tell Mr. Edward Pilaster that Mr. Miranda has called."
"Very good, sir."
Here more than anywhere Micky envied the Pilasters. Their wealth and power was proclaimed by every detail: the polished marble floor, the rich paneling, the hushed voices, the scratch of pens in ledgers, and perhaps most of all by the overfed, overdressed messengers. All this space and all these people were basically employed in counting the Pilaster family's money. No one here raised cattle, mined nitrate or built railroads: the work was done by others far away. The Pilasters just watched the money multiply. To Micky it seemed the best possible way to live now that slavery had been abolished.
There was also something false about the atmosphere here. It was solemn and dignified, like a church, or the court of a president, or a museum. They were moneylenders, but they acted as if charging interest were a noble calling, like the priesthood.
After a few minutes Edward appeared--with a bruised nose and a black eye. Micky raised his eyebrows. "My dear fellow, what happened to you?"
"I had a fight with Hugh."
"What about?"
"I told him off for bringing a whore into the house and he lost his temper."
It occurred to Micky that this might have given Augusta the opportunity she had been seeking to get rid of Hugh. "What happened to Hugh?"
"You won't see him again for a long time. He's been sent to Boston."
Well done, Augusta, thought Micky. It would be neat if both Hugh and Tonio could be dealt with on the same day. He said: "You look as if you might benefit from a bottle of champagne and some lunch."
"Splendid idea."
