The Night Manager полностью

"Sir? We have met, sir. I never forget a face," Apostoll declares, whipping off his dark glasses and holding up everybody behind him. "My name is Apostoll. I am a legionary of God, sir."

"Course you've met him, Apo!" Roper cuts in deftly. "We've all met him. Thomas. You remember Thomas, Apo! Used to be the night chap at Meister's. Came west to seek his fortune. Chum of ours from way back. Isaac, give the Doc some more shampoo."

"I am honoured, sir. Forgive me. You are English? I have many British connections, sir. My grandmother was related to the Duke of Westminster, and my uncle on my mother's side designed the Albert Hall."

"My goodness. That's wonderful," says Jonathan politely.

They shake hands. Apostoll's is cool as snakeskin. Their eyes meet. Apostoll's are haunted and a little mad ― but who is not a little mad at Crystal on a perfect starlit night with the Dom flowing like the music?

"You are in Mr. Roper's employ, sir?" Apostoll persists. "You have joined one of his great enterprises? Mr. Roper is a man of rare power."

"I'm enjoying the hospitality of the house," Jonathan replies.

"You could do no better, sir. You are a friend of Major Corkoran's perhaps? I think I saw you two exchanging pleasantries some minutes back."

"Corky and I are old pals."

But as the group moves on, Roper takes Apostoll quietly aside, and Jonathan hears the words "Mama Low's" spoken with discretion.

* * *

"Basically, you see, Jed," says an evil by the name of Wilfred as they lounge at white tables under a hot moon, "what we at Harvill Maverich are offering Dicky here is the same service as the crooks are offering, but without the crooks."

"Oh, Wilfred, but how terribly boring. Wherever will poor Roper get his kicks from?"

And she catches Jonathan's eye again, causing serious mayhem. How does this happen? Who looks first? For this is not affectation. This is not just playing games with somebody her own age. This is looking. And looking away. And looking again. Roper, where are you now we need you?

* * *

Nights with evils are endless. Sometimes the talk is got up as bridge or backgammon in the study. Drinks are self-serve, the ushers are told to hop it, the study door is guarded by the protection, the servants know to stay away from that side of the house. Only Corkoran is admitted ― these days not always Corkoran.

"Corky's fallen from grace a bit," Jed confides to Jonathan, then bites her lip and says no more.

For Jed too has her loyalty. She is no easy frontier-crosser, and Jonathan has warned himself accordingly.

* * *

"Chaps come to me, you see," Roper explains.

The two men are enjoying another of their strolls. This time it is evening. They have played fierce tennis, but neither has won. Roper doesn't bother with scoring unless he is playing for money, and Jonathan has no money. Perhaps for this reason, their conversations flow without constraint. Roper walks close, letting his shoulder ride unconsciously against Jonathan's, as it did at Meister's. He possesses an athlete's carelessness of touch. Tabby and Gus are following at a distance. Gus is the new crusher, recently added to the strength. Roper has a special voice for chaps who come to him:

" 'Meestaire Ropaire, geeve us state-of-art toys.' " He graciously pauses to allow Jonathan to laugh at his mimicry. "So I ask 'em: 'State of what art, old boy? Compared to what?' No answer. Some parts of the world, if you gave 'em a Boer War cannon, they'd move straight to the top of the heap." An impatient gesture of the hand moves them there, and Jonathan feels Roper's elbow in his ribs. "Other countries, pots of money, mad for high tech, nothing else will do, got to be like the fellow next door. Not like him. Better than. Miles better. They want the smart bomb that gets into the lift, goes to the third floor, turns left, clears its throat, blows up the master of the house but doesn't hurt the television set." The same elbow nudges against Jonathan's upper arm. "Thing they never realise is: you want to play smart, you've got to have the smart backup. And the chaps to work it. No good buying the latest 'fridge and shoving it in your mud hut if you haven't got electricity to plug it into, is it? Well, is it? What?"

"Of course not," says Jonathan.

Roper plunges his hands into the pockets of his tennis shorts and gives a lazy smile.