"Nervous, you see. Virgin." They were eating side by side, able to confide without the threat of eye contact. "Not her. Me." Another shout of laughter. "Didn't know the form, so I played the earnest-student type. Decided she had to have a problem: 'Poor you, where did it all go wrong?' Thought she was going to tell me her old dad had the big C and her mum had run off with the plumber when she was twelve. Looks at me. Not a friendly look at all. 'What's your name?' she says. Little Staffordshire terrier. Broad-arsed. Five foot nothing. I'm Dicky,' I said. 'Now, you listen to me, Dicky,' she says. 'You can fuck my body, and that'll cost you a fiver. But you can't fuck my mind, because that's private.' Never forgot it, did I, Megs? Marvellous woman! Should have married her. Not Megs. The tart." His shoulder nudged up against Jonathan's again. "Want to know how it works?"
"If it's not a state secret."
"Fig leaf operation. You're the fig leaf. Straw man, the Germans call it. Joke is, you're not even straw. You don't exist. All the better. Derek Thomas, merchant venturer, regular guy, quick on his feet, personable, wholesome. Decent record in commerce, no skeletons, good crits. It's Dicky and Derek. Maybe we've done deals before. Nobody's business but ours. I go to the clowns ― the brokers, the venture boys, flexible banks ― and I say: 'Got a very smart cookie here. Brilliant plan, quick profits, needs backing, mum's the word. It's tractors, turbines, machine parts, minerals, it's land, it's what the hell. Introduce you to him later if you're good. He's young, he's got the connections, don't ask where, very resourceful, politically hip, good with the right people, opportunity of a lifetime. Didn't want you missing out. Double your money in four months max. You'll be buying paper. If you don't want paper don't waste my time. We're talking bearer bonds, no names, no pack drill, no connection with any other firm including mine. It's another trust-Dicky deal. I'm in but I'm not there. Company's formed in an area where no accounts need to be prepared or filed, no British connection, not our colony, somebody else's mess. When the deal's done, company ceases trading, pull the plug on it, close the accounts, see you sometime. Very tight circle, few chaps as possible, no silly questions, take it or leave it, want you to be one of the few.' All right so far?"
"Do they believe you?"
Roper laughed. "Wrong question. Does the story play? Can they sell it to their punters? Do they like the cut of your jib? Are you a pretty face on the prospectus? Play our cards right, answer's yes every time."
"You mean there's a
Roper let out another rich laugh. "Worse than a bloody woman, this chap!" he told Meg contentedly as she poured more coffee. "Why, why, why? How, when, where?"
"I never do that, Mr. Roper," said Meg severely.
"You never do, Megs. You're a good scout."
"Mr. Roper, you are patting my behind again."
"Sorry, Megs. Must have thought I was at home." Back to Jonathan. "No, there's no prospectus. Figure of speech. By the time we've printed the prospectus, with any luck we won't have a company."
* * *
Roper resumed his briefing, and Jonathan heard him and replied to him from within the cocoon of his other meditations.
He was thinking of Jed, and his images of her were so vivid it was a wonder that Roper, sitting a few inches from him, did not receive some telepathic inkling of them. He felt her hands on his face while she studied him. and he wondered what she saw. He remembered Burr and Rooke in the training house in London, and as he listened to Roper describing the energetic young executive Thomas, he realised that once again he was conniving in the manipulation of his character. He heard Roper say Langbourne had gone ahead to smooth the way, and wondered whether this might be the moment to warn him that Caroline was betraying the cause behind his back and so earn further credit in Roper's estimation. Then he decided Roper knew this anyway: how else would Jed have been able to tax him with his sins? He pondered, as he pondered constantly, the intractable mystery of Roper's notions of right and wrong, and he remembered how, in Sophie's judgment, the worst man in the world was a moralist who gained stature in his own eyes by disregarding his perceptions.
"Apo will recognise you, of course," Roper was saying. "The bloke he met at Crystal ― used to work at Meister's ― chum of Dicky's. No problem there that I can see. Anyway, Apo's the other side."
Jonathan turned quickly to him, as if Roper had reminded him of something.
"I wanted to ask you, actually, who
Roper let out a false shout of pain. "We've got one, Megs! Doubts me! Can't leave a good thing alone!"
