Returning to the hotel, they walked into Langbourne in the lobby, surrounded by a group of dark-suited moneymen. He was looking angry, the way he might look when his car was late or someone refused to sleep with him. Jonathan's good humour only added to his irritation.
"Have you seen Apostoll hanging around anywhere?" he demanded without so much as a hullo. "Bloody little man's gone missing."
"Not a dickybird," said Frisky.
The furniture had been cleared from Jonathan's drawing room. Bottles of Dom Perignon lay in a tray of ice on a trestle table. A couple of very slow waiters were unloading plates of canapés from a trolley.
"You press the flesh," Roper had said, "you kiss the babies, look wholesome."
"What if they come at me with business talk?"
"They won't. Clowns'll be too busy counting the money before they get it."
"Could you possibly bring some ashtrays," Jonathan asked one of the waiters. "And open the windows if you don't mind. Who's in charge?"
"Me, sir," said the waiter who wore the name Arthur.
"Frisky, give Arthur twenty dollars, please."
With ill grace, Frisky handed over the money.
* * *
It was Crystal without the amateurs. It was Crystal without Jed's eye to catch across the room. It was Crystal opened to the public and swamped by high-powered Necessary Evils ― except that tonight Derek Thomas was the star. Under Roper's benign eye, the polished former night manager shook hands, flashed smiles, remembered names, made witty small talk, worked the room.
"
A buttery English banker from Rickmansworth took Jonathan aside to lecture him on the value of commerce to the emerging world. Two pumice-faced bond sellers from New York listened impassively.
"I'll tell you bluntly ― I'm not ashamed of it ― I've said it before to these gentlemen. I'll say it again now. With your Third World today, what matters is how they
Brad spoke with his lips so close together that Jonathan at first didn't realise he was speaking at all. "You, ah. have expertise at all, Derek? You, ah. an engineer, sir? Surveyor? Something of. ah, that kind?"
"Boats are my best thing, really," said Jonathan cheerfully. "Not Dicky's sort. Sailing boats. Sixty foot's about as far as I like to go."
"Boats, huh? I love 'em. He, ah, likes boats."
"Me too," says Sol.
The party ended with another orgy of handshakes. Derek, it's been an inspiration. You bet. Take care, now, Derek. You bet. Derek, there's a job for you in Philly anytime you say.... Derek, anytime you're in Detroit.... You bet.... Enraptured by his performance, Jonathan stood on the balcony smiling at the stars, scenting the oil on the dark sea wind. What are you doing now? Supper with Corkoran and the Nassau set ― Cynthia who breeds Sealyhams, Stephanie who tells fortunes? Discussing yet more menus for the winter cruise with barely affordable Delia, the
"Time for the nosebag, Tommy. Can't keep the gentry waiting."
"I'm not hungry, actually, Frisky."
"I don't expect anybody is, Tommy. It's like church. Come on."
* * *
