anonymous buildings.
Duncan nodded to his chauffeur as he held the door open and handed
Duncan the pigskin briefcase.
Thank you, Edward. I should not be very long. Duncan took the case and
he crossed the pavement with the long, confident stride of an athlete,
his shoulders thrown back, wearing his top coat like an opera cloak, the
sleeves empty and the tails swirling about his legs, and even in the
grey overcast of a March afternoon, his head shone like a beacon fire.
The man who opened the door to him seemed only half Duncan's height,
despite the tall black Homburg hat that he wore squarely over his ears.
Mr. Alexander, shalom, shalom. His beard was so dense and bushy black
that it covered the starched white collar and white tie, regulation
dress of the strict Hasidic Jew.
Even though you come to me last, you still bring honour on my house/and
his eyes twinkled, a mischievous sparkling black under thick brows.
That is because you have a heart of stone and blood like iced water,
said Duncan, and the man laughed delightedly, as though he had been paid
the highest compliment.
Come, he said, taking Duncan's arm. Come in, let us drink a little tea
together and let us talk. He led Duncan down the narrow corridor, and
halfway they collided with two boys wearing yamulka on their curly heads
coming at speed in the opposite direction.
Ruffians/ cried the man, stooping to embrace them briefly and then send
them on their way with a fond slap on their backsides. Still beaming
and shaking the ringlets that dangled out from under the black Homburg,
he ushered Duncan into a small crowded bedroom that had been converted
to an office. A tall old-fashioned pigeon-holed desk filled one wall
and against the other stood an overstuffed horse-hair sofa on which were
piled ledgers and box files.
The man swept the books aside, making room for Duncan. Be seated, he
ordered, and stood aside while a jolly little woman his size brought in
the teatray.
I saw the award court's arbitration on Golden Adventurer in Lloyd's
List/ the Jew said when they were alone.
Nicholas Berg is an amazing man, a hard act to follow - I think that is
the expression. He pondered, watching the sudden bloom of anger on
Duncan's cheeks and the murderous expression in the pale eyes.
Duncan controlled his anger with an effort, but each time that somebody
spoke that way of Nicholas Berg, he found it more difficult. There was
always the comparison, the snide remarks, and Duncan wanted to stand up
and leave this cluttered little room and the veiled taunts, but he knew
he could not afford to, nor could he speak just yet for his anger was
very close to the surface. They sat in silence for what seemed a long
time.
How much? The man broke the silence at last, and Duncan could not bring
himself to name the figure for it was too closely related to the subject
that had just infuriated him, is not a large amount, and for a short
period - sixty days only. How much?
Six million, Duncan said. Dollars. Six million is not an impossibly
