Kamara chuckled, “You want a house, Marcella?”
“Maybe.” I could feel Benji’s eyes on me, but I ignored him.
“Well, there are plenty of houses. I could get another house from the council, or sell you this one. These are big dirty old houses, you know. Four floors. They were divided into rooms for council tenants—poor people. Sometimes addicts or prostitutes, people like that.” “That’s the sort I want, a big old one. It could be converted into flats. Queens Park is up and coming,” I said, borrowing the phrase from estate agents’ advertisements.
“Marcella has some big ideas,” said Benji, mainly to Adnam, annoying me.
“Kamara,” started Adnam, “how much would your house be if Marcella bought it from you?”
“Maybe ninety thousand.”
“That would be fifteen, twenty thousand more than you paid for it?”
Kamara hesitated, but Adnam’s affirming smile coaxed him on. “'Yes. Maybe a bit less.”
“That’s disgusting,” interjected Yvonne, but Adnam silenced her with the palms of his hands, as if to say: It’s nothing; it’s just as we should expect; this is the way of the world.
He turned to me. “Is it a good price?”
“It should convert into four flats. They would sell for about thirty-five each, that’s a hundred and forty thousand total. The conversion costs would be about twenty-five.” I could feel Benji’s smile on me. I wasn’t going to look at him.
“So, let’s make it thirty-five for costs, with contingencies. That’s fifteen thousand profit on a hundred and twenty five investment—twelve percent. Barely enough. Do you have the money?”
“No... I’d have to find it.”
“So, maybe interest payments too.” Adnam paused briefly. “What do you think, Benji?”
I waited, holding my breath, then heard him say, “Marcella’s never wrong with figures.” Bless him.
“It’s what I believe. But you would help? With finding contractors and so on?”
Benji glanced at me, but replied to Adnam, adopting his most serious expression. “Of course. With pleasure.”
“Good. I thought so.”
Kamara went to speak but Adnam quietened him with a slight movement of his hand and a little moue of conspiracy. “Marcella,” he continued, looking straight at me, “I want to invest with you. Kamara”—now he looked straight at him—“I think you’ll take a little less for the house. Say eighty. To be fair. For a cash transaction.” He raised his eyebrows in the expectation of agreement and finally received Kamara’s nod. “Good”—his eyes were back on me—“Then I will open an account for you, Marcella, at the BCCI. You can withdraw up to one hundred and thirty thousand and there will be no interest to pay for a year. By then you should have your money back. You don’t pay taxes here, do you?”
“I’m illegal.”
“I thought so. All the best people. Are you agreeable?” He was smiling, as if I should know this was a generous gift.
Was I agreeable? The idea had only just left my brain. I was shocked. Adnam stepped into my hesitation. “No, you should sleep on it before deciding. And, Benji,” he added, “I am so happy to have this business association with you.” Adnam shook Benji’s hand, and the two of us chorused, “Thank you,” like children.
“No, please. You are friends of Monique’s. That’s enough. In any case it’s good business—you’ll have your business empire one day and then I’ll come to you for help. And Marcella, I haven’t forgotten about Ismael. I was very embarrassed.”
“You’re so good,” said Monique, planting a kiss on top of his head.
“I’m good and you’re beautiful. And we’re late for an appointment. Will you please excuse us, everyone?”
“Don’t wait up, big sister,” said Monique to Gabrielle as she departed. “I’ll be chez Adnam tonight.”
Without opening her eyes, Gabrielle murmured to me, “Are you sure this is what you want, Marcella?”
“I can’t be a nurse like you, Gaby. I think this is what I can do.” Her hand squeezed mine.
I am sure this is how it happened, but when I used the episode as a case study for my PhD thesis, I extracted from it my ownership of the bright idea and the brilliance of Adnam’s orchestration, to make a dull thing of it. I also omitted the deadly, hidden keystone to its plot, though by then it was no longer hidden from me. For my thesis, using the dry paper currency favoured by universities, I illustrated how Third World businessmen, excluded from the chummy channels of the London financial establishment, depended instead on each other. The common bonds between outsiders were reinforced, in this view, by ties of friendship, love and illegality. To read my thesis there could have been no other possible outcome to the coincident presence of opportunity and capital in a Bayswater basement.
Yet it had started in my head, only mine. And it had been completed only by Adnam’s deadly brilliance. So cleverly and quickly had he completed the deal that I went over and over it in my head that night, a child after a magic show still looking for the sleight of hand. He had caught Kamara in his boastfulness and had exploited Yvonne’s disapproval to disadvantage him. He had flattered Benji and tied him to the deal’s success. He had neatly erased the slight stain on his perfection caused by Ismael’s ungentlemanly treatment of me, and he had made it more difficult than ever for Monique to believe she might not love him. Which left me only with the question: What was it he had noticed in me that made him think me worth the trouble? While Benji slept peacefully next to me, I went over it again, half excited, half uneasy.
THE ACADEMIC YEAR AT MOORE IS NEARLY OVER. THE
students will be gone soon and the summer suddenly looks long and empty. Unlike everyone else, I’ve neglected to make plans.
The students did well with their projects and I’ve
