‘Blimey, where do I start?’
Feeling absurdly adult, Albert sat down at the table and told them of Simon Cotter’s plans.
‘So you see, it’s the best of both worlds,’ he said. ‘Is that brilliant or what?’
A waiter approached their table with an ice-bucket and a bottle of Cristal.
Gordon had been staring down at his cutlery with furrowed brows as if listening for a catch somewhere in Albert’s breathless recitation. He looked up now at the waiter. ‘What’s this? I ordered no champagne.’
‘Er, that was me actually, Dad. I’ll pay you back for it soon, I promise.
Portia squeezed Albert’s hand. ‘Quite right too,’ she said, looking anxiously at Gordon. ‘This definitely calls for a celebration, don’t you think, darling?’
Albert caught the pleading note in his mother s voice and leaned forward to add his own encouragement.
‘Dad, I know it’s all moving very quickly, but it’s just
Gordon smiled suddenly and put a hand to Albert’s shoulder. ‘Of course, it’s great, Albie. My years in the City have made me cautious, that’s all. I’m sure everything’s fine. I’m proud of you. Truly.’
‘He said …‘ Albert blushed slightly, ‘he said that he thought you were a remarkable man, Dad.’
‘Did he? Is that so? Well, he’s a remarkable man himself.’
‘He’s buying a paper at the moment, did you know that? The
‘Are you sure? There’s been nothing about it in the financial pages.’
‘Absolutely. He said it was a complicated business but it was time the
‘Never mind about all that,’ said Portia. ‘Tell me what sort of man he is. Did he take his sunglasses off at any time? Do you think he’s Jewish? From pictures he looks impossibly dark and handsome. Does he dye his hair, do you think?’
‘For God’s sake, Mum…’ Gordon and Albert caught each other’s eyes and laughed with male solidarity.
‘Well, these things are important,’ Portia said defensively. ‘They tell you a lot about a person.
‘He’s read all your books anyway. He said so. What does
Father and son laughed again at Portia’s flustered reaction.
‘Let us drink to this paragon of taste and judgement,’ said Gordon, raising his glass.
‘To Simon Cotter,’ they chorused.
Rufus Cade sat in his flat and gazed lovingly at the money piled up in front of him. He had counted it twice and was considering counting it for a third time. Counting out a hundred thousand in used twenty pound notes is quite a task, but when the money is your own and wholly exempt from the ravenous clutches of tax men and ex-wives it is a pleasurable enough way to pass the time.
Rufus chopped a line on the small amount of free space on his coffee table. Finally,
To be able to go early into the office, with a clear sober head, that would be something in itself. There would be a special buzz to be got from sobriety, an irreducible high that would never lead to a terrible low. His cheerfulness and humour would become a byword. He had the weekend to begin the business of cleaning himself up. He would start any minute by throwing away his shot glasses and his silver straw. He might even drive round to see his parents. He played out the scene. His mother’s pleasure at seeing him, a bunch of flowers under his arm and a teasing joke on his lips, sprang to life within him and he smiled the broadest smile he had smiled for many years. He wasn’t such a bad man. He had a dry humour and quiet companionability that had appealed enough to turn three women into wives and countless others into girlfriends.
The entryphone buzzer sounded on the wall behind him and his heart banged in his chest at such a violent intrusion of the rude world into his thoughts. He rose from the sofa and was surprised to hear his voice trembling as he picked up the receiver.
‘Who is it?’
A voice he did not recognise spoke into the intercom with exaggerated intonation above the passing roar of traffic from the street. ‘I am a friend of John’s. It’s very important that I speak to you.
Rufus turned and looked at the money heaped on his table. ‘It’s not very convenient at the moment,’ he said. ‘I’m… I’m expecting some people.’
‘I won’t take more than five minutes. It’s for your own security.
‘Okay then… second floor.’
Rufus pressed the buzzer and ran to the kitchen for a bin liner. He stuffed the money into the bag and threw it into the corner of the room behind an armchair. By the time a knock came on the door, sweat was running down his face and he was out of breath.
He ran a sleeve across his dripping forehead and opened the flat door. A tall, powerfully built man of indeterminate age stood there, smiling apologetically, his eyes hidden by mirror shades.
‘I do apologise for calling so late.’
‘No, no… come in. I was just…, you know.’
The man came in and stood in the centre of the sitting-room. Rufus stared at him in disbelief.
‘Wait a minute… don’t I know you?’
‘The name’s Cotter. Simon Cotter.’
Rufus was already dizzy with the exertion of hiding his money. The presence of such a man as Simon Cotter on his doormat confused him completely. He could only imagine that there had been some problem with his look-alikes the day of that launch in Islington. But why on earth would Cotter himself come to visit him at home. On a Friday night, to boot. ‘I don’t quite follow. You said you were a friend of John’s.’
‘That’s right,’ said Cotter. ‘I’ve come to warn you.’
‘Warn me?’
‘The Suleiman brothers are rather upset.’
Rufus blinked. ‘I’m sorry. Suleiman brothers? I don’t believe I know anyone of that name.
‘You sold them a consignment of cocaine for a great deal of money. Only a few ounces of it were genuine. The rest was sherbet, I’m afraid. They are not in the least bit happy. Sherbet retails in sweetshops for a pitifully low price, I believe. Pitifully low. They’ll be wanting their money back. They may well want some pieces of your body to go with it. To be perfectly frank with you, they aren’t very nice people.’
Rufus had trouble focusing. Sweat was stinging his eyes. ‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about,’ he said in a voice that he recognised as absurdly tremulous and far too high in register to carry conviction.
‘Really?’ Cotter’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Then I’m wasting your time as well as my own. I thought you might want to understand what was going on.’
‘Well, of course I want to know what’s going on, but…’
‘You’ve sold a dud and the vendor is coming for revenge. It’s really as simple as that.’
‘But it was
‘Ah, but John has been rather clever. I happen to know, you see, that he told them that all along
‘But that’s a lie!’ Rufus grabbed the lapels of Cotter’s suit. ‘You’ve got to tell them. Tell them I acted in good faith. They’ll listen to you. In good faith.’
‘You know what happened! You can set them straight.’ Cotter looked at his watch. ‘They will be here in no more than five minutes. I left the front door on the latch. It’s a pity that you don’t seem to be in any kind of shape. I believe they favour machetes.’
Rufus almost danced with terror and bewilderment. ‘You can’t be serious. This is England.’
Cotter looked at him in amusement. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘This is England. And you are English. Wipe your face, stop snivelling and put up a good show, that’s my advice. They may spare your life, you never know. The sight of you snotty, sweaty, dribbling and whimpering will only bring out their fullest rage, you can be sure of that. Believe me. I know something about bullies.’
Rufus edged towards the corner of the room, possessed with the wild idea of grabbing the rubbish sack and making a run for it.
‘Ah, you’ve stashed it over there, have you?’ Cotter peered behind the armchair. ‘Well at least they won’t have to look very hard for it. That may count in your favour.’
‘For pity’s sake,’ cried Rufus.
‘For
‘You can have the money. Take it all.’
‘My dear Cade, I already have more money than I could possibly spend. Don’t you read the newspapers?’
‘Then let me go. Protect me. Pay them off, I’ll do anything, anything you say.
‘Anything? Do you mean that?’
‘I promise!’ Something in Cotter’s voice lent Rufus hope. ‘Just tell me and I’ll do it.’
‘Very well. Sit down.’
Rufus obeyed instantly. Sweat and mucus dropped from his chin onto the sofa. It had been many years since Cotter had last seen a grown man tremble so violently. His face, his hands, his feet – every part of him quivered.
‘What do you want me to do? Tell me and I’ll do it.’