Moroccan Traffic (11 page)

Sir Robert said, ‘I think, Mo, we need a stiff drink.’ There was a bar, discreetly camouflaged, in one corner. Mo Morgan cast me a brief, opaque look, and then wandered over and opened it. Sir Robert said, ‘Well. That’s a tricky one. I could have made a deal with Reed in a moment. The problem is that silly woman.’

‘Dead true it is,’ said Mo Morgan, slinging glasses before us and sitting. ‘He’s only the front. She’s the tough one.’

‘You think so?’ said Sir Robert. He sipped his drink. ‘My God, Mo. Do you always drink them this strong? She’s a little make-up girl, that’s all, by profession. Then ten years ago, she came into a fortune, raised some collateral and established the company. And a little make-up girl in mentality she still is. Did you hear she lost her way?’

‘There’s no secret,’ said Morgan. ‘She does. They ribbed her about it this morning.’

‘Did they also tell you,’ said Sir Robert, ‘that she can’t read or write? She’s retarded.’

Mo Morgan said, ‘It sounds more like dyslexia.’

‘That’s what they call it,’ said the Chairman. ‘Nice name. It still means she’s illiterate. The poor sod with the ink in the square could manage a business better than she could. Which brings me to what happened this morning.’

My ears were buzzing. I heard him through the fumes of the alcohol Mo Morgan had poured for us all. It came to me that he hadn’t liked being asked to pour it, and that he was not behaving as a loyal employee truly ought. For Executive Directors were employees, just as I was, and could be sacked. Then I remembered that Mo Morgan really couldn’t be sacked, because the prosperity of Kingsley’s depended on him. Mo Morgan said, ‘Yes. About this morning. Reed knew who we were, but concealed it. So it wasn’t an accident. We were directed to the square from the café. Johnson and Sullivan saw us lurking, and amused themselves sending us into Reed’s arms. Probably Reed and his pals haunt the Jemaa every morning.’

‘But why?’ I said. ‘Mr. Reed didn’t ask us any questions. Why take all that trouble and gain nothing from it?’

Mo Morgan said, ‘It gave them a chance to weigh us up before the meeting, and us, if you like, a chance to underrate them. And since they were meeting us soon, it suited them to seem to be civilians. They’re clever, Sir Robert. The smartest thing that woman did was to admit that they knew us all along.’

I couldn’t see how. I said, ‘It did nothing to help her own side. Now we know to link MCG with Johnson and Sullivan.’

Sir Robert was gazing at me without really seeing me. ‘Yes. Johnson,’ he said. ‘The man without whom you and I wouldn’t be here. I find Johnson’s provocative role in all this a little disturbing. The more so, since I have some new facts about the gentleman. If gentleman is the word I am looking for.’

He didn’t sound quite as calm as he looked. I wondered how he could have found out anything about Mr. Johnson from Marrakesh, unless the Balkan lady had turned up.

What had turned up wasn’t the Balkan lady, but a report from London on MCG shareholders. Most were known. Some had identities which, for one reason or another, were harder to cull from the Register. In the case of a takeover, it was usual to spend quite some effort on tracing them. I sat and heard Sir Robert tell us all that. ‘And?’ said Mo Morgan. But by that time, we both guessed what the score was.

‘One such case,’ said Sir Robert, ‘has just yielded to enquiry. Under another name, and not publicly recognised, a holding amounting to ten per cent of the equity in MCG is owned by Mr. Johnson Johnson. He held substantially more, but sold the rest when they went to the market. He has known Mr. Roland Reed for a long time. Reed, in fact, was Johnson’s personal accountant.’

There was a silence. ‘And Rita Geddes?’ said Mr. Morgan. He had flushed.

Sir Robert raised his brows. ‘Surprising though it seems, I understand there exists a long, confirmed friendship between the lady and Johnson. It dates back to the death of his wife, and there is presumably not much doubt of its nature. I am afraid,’ said Sir Robert, ‘that my delightful portrait is being painted by a man who wishes no good to Kingsley’s, since his mistress and his money are bound up in the firm we intend to take over.’

I wondered if I should speak. I wondered if I should suggest that it was an agent of Johnson’s who had caused the bomb threat in London, and achieved access to the safe and its figures. The bomb itself hadn’t been meant to go off. He had been angry.

I didn’t say it. Instead, I said, ‘Sir Robert?’

They both looked at me. I said, ‘My luggage was searched at the airport. Mr. Johnson could have been there.’ The royal motorcade had passed just after I did. He must have been in the Salon of Honour.

I said, ‘I was carrying the company papers. The Customs took and returned them intact. But if they were read, then Johnson and Sullivan know all our figures.’

‘Well, Johnson at least,’ Sir Robert said. He rose, taking his glass to the bar, and after a moment, returned and collected Mr. Morgan’s and mine. He said, uncapping bottles, ‘One of the irritating things about this sad little business is that I may have to give up that portrait. I really can’t allow this two-faced blighter to walk all over our plans. Nor do I much like being made a fool of. Answer the door, will you, Wendy?’

It was an afternoon of unwanted visitors. On a wave from Sir Robert, someone ushered in Sebastian Sullivan. He was dressed as in the café, with a fringed buckskin jacket flung over his upholstered shoulders. His hair, waving all down his neck, was nearly long enough to put in plaits like Mr. Morgan’s. He smiled a smile straight from the Desert Song.

We knew, of course, now what he and his partner Johnson were worth. I wondered if he had heard what we were saying about them. I wondered if Johnson had sent him, and what he was going to say. I stepped back a number of paces and Morgan sat up like a whippet.

‘Ah, there you are, Seb,’ said Sir Robert. ‘The usual tipple?’ He turned to take a fresh glass. ‘I was just going to tell them about you.’

Mr. Morgan caught on before I did. He said baldly, ‘Do I understand what I think I understand? Colonel Sullivan is working for Kingsley’s?’

‘I have been known to employ Black & Holroyd from time to time,’ said Sir Robert, handing out tumblers. ‘Not a matter that would appear on a Boardroom agenda, but specialist PR consultants can help a firm now and then. Indeed you can thank Wendy, in a way, that I was reminded of them.’ Seb Sullivan, grinning at me, had cast himself on the sofa.

‘I thought black PR was more their line,’ Mo Morgan said. ‘Ah! They dug up the stuff about Johnson. And the Colonel is presumably hunting for more? In the midst of a vintage car rally?’

‘Johnson and Rita,’ said Colonel Sullivan, waving his drink. ‘Now there’s a vintage vehicle with a well-hidden love life. And if he goes in for middle-aged redheads, who knows what else we’ll find on him, or the pair of them? There are make-up artists and make-up artists, me dears.’

Mo Morgan said, ‘I can see why you don’t discuss this round the Board table. Does much of it generally go on?’

‘Do I detect a note of reproof?’ said Sir Robert in his pleasant voice. ‘The affairs of this company are above reproach, and are conducted, as you know, in the open. When, due to some sordid and criminal espionage the welfare of the firm appears threatened, I reserve the right to confront the criminals on their own ground. If you disagree, then you may take it up with me officially.’

Morgan looked at him. I said, ‘But Colonel Sullivan was in the café?’

‘Sticking like a brother to our Mr. Johnson,’ said Sullivan. ‘Having spotted you, I tell you, he didn’t much relish my company. In the end he turned it into a game. Bet me he could get you to follow the old witch with the sugar.’

I said, ‘What did he write on the paper?’

‘There might have been a few capital letters,’ said Seb Sullivan. ‘Maybe the film people’s logo? It puzzled me too, until I rang Sir Robert to find what had happened. She knew at least to go to the Place, the old soul, and then MCG could fake up a meeting. He left a lot to chance, that bright boy, but Reed must have been watching for one of you. I trust you both kept your corporate mouths shut.’

‘We used them for eating,’ said Morgan. ‘You didn’t think to come after and warn us?’

‘Would have given the game away, old dear,’ said Seb Sullivan. ‘Not so cut off from real life as he looks, our Mr. Johnson. I’ve been thinking. We’ve got two more free days. And except that he’d know it, I’d skip the sightseeing and have a dirty good look at that yacht of his.’

‘You could, tomorrow,’ said Sir Robert idly. ‘He’s painting the royals all day. Couldn’t give me a sitting.’

‘Where?’ said Colonel Sullivan. ‘In the Palace? Or here?’

‘He has a suite here,’ said Sir Robert. ‘I go there for my sittings. He does the rest in the Palace. How long would it take you to get to Essaouira? Two hours? Three?’

‘All the time in the world to look at that boat,’ said Colonel Sullivan. His eyes had stopped at my legs. He said, ‘I’d need a bit of company with me. Credibility, it’s all the rage in this business. What about it, Wendy, me darlin’? I’d like to know who’s on that yacht.’

Mo Morgan said, ‘I doubt if Wendy does. I’ll go, if you want a companion.’

I was surprised. I thought they had disliked each other on sight. Seb Sullivan said, ‘Not the right shape of legs, my dear fellow, and you’d blow me Kingsley cover, what’s more.’

‘I’m Kingsley’s,’ I said.

‘Who cares?’ said Seb Sullivan. ‘What you are is classified doll. So you come. Right, Sir Robert? You’d let her play hookey tomorrow?’

‘It depends what for,’ said Sir Robert. He took off his jacket and threw it over a chair. His hair stuck up.

‘Cross me heart, nothing chancy,’ said the Desert Song. ‘A spin in the buzzbox, a glance at the harbour, and straight back to the fort and the handcuffs.’

I could see Morgan’s scowl, and I hesitated. Then Sir Robert said, ‘I see nothing against it. The paperwork can surely be finished this evening. And if the trip brings results, all the better. Mo, would you prefer to return home to London? There is no need for you to be involved any further.’

‘I thought maybe there was,’ said Mo Morgan. ‘No. I’ll stay. Thank you.’

Sullivan left soon after that, and Sir Robert and I started to spread out the papers and work on them. Before we left London, we had made our contingency plans. The figures in my document case at the airport had catered for each likely level of discussion, although rounded, and subject to encoded updates from London. It meant that the form of our strategy might be known, but the detail, thank God, was less vulnerable.

Morgan, to Sir Robert’s annoyance, stayed with us. He said very little, but the remarks he did make were quite shrewd, and caused Sir Robert to view him, I am sure, with some respect.

Morgan left first. Sir Robert might have kept me even longer except that the inner door opened and Lady Kingsley came in. She said, ‘Goodness, are you still there? Your poor young lady, Bobs; she looks quite exhausted. Is she staying to dinner?’

I rose, concealing alarm. I said, ‘It’s very kind of you, but my mother’s expecting me. And I’m not too tired. It’s been very interesting.’

Sir Robert said, ‘Wendy’s been an absolute brick, as per usual, and she’s going to have time off at the seaside tomorrow. Have you had a decent day?’ He picked up and handed me papers and, taking the hint, I proceeded to pack up my briefcase.

Lady Kingsley said, ‘You know the man who’s painting your portrait?’

‘You’ve met him, have you?’ said Sir Robert. He looked round and found some more folders.

‘I met him when he came, yes, but I didn’t know him. Now I do. I’ve just spent the afternoon in his rooms.
What
that fellow knows about colours. And brushes, pure sable, he gave me some. And he was extremely decent about my little picture. He doesn’t think it’s too brown.’

‘I didn’t say that it was,’ said Sir Robert. ‘So you had him next door?’

Lady Kingsley gave a calm, wifely honk. ‘Wouldn’t have put it like that, but yes, he did come out on the balcony. My God, you were all talking for ages.’

‘Glad you were pleasantly occupied, then,’ said Sir Robert. ‘Wendy? I’d better not see you out. Can you find your own way?’

I thanked him and carried my case through the suite, looking to left and to right at the door. The way to the lift appeared clear. As I pressed the button and waited, I observed a small white block on the floor by my foot. I picked it up. It was a wrapped sugar lump. But although I unwrapped the paper, there was nothing written inside it.

At sun-up next morning, a four-door three-litre ‘26 Sunbeam rolled up before the Hotel Golden Sahara, where a man was sweeping the steps with a palm branch. Its torpedo body was a pale powder-blue; the sidelights on its mudguards were silver, its wheels were meshed with glittering wire. The upholstery was deep buttoned leather, and the hood was let down.

At the wheel was Seb Sullivan, his arm on the ledge and his Viking hair lit by the moon and the sunrise. With difficulty, I prevented my mother from trying to climb in beside him. ‘You had Mo Morgan,’ I said. ‘You can’t have them both. It’s anti-social.’

‘That’s the one I want, Wendy,’ she said. ‘Play you a tie-break.’

For two days now, Best of the Desert Song had replaced her cassette on the Equity Carrot: I had spent the night trying to wrench her mind back to business. Finally, with a sigh, she had hauled off her earphones. ‘Why repeat it so often? I hear you. Kingsley’s aim for a friendly takeover. Target spits. Kingsley’s hire slag to bad-mouth the target, sweet-talk backers into taking fat offer. Meeting pending to clinch. You say this fine young man Sullivan is one of Kingsley’s?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But Johnson isn’t, and Ellwood Pymm isn’t.’

‘Ellwood Pymm?’ she said. ‘He lent you his phrasebook.’

‘Yes. Well, he’s a columnist. It would suit him quite well to pick up slime about Kingsley’s. And that could spoil the MCG deal.’

‘What could he pick up?’ my mother said.

‘Figures,’ I said. ‘That’s what everyone’s trying to work out. The as-is value. The actual figures.’

‘So they’re that bad?’ she said. ‘So Kingsley’s have to fix this MCG deal. For if they don’t persuade MCG to give in, an outside predator might just make a strong offer to Kingsley’s shareholders?’