Vacuum (19 page)

‘Franco talks of a new aircraft unit, the Condor Legion, organized by German advisers and formed to help him against the Popular Front,' Galileo said. ‘Tonight, in here, he orders two bottles of Veuve Clicquot to celebrate. He asks at first for a magnum, which is probably what generals do when they're feeling uppish, but, come on, is a pub like this going to stock magnums? The toast was, “To the glorious wings of the condor!”'

‘We all got a drop in a flute, but that's not the point, is it?' Alec said. ‘What we're in danger of, because of Arlington's delusions, is a vacuum and people wanting to fill it.'

‘Nature doesn't care for vacuums,' Harpur said.

‘Manse goes and leaves a big space alongside Ralphy Ember,' Alec said, then abruptly stopped. ‘No, no.' His voice swelled even further, as if he needed the extra to drown and correct what he had just said. ‘It's not a vacuum. Not a vacuum at all. General Franco's in there, isn't he?'

‘Where is he now?' Harpur replied.

‘He's worse than a vacuum,' Alec replied. ‘He lives on make-believe and shadows and history. The people wanting the territory don't. He can be blown out of the way like a deadhead dandelion. And when he's blown out of the way we are, too, whether it's by Ralphy or some firm from outside.'

‘I'm sure you can see the nature of our disagreements, Mr Harpur,' Galileo Smith said.

‘You heard of the Peter Principle at all, Harpur?' Alec said.

‘Did Franco mention where his next call would be?' Harpur said.

‘The Peter Principle is well known,' Alec said.

‘I'm certain Alec doesn't mean you suffer from it, Mr Harpur,' Vernon said.

‘The Peter Principle is to do with managers,' Alec said. ‘It states that people are promoted to one step above what they can handle, and so there's catastrophe. Think of Gordon Brown. Think of Chamberlain. Think of Franco. That's
our
Franco, not the real one. The actual caudillo hung on to the position till he died, and he'd most likely say, “Stuff the Peter Principle. Take a peep at yours truly,” but translated into Spanish.'

‘The question is, will
our
Franco take us to catastrophe, Mr Harpur?' Galileo said. ‘We need your analysis.'

‘Have you seen any other people from the firm around tonight?' Harpur replied. He bought drinks, not Veuve Clicquot, but beers for Oswald and Galileo, a rum and black for Alec, rosé for Vernon, and Harpur's own brain-clearing cocktail.

‘Which people?' Alec said.

‘Or do any of the firm work from one of the flats here?' Harpur said. ‘Would he and Edison be going to call on somebody there?'

‘You can see our dilemma, Mr Harpur,' Galileo Smith replied.

‘But perhaps Mr Harpur doesn't, doesn't in the least see it, because there's no sensible grounds for calling it a dilemma,' Oswald Garnet said. ‘We all have our little quirks and fancies. They don't interfere with our work. I instance the Queen with those foul corgis, yet she still does her Parliament spiel OK. I'd like us to consider Alec's reactions in rather more detail than we have heretofore. His phrase, you'll recall, was: “And then what do we fucking get?” I believe I'm quoting him correctly. I want to focus on two crucial words there. I wonder if any of you can nominate which.'

Harpur said: ‘So, let's try for a narrative, please: you drink the champagne and clink glasses for the toast, which must have been the culmination of the visit. Did Franco give any indication of where he would be making for afterwards?'

‘Of course, the words I want to focus on in Alec's question are “and then”,' Oswald replied. ‘“
And then
what do we fucking get?” Alec asked. What, I would in my turn ask, does that vital “and then” suggest?'

‘Franco's movements after the little Civil War ceremony here could be of real significance,' Harpur said.

‘Clearly the “and then”, in Alec's rather hostile question, means that something has gone before,' Oswald said. ‘This is what the then-ness of then is all about, isn't it – something following something else? So, let's examine what preceded Alec's “and then”. What preceded it was, as described by Galileo, the excellent company talk concerning sale figures, mixture proportions, deliveries and, above all, a suitable business plan for the current situation. We note that Galileo rated these proceedings as “fine”, even though Galileo is not well disposed towards Arlington. I would agree with Galileo's comment on those initial discussions. In fact, I go further than “fine”. They were excellent. They proved how brilliantly perceptive Manse was in spotting Mike Arlington's talents and rewarding them with the chief exec post.

‘I'd like to point you towards that business plan Galileo spoke of. The trading conditions for the future on this patch are not easy to predict. A credible plan has to be both flexible and clear. For example, tonight, we have the advantage of Mr Harpur's presence at our deliberations. But will this happy cooperativeness continue? It is part of a civilized ambience established and cultivated by Mr Iles. However, we know, don't we, that a new Chief has taken over, and a Chief who does not see the commercial scene in the same positive, healthy fashion as Mr Iles. There is likely to be a power struggle and, despite Mr Iles's high-quality grey matter and filthy ruthlessness, Sir Matthew Upton might prevail. Goodbye then to this constructive socializing with Mr Harpur. He would have to abide by Upton's dictates.'

‘Iles was able to fuck up the Low Pastures search ordered by Upton, wasn't he?' Vernon said. ‘That's the word around. Do we really think anyone can beat Desmond Iles?'

‘We have to cover all possibilities,' Oswald Garnet said. ‘And the prospectus that Michael Arlington outlined to us this evening expertly does that. Every contingency, every subdivision of a contingency, was admirably dealt with. Could anyone else in the firm offer that degree of skill? Mansel obviously didn't think so. Neither do I. Jason Wensley? Jason might kid himself he could, but I believe all of us here would deeply doubt it.'

‘True,' Vernon said.

‘We go back to Alec's “and then”,' Oswald said. ‘And then, yes  . . . and then, after that brilliant exposition, Michael Arlington suddenly switches to game-playing. He feels entitled to relax. He drops into fantasy. His mind soars, has no cramping, restrictive boundaries. This is a positive aspect of the make-believe Alec referred to. Shouldn't we all see – all, including him and Galileo, possibly Vernon – that this ability springs from the same originality which enables him to visualize – and prepare for – each uncertainty of our marketing future? Alec's “and then” was spoken in a tone suggesting a contradiction exists between Michael Arlington's professional intelligence and his excursions into a distant, military past. They are not. They are both integral to one magnificently gifted, uniquely creative person.'

‘You know, I find myself coming around to Ossie's opinion,' Vernon said confidingly.

‘That's because you're a full-time fucking bejewelled jerk,' Alec replied, at volume max.

‘Except I'm forty per cent up on your miserable sodding sales return for the quarter,' Vernon said. He went into a silent, very thorough and long-drawn-out laugh at Alec's rubbishy trading performance, alleged. Vernon was black, getting fat, and in jogging trousers and a navy polo-necked jersey. He wore Lennon-type, rimless glasses and had a small, imperial beard under his lower lip. Harpur thought Vernon's dossier gave his birth date as 1976 and named a wife and three children. ‘No fucking offence meant, Alec, you hopeless fucking tit,' Vernon added warmly.

‘You can see the situation is unsettling for us, Mr Harpur,' Galileo said. ‘A certain very unfortunate edginess and harmful vocab. I wonder whether you have a comment or two to restore confidence, reinstate that previous splendid fellow-feeling among us.'

Harpur downed his gin and cider. ‘I have to look about,' he said.

Alec said: ‘Harpur, I heard you were on the
Eton
earlier, talking to the Assistant Chief's friend, Honorée.'

‘How?' Harpur said.

‘How what?' Alec replied.

‘How did you hear it?' Harpur said.

‘Did you find out what Sir Matthew Upton had been saying to her during quite a long interview, I'm told?' Alec said.

‘Who told you?' Harpur said.

‘But we can guess his mission, can't we?' Alec replied. ‘He's building a case against Iles. He's building a case to destroy Iles. This Assistant Chief uses a girl who spreads herself for money all over the area and will go with someone who deals in roof slates. It could harm Iles, and I don't mean infection only. Repute. Character. How will the Home Office view that sort of behaviour in a very senior married officer, a father? You can see why I'm troubled, and why Galileo is troubled, and Ossie and Vernon would be troubled too if they had the merest fucking brainpower.

‘We've got two kinds of threat to our careers in the substances vocation. There's Michael Arlington and his whimsy, which leaves him and us liable to extinction. And then this other possible extinction – Iles. If he's terminated and Upton installs the regime he fancies, we're nowhere.' Alec slowed and stopped. His thin little face twitched five or six times and didn't seem able to reassemble itself into how it had been previously, unpleasant but stable. He began to weep, obviously battered by double despair. He did not attempt to hide his distress – didn't lower his head or moderate the din level from what it was when he spoke. The sobbing hullabaloo reached all parts of the bar. Customers stared, some sympathetically, Harpur thought. ‘Oh God, oh God, how have we allowed this situation to come upon us?' Alec asked. ‘Shall we see the annihilation of this beautiful, impeccable system, so lovingly formed and maintained? Are we the prey of vandals?'

Oswald Garnet moved to Alec's side and put an arm around his flimsy shoulders. ‘We are, perhaps, at opposing points in this argument,' Oswald said, ‘but friendship and empathy can still prevail.'

‘Take the twattish twerp outside, Os, and give him a good shaking,' Vernon said.

‘I forgive you that harshness, Vern,' Alec said. ‘We are all stress-affected.' He turned to Harpur. ‘Some think me flinty and abrasive. But I have emotions. I can suffer.
Did
Honorée confirm Upton's purpose to you?'

‘You're all sure Franco and Whitehead didn't hint at what they'd be doing after The Porter?' Harpur replied.

‘Why so anxious?' Vernon said.

Yes, why? These two were low-life, not worth fretting over, surely. It must be Karen Lister's possible involvement via Jason that unsettled him. He didn't want her dragged into something rough, perhaps rougher than rough. He reckoned he had a duty to her. Hadn't she risked coming to him at home in Arthur Street for help? The children were present for part of it. They'd regarded her as a sexual danger, but they would also expect Harpur to do all he could for her. Non-sexually, that is. He had an unexpected vision again of her death mask and the small teeth.

Harpur hoped that when he left the pub the Chrysler would have disappeared from its spot in the Square and he could assume Arlington and Edison L. Whitehead were somewhere about the Valencia on their usual, routine business programme, encouraging, checking, replenishing: this was a commercial enterprise that could not run itself; it required dedicated and energetic, inspired leadership. But, as he came out of The Porter, he saw at once that the Chrysler still stood there. He thought, though, it might not be in exactly the previous position, but possibly a couple of metres forward. Another difference, and maybe more significant: the car was no longer unoccupied. Edison L. Whitehead sat behind the wheel. He seemed to be alone in the Chrysler. It remained unlit. Edison's head moved continually, left, ahead, right, behind, then left again, as though he were looking for somebody and had started to panic at their continued absence.

Harpur walked to the car. Edison lowered the driver's window. Harpur bent forward and leant in. ‘It's like a re-run of that earlier conversation up near Templar,' Harpur said. ‘But it's me outside this time and you in. And Mike Arlington was present then. Where is he, Edison?'

‘I'm waiting for him, as a matter of fact.' He seemed to try to make it sound light and casual. It didn't. The words came without a stumble, though.

‘Where is he?' Harpur said.

‘He'll be here soon.'

‘Where is he?'

‘This is a sort of regular rendezvous point for us if we have to separate occasionally.'

‘What's happened?' Harpur said.

‘He'll be along.'

‘You've left him on his own?'

The question obviously knocked Whitehead hard, and he couldn't answer at once. Then he said: ‘But he'll be here soon.'

‘Should he walk solo in the middle of the night in the Valencia?'

‘No, of course he fucking shouldn't,' Edison said. The words were still well managed, but they arrived in a rush now, as though he couldn't act calm any longer, or keep his fears bottled.

‘What's happened?' Harpur replied.

‘I told him.'

‘What?'

‘That as head of a firm he shouldn't go unprotected here. I said Manse wouldn't have. It's not a matter of cowardice. Basic caution. But you know how Mike can be.'

‘No, how can he be?'

‘Well, like, imperious.'

Edison had an education and a vocabulary. Harpur said: ‘The General Franco stuff?'

‘I'd prefer not to discuss it,' Edison said.

‘Sometimes it's best to talk about these things.'

‘Which things?'

‘If they're troubling you.'

‘Well, yes, they're troubling me. I expect you can tell.'

‘I'll get in the car. More re-run.' Harpur went around to the passenger door and let himself in. ‘It's troubling you that he hasn't turned up, is it?'