Hotbed (21 page)

‘No, no, not a shield,' Ember said, with what he regarded as a fair show of rollicking amusement. ‘It's a board to maximize ventilation by helping control air currents. But please don't ask me how!'

‘All right, all right, we can understand why you don't want the Monty considered a pot-shot range,' Rose said. ‘You know the value of reputation and seek to guard the club's as much as you can. It's inspiring to watch, and yet also sad.'

‘Some consider your hope of creating a new Monty a delusion,' Edna said.

‘Bravely you persist, though,' Rose said.

‘We feel you've earned our help,' Edna said.

‘Which we readily give,' Rose said.

‘Right,' Articulate said.

‘We're talking of an infusion to the Monty development funds of at least hundreds of thousands, Ralph,' Edna said. ‘As starters.'

‘That's it,' Articulate replied. New self-belief still brightened his features, but a kind of misery and opposition clothed these words.

‘Your first move has to be expulsion of nearly all the present Monty membership, hasn't it, Ralph?' Edna said.

‘You won't draw the type of people you want while the Monty still looks like Low Life Inc. Which decent London club would have Unhinged on its books? Initially, you'll have to take some mighty losses – ending of membership fees and, obviously, a collapse of bar takings. This could be where our funds become useful – perhaps crucial – crucial and creative, a necessary bridge.'

Because her survey of the problems was spot on, Ralph loathed Edna, nearly to a point where he might have followed Unhinged and reached out to throttle the cow. To him there seemed something foully tactless and sadistic about describing his cull plans with such disgusting, farsighted accuracy. It was exactly the kind of unforgivably truthful approach to sensitive things that ensured Edna in her damn gaudy gear would be an early victim of the coming Monty clear-out, plus Articulate and his mother. They were up there, high on the expulsion list, almost with Unhinged, as a matter of fact, and Dean Knighton.

Did Edna, this pushy, leathery and leather-garbed old doll, imagine she and the other two were ‘the type of member' he wanted? And did she imagine there were people around the Athenaeum like her, suppose the Athenaeum let women into membership at all? Did she think the Misks could not just buy assured places in the new Monty with their bank haul, but perhaps take a share of the proprietorship and the profits through the size of their investment? She had her scheming old eye on the club deeds. Ralph regarded that as farcical and arrogant. It massively riled him. The money they wanted to use in the new Monty would be
flagrantly, brazenly
criminal. This struck Ralph as a central snag: not just criminal cash – which Ralph knew he could hardly object to – but flagrantly, brazenly criminal. Ralph would never claim total purity for the Monty's finances, either in its present or the projected, changed club. The Misk money reeked, though. There'd been so much amazed talk about Articulate's coming of age at the Holborn bank. Obviously, nobody would believe the legacy tale.

And, on top of the grubby nature of the funds, came an additional smelly fact: these were Misk funds. Even if he swallowed the inheritance talk, it would be a
Misk
inheritance, and the Misks could have no entry to the new Monty, not even basic membership, let alone favoured investor status. Ralph recognized that these moral arguments might look sham to some, but they bound him. He said with a happy lilt: ‘Many people come to me with ideas of development of the club, and I'm heartily grateful to them. And I'm heartily grateful to you now, Edna, Rose, Alec. These approaches – so positive and well-meant – show how fondly some members regard the Monty.'

‘The Monty's underachieving on its possibilities, Ralph,' Rose Misk said. ‘Yes, it's just a hotbed of criminality.'

And did they imagine he hadn't realized this? Did they think they could advise him about his own cherished club, cherished even in its present radiantly vulgar, recidivist state? The singing and comb accompaniment resumed with some slow slop: ‘I Dreamt that I Dwelt in Marble Halls'. ‘To each of these proposals I listen with full interest and, as I say, gratitude,' he replied. ‘It is encouraging to know there's a groundswell of workable ideas among the Monty's faithful. I ponder all these ideas, let me assure you, and at some stage ahead I might act on one of them, or perhaps a mixture of several. But at present those ideas have to remain as such – ideas only.' He gave a small, regretful, but determined smile. Would they want to change the Monty's name to ‘Misk's'?

‘This is the moment for it, Ralph,' Edna said. ‘We all think so. There has been a tripartite meeting.'

‘Yes, we all think so,' Rose said.

‘Definitely,' Articulate said after a while.

‘These things can't be rushed,' Ember said.

‘But accelerated,' Rose said.

Ember stood. ‘I have to get to my chores now,' he said. ‘I'll leave the bottle. There's still enough for toppers in it You chat on, by all means. It's been bracing.'

‘We haven't really got anywhere,' Rose said.

‘I certainly would not say that,' Ralph said. ‘I've filed away in my head the very promising suggestions you've given me tonight. In due course, or even sooner, I will bring the file out and consider it properly in context.'

‘What does
that
mean?' Edna said.

‘What?'

‘“In context”,' Edna said.

‘Yes, true, Edna. This has to be the way of it – in context,' Ember replied. ‘Competing proposals to be weighed against one another. In a way, I'm fortunate to have such choice. It's a responsibility, though.'

‘Well, part of the fucking context now, Ralph, is that we have the funds entirely available and entirely ready,' Edna said.

‘You're well placed, indeed,' Ralph said.

‘Cash, as it happens,' Edna said.

‘Oh, really?' Ember said.

‘What does that mean?' Mrs Misk said.

‘Such a large amount,' Ralph said.

‘We like currency,' Mrs Misk said.

‘There's much in its favour,' Ralph replied.

‘But this availability might not be so “
in due course
”,' Edna said. Mockery there, the old schemer. ‘We wish to apply these legacies as an immediate priority, not “in due course”,' she went on. ‘Lumps of cash about like this – unwise. There are other openings for investment. We chose to put you and the Monty first on our schedule, sort of favoured client – potential client. I hope you agree this is a natural preference: we've known you and the Monty a long time. However, if our offer does not attract an instant response, we might feel it right to turn elsewhere.'

‘That choice would certainly be yours,' Ember said.

‘So?' Edna said.

‘I've come to learn that in this kind of business a review of all options is vital.' Ralph gave that finality. He left their table. He felt proud of how he'd managed the meeting with those three. At no point did he allow his rage at their gross cheek and clumsiness to show itself. Snarls had ganged up inside him ready for use, but these he suppressed. None of the trio, nor anyone watching and listening, could have guessed he meant to ban the Misks eternally from the new Monty. Diplomacy Ralph regarded as one of his chief strengths.

He went to the bar and gave orders that, as soon as the choir paused, musak should be switched on to deter any more singing. Then he did an inspection of the snooker and pool tables to see there were no rips after so many people pressed around, perhaps putting pint mugs on the baize. He ran a hand carefully over the green playing surfaces to assure himself they were all right. This movement struck him as a picture in miniature of the whole Monty situation. He wanted perfection, smoothness, elegant suavity at the club, and yet these qualities were constantly and gravely menaced by the club's murky membership. Rose and Edna had this correct, no question, the cruel derelicts. But why couldn't they see that they, personally, plus Articulate, were a hopelessly ridiculous and unacceptable part of that murky membership?

C.P. Brown came and stood near him. He waited politely while Ember finished his inspection. ‘I'd greatly value a one-to-one talk for a moment, Ralph,' he said.

Ember smiled to show he might approve. He had expected an approach by Brown. For one thing, Ralph thought there must be a kind of actorly link, because of his blatant, embarrassing resemblance to the young Charlton Heston. Ralph believed also that Brown would feel an obvious, natural comradeship with another ‘clubman', Brown representing the Garrick, Ralph the Monty. But it would be the Monty as not simply the present Monty: no, the Monty with a clear capacity to become, in time, at least the equal of the Garrick or the Athenaeum. Brown would definitely appreciate this, even if someone like that provincial slob, Harpur, couldn't see these grand prospects for the Monty, and resorted to cheap, destructive sarcasm. Ralph prized the word ‘clubman'. To him it spoke of fine, civilized, convivial, reliable, unflamboyant, British qualities, not entirely based on class, but implying a certain status and affluence.

However, Ralph did realize he must be careful talking to Brown. It would be foolish to get over-relaxed merely on account of those undeniable links – Chuck Heston and the clubs. Brown was almost certain to have been to 15A Singer Road to deal with Joachim's possessions. Those 15B neighbours might still be very alert and would hear him there, perhaps even see him arrive if they continued watching the road for strangers interested in 15A. They'd come nosying downstairs again. By then, of course, they'd have known of Joachim's death, through the press or broadcast news, and would be even more tense than when Ember called. They'd be reassured when they found that Brown was Joachim's brother and would probably give him a history of callers at the flat, and mention the apparent surveillance carried out by the man in the car using a mobile phone. Ralph must decide how much he should show he knew, or half knew. Life was so often like this, wasn't it?

Just the same, Ralph thought that a private conversation with Brown would have a good foundation to it, so different from the ludicrous exchange with the Misks – ludicrous mostly on their part, of course, but tainting him because they actually considered he would accept their crude, idiotic offer. Although he knew he would never agree to such a proposal, their assumption that he would, and at an eager gallop, was an unpardonable insult. Because the family had produced a successful fucking bank robber, they calculated this entitled them to talk to him, Ralph W. Ember, as a possible business partner. Some sodding logic! And the kind of job Articulate was trusted with in the bank robbery would most likely have been minor, piffling, marginal – though well paid, to keep him quiet. Ralph found it pathetic and infuriating that they could imagine this gave them parity with him, and especially infuriating because they raised the matter direct, unabashed, in his own club. The Misk lot lacked all notion of protocol and status. Understandable. They'd never been required to use protocol until now. And they entirely lacked status, except possibly sudden money status. Money status did not impress Ralph or any other true clubman, particularly not sudden money. You could win ten million on the Lottery and still fail to get elected to the Garrick.

They were absurdly jumped up. Ralph had detested the way Mrs Misk sounded off with that word ‘enhance'. She obviously loved it – as if they had some high-minded mission to bring improvement, like school inspectors or landscape gardeners. God, the cheek! And the principal – the only – the principal object for their
enhancing
programme was the Monty. The condescension nauseated. These were people who big-mouth chanted ‘Mares Eat Oats and Does Eat Oats and Little Lambs Eat Ivy' in a public arena and did not mind being seen at it. True, Edna said they only sang so as not to seem ‘aloof'. Oh, so sensitive, so damn democratic! If they had to make an effort so as not to seem ‘aloof', it must be because they considered they
were
, and should be, ‘aloof'. But when Ralph booted them out of the new Monty it would not be on account of their ‘aloofness' – disguised or plain – but because they had fuck all to be aloof
about
other than, maybe, a nice, lumpy bit of recent pilferage, thanks to Articulate.

Ralph found a table for him and Brown on the opposite side of the room from the Misks, and near the framed, enlarged, black and white photograph of old sailing and steam vessels moored in the docks. Ralph liked to remind Monty members that they lived in what had once been a great seaport, and that the names of areas like Valencia Esplanade commemorated the busy trading then with Spain and other foreign cities. These days, much of the local drugs dealing took place at ‘The Valencia', as the district was often known now. Ralph's people worked there, of course. But this did not mean the district's good – even great – past should be forgotten, in Ember's opinion. The Monty probably hadn't existed so far back, but, if it had, the membership would almost certainly have been chandlers, well-to-do general merchants, master mariners between voyages, coal factors. Estimable, solid people. Ember felt envious. ‘So much I don't understand, Ralph. Gossip, rumour, hints, that's all I have,' Brown said. ‘I seem to meet continual shut-off points.'

‘Gossip, rumour, hints are all anyone has, I think. Such information – if one can even call it that – is always unsatisfactory.' Ralph thought Brown might at least have said something decent and appreciative about the club as a conversational start, instead of just plunging into his own damn problems. But Ralph acknowledged that the problems were great, from Brown's point of view. Did he want to play private investigator here – another of his roles? Ember had time to study this theatrical ‘star's' face close-up now they talked. A disappointment. Ralph saw no true distinction there. It seemed an ordinary, two-a-penny sort of face, especially taking into account the rather dated spectacles.