Brian Freemantle - The Inscrutable Charlie Muffin

He reached down, easing off his shoes.

‘You must excuse me,’ he said. ‘They’re new. Pinch like hell.’

Nelson gazed at the other man, controlling the look that had begun to settle on his face. Old Etonians didn’t take their shoes off in public, decided Charlie. Careful. That was an antagonism of an earlier time.

‘Yours was not the final decision on the policy,’ he reminded him, straightening. ‘You drew it up, certainly. And admittedly it’s an expensive oversight that there was no political sabotage clause. But London gave the final approval. You’re not being held responsible.’

‘I find that difficult to believe… I negotiated it, after all.’

‘Very successfully, according to Willoughby.’

Nelson moved away from the bar, his suspicion of the remark obvious.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Wasn’t 12 per cent high?’

‘Comparatively so.’

‘That’s exactly what I want to do, compare. What were the other premiums?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Nelson uncomfortably. ‘It was sealed bids. Lu kept me waiting until the very last moment… wanted more time… all done in a terrible rush, really.’

So convinced was he of dismissal that despite Charlie’s attempted reassurance, Nelson was still offering a defence.

‘And you haven’t enquired about the other premiums?’

Nelson shook his head, embarrassed at the oversight.

‘Another cause for complaint,’ he said, resigned.

‘I’ve told you, no one’s blaming you,’ repeated Charlie. He would telephone Willoughby to get a confirmatory letter.

‘It’ll be a disaster for the firm, won’t it?’ demanded Nelson.

More than you know, thought Charlie.

‘If they have to pay,’ he said.

The qualification penetrated the other man’s nervousness and he came closer to where Charlie was sitting.

‘ If? ’

‘I’ve flown seven thousand miles to decide if we should,’ Charlie reminded him.

‘But we’ve no grounds for resisting settlement,’ said Nelson.

‘Not yet,’ agreed Charlie.

‘Do you think I haven’t examined every single thing that’s happened since the damned explosion?’ Nelson reacted as if his ability were being questioned afresh. ‘There’s nothing wrong with Lu’s claim… not a bloody thing.’

‘But you still don’t know what the other premiums were.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Nelson, exasperation breaking through.

‘Can you find out?’

‘The other companies might not want to disclose them.’

‘Isn’t there an old boy network?’ demanded Charlie. Surely there were more blue-patterned ties in Hong Kong?

Nelson hesitated before replying.

‘I’ll try,’ he promised. ‘But I don’t see what it would prove.’

‘Might not prove anything,’ admitted Charlie. ‘Then again, it might be interesting. I think we should look a little deeper, that’s all. Get under the surface.’

Nelson went back to the window, looking now not out over the harbour but down into the streets far below.

‘This might be an English colony,’ he reflected, ‘but it’s China down there, in almost everything but name…’

He turned back to Charlie.

‘Westerners aren’t allowed beneath any surface here. We’re tolerated, that’s all.’

‘Nowhere can be as closed as that,’ protested Charlie.

‘Hong Kong is,’ insisted Nelson. ‘Believe me. If there were anything wrong with the fire, we wouldn’t learn about it from the Chinese community.’

‘But there isn’t anything wrong, as far as you’re concerned?’

Nelson shook his head.

‘I wish there were,’ he said. ‘God knows I’ve tried hard enough to find something. But the evidence is overwhelming.’

‘The police are being co-operative?’

‘They’ve no reason not to be, with a case like they’ve got.’

He indicated a briefcase.

‘I’ve brought the file for you.’

Charlie smiled his thanks.

‘So you think we’ll have to pay out?’

Nelson’s belief that the fire was uncontestable would have been another reason for imagining that a directorial visit was to announce his dismissal, realised Charlie.

‘I know we’ll have to pay,’ confirmed the broker. ‘Lucky Lu never suffers a misfortune that costs him money.’

‘Lucky?’

‘His wealth started with some deals that turned out spectacularly successful on the Hong Kong stock exchange. It’s been Lucky Lu for as long as I can remember.’

‘Sounds like a poof’s favourite lavatory,’ reflected Charlie, massaging his feet. It would take weeks to break in those damned shoes. It was fortunate he had postponed having the supports put in.

‘You’re very different from what I expected,’ said Nelson suddenly. ‘I think other people are going to be surprised, too.’

‘Other people?’

‘I assumed you’d want to see the police chief. Name’s Johnson. I mentioned your coming. And I told Lu’s people as well. Willoughby asked me to give you all the help I could.’

‘Thanks,’ said Charlie. He’d have preferred announcing his own presence.

‘You’re annoyed,’ said Nelson, detecting the reservation in Charlie’s voice, and growing immediately apprehensive.

‘No,’ lied Charlie. Poor bugger seemed worried at his own shadow: but then, so were they all, for differing reasons.

‘Is there anything else I can do?’

Charlie shook his head.

‘I suppose I’d better study the file. And get some sleep.’

The broker stayed for another drink, then left, promising to collect Charlie the following morning so they could attend the remand hearing of the two Chinese accused of arson.

Alone, Charlie closed all the curtains against the view and the sunlight, put a ‘Do Not Disturb’ notice outside the room and decided the file could wait.

He slept for about five hours and then woke, knowing it was still not midnight Hong Kong time and that he had long hours of sleeplessness ahead of him.

Edith would have enjoyed the luxury of the apartment, he thought, feeling his eyes cloud in the darkness. And tried so hard to conceal her concern at the cost. Poor Edith. Always so aware of the money. And of his resentment at her inheritance, sufficient to support them both.

And it had been resentment, he recognised. The perpetual feeling. Idiotic, childlike resentment. He could even recall the words he’d shouted at her, careless of the hurt, when she had suggested he simply retire from the service that had decided he was expendable and live on her wealth.

‘ And don’t patronise me with your money… like you’ve always patronised me with your breeding… ’

That was why he had inveigled America into the border deal and then disappeared with the $500,000 defection fund. To ensure there would never be any dependence upon her. Why in God’s name hadn’t he realised how truly dependent he had been, instead of turning them both into exiles, terrified of every footstep?

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ he said. ‘So very sorry.’

He didn’t want to spend more than a month in Hong Kong. The grave would become too overgrown if he stayed away any longer.

Sighing, he snapped on the light and pulled the file towards him. He’d be bloody tired in the morning, he knew.

There had been two supplementary reports to the original account from the C.I.A.’s Asian station in Hong Kong and then a separate analysis prepared by specialists at the Langley headquarters in Virginia.

‘Well?’ demanded the Director.

‘Certainly looks like Peking,’ judged the deputy.

‘Odd though.’

‘Facts are there.’

‘We’ve got to be sure.’

‘Of course.’

‘Why don’t we send in someone with no preconceptions, to work independent of the station?’