Майкл Ридпат - The Marketmaker

‘So? My mother’s fifty-eight.’

‘She’ll eat you alive.’

‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘Isn’t she Ricardo’s wife?’

‘Yes. When she sees him. Which, given his working hours, is virtually never. The rest of the time she is her own woman.’

‘So you say.’

‘So a significant number of the younger men here say. Just ask your friend Jamie.’

‘Isabel!’

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s a bit risky fooling around with the boss’s wife, isn’t it?’

‘You’re right. Most of them turn down her charms. They know what would happen if Ricardo ever found out.’ She looked at me pointedly as she said this.

‘Well, thank you for the careers advice.’

I smiled to myself. Beneath the banter she was jealous. I hadn’t meant to provoke her, but it felt good to think that she cared about me. I looked up and saw she was smiling at me. I wanted to pull her to me and kiss her. The problem was there were forty other people standing around. Another time. Another time soon.

‘How’s your chest?’ she asked.

‘Still a bit sore, but healing fast,’ I answered.

‘Good.’

‘Thank you for looking after me so well in Rio. I don’t know how I would have managed without you there.’

She smiled. ‘If you live in Brazil, you need to know how to work the system. There is always a jeitinho to get things done. I’m an expert.’

‘Well, I’m very glad of that.’ I looked around the English garden and up at the back of the house. ‘This isn’t the kind of place I would expect Ricardo to own at all.’

‘It’s not so surprising. Many people in South America like to have a farm in the country. We have one, for instance. And you know what they say about the Argentinians?’

‘What do they say?’

‘They’re all Italians who speak Spanish and pretend to be English.’

‘Ross is hardly an Italian name, is it?’

Isabel’s eyes twinkled wickedly. ‘No, but Rossi is.’

‘Huh? No!’

‘Just a thought.’

I switched my empty glass for a full one from the tray floating past, and grabbed an orange juice for Isabel. She was driving. So were at least half of the other people at the party, I thought, but that didn’t seem to make much difference to them. They liked to break the rules in that as in everything else, I supposed.

‘Can you believe the women here, Nick?’ It was Dave, the Romford trader, waving a can of beer. Miguel, the tall Argentinian, was at his elbow. ‘Oh, sorry, Isabel, present company included, of course. I don’t know where they get them from. Miguel thinks that that Danish bit with Carlos is his au pair.’

To my disappointment, Isabel slipped away, out of my peripheral vision.

‘So where’s his wife?’ I asked.

‘At home with the children, I imagine,’ said Miguel. ‘Someone has to look after them, after all.’

‘Are you getting one of them, Mig?’ Dave asked.

‘What, an au pair? But I haven’t got any kids.’

‘So she’ll have more time to devote to her other duties, then.’ Dave leered, and lifted the can of beer to his lips.

Miguel shook his head. ‘I pity Teresa. That’s Dave’s wife, you know,’ he explained to me. ‘A perfectly nice woman, she just has this little problem with her eyes, that’s all.’

‘Oi!’ Dave squawked loudly.

Miguel winced. ‘And her ears.’

The party warmed up, and I began to enjoy myself. Dave and Miguel were an unlikely double act, but very funny once they had a few drinks inside them. Eduardo even honoured us with his presence, bringing in tow a German model, barely out of her teens, who didn’t seem to speak much English or Spanish. This didn’t seem to bother Eduardo overmuch. He, too, was charming and friendly, but I noticed that everyone tensed in his presence.

A good while later Kate swayed over towards me. Or she might have walked in a straight line, and I might have been swaying.

‘I’ve had enough,’ she said. ‘I’m off. I can’t stand much more of this, and if I leave now I’ll get home in time to put Oliver to bed. Jamie says he’s staying. He’ll take the train back. Will you look after him?’

I frowned, trying to decide whether I should go with her.

She saw what I was thinking. ‘No, you stay here. You shouldn’t leave early, but I can. And I’d be happier if you kept an eye on Jamie.’

‘That I’ve done before.’

‘OK, see you.’ She put a hand on my arm. ‘Isabel’s nice,’ she said, winked and was gone.

An hour or so later, as people began to disperse, I phoned for a taxi to take us to the station, and then I went in search of Jamie.

He wasn’t inside from what I could see, nor was he in the garden. I caught sight of Isabel. ‘I’m off now. See you tomorrow.’

‘Oh, goodbye. It was nice to talk to you.’

It was a polite thing to say, but I was sure she meant it. ‘Yes, it was nice,’ I said. And then, ‘Have you seen Jamie?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘He went that way to look at a statue with Luciana. That was about half an hour ago.’ She gave me an amused glance.

‘A statue?’

‘Yes. Apparently there is a statue of Hercules in the wood. One of the Victorian owners of the house removed his equipment. Luciana has had a replacement specially made. I believe she’s very proud of it.’

Christ! Kate had said keep an eye on Jamie and I hadn’t. But to try to do something with the boss’s wife at a party with everyone from work would be foolhardy. Insane. Just the kind of thing Jamie when drunk might do.

I hurried out of the back garden round the side of the house, trying to make as much noise as possible, so as not to surprise them doing something I didn’t want to see. A little copse of trees stood discreetly back from the house, with a path winding through it. It was beginning to get dark.

‘Jamie!’ I called. Too loud. Someone might hear. Someone other than Jamie.

I found the statue. No sign of Jamie or Luciana. But I wasn’t surprised to see that Luciana hadn’t stinted in returning Hercules his manhood. He was now a very proud statue indeed.

‘Jamie! It’s Nick! Come on.’ I crashed through the undergrowth, and eventually spilled out in front of the house. There was Jamie in a little group with Luciana, Eduardo and Pedro, standing right by the taxi. They were all smiling, all tipsy.

‘Ah, Nick! There you are!’ he called, with a broad grin. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Our taxi’s here.’

I was too embarrassed to go back in and say goodbye to Ricardo, but I thanked Luciana, who drew me close to her for a kiss on both cheeks.

‘It was very nice to meet you, Nick,’ she purred. ‘Come and see my designs some day.’

‘I’d love to,’ I said, and bundled Jamie into the taxi.

The favela deal was dead. Bocci’s papers carried the scandal over the weekend. It harmed Humberto Alves and the Mayor, but there wasn’t enough in it to do them serious damage. Brazilians had found a new enthusiasm for rooting out corruption; they had even successfully impeached a president. But there was nothing that really surprised the city in this story: everyone assumed that this kind of thing was still going on. Besides which, Rio’s mayor, assisted by Humberto, had done much to clean up the municipal finances and the city was not about to throw them over because of one unsubstantiated scandal.

For Bloomfield Weiss things were different. International banks dealing in Latin America have to be scrupulous about keeping their reputations clean. Gringo financiers make easy targets for accusations of corruption, as Bloomfield Weiss were finding out. They couldn’t risk more damage to their reputation by going ahead with the deal. So they pulled out.