The Last Suitor. A J McMahon
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was a lot of money, Miss Ashton.’
‘How much money, Mr Raspero?’
‘Twenty million strada.’
‘Twenty million strada?’ Miss Ashton gasped.
‘One million in cash, the remaining money in a variety of financial documents.’
‘What kind of financial documents, Mr Raspero?’ Angela asked. She was finding this conversation fascinating. Her eyes glowed and she sat upright with her fan held loosely in her hands.
‘Oh,’ Nicholas said, trying to remember, ‘Convertible Adjustable Preferred Stock, that kind of thing.’
‘Was it by par value or by cash flow?’ Angela asked eagerly.
‘Probably,’ Nicholas said with a vague wave of his hand. ‘But that’s not the point. The point is that Jolly will be succeeded by one or more successors, who will now run the show. Jolly will no longer be around.’
Angela could not conceive of a world in which Jolly was not running the show. ‘I trust you will excuse me if I express skepticism, Mr Raspero. Jolly is not a man who is easily cast aside as readily as you seem to think.’
‘He was begging me for mercy before I left. Trust me, Jolly is finished.’
‘I cannot doubt your veracity, Mr Raspero, but neither can I believe what you say.’
‘I left him bound and gagged, Miss Ashton. Tell me, how is Jolly to give orders when he is gagged? And if he cannot give orders, how is he to be obeyed by those who have twenty million strada in front of them as theirs for the taking? If you understand what I am saying to you, then you understand the gravity of Jolly’s predicament, and you understand why he was begging me for mercy before I gagged him and left.’
‘I cannot conceive of a man like Jolly begging for mercy.’
‘Then you do not understand that he was pond scum, Miss Ashton. Nor do you understand that he is in the hands of men who are also pond scum, which Jolly himself understood only too well. They only obeyed him out of fear. They have no reason to obey him now. Jolly will not live through this night. I have no doubt whatsoever concerning this point.’
‘Perhaps you are right, Mr Raspero,’ Angela said, still unable to believe a word of it. For her to be told that Jolly would be overthrown was like being told that the sun would not rise tomorrow.
‘I have one more matter to discuss with you, Miss Ashton, before I leave you.’
‘And what is that, Mr Raspero?’
‘You have my sympathy, Miss Ashton. I wish you to know that I go my way bearing you no ill feelings.’
‘That is very kind of you, Mr Raspero.’
‘Perhaps. But I have taken certain steps to express this sympathy.’
‘Certain steps, Mr Raspero?’
‘I made plain to the thugs who will succeed Jolly that you are not to be harmed in any way. I made it clear to them that if any harm were to come to you, I would make them suffer for it. It therefore follows, that they will leave you alone.’
‘But why have you done this for me, Mr Raspero?’
Had Nicholas answered truthfully at that moment, he would have said that he didn’t know. As it was, he dodged the question by saying, ‘You have been obliged by Jolly to obtain secrets concerning Zavanna, Nieves, Hudson and Foxley, have you not? This was the kindness of Jolly to which you referred earlier. Well, you will no longer be obliged to perform such a service again. You may make your own way in life, Miss Ashton, without recourse to any other will but your own.’
Angela said nothing, but looked down at her fan. She could not take all of this in at once. A world without Jolly? Making her own choices? Never again being threatened with having to go back to Madame Marlene’s?
‘I leave you now, Miss Ashton,’ Nicholas said, getting to his feet. ‘One day I hope to see you on the stage.’ With that he left, after writing his name and address on a piece of paper and leaving it on her coffee table.
He set off on foot into the cool dark night. Judging by the stars, he thought it must be not long before midnight. He thought of Angela as he walked along. She was a puzzle, he thought. She spoke so well, she had such grace and refinement and beauty, yet it seemed that she had been the mistress of wealthy men in order for Jolly to gain inside information on these men.
He wondered why she had done what Jolly had told her to do. She had played the whore for him. There must have been a reason. Perhaps it was a noble reason, perhaps not. Perhaps she had done this for herself, perhaps not. He had no way of knowing, and he reflected that he probably never would know.
He would make a point of seeing her on stage when he could, he told himself. That would be interesting. Besides, he had never seen a play. He thought of make-believe as he walked off into the night, the stars like bright white candles made of sparkling frost glittering brightly above him.
SEVEN
The Vote of the Club of Appreciation for
the Most Beautiful Woman in New Landern
11:30 PM, Saturday 7 May 1544 A.F.
Mr Berg Irving was enjoying being in the spotlight so he took his time, withdrawing a folded sheet of paper from his robes and unfolding it with great care. He was reporting to The Gang on the vote of the Club of Appreciation that had just taken place earlier that evening.
The Club of Appreciation had been formed thirty-one years ago during an all-night drinking session between nineteen of the more dissolute gentlemen of New Landern society. Membership was by invitation only. There were currently one hundred and eighty-seven members of the Club of Appreciation, who met once a year to perform the solemn and sacred duty of selecting the most beautiful woman in New Landern. The meeting was top-secret and the results known only to the members of the Club of Appreciation, so it followed that the whole of New Landern knew those results within hours. The results were awaited with a mixture of interest, apprehension, amusement, scorn and lustful anticipation, so it can be fairly said that the results were eagerly awaited.
The entrants had only to have set foot in New Landern during the year in question to be candidates for selection and to be at least eighteen years old. The foreign minister of Yelyntrade’s wife had been a past winner, for example, even though she had only been in New Landern for one week, but she had been a woman in New Landern and seven months later the hands of many of the members of the Club of Appreciation still shook as they voted for her.
The members of the Club of Appreciation began their meeting by following the sacred rituals as established and honoured by their heritage. They walked around the room, their elbows stuck out and waggling, cackling like geese. They then crawled about the room on their hands and knees barking like dogs. Finally, they stood on their right leg, raised their left leg to one side and mooed like a cow. The members of the Club of Appreciation performed these rituals with greatly varying degrees of enthusiasm.
Then came the business of voting. Names were called out by those present and recorded by the Scribe of Scribes sitting at a desk wearing a hat with a bunch of daffodils stuck to it. Once all the names had been recorded, everyone gathered themselves on one side of the large ballroom their meetings took place in on that one evening of the year. The Scribe of Scribes called out the names one by one; as each name was called out, those who wished to vote for the woman in question walked out into the middle of the ballroom and stood with their hands raised in the air. The Scribe of Scribes counted the votes, called out the total number of votes for everyone to hear and check for themselves, then wrote the number down while two Inspectors of the Count wearing masks peered over his shoulder to verify that he wasn’t cheating. The Scribe of Scribes then loudly proclaimed the name and the vote, and the devotees of the beauty in question lowered their hands and walked across to the other side of the ballroom. This process was repeated until all the names had been assigned the value of their vote. The penalty for not voting