The Night Manager

She allowed her shoulders to slump in a gesture of impatience but did not turn her head. "Did you show them to anyone? Yes or no, please. I am not judgmental. I came to you on an impulse. It would not be your fault if I made a mistake. I had some sentimental vision of you as a clean Englishman."

So did I, thought Jonathan. Yet it did not occur to him that he had a choice. In the world that mysteriously owned his allegiance, there was only one answer to her question.

"No," he said. And he said again, "No; no one."

"If you tell me it is the truth, I shall believe you. I wish very much to believe there is one last gentleman on earth."

"It's the truth. I gave you my word. No."

Again she seemed to disregard his denial or find it premature.

"Freddie insists I have betrayed him. He entrusted the papers to my care. He did not want them kept in his office or at home. Dicky Roper is encouraging Freddie in his suspicions of me."

"Why should he do that?"

"Roper is the other party to the correspondence. Until today, Roper and Freddie Hamid were proposing to become business partners. I was present at some of their discussions on Roper's yacht. Roper was not comfortable to have me as a witness, but since Freddie insisted on showing me off to him, he had no choice."

She seemed to expect him to speak, but he kept his silence.

"Freddie visited me this evening. It was later than his usual hour. When he is in town, it is his custom to visit me before dinner. He uses the car park lift, out of respect for his wife, he stays two hours, then he returns to dine in the bosom of his family. It is my somewhat pathetic boast that I have helped to keep his marriage intact. Tonight he was late. He had been talking on the telephone. It appears that Roper has received a warning."

"A warning from whom?"

"From good friends in London." A spurt of bitterness.

"Good for Roper. That is understood."

"Saying what?"

"Saying that his business arrangements with Freddie are known to the authorities. Roper was careful on the telephone, saying only that he had counted on Freddie's discretion. Freddie's brothers were not so delicate. Freddie had not informed them of the deal. He was wishing to prove himself to them. He had gone so far as to set aside a fleet of Hamid trucks under a pretext in order to transport the merchandise through Jordan. His brothers were not pleased about that either. Now, because Freddie is frightened, he has told them everything. He is also furious to be losing the esteem of his precious Mr. Roper. So no?" she rehearsed, still staring into the night.

"Definitely no. Mr. Pine has no suggestions about how this information could have reached London or come to the ears of Mr. Roper's friends. The safe, the papers ― he has no suggestions."

"No. He hasn't. I'm sorry."

Until then she had not looked at him. Now at last she turned and let him see her face. One eye was closed entirely. Both sides were bloated out of recognition.

"I would like you to take me for a drive, please, Mr. Pine. Freddie is not rational when his pride is threatened."

* * *

No time has passed. Roper is still absorbed in the Sotheby's catalogue. Nobody has smashed his face into a pulp. The ormolu clock is still chiming the hour. Absurdly, Jonathan checks its accuracy against his wristwatch and, finding himself able to move his feet at last, opens the glass and advances the large hand until the two agree. Run for cover, he tells himself. Flatten.

The invisible radio is playing Alfred Brendel playing Mozart. Offstage, Corkoran is once more talking, this time in Italian, which is less assured than his French.

But Jonathan cannot run for cover. The enraging woman is coming down the ornamental staircase. He does not hear her at first, because she is barefooted and dressed in Herr Meister's complimentary bathrobe, and when he does, he can hardly bear to look at her. Her long legs are baby pink from the bath, her chestnut hair is brushed out like a good girl's over her shoulders. A smell of warm mousse de bain has replaced the Commemoration Day carnations. Jonathan is nearly ill with desire.

"And for additional refreshment, allow me to recommend your private bar," he advises Roper's back. "Malt whisky, personally selected by Herr Meister, the vodkas of six nations."

What else? "Oh, and twenty-four-hour room service for you and yours, naturally."

"Well, I'm ravenous" says the girl, refusing to be ignored.

Jonathan allows her his hotelier's passionless smile. "Well now, do please ask them for anything you want. The menu is merely a compass, and they adore being made to work." He returns to Roper, and a devil drives him one step further. "And English-language cable news in case you want to watch the war. Just touch the green knob on the little box, then nine."

"Been there. Seen the movie, thanks. Know anything about statuary?"

"Not much."

"Me neither. Makes two of us. Hullo, darling. Good bath?"

"Gorgeous."