Moroccan Traffic Read Online Free PDF

can’t go: you haven’t finished your disgusting Spotted Dick yet.’ He frowned, looking at me. ‘If she’s not from the Balkans, what would you suppose the poor girl is doin’ here, then?’ His accent was getting more Irish.
    ‘Attempting to finish her rather cold luncheon. We are refugees from an unfortunate incident at Kingsley’s. I’ve been painting Sir Robert.’
    ‘What colour?’ said the buttoned-down man with the crewcut. He put his arm round the Colonel’s shoulders, mimed a short burst of laughter and straightened.
    The Colonel winced. He said, ‘Hang about. Wait just a minute. Didn’t Kingsley’s blow up this very morning? Send all the lovely washin’ machines back to their Maker? So what will the big boss do now?’ He was looking at me. His eyes were blue, and not as glazed as I’d expected.
    ‘She doesn’t know,’ said Johnson Johnson. ‘And if she did, she wouldn’t tell you. Miss Helmann, have you heard of Black & Holroyd, Public Relations?’
    I had, from Sir Robert. Public relations are important in the City when one company means to merge with or take over another, and the biggest firms employ experts to interpret their plans to the public. Public Relations Consultants have a nose for what will please the important fund managers. Some go further. Some employ investigators whose sole job is to undermine the opposition. Undermine, terrify or persuade it. Black & Holroyd were one of the most successful PR firms in the business. Looking at Mr. Sullivan, I thought I could guess what he was good at. I wondered if my host knew. I let him tell me.
    ‘Seb and Gerry,’ explained Mr. Johnson painstakingly. ‘Management and Acquisition PR Consultants. Mr. Ellwood Pymm, as you’ve heard, represents the hounds of the Canadian press. Anything you say about Kingsley’s will not only go straight to the City, it will find its way to radio, newspapers, television and five rival companies, not to mention very likely the police. You have been warned.’
    ‘So lost the masterpiece, have you?’ Seb Sullivan said. He sounded disgustingly pleased.
    ‘No,’ said Mr. Johnson.
    ‘What?’ said Ellwod Pymm with some sharpness.
    I said quickly, ‘The portrait’s safe, but not finished. That’s why I’m here. To persuade Mr. Johnson to complete it.’
    ‘Why, don’t you want to?’ said the Colonel to our oil-painting genius, who was staring at me without much expression.
    ‘Mr. Johnson says he has to fulfil a commission abroad,’ I informed him.
    ‘Have you?’ said Colonel Sullivan to Mr. Johnson. ‘Or are you simply fed up with the glorious Cong?’ He turned to me again. He had a lot of gold in his teeth. ‘Come on, let’s have the dirt about Bobs. What’s he like in the office? What’s he like out of the office? After three wives, don’t tell me he’s fading?’
    ‘He isn’t,’ said Pymm. He had sobered enough to finish our plate of choc mints and was wiping his lips with his wrist. ‘Guess who was in the T & Q the whole of last night? With—’
    The T & Q is a well-known London nightclub famed for its hostesses. I knew Sir Robert sometimes went there. I’ve seen Val come from Sir Robert’s room in the morning and wink, the empty hangover glass in his hand. Most great men have their weaknesses. I tried to stare down Ellwood Pymm but Mr. Johnson interrupted him anyway.
    ‘You don’t need to answer,’ Mr. Johnson said tartly to me. And to Sullivan: ‘Yes, I’m working abroad; and no, I’ve nothing against Sir Robert or Kingsley Conglomerates.’
    ‘They’ve got Mo Morgan,’ Sullivan said. ‘And that can’t be bad news. He wouldn’t take a job without a golden backup commitment.’
    ‘Seb,’ said Mr. Johnson. ‘She isn’t going to talk about Mo Morgan’s terms of employment.’
    ‘Or about MCG?’ said Seb Sullivan wistfully. ‘Beauty salons? Cosmetics? There’s a whisper going about that the MCG directors have caught a small chill, and wish they hadn’t gone