The Spanish Game Read Online Free PDF

into it.’
    ‘So you still hire a girl purely on the basis of looks?’
    Ben stood up from the sofa and decided to get away. He would go backup stairs to the studio, put on a record and wait until Alice had calmed down.
    ‘Look,’ he said, ‘you’ve had a bad day at work. Somebody fucked you over. Try not to take it out on everyone else.’ Alice stubbed out her cigarette and said nothing. ‘Why don’t we start again later? Mark’s arriving in less than an hour. Have a bath and chill out.’
    ‘Don’t tell me to “chill out”. Just give me a straight answer to my question.’
    Ben had to stop and turn.
    ‘To what question?’
    And Alice reacted as if he were deliberately concealing something.
    ‘Fine,’ she said, and pointedly looked at her watch. ‘What time does the dry cleaner close?’
    ‘How the fuck should I know?’
    ‘Well, I’m just wondering what I’m going to wear to this party tomorrow night, now that you haven’t picked up my dress.’
    ‘So go and get it. You’re a big girl.’
    ‘Well, I don’t have much choice, do I?’
    And Ben was halfway upstairs, heading backto the studio, when he heard the front door slam behind him.

6
    Stephen Taploe called the waitress over with an impatient wave of his hand and asked for the bill. It had become necessary to conduct the rest of the conversation outside the cafe, because there were now three men standing idly behind Keen’s chair, sucking on bottles of Mexican lager. The bill came to a little under nine pounds and Taploe put the receipt carefully in his wallet. He was very exact when it came to filing for expenses.
    The two men crossed the road and turned towards Brook Green, a steady head-on wind blowing dried leaves and litter along the pavement. Choosing his moment with care, Taploe said, ‘What do you know about a man called Sebastian Roth?’
    The question took Keen by surprise. His first thought was that someone inside Divisar had breached client confidentiality.
    ‘Why don’t you tell me what you know about a man called Sebastian Roth and I’ll see if I can be of any assistance?’ he said. ‘Sort of fill in the blanks.’
    Taploe had anticipated that Keen would be evasive; it bought him time.
    ‘I know what any person can read in the papers. Roth is thirty-six years old, an entrepreneur, very well connected with the present Labour government, the only son of a Tory peer. He went to Eton, where he was neither particularly successful nor popular and dropped out of Oxford after less than a year. After a stint in the City he opened the original Libra nightclub about six months before Ministry of Sound and at least a year before Cream first tookoff in Liverpool. Those three are still the night clubs of choice for the younger generation, though it’s mostly compact discs now, isn’t it? That’s how they make their money.’ Keen remained silent. ‘Judging from the photographs in certain magazines - Tatler , Harpers & Queen and so on - Roth looks to have a new girlfriend on his arm every week, although we think he’s something of a loner. Very little contact with his family, no relationship at all with either of his two siblings. Libra is his passion, extending the brand, controlling the business. Roth spends a lot of time overseas, collects art, and has recently finished conversion on a house in Pimlico valued at over two million pounds. I also happen to know that one of his representatives came to your company some months ago asking for assistance.’
    Keen slowed his pace.
    ‘You know that I can’t discuss that,’ he said.
    ‘Then allow me discuss it for you.’ It was all going very well for Stephen Taploe, the one-upmanship, the gradual trap. He flattened down his moustache and coughed lightly. ‘Roth has a lawyer friend, an individual by the name of Thomas Macklin. Helped him build the Libra empire, the Paris and New Yorksites, the merchandising arm in particular. I believe you’ve made his acquaintance?’
    ‘Go on.’