The Triple Goddess Read Online Free PDF Page B

job, a few glasses of Gilka or Wolfschmidt kümmel, which was imbibed to the pious refrain of “O kümmel ye faithful”.
    It was not that Arbella disdained Simpson’s and the George and Vulture, but she did not eat any more for lunch than she did for breakfast, meaning nothing. Shortly after one o’clock she could be viewed at the Jamaica Wine House, or Jampot as it was known, which was the ancient drinking establishment hard by on St Michael’s Alley. There she would stand amidst her encircling admirers, either outside in good weather or inside at one of the up-ended barrels that served as tables around the sawdust floor. Leaning on one leg and dangling a long-necked bottle of cold Becks, her other arm, with elbow resting on her other wrist, held a negligent cigarette between her slender fingers.
    Arbella, as one of very few women in the market, and the only female “placing”, rather than claims, broker, was not allowed to buy drinks by the Hooray Henrys who cultivated her, or tried to, and who paid net account for everything to show that they could. The banknotes folded in their silver money-clips still smelled of money and the ink was scarcely dry; it was as if the Royal Mint had to work overtime to keep them supplied with enough of them. Arbella did not have an expense account, being too junior; and neither did the Hooray Henrys because they did not speak American or any other language, had nothing in common with underwriters, knew nothing about the business they were in, and were no more interested in eating at lunchtime than Arbella because they all had dinner parties to go to.
    At the dog-leg in the alley where they passed each other by, the Estuary English speakers from Simpson’s and the G&V, and the baying élite from the Jampot, did not even glance at each other. At the former they listened to what was said, because there was always something to be learned to their potential advantage, or disadvantage to be warned to avoid. At the latter they heard only themselves and echoes of themselves, the privileged young men and women who were too thick to get a job on their own, especially one that required letters after their names, and only worked at Lloyd’s because Daddy was a “Name”, or Member of an underwriting syndicate—which meant that he had money to burn to the extent of being declared an arsonist. Only Arbella’s father was not a Name: so far as he was concerned Lloyd’s of London was an upmarket gambling den.
    Detachedly regarding the company, Arbella was an island of calm amongst the flushed tonsil-flaring fatties in red-silk-lined Savile Row suits, monogrammed striped or solid-coloured Jermyn Street shirts with French cuffs and gold links, and colourful braces. From time to time she would incline her head, or raise a corner of her mouth in a glimmer of acknowledgement. Her slow gaze missed nothing as she stood breathing smoke and accidie, and the ghosts of Pepys and Dickens hung out of the windows of the dark-timbered stories above to wave and pay her compliments.

Chapter Three
     
Upstairs, underwriters shoot sterling-
silver cuffs, and smirk as they listen
To wide-boys peddling slips with lips
Detailing second-hand information, gleaned
In the utmost good faith from Newfoundland.
 
Downstairs, they swear and roll their r s,
Opinionating as to the odds of guaranteeing
Proud ships afoam with spume and walrus spit.
 
Quill pens swirl ink round well-worn stamps,
Attracted by a decent-looking price...
Or just a hunch in mid afternoon, when,
Decanted from the restaurant with a list
To starboard from the port the emboldened
Sailor throws wife and caution to the winds.
    *
     
    The Act of Parliament that had given the Corporation of Lloyd’s the power of self-regulation granted autonomy not to an insurance company, but a motley collection of individuals who did things “each for his own part and not one for another”, and who guarded their secrets as zealously as freemasons.
    These days it was