Two Women Read Online Free PDF Page A

know!’
    Northcote shook his head, gesturing for another whisky. There was a tremble in his hand of which Carver hadn’t been aware before. Don’t over-interpret, Carver told himself. ‘George?’
    â€˜They know it’s all over,’ insisted Northcote. ‘They want all the files and records …’ The block came. ‘The … the …’
    â€˜Evidence,’ finished Carver. He nodded again in acceptance of the wine, without tasting it.
    â€˜It solves the problem. That’s how it was always going to be. Separating the firm. No evidence, either way.’
    For a moment Carver could not respond, silenced by the other man’s seemingly easy acceptance of what he considered a disaster threatening – even impending.
    â€˜So you give them all our records dating back …’ Carver paused, stopped by an abrupt question. ‘Dating back how long, George? When did it all start …?’
    â€˜A long time ago,’ said Northcote. ‘And it took a lot more years to build up to what it became. There aren’t many records with us any longer. But enough.’
    â€˜Where?’ demanded Carver, remembering his fruitless computer search.
    â€˜Safe.’
    What was missing from the older man’s voice, Carver asked himself. Guilt? Remorse? Embarrassment? Acknowledgement of wrongdoing? All of them, Carver decided. If there was an intonation, it was of pride, in whatever it was he had created. He’d always accepted that his father-in-law was self-confident to the point of overwhelming arrogance, which Alice had more than once accused him of being as well, but this went beyond that. But then, Carver further asked himself, how could Northcote be otherwise, after the unstoppable international success he’d achieved, now with offices in every one of the world’s financial capitals? But this … Carver was stopped again by another numbing, unthinkable uncertainty. ‘You told me you were trapped into it … that you didn’t realize it was criminal?’
    â€˜That’s what it was … how it happened.’
    â€˜When – remember we’re talking precisely, exactly – did you realize what you were into?’
    â€˜It wasn’t like that.’
    â€˜George! For fuck’s …’ Carver abruptly stopped with the arrival of their food, which they discovered to be rack of lamb. As soon as the waiter was out of earshot Carver said: ‘George. Tell me true. Don’t tell me things weren’t like I imagine them to be or that I’m misunderstanding or that I shouldn’t be as pig-sick worried as I’m worried at this moment. How long ago?’
    â€˜Maybe twenty years.’
    â€˜How long ago?’ persisted Carver. ‘Precisely. Exactly.’
    â€˜Twenty-two. But it was a longer evolving process, to get everything set up.’ The attitude reflected in the voice now was truculence.
    Carver recognized it was a different story from that Northcote had first offered, of a struggling accountant, just starting out. ‘How’d they keep you in line? They blackmail you: tell you how you’d be debarred if you didn’t go along with everything?’
    Northcote moved his meat around his plate, eating none of it. Saying nothing.
    Carver completed his own non-eating carousel, despising himself for matching the earlier verbal mockery. Then he said: ‘They’ve had you, George, haven’t they? For most of your career they’ve had you, just like this …?’ Carver closed his hand, as if crushing something.
    â€˜I could handle it then: can still handle it now,’ insisted the other man, pushing his plate aside.
    Carver said: ‘How’s about this? How’s about a stomach-against-his-spine hungry guy who got initially caught, but who then went with the flow? Paddled the boat, even? You had the choice, all those years ago, of blowing the whistle. But you