The American ambassador was at the airport to meet the Cliffords' plane, and so was the local press.
"Mr. Clifford," asked the reporter from the television station, "can you tell us the purpose of your visit?"
"Yes," said Hugh Clifford, "I think it's time we settled this mining tax issue once and for all, and I'm here to do that for my company."
"Mr. Lynch gave out a statement earlier saying that the mining companies were prepared to 'tough it out', as he put it," said the man from the morning daily. "There seems to be more flexibility in your attitude."
"I'm here to negotiate for my company and Mr. Lynch negotiates for the companies that he represents," said Hugh Clifford.
"Aren't all the mining companies presenting a united front?"
"Gentlemen," said the old man holding up his hands and smiling, "I really don't think I can discuss the negotiations before I've had them," and with that the Cliffords got into the ambassador's car and drove away.
As the big black limousine moved through the boisterous, darkening streets of the city slums towards the hotel, the ambassador handed Hugh Clifford a note and leaned across to switch on the reading light. Molly Clifford handed her husband his glasses. Hugh Clifford read the note and grunted.
"Mr. Lynch thinks Kass can swing the cabinet against Bernard," said the ambassador.
"What do you think?" asked Clifford.
"It's a hard one to call," said the ambassador, "Percy Sullivan could go either way."
"If Bernard wins in cabinet he'll be in a strong position," said Hugh Clifford.
The ambassador's face tightened.
"You'd break ranks with Lynch?" he asked.
"Lynch got us into this mess by bluffing, and I don't intend to pay for his mistake," said Hugh Clifford. "If we pull out it's going to cost us twice as much to start up somewhere else, and why not come to terms with Bernard? He's got a case."
"You accept Bernard's figures?" asked the ambassador.
"They're accurate," said Clifford.
"How did they get those figures?" asked the ambassador.
"It doesn't matter where he got the figures," said Hugh Clifford, "they're reasonable in today's market and I'll go with them rather that sit around toughing it out with Lynch."
"You know Mr. Clifford, Washington feels very strongly that if we don't present a united front here the rot will spread throughout the entire region," said the ambassador.
Hugh Clifford said nothing.
"He's very anxious for a response," said the ambassador, "he asked that you call him tonight."
"I'll call him when I've made my decision," said Hugh Clifford, "and tonight we're having dinner with the Bernards."
Winston Bernard and his wife Michele lived in the foothills of the mountains that overlooked the lights of the city, which stretched across a plain that sloped for ten miles towards the sea.
Cocktails were served by the swimming pool, on a terrace framed at one end by big bushes of flowering bougainvillea, and at the other end by the view.
Laughter drifted through the crowd of twenty, a family of every shade from black to pale brown. Percy Sullivan, the Prime Minister, was there. So was Major General Mark Bernard, Minister of Security. Percy was a much married bachelor; Mark had married the daughter of a Latin American ambassador in Washington. He'd met her on one of his many staff courses in the States. Children circulated with trays of hors d'oeuvres, listening to snippets of conversation from the grownups, pausing to be introduced to the Cliffords.
"And who's this little sweetie?" asked Molly Clifford of Michele Bernard as a child of six approached, wearing her party dress.
"Mrs. Clifford, this is Miranda," said Michele.
"Good evening Mrs. Clifford," said Miranda.
"Good evening darling," said Molly, who bent down to kiss the top of the child's head.
Molly took an hors d'oeuvre. It was delicious. She liked these people. As a family they were goodlooking, talented, hospitable, entertaining, educated, travelled... there was an atmosphere on the patio, a mixture of confidence and relaxation, that she found strangely familiar.
"I believe we have a mutual friend," said Michele, "Max DeMalaga."
"Oh yes, DeMalaga! Of course I know him," said Molly, "and not only do I know him, but I love him dearly. His mother and I were great friends and I've known him since he was a tot, and my goodness, how he's got on. He really has made millions selling songs you know."
"Oh I know," said Michele, "I'm going to meet him in Antigua tomorrow night because I have a singer that I want him to promote."
"How long have you known him?" asked Molly.
"We were teenagers together," said Michele, "holidays on the north coast. We used to water ski and go out dancing."
Michele was thirty-five, Lebanese with African and Indian, her eyes sensual and alert at the same time.
Molly thought, 'I bet they did more than dance. DeMalaga couldn't possibly have resisted her at sixteen'.
"Well please give him my fondest love," said Molly.
Winston Bernard and Hugh Clifford were apart from the crowd, talking at the edge of the terrace, looking out over the lights of the city.
"Lynch doesn't want to negotiate," said Winston, "He wants to keep control."
"The market will control the price," said Clifford, "not Lynch."
"Yes, but who controls the market?" asked Winston.
"Nobody, not in the long run," said Clifford
"Well, I hope the run isn't so long that the island runs out of breath in the meantime," said Winston.
He turned and looked out over the city.
"I'd hate to see all those lights down there start going out, but as far as I'm concerned it's worth the risk of fighting Lynch if I know we have a deal."
"I'll stick to the terms we discussed if you can get the cabinet to stand up to Lynch," said Hugh Clifford.
He'd said yes? Winston turned back to look at him, to confirm the moment. He'd said yes!
"May I ask you a personal question?" asked Winston.
"Sure," said Hugh Clifford.
"Why are you prepared to fight Lynch on our behalf?"
"I'm not fighting Lynch on your behalf," said Hugh Clifford, "I'm fighting him because I don't like him. I think he's greedy and stupid, and he's the kind of guy who'll fight when he hasn't really got an enemy."
"Perhaps that's because what he really wants to do is go on playing the bully," said Winston.
"Well, let's put it this way," said the old man, " he's playing politics and I'm doing business."
A giant thrill ran through him as Winston Bernard realized that the only ally he really needed to push through his plan was the one man he could trust!
Winston instinctively scanned the crowd on the other side of the pool to find Michele, to share the moment, and he saw her ushering the others into the house. Then he turned again towards the old man and smiled right into his eyes.
"Well," said Winston, "it looks as though dinner's on the table."
Often at the end of the day Hugh Clifford would lie in bed watching Molly as she moved around the room on a much slower wind down, and they would compare notes, because while Hugh's interest was in what power did to people, Molly was fascinated by where it would move to next, and over the years she had become so adept at predicting those moves that there were many, who, if posed with such a thought, would have agreed that Molly Clifford was the greatest power groupie of her time.
Her instinct for where the center of power would be in any particular span had taken Molly around the world many times... she had seen the center shift from city to city and group to group like a restless spirit on the move, settling on those whose time had come, often for no apparent reason and in ways that no one would have predicted, but the signs were unmistakable to those whose business it was to know where the crucial decisions were being taken.
Over and over Molly had watched as success enveloped an individual or group before they themselves became aware of its arrival, and over and over she had seen the power they once had move on before they knew they'd lost it.
Molly had seen the magic move from aristocrats to fanatics and from fanatics to warriors and from warriors to scientists and from scientist to stars and from stars to agents and from agents to financiers ... she didn't so much watch as listen, because the simplest way of telling who needed whom was by listening for the phone, by knowing who would wait for whose call, and thirty years ago she'd noticed that the most important people in the world would wait for a phone call from Hugh Clifford, and when she got to know him she noticed that he never waited for anybody's call, until one day he was frantic for a call from her, and they'd been together ever since.
Molly didn't love Hugh because he was powerful in the usual sense; Molly wasn't a snob in the usual sense at all because neither she nor Hugh could have cared less about colour or class; but in her special way she was the biggest snob of all, because strictly at the chemical level, the level at which she could tell how she felt about something by the feeling in her stomach, the one thing she could never imagine herself doing was making love with a man who was subservient to anyone else.
Molly couldn't imagine sleeping with a man who would do another man's bidding against his will, and she'd been in love with Hugh for all these years because she'd never seen him bow to anything but his own best judgment. It wasn't the money that had allowed him to do that ... what it was, was a secret they shared.
"Who do you think is the strong one?" asked Hugh.
"Do you mean between Winston and Michele?" asked Molly.
"In the family as a whole."
"I've no idea, it's much too early to tell," said Molly.
"How about between Winston and Percy?" asked Hugh.
"Oh, I'd say Winston, wouldn't you?" said Molly, "I think Percy's just a narcissist."
"Little bit psycho?"
"Hmm, probably, a bit," said Molly.
People think psychos have no conscience, she thought, but actually they crave forgiveness. That's what had made them so dangerous before she realized that every time they were forgiven they'd take it as a victory, and do something even more outrageous until one just couldn't forgive them anymore.
Molly climbed into bed with her walkman, three audio cassettes, five magazines, and two novels.
"Did you agree to back Winston Bernard against Lynch?" she asked.
"If he can swing Percy," said Hugh.
"Are you really in the mood for that kind of fight?" asked Molly.
"I think so," said Hugh. He yawned. "Somebody has to stand up to that bunch."
Hugh closed his eyes.
"What do you think of Michele?" asked Molly.
"Very beautiful," said Hugh, without opening his eyes.
"She's a friend of Max DeMalaga you know," said Molly, "and DeMalaga..."
She looked over to see that Hugh was fading fast. She kissed him lightly, put on the headphones, switched on the walkman, and continued reading a novel about the middle of the first millennium, when the Roman Empire collapsed and the barbarians sacked Rome.
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