Free Hotbed by Bill James

the unspoken. There were plenty of these. Let him find them himself. He probably would. Ralph decided he’d chosen a shrewd lad. That could be good or not. He might be too shrewd. He’d see the risks in sniffing around the Shale camp and turn Ralph down. ‘Ah, I see now, you’re scared of him, are you?’ Brown said. He stared at Ember and nodded his head slowly three times, maybe to signal that he did not need an answer, because he knew he had it right.
    Ralph loved truth, but, obviously, truth demanded sane and delicate handling. ‘Scared?’ he said. ‘Of Manse Shale!’
    â€˜I noticed it.’
    â€˜Noticed what, where?’
    â€˜Fright. At the Agincourt,’ Brown said.
    â€˜At the Agincourt?’ Ember said. ‘When exactly at the Agincourt?’ Hell, he’d gone into questions mode himself now.
    â€˜I thought there were moments of hidden panic, Ralph. But not very well hidden.’
    Yes, although Ember admired plain speaking and honesty above all else, sometimes they should be bludgeoned, dungeoned. Like fucking now. This curly-headed creep infuriated him. He’d generously brought Brown out to a brilliant property as sign of possible admiration, but, suddenly, the sod acted breezy and became all incisive and eyeballing instead. For God’s sake, this house had a consul and a lord lieutenant in its pedigree. Have a gander at that Latin plaque, will you? Seeing his self-assurance, you’d swear this damn nonentity, Brown, was used to such manorial elegance, and to this kind of drawing room, with its Wellington cabinet, rosewood table and long, Regency sideboard, the cheeky clown. But maybe a couple who’d call a baby Joachim did have a considerable property with land. Perhaps Brown wouldn’t feel as impressed as he damn well should in Low Pastures.
    Just the same, people never, never , used the word ‘panic’ about Ralph when in his presence, and especially not people who worked for him. This, above all, was an image matter. He knew that some, behind his back, called him Panicking Ralph, or even Panicking Ralphy, on account of episodes in the past they did not understand properly. They saw ordinary carefulness and wisdom as cowardice. Foul slanders went the rounds. He could not stop this. But they were now in the fine drawing room of his own fine home and to have this prick actually accuse him here of panic dazed Ralph for a few seconds. It nearly brought on . . . nearly brought on a massive Ember-type panic. But he said pleasantly: ‘I thought the Agincourt evening very cheery, didn’t you?’
    â€˜â€œOh, for he’s a jolly good fellow and so say all of us.”’ He sneer-sang this, made it sound empty, meaningless – even more empty and meaningless than it had been.
    â€˜Fun, wasn’t it?’
    â€˜You, lead singer and conductor, but with the suspicion of him, no – outright distrust of him – yes, distrust of him like white hot rivets in your eyes.’
    â€˜Oh, I wouldn’t say so.’
    â€˜No, I suppose you wouldn’t, Ralph. He could feel it, though. He sits there, hardly a move in response. That tiny, formal quarter-smile. You both clearly had weapons aboard. And then, later, he’s shouting something at you. I saw it, half heard it.’
    No wonder Brown must hate and envy his brother’s success. Joachim possessed terrific, sickening sharpness and fair spiel now he’d loosened up, yet here he was, in a measly, go-nowhere job: go-nowhere unless Ralph gave him something better. And that’s what Ralph proposed, wasn’t it, in a way? Hazardous, yes, but a step, and maybe a step with prospects if Turret could keep himself alive. Ember poured them both more Sauvignon. He needed it, and actually needed something stronger, say Kressmann armagnac.
    â€˜Of course, “that tiny formal quarter-smile” means Shale’s as scared of you as you are of