The Account

The food arrived and they ate contentedly for a while, listening to the music coming from the dance floor. Julia had to remind herself to take it easy when the wine waiter approached to refill her glass. It wasn’t every night she got to sample ’66 Mouton-Rothschild.

‘Your father must have been proud of you,’ she said.

Brand shook his head. ‘He died before I really got started. When I was twenty-one he gave me a large sum of money. I had a penthouse on Park Avenue, a butler, a chauffeur-driven car. And I was desperately unhappy.’ He paused. ‘Then I got a real kick in the stomach. My best friend killed himself with a shotgun. You know why? He was bored with life. He was twenty-five years old and he was bored with life. That jolted me to my senses. I decided to try my hand at business. Then my father died and left me his fortune. I used it well.’

‘You make it sound so easy.’

‘It is easy – if you have some capital and are prepared to take chances. Most people don’t try to make money with all the risks that entails; they just want to have money. I take risks all the time; speculate in currencies. Ten years ago I bought heavily into Deutschmarks. A month later the Deutschmark rose five per cent in one day against the dollar. I made $50 million overnight.’

‘Fifty million?’

‘Thereabouts,’ Brand said. He smiled at her astonishment. ‘I don’t say that to brag. Just to make the point about taking chances.’ He picked up his wine glass and then, having second thoughts, put it down again. ‘Incidentally, I bought the Canaletto.’

‘You did?’

‘A million and a half,’ Brand said. ‘A steal. That man Delevingne doesn’t know as much about art as he thinks.’

‘From what you told me,’ Julia said, ‘nobody does.’

Brand turned to her. ‘What painters do you like, Julia?’

‘Oh, Utrillo, I suppose. Cézanne. Monet.’

‘You’ve been to Giverny?’

‘A long time ago.’

‘When I was very young my father wanted me to be a painter,’ Brand said. ‘I had a tutor to teach me the basics but I had no eye for perspective; no talent at all. I went to Giverny too, and sat in that garden of Monet’s, looking at the water lilies, trying to absorb something of what he must have felt. When I got home I painted a couple of water lilies. They looked exactly like fried eggs. I gave up.’

‘So now you collect. The next best thing.’

‘I suppose so. I get a lot of pleasure from my collection. When you come to New York you’ll see it’

‘When I come … ?’

He leaned forward. ‘I want you to join my team at the Raleigh.’

She laughed. ‘You know nothing about me. How do you know I’m any good?’

‘I know.’

‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I can’t do that. I have a contract.’

‘I’m sure if I talk to George we can work something out.’

‘George?’

‘The Sultan of Malacca.’

‘His name isn’t George.’

‘We call him that. Nobody can pronounce his real name. We do business together.’

She looked around the dark, elegant room, listening to the murmur of voices from other tables. Incredible, she thought. A job interview in Annabel’s.

‘Well?’ Brand was looking at her intently. She felt suddenly adrift; unsure of herself. Life had always seemed to her just moving from one set of problems to another, never getting ahead, never actually arriving at the point where she could say: I’m ready to start living. Was Brand offering her the chance?

‘What exactly would joining your team entail?’

‘You’d be doing just what you do now.’

‘Tim Perrin would have something to say about that.’

‘Julia,’ Brand sounded exasperated, ‘I own the damn hotel.’

‘I understand that. But I know Tim and I like him. I won’t be forced on him.’

‘What on earth are you talking about?’

‘If Tim wants me he must ask for me. It shouldn’t come from you.’

Brand looked at her hard. ‘But it was George Malacca who arranged your contract.’

‘That’s true. But it was Andrew Lattimer who hired me. The Sultan arranged my contract only because he wanted me to work for the Royal Malaysian in Kuala Lumpur, which he’d bought at the same time.’

‘You didn’t like the idea?’

‘Not just then.’

The music from the dance floor at the far end of the room was getting louder. Julia wondered if he would ask her to dance.

‘Will you think about it?’ he asked.

‘Of course.’

‘You’d be such an asset,’ Brand said. ‘Bobby Koenig says you speak Italian. Was that from school?’

‘I spent six months in Italy when I was seventeen. My mother’s idea.’

‘Rome?’

‘With a family. Then I took a summer job at a hotel on Como.’

She noticed that some of the juice from her rack of lamb had spilled onto the tablecloth. Glancing at Brand’s still almost full plate she felt guilty that she had enjoyed her meal so much.

Brand held up his hand and ordered coffees. ‘I have to fly to Scotland tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Something’s come up. You know where Silicon Glen is?’

‘Somewhere near Edinburgh?’