“At these prices I thought you’d have your own elevator,” Court needled gently.
“Only the royal apartment has that. For security purposes.” Lassiter stabbed at the illuminated gold lift-button. “We need to invent something better than first class. The whole concept of privilege has become debased.”
“I read somewhere that you need to earn six million per annum to live like a millionaire these days,” said Vienna.
Court watched his boss against the dark golden glass of the elevator. Lassiter had started to put on the kind of weight he would never be able to shift. His new suit was already becoming too tight. He was in his mid-sixties but showed no desire to stop working or even slow down. Sharks drown if they stop swimming, Court thought. The only way he’ll stop is if he dies. I’m surprised Elizabeth still puts up with it.
He wondered if Lassiter went around telling people how he’d given Court a start in the hotel business. Mentors had a habit of doing that.
“Welcome to my world,” said Lassiter without any obvious hint of irony as he held open the door for Vienna. The suite displayed all the accoutrements of wealth without any of the concomitant taste. A curved bar was lined with gold-leaf piping that rose to enclose a range of vintage whisky bottles presented on sheets of underlit crimson glass, like items of baroque jewellery.
“Want to try the whisky?”
“I’m staying with vodka.”
Vienna watched until her own drink had been poured, then went to the bathroom.
“She’s very beautiful,” Lassiter conceded.
“She doesn’t have to be here if she doesn’t want to,” said Court. “She’s with your hotel, which presumably means she has quality control.”
Lassiter walked to the glass wall and looked down to the beach. Spotlights picked out the tall wavering palms that had been transported fully grown and impatiently planted into the unfinished esplanade. The crystal blackness reflected every glittering pinpoint in the apartment, creating a second starscape above the sea. There was no natural sound audible in the suite, only the faint but steady hiss of cold ionized air pumped up through the ventilation system, and the settling chink of perfectly cubed ice on glass.
“Allow me,” said Court, pouring a heavy measure of Scotch. “It’s a nice view. Although I don’t like to look at the sea. I’d prefer to be surrounded by buildings. City boy at heart.”
Lassiter accepted the proffered drink and downed it in one. He had been drinking hard all evening. The New Business Model Seminar was so stultifying that everyone had been pushing their upper alcohol limits for the past three days, and there was still another day to go.
“Did you learn anything at all today?” Lassiter asked. “Spare me all those speakers from the Far East with their strangled English and aching politeness. Did you actually get anything out of it?”
“No, but I didn’t expect to.”
They studied the view. Lassiter pressed his chilled tumbler against his forehead. “Look at it. There’s no one out there and nothing to see. You could be in Monte Carlo, Geneva or Madrid. That’s the beauty of our European hotels, Oliver. Whichever one you use, there you are, home and safe again. Sometimes I wake up and have no idea where I am. And it doesn’t matter.”
“How’s the seminar working out for you?”
“I’ll go home four days nearer to my death with a sun-reddened face and a portfolio full of brochures my PA will eventually tip into the bin.”
“It’s not like you to be a cynic,” Court observed. “I remember when you first saw potential in me, the things you taught me, all that practical advice and optimism for the future.”
“I’m afraid my hopes atrophied somewhat when our so-called first-world society decided to hand over the reins of financial responsibility to a bunch of cowboy bankers.” He drained his glass, the ice clinking against his white teeth. “I’m old enough to remember when selling was a challenge. These days I feel like a nurse spoon-feeding paralysed patients. Christ, I want to start smoking again, but these rooms are alarmed. Pour me another, will you?”
Court headed back to the bar. He picked up a matchbook, crested and labelled “Royal Persian Hotel, Dubai” and slipped it into his pocket. “How come there are no cameras in the corridors?” he wondered aloud.
“The Arabs are like the Swiss when it comes to issues of privacy. The rich need to treat each other in an adult manner because there are so many dirty secrets to keep tucked away.”
Court was not familiar with this reflective side of Lassiter. The man who had elevated as many careers as he had destroyed was going soft. Men became vulnerable to strange fancies when they felt their sexual powers waning.
“The most powerful religious leaders emerge from desert states, have you noticed?” Lassiter mused. “Whereas political leaders nurture their theories in cities. One thinks of Pol Pot’s agrarian revolution being discussed in smoky Parisian cafés. In my darkest nightmares I imagined a new business model, one where morals and decent behaviour are considered detrimental, where only grabbing the next million in the next hour commands any respect at all. And at some point – I’m not sure when – my nightmare became real. This is what we do, Oliver, and we all collude in the process. The definition of a conspiracy is the combination of any number of people in surreptitious agreement to commit a secret, unlawful, evil and wrongful act. Think about what we do and ask yourself if you really want to join the next level.”
He’s lost it, thought Oliver. The great Sean Lassiter is stepping out of the ring to watch sunsets and talk hippy-dippy shit. This is too good to be true.
“You’ve made your money, Sean. If you feel like this, why don’t you just sell up?”
Lassiter regarded him from beneath hooded eyelids. “There’s no one I trust enough. You want to know if that includes you. I groomed you, I knew what would happen. Give someone the benefit of your experience for long enough, and it stands to reason they’ll eventually try to buy the company out from under you. I never held your success against you, Oliver.”
“That’s because your own success always remained greater. It’s easy to be magnanimous when you’re at the top. What if I really wanted to buy the company now?”
There it is, thought Lassiter, the real purpose of dinner. “I wondered when you would finally ask.”
“You don’t think I’d look after the staff.”
“My people? I replace them like batteries.” Lassiter looked towards the bathroom door. The girl seemed to be taking a long time.
“Then why not sell to me?” Court walked over to the balcony and unlocked the doors, rolling them silently back. The cool night air was a relief after the chemically conditioned atmosphere. “Hey, we can smoke out here. Doors and windows you can open forty floors up, they’d never allow this at home.” He laughed, patting his pockets.
With one last glance back at the bathroom, Lassiter joined him on the balcony. He leaned over the edge and looked down. “You’re right, there’s hardly a light on in the entire building. We should be renegotiating the prices of the suites. Europe holds too many festivals and seminars at this time of the year. Half the salesmen in America leave home in March and don’t get back until their house-plants are dead.”
“Your profits are down, and I’ve heard the next quarter will be even worse.”
“Maybe we did expand Europe too quickly. When a wolf is sick, the others decide what to do; whether you live or die depends on how important you are to the pack. You think we’re going lame, one of the pack lagging behind?” He sighed wearily. “Are you going to bite me on the leg and drag me into the bushes? Why not… it’s what I would have done.”