“He goofed plenty,” Downer said.
“During the war,” I said.
“Right. During the war.”
I went back into the bathroom and turned on the shower. I turned it to hot and then took one of the tropical suits — made out of air and coal, I think, and guaranteed not to wrinkle — and put it in the bathroom to steam out its wrinkles. Then I sat down in a chair and looked at Downer who was shivering on the bed.
“Are you cold or do you have malaria?” I asked.
“Goddamned air-conditioning,” he said. “I take my Are.Ian. Did you start taking yours before you got here?”
“No.”
“You’ll catch malaria. Here, take these.” He tossed me a phial of pills.
“Like Atabrine?”
“No, they don’t turn you yellow.”
I went into the bathroom where it must have been 120 degrees and got a glass of water. I popped a pill in and swallowed. “One a day?”
“Better take two. They don’t hurt you any.”
“Doesn’t affect the manhood, huh?”
“That shouldn’t bother you while you’re down here, Pete — not unless you want to change your luck.”
“That’s a thought.”
“Well, you better keep close check on Shartelle.”
“He’s running the show.”
“I was against it. I told Duffy I was against it. Clint might be the best in the States, but he’s not in the States now.” Downer paused and lighted a cigarette. His hands trembled and the cigarette shook in his mouth. Maybe he drinks, I thought. It was a vain hope; he wasn’t the type. His ego didn’t need it.
“You know what Clint’s got to watch out for?” Downer asked.
“What?”
“Cultural shock. That’s what.”
“You think he’ll go native, Paul?”
Downer puffed on his cigarette some more. He didn’t inhale and when he smoked he took short, rapid sucking puffs and blew them out quickly with little swooshes. It was a mannerism that had long irritated me.
“Not native. He’s not Gauguin. I mean that he’s been in the States all his life except for that time in Europe with Duffy and me and then we had to lead him around by the hand.”
“That’s when all three of you were in the O.S.S.?”
“Right. Hell, he could speak a little French, that’s all. But Africa’s different. A guy like Shartelle may not be able to adapt. Now you and I have lived abroad, Pete. We can take it as it comes. Heat, dirt, diseases, strange customs — these don’t faze us the way they might a guy like Shartelle.”
“We’re sort of cosmopolites,” I said helpfully.
“That’s right — you put your finger on it. I’ve lived in London for twenty years now. I spend a lot of time on the Continent. But I feel as much at home in Paris as I do in New York. London’s no different to me than Chicago.”
“There’s a small language barrier,” I said.
“In Paris?”
“No. In Chicago.”
Downer laughed. “That’s not bad, Pete.”
He wasn’t all that stupid. He had a great passion for detail, he worked hard, he could — upon occasion — turn out workmanlike copy fast, a knack he had picked up from Hearst where he had spent his working life until Duffy brought him into DDT in 1952. But he was sententious, pedantic, and god, how he could talk. He believed in the infallibility of Duffy, Downer, and Theims, Ltd. He bought all the products, used them faithfully, and touted them to his friends. His clients — the accounts he handled — had no faults. If they had had any faults, they wouldn’t be DDT clients.
“I’ll break him in easy — not too much shock all at once,” I said.
Downer nodded. “That’s smart. And listen, Pete, if you get in a bind — any kind of bind — and you need help, I’m as close as the phone.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Now then — the house in Ubondo is open and staffed. Here’s a set of keys.” He tossed them to me. “The account at Barclay’s is in your name. It’s got around five hundred quid in it and use it for expenses. Revolving fund sort of thing. When you run low, send in a chit and we’ll top it up. You’ll pay the staff — here’s a list of how much they get. Pay them monthly and let me give you some advice: don’t lend them any money. You’ll play hell getting it back. Food you can get at the supermarket in Ubondo. You’ll have to do the shopping — you can’t trust the staff to do it. Charge everything and settle the bill once a month.”
“How big is the staff?”
“Five — plus the watch night. Six.”
“What the hell do two men need with six servants?”
Downer sighed. “Look, Pete. You need a cook. You need a steward. You need a small boy to help the cook and steward. You need a driver — that’s William. You know him already. You need a gardener — you’ve got an acre-and-a-half of grounds. And you need the watch night.”
“The what?”
“The watch night. He scares away the thieves. It’s a kind of insurance — or protection racket — I’m not sure. But whenever anybody fires a watch night, there’s a burglary within a week.”
“O.K. When is Akomolo expected back from London?”
“He’s back. He came in late yesterday. But he’s busy so you’ll have a chance to look Barkandu over, make any contacts you want, and then go on up to Ubondo. You’ll be working out of Ubondo since that’s where Akomolo will make his headquarters.”
“Anything else?”
Downer thought. “You can introduce yourself around. DDT has already made a reputation for itself down here with the British. They know who we are.”
“Cocoa,” I said.
“I drink it for breakfast every morning,” he said.
“So do I, Paul. Also have a cup at night before bed.”
There was a knock on the door. I opened it and it was Shartelle and I think I finally fully realized what the word resplendent meant. Shartelle was resplendent. He wore a seersucker suit that fitted so well it could only have been tailored. It was a black and white cord, and it looked crisp and clean and cool. It wasn’t the suit so much as the matching vest. I had never seen a seersucker suit with a vest. He wore a white shirt with a black knit tie. On his head perched a hat. It was at a rakish angle. It was black. It was a black slouch hat. I didn’t think they existed. Shartelle leaned against the door jamb and puffed a cigarette.
“You’re gorgeous,” I said.
He strolled in and turned, giving us the chance to get the full effect. “I’ve got six more just like ’em. One for every day in the week but Sunday. Then I wear my go-to-meeting suit.”
“Does it have a vest?”
“Never seen a seersucker suit with a vest, boy? Why it’s the coming rage. How do you like the hat? It’s forty years old, I swear. Now do I look like a well-to-do New Orleans cotton buyer or don’t I?”
“Sharp,” I said. “Razor-keen.”
“It just so happens that this was what I planned to wear in Denver,” Shartelle said. “The vest was for the cool of the evening. But I think this outfit just might make me a little distinctive here in Albertia. What do you think, Paul?”
Downer was already moving for the door. “Distinctive, yes, really distinctive. I’ve filled Pete in on the arrangements, Clint. I’ve got a few things to do before I catch the plane. It was nice seeing you.” He grabbed Shartelle’s hand and shook it.
“Nice seeing you, Paul.”
“Pete, could you walk me to the elevator, I’ve got a couple of things I forgot to tell you.”
“Sure,” I said.
He grabbed my arm in the hall. “That’s what I mean,” he whispered. “You have to watch out for Shartelle.”
“The suit?”
“Damn right, the suit.”
“Well, it’s distinctive.”