‘Which would amount to ten thousand in your favour. I’m sorry, Mr. Dyer, that’s the way it is.’
He licked his lips, then asked in a more conciliatory tone, ‘What will you give, four percent?’
I knew then he was bluffing.
‘I’m sorry, but there can be no discount.’ I smiled at him. ‘Have you tried the Global or the Florida agencies?’
‘They’re useless!’ By his flush I knew he had tried them.
‘There are plenty of others. I’ll ask Miss Douglas to give you a list of them if that would be helpful.’
He sat for some moments, staring down at his hands, then he said, ‘You will give us six months’ credit?’
‘That’s agreed.’
‘It’s most odd you can’t give some kind of discount on a turnover like this.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He shrugged and forced a smile.
‘Okay, I suppose you had better have the account.’
‘That’s up to you, Mr. Dyer.’
He took out a gold cigarette case, selected a cigarette and lit it.
‘How about my commission?’
I lifted my eyebrows.
‘Excuse me... your commission?’
His eyes snapped angrily.
‘You don’t expect me to give you an account of this size without you giving me something in return? It’s normal business practice.’
‘What had you in mind, Mr. Dyer?’ His face lit up.
‘Five thousand would be acceptable... in cash, of course.’
For sheer nerve and effrontery, I thought, this arrogant creep wanted a beating.
‘I’ll take it up with head office,’ I said.
His eyes shifted.
‘This would be strictly confidential, of course.’
‘I doubt if my people would consider it as such. It’s a practice my people don’t approve of.’ I gave him my sympathetic smile ‘As far as I’m concerned if someone gets a payoff for bringing an account to us, I say good luck to him.’
He gave me a leering little smile.
‘I’m sure you can handle this for me Burden. Of course Mr. Vidal need not know. You understand? After all I am doing you a favour.’
‘My Vice President is a little sticky, Mr. Dyer. If he hears Mr. Vidal’s personal aide is asking us for five thousand dollars for bringing Mr. Vidal’s account to us, it is rather likely he would write to Mr. Vidal to ask if he approved.’
Dyer lost colour.
‘You mean I don’t get anything?’
‘Service, Mr. Dyer. You’ll get that.’
He really hated me then. I could see it in the expression in his eyes. With an unsteady hand he took an envelope from his pocket and threw it on my desk.
‘Here are your instructions! Get working on them! And I warn you Burden, no slip-ups! I don’t tolerate shoddy work!’
Getting to his feet, he stalked out of my office, past Sue and away down the corridor.
I opened the envelope and studied his instructions. It was a nice order: six first class fares New York-Tokyo: hotel accommodation for fourteen days, chauffeur driven car, everything V.I.P.
I put the instructions back in the envelope, told Sue to get it to Miami by special messenger, then returning to my office. I called Massingham and gave him a blow-by-blow account of my interview with Dyer.
When he was through laughing, he said: ‘Fine, Clay. I’ll tell Mr. Ryner. You couldn’t have done better. We’ll cope with the Tokyo schedule as soon as we get it. Don’t tell Harkness about this. Let’s keep it under our hats.’
I did tell Sue. I wanted to tell Rhoda as we drove home. I felt like crowing a little about this triumph, but I knew Rhoda wouldn’t be interested. She was again moaning about her feet.
But Val would have been interested. She would have insisted we celebrated this little triumph.
The ache began again.
The Tokyo schedule, the air tickets and the hotel vouchers arrived in the morning’s mail. Around 10.00, I called Dyer at the Vidal residence. After some delay, he came on the line.
‘I have the Tokyo schedule wrapped up,’ I said. ‘Shall I mail it to you or will you arrange to have it picked up?’
‘Bring it here yourself,’ he snapped. ‘I have more business to discuss with you. I’m not wasting my time in the future, hanging around your office.’ and he slammed down the receiver.
I should have expected that. It was his petty way of getting even. Now it would be his turn to keep me waiting.
I left my office to consult Sue.
‘Unless we have a rush,’ she said, ‘I’m sure I can manage.’
‘But we could have a rush. I don’t want complaints. We have assured the hotel, in return for this office space, we would give them top class service. I’ll talk to Massingham.’
Massingham was immediately alive to the situation.
‘Remember Bill Olson from Boston?’ he said. ‘He’s just arrived here to get the background of Florida. I’ll send him to you. He may as well work with you as with me. He’ll be over in an hour.’
I was startled. I hadn’t seen Olson since Val had left Boston so mysteriously. Remembering him made me think of her again.
I told Sue.
‘Fix it we get another desk in here.’ I said. ‘I guess if you move your desk further to the left, we can just squeeze in a second.’
She nodded.
‘I’ll fix it right away,’ and reached for the telephone.
Taking the schedule and the tickets, I went down the corridor towards the parking lot. I looked in at The Trendie Miss. Rhoda was sitting on her stool, absorbed in a magazine.
‘Watch it, honey,’ I said, ‘or you’ll wear your feet out.’
She looked up blankly.
‘Huh?’
‘Nothing. I may not be back in time for lunch. Don’t wait for me. I’m calling on Mr. Henry Vidal.’
‘Big deal, huh?’ and she returned to her magazine.
Paradise Largo is an isthmus linking E.l to A.I.A highways. The causeway leading to the Largo is guarded by a lodge and an electronically controlled barrier. No one repeat no one is allowed on the Largo without first identifying himself and stating his business.
Hidden behind high flowering hedges, some three feet thick and guarded by big oak, nail studded gates, are some thirty to forty magnificent houses owned by the wealthiest of Florida’s wealthy.
I stopped the Plymouth before the lodge and submitted to a searching stare by the blue uniformed guard.
‘Calling on Mr. Dyer at Mr. Vidal’s residence,’ I said. ‘The name’s Clay Burden. Mr. Dyer is expecting me.’
‘Driving, licence,’ he said.
I gave it to him, and after examining it, he handed it back, then turning away, he reached for a telephone. There was a delay then he pressed a button that lifted the barrier and he waved me through.
‘Fourth gates on your left.’
I drove down the wide, sand strewn road, turned left and arrived at a massive twelve foot high set of gates which were opened by another blue uniformed guard.
‘Straight ahead Mr. Burden,’ he said. ‘Park in lot 4.’
I drove up the winding drive shaded by palm trees and lined on either side with Sweet Bay and Oleander shrubs. A halt acre of immaculate lawn and flower beds, blazing with colour, appeared on my right, then I saw the house, a two-storey, Spanish style building covered with red and pink Bougainvillaea. There was a loggia running the length of the house, decorated with pink coral stone. A lush place: big, imposing and opulent.
I parked in lot 4 as directed. On one side of me was a Rolls Corniche and on the other a Lamborghini Espada. Their glittering coach work made my Plymouth look shabby.
A dark skinned flunkey, in white linen trousers and a blood red jacket moved out of the shade and showed me his teeth.
‘Mr. Burden?’
I nodded.
‘This way, please.’
He led me along a path lined on either side with red azalea shrubs that made a splendid ribbon of colour to a long, low building of white wood. He pushed open a door, stood aside as he said, ‘Third door, please. I will tell Mr. Dyer.’