Peter thought that was sufficiently platitudinous to penetrate Geoffrey’s brain. It was not that his brother was stupid – far from it, in fact – he was, however, determined to reject anything and everything that even faintly smacked of novelty. Peculiar, though to give Geoffrey his due, his own experiences at Dartmouth had left him much the same. It was only since taking up ballooning that he had started to think for himself, and that was all down to accident, after all.
“Will there be more of these Intelligence jobs, do you think, Peter?”
His father seemed concerned, perhaps for knowing that the Spies were a law unto themselves. They were outside of the normal nexus of favours and string-pulling, went their own way with no concern for what was proper. He had no contact with them, other than the occasional demand coming across his desk to provide information upon a particular person he had come into contact with when negotiating a foreign loan. He had always provided the information asked for, wondering sometimes why, accepting that some things were outside his scope.
“I doubt it, Father. My people are angry at the offhand manner in which we were treated. Their man behaved to me as if I was no more than a cabbie, hired to provide transport for his betters. Not the way people treat the Navy!”
“I might let that complaint be heard, Peter. Just a comment doing the rounds to the effect that the Intelligence people were underbred these days. Amazing what a word in passing can achieve.”
“I would be glad if you would, Father. They let brave Belgian men die because of a half-baked scheme, poorly thought through and casually executed.”
“That also can be heard where it will do some good. A quiet mention at the Committee tomorrow that I am worried about you, injured in a most untidy and unnecessary affair slapped together by Intelligence. A waste of the life of a brave young lieutenant recently decorated for his part in sinking a submarine – lost because Intelligence was damnably inefficient. Asquith will hear and will make his displeasure known, in his understated, ineffectual fashion. His aides will take the matter up, to do me a favour, and there will be a furore at the War Office, the generals wanting some control of Intelligence, which they have not got at the moment. It will provide them with an excuse to slap the Spies down and force them to be more open in their dealings with government and the Army.”
“Will that not make them upset with you, Father?”
“Very likely, Peter. They can then think of what they might be able to do to me, and what I could do to them if it came to outright conflict. Government needs me, just at the moment. Not me alone, the City as a whole. We are financing their war for them and finding foreign exchange to buy munitions from the States.”
“I thought America was neutral, sir.”
“Much of America thinks the same. The reality is that American business will sell to the highest bidder, irrespective of the purchaser’s location. Germany cannot transport American goods across the Atlantic; the country has too few ships and we have too many cruisers out on blockade. The Americans therefore sell to us and it is up to us then to bring the goods across the ocean. Nine times out of ten, we can do it. German purchasers have tried to work out of Mexico and ship from Caribbean ports aboard neutrals. To our knowledge, not one of those cargo ships has yet got through.”
“So, neutrality means that the Americans treat both sides equally, but we are the only ones who can actually buy from them.”
“Just that, Peter. As well, inevitably, some American firms will extend us credit so that we can continue to buy from them. They will not be repaid if Germany wins.”
“By trading with America, they are forced to favour us. Eventually, they will join the war, will they not?”
“They will have to if they are to protect their own economic interests.”
“What if they were to refuse to trade with either party, Father?”
“They would not make their present high rate of profits.”
All became clear.
“Their President Wilson tries to take the moral high ground, does he not?”
“He does – a most honest gentleman, one who seeks the best for his country. He has not a chance in Hell of prevailing – those who seek profits for themselves overrule him every time.”
“To what extent does that reality prevail here, Father?”
“Not at all, Peter!” Geoffrey was irate that the very suggestion might be made. “We all in the City act for the true good of the country!”
Mr Naseby gave a short bark of laughter.
“There are none so blind, Geoffrey! You refuse to see what is happening around you. Indeed, you will not acknowledge what you are doing yourself. Those New Jersey contracts we completed last month are to provide the War Office with a steady flow of the chemicals it needs for its shell factories; they also bring us three per cent per annum, indefinitely.”
“A fee for making the most complex arrangements, Father! Avoiding the neutrality regulations was a difficult task.”
“If all goes as expected, they will put a million into our pockets over the next five years, Geoffrey. That is a very substantial fee for our services.”
“We shall pay tax upon the sums, Father. A great deal of that income will go to the Exchequer.”
“No it won’t, Geoffrey. The payments will be made into our branch in Port Royal, Jamaica, opened for that purpose. From there, they will be transferred to our Jersey accounts. None of that money will pass through the taxman’s hands.”
Geoffrey, who had turned a careful blind eye to anything that smacked of tax evasion, showed embarrassed.
“It’s for the benefit of the family, Father. We cannot be expected to impoverish ourselves just so incompetent politicians can engage in warfare.”
“Perhaps not, my son. One can argue for the greater good – we have enabled the country to make war by overcoming much of the shortage in munitions. A minor tax arrangement on the side is not to be cavilled at.”
It meant little to Peter. Tax was for the wealthy, not for naval officers.
He slept early and long, idled for two days, submitted to the examination of the family doctor, an expert on measles and childbirth, no doubt, lacking experience in bullet wounds, however. He satisfied Peter’s mother that all was well, which was his main function.
“A walk in the fresh air would do you good, Peter.”
“It might well, Mama.”
“A stroll around the local shops, perhaps?”
He acquiesced, suspecting that the main function was to display him, a wounded hero son.
“Uniform or civilian clothes, Mother?”
“Better in uniform, Peter. There are a few of young widows and more of bereaved mothers who will not like to see a young man in civilian dress. Geoffrey avoids the town when he can, I know. He is embarrassed not to be seen in uniform. Also, to give him his due, he wishes to fight for the right.”
Mrs Naseby had never felt quite the affection for her elder son that she did for the younger. Geoffrey had been inflexible even as a very small boy, unwilling to engage with her without a knowledge that he would receive a fair exchange. She hoped he might fall in love one day, rather doubted he would permit himself any untrammelled outpouring of emotion; she thought he did not have it in him to give unreservedly.
“Best he should never join up, Mama. He is not the most flexible of sorts. He would seek a commission in the Guards and be out in the Trenches in a very few weeks. I cannot imagine he would live too long there.”