The Backup Men by Ross Thomas

Author:Ross Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Head of Zeus Ltd

The dining room that we gathered in that Friday night must have been the one that was used for those small, intimate parties of not more than a dozen guests. I don’t know what it was called, or even if it had a name. The staff may have just referred to it as “Auxiliary Dining Room number six.” Or seven. Or even eight.

Nor do I know who worked out the protocol, but we sat at a large round table with Kassim on Amanda Clarkmann’s right, Padillo on her left, with me next to the king and Scales next to Padillo. In this case, “next” meant about three feet away.

The king seemed to be interested in the world’s nicer things. He inspected the silver carefully, either to make sure that it was sterling or that it was clean. He turned a plate over to read its maker’s name and whoever it was seemed to satisfy him. For someone who had just spent five years in a monastery, Kassim appeared inordinately interested in secular stuff. I decided that he may have felt that he had missed out on a lot and was now trying to catch up.

There were two to serve, a middle-aged man whom I’d have liked to have hired for the saloon and a younger one who was nearly as good. I would have given the chef a job, too, if I’d thought that we could afford him. He had done something miraculous to the veal and when the older man skillfully spooned another portion onto my plate, as if he thought of gluttony as a virtue, I knew how easily I might be corrupted. It didn’t bother me.

Amanda Clarkmann kept the conversation going with effortless ease, directing most of it at the king who responded in monosyllables between bites. If his table talk and manners lacked polish, there was nothing wrong with his appetite. Whenever his hostess tried to steer the conversation toward Llaquah, the king redirected it toward the food, praising the veal so lavishly that she felt constrained to force a third portion on him.

After dinner, the king and Scales excused themselves, pleading weariness. Amanda Clarkmann, Padillo and I had brandy in a drawing room whose main feature was a Thomas Eakins portrait that hung above the fireplace. Padillo and I were on our second brandy and Amanda was still on her first when William, whom I took to be the household’s major domo, brought in a phone, plugged it in, and informed Padillo that he had a call.

“Is there another jack in this room?” Padillo said.

“Yes, sir, there is.”

“Can you get another phone and plug it in?”

William nodded, made a swift exit, and was back shortly with another phone which he also plugged in.

“Get on it,” Padillo said to me.

“Would you like me to leave?” Amanda Clarkmann said.

Padillo shook his head. “I’ll be listening mostly, not talking.”

We picked up the phones together and Padillo said hello. There was a short pause and then a voice said, “Is that you, Padillo?” I didn’t have any trouble placing the tone or the accent.

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