Scales of Gold - Dorothy Dunnett [84]
‘I have another,’ Nicholas said. The barge was ready. The tramping had ceased and Bel of Cuthilgurdy was standing at her mistress’s shoulder, with the boy Filipe lurking behind.
Gelis spoke to her without turning. ‘Simon has sold his share of the company. For how big a nest egg, I wonder? Enough, I suppose, to farm out his son, and keep himself in comfort in Scotland. How thoughtful you’ve been, Monsieur de Salmeton. How much did you advise he should get?’
‘You would have to ask Urbano Lomellini,’ said de Salmeton. ‘One regrets.’
‘One will regret when I have reversed the agreement,’ Gelis van Borselen said. She rose, her gaze sharpening on Nicholas. She said, ‘No collusion? Prove it, then. Come with me and help me cancel the bargain.’
Tardily, David de Salmeton rose to his complete, charming, miniature height. ‘My dear demoiselle! The transaction is over. Simon has already removed all the sum that was owed him. And even if he had not, you should beware of asking Monsieur Nikko to help you. He covets your dead sister’s business.’
Nicholas moved, but Gelis spoke immediately. ‘Simon has taken his money? In specie?’
‘In gold,’ the broker said. ‘And in venture shares. They may well attract a fine return. There may be money to spare for his sister.’
‘Venture shares?’ said Nicholas gently.
‘An investment in the Fortado which brought me,’ said David de Salmeton. ‘She sails under licence for Africa. What profit she makes, the Lomellini will share with my lord Simon.’
Nicholas gazed at him, unseeing. That, then, was what Simon intended. Here was the threat to the Bank, to his fortunes, to his future, and the Lomellini – the Genoese; the Genoese cynically advised by the Vatachino – to carry it out. All that was missing was Simon’s own presence. ‘She may be unlucky,’ said Nicholas.
‘Perhaps,’ de Salmeton said. ‘Is that the barge calling? Perhaps. But in the African trade, the Fortado has a sure market, and no competitor but yourselves. And who knows when you may leave, with the history of the Ghost now in question? Demoiselle? The Captain expects you on shore.’
She was on her feet as he spoke. ‘Yes. My small coffer. Bel, help me find it.’
She brushed past and went aft, the plump woman following. Loppe’s voice greeted them and then faded along with their steps. David de Salmeton put down his cup and rose, smoothing the silk of his sleeves with his fingertips. ‘A tiresome young lady, but handsome. She might be worth some attention.’ He tilted his head towards Nicholas. ‘I, too, miss the rough comforts of Cyprus. Funchal has somewhat less to offer. Nevertheless, the Captain sent you his most civil greetings. Indeed, he suggested I bring you a wench.’
‘You didn’t bring one?’ Nicholas said, still seated.
‘I hesitated to commit you to the sex. Apropos of which subject’ – a light hand came to lie at his shoulder – ‘the boy’s remaining share of the plantation would not, in my opinion, be in any way viable on its own, even were you to be free to pursue it. The Ghost is, of course, the Doria, and will be proved so tomorrow.’
‘I must set my soul in order,’ said Nicholas. ‘Unless there is any way to prevent this calamity?’
The hand remained a moment longer. Then, ‘How melancholy,’ said David de Salmeton, withdrawing his fingers and glancing at them. ‘You are still very damp. How unfortunate that I must go ashore. No, I can find little hope. I see the barge is ready and the ladies are waiting. I must join them.’
In the faces of the ladies, one tall, one short, nothing could be read as they waited. It was