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Jeremy arrived just as dessert was being served: zabaglione accompanied by a sugary Torcolato dessert wine. He shook everyone’s hands enthusiastically and absorbed that talks between BS and Ciaoissimo were going very well. He did a double-take at the number of wine bottles on the table. Luckily he didn’t know the half of it, thought Polly. That beef didn’t come cheap. Or the lobster.
‘Yum yum, zabaglione,’ Richard Pound nodded approvingly. ‘I wish I could confess what I did to some of this stuff recently.’ He chuckled to himself.
‘Oh, do say,’ replied Polly in her best silky voice. She’d chosen the dessert deliberately, hoping it would entice a tongue to wag.
Richard was about to, then thought better of it. ‘No, I couldn’t.’
‘Then I’ll never know; what a shame.’ Polly appeared to give up asking, knowing he really wanted to tell, and he fell for it.
Richard Pound looked behind him as if expecting to see a spy lurking, then whispered, ‘I shouldn’t really share but I was a bit naughty. Slightly low blow.’
‘How low did you go?’ Polly widened her eyes in anticipation of being thrilled.
‘Snake’s belly low,’ said Richard. ‘We aren’t people you mess with, if you know what I mean.’ He raised his eyebrows knowingly, but he couldn’t quite pull off the hardman effect: less Vinnie Jones, more Aled. ‘We aren’t averse to a smear campaign or two.’ He nodded across the table at Nicholas de Massey. ‘Old Nick there is our dedicated review writer. He’s got his whole family on to it. Nephew’s a bit of a whiz on the net and he can bounce things off servers so nothing’s traced back.’
‘You mean like… fake restaurant reviews?’ suggested Polly.
‘Indeed I do,’ said Richard, impressed by her ‘lucky guess’.
‘Effective?’
‘They work a treat on the “no smoke without fire” principle. We’ve managed to crash and burn one competitor by those alone. We’re having to up the ante with the new venture as it’s quite popular. I thought I’d try it out. Tidy little place, shame it has to go.’ He sighed as if he cared. ‘Ended up cutting my lip on some glass in a pudding. Haven’t a clue how it got there, of course, but four of us ended up eating for free. Result.’ He winked.
‘Oh my goodness,’ said Polly, hands flying up to her face in shock. ‘Don’t tell me that’s your level of sabotage?’ She laughed, impressed.
‘Despicable, wasn’t it? I’m almost ashamed. No one wantsglass in their dinner, do they? It had quite the ripple effect round the room.Dam-age!’
‘You’re such a player,’ said Polly, not sure how long she could carry on smiling at this vile creep. ‘Playing devil’s advocate, couldn’t you co-exist with this… other Italian restaurant? It would get you brownie points with the community, surely.’
‘Fuck the community,’ said Richard with gusto. ‘Every meal someone buys in that place, they aren’t buying in ours.’
‘Surely Jim must care? He’s a councillor.’
‘I think you have the wrong idea about councillors, my dear. They don’t exist tocare.’ Richard Pound laughed heartily again, but Polly had encountered a lot of people on Slattercove and Shoresend council who cared a great deal and wanted nothing better than to rid themselves of the gangrene in their ranks.
‘Peter Hore there, opposite you, is the money man. He hasn’t a clue what he’s doing business-wise but he thinks he does. Rich as Croesus and a harmless chump. Genius on the stock market, though it does help if you have a pal who gives him insider tips on what to buy, for a generous backhander.’
Polly knew this of course, because she’d done her homework. And it wasn’t hard to trace who that friend was when you didn’t think you’d be found out and were incautious with information.
‘Isn’t that… illegal?’
‘Oh god yes. Don’t say I told you this but invest in minerals. That’s straight from the horse’s mouth. Tank Uranium Corporation in Canada. We’ve all done very well out of that one thanks to Peter’s friend Ni—Oops.’ He covered his mouth before he could sayNiles Rillington, a name that Polly was already aware of.
‘I appreciate the tip. What about Donald? What special skills does he bring to the table?’ Polly jerked her head towards the eldest man in the group, who looked like a doddery old white-haired uncle who was totally oblivious to everything. He seemed to be happy eating and drinking without the bother of conversing, even if Jeremy to his right was doing his best to engage.
‘Don’t take any notice of him,’ said Richard, flapping his hand. ‘He’s got a hereditary title and sits in the House of Lords and it’s handy to have one of those on the board even if he’s virtually inbred. Plus he says yes to everything because he can’t think for himself. Not a bit of grey matter in that weird-shaped head of his.’
But Polly knew that Donald wasn’t as bumbling as he appeared. He had been living a double life for thirty years and had a mistress and two children that were ensconced in a secret vineyard business he had in France. Lady Celia Devine would have a lot to say about that if she found out.
Polly couldn’t believe her luck. Richard Pound was the gift that kept on giving. She had plenty to sink the lot of them but he was providing her with enough to keep it sunk for eternity.
‘What I can’t find is Councillor Stirling’s name on anything,’ Polly asked then. ‘Why is that?’
‘Well, he can’t be seen to have a vested interest, can he, being a councillor,’ answered Richard, his tongue wonderfully loosened by flattery and fine wine. He lifted his fingers to his lips. ‘Shh. It’s all in the name of his daughter. My, the power that man wields, everyone calls him James Stalin, not Stirling. They’re all terrified of him, with good reason. He makes up the rules as he goes along and he’s got some dirt on the leader of the council so he’s untouchable. Pushing people higher up on the housing list for a blow job sort of dirt.’
‘No way,’ exclaimed Polly.
‘Oh yes. And old Jimbo isn’t averse to a little fumble for favours either. Do you know when you lean towards me I can see right down your top.’
