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an accepted guarantee of honest dealing in corners of the globe where they’ve never heard of the Prince of Wales.”
    “But Mr. Pilaster, you almost sound as if you disapprove of the royal family!” the woman persisted, with a strained attempt at a playful tone.
    Seth had not been playful for seventy years. “I disapprove of idleness,” he said. “The Bible says, ‘If any would not work, neither should he eat.’ Saint Paul wrote that, in Second Thessalonians, chapter three, verse ten, and he conspicuously omitted to say that royalty were an exception to the rule.”
    The woman retired in confusion. Suppressing a grin, Micky said: “Mr. Pilaster, may I present my father, Señor Carlos Miranda, who is over from Cordova for a visit.”
    Seth shook Papa’s hand. “Cordova, eh? My bank has an office in your capital city, Palma.”
    “I go to the capital very little,” Papa said. “I have a ranch in Santamaria Province.”
    “So you’re in the beef business.”
    “Yes.”
    “Look into refrigeration.”
    Papa was baffled. Micky explained: “Someone has invented a machine for keeping meat cold. If they can find a way to install it in ships, we will be able to send fresh meat all over the world without salting it.”
    Papa frowned. “This could be bad for us. I have a big salting plant.”
    “Knock it down,” said Seth. “Go in for refrigeration.”
    Papa did not like people telling him what to do, and Micky felt a little anxious. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Edward. “Papa, I want to introduce you to my best friend,” he said. He managed to ease his father away from Seth. “Allow me to present Edward Pilaster.”
    Papa examined Edward with a cold, clear-eyed gaze. Edward was not good-looking—he took after his father, not his mother—but he looked like a healthy farm boy, muscular and fair-skinned. Late nights and quantities of wine had not taken their toll—not yet, anyway. Papa shook his hand and said: “You two have been friends for many years.”
    “Soul mates,” Edward said.
    Papa frowned, not understanding.
    Micky said: “May we talk business for a moment?”
    They stepped off the terrace and onto the newly laid lawn. The borders were freshly planted, all raw earth and tiny shrubs. “Papa has been making some large purchases here, and he needs to arrange shipping and finance,” Micky went on. “It could be the first small piece of business you bring in to your family bank.”
    Edward looked keen. “I’ll be glad to handle that for you,” he said to Papa. “Would you like to come into the bank tomorrow morning, so that we can make all the necessary arrangements?”
    “I will,” said Papa.
    Micky said: “Tell me something. What if the ship sinks? Who loses—us, or the bank?”
    “Neither,” Edward said smugly. “The cargo will be insured at Lloyd’s. We would simply collect the insurance money and ship a new consignment to you. You don’t pay until you get your goods. What is the cargo, by the way?”
    “Rifles.”
    Edward’s face fell. “Oh. Then we can’t help you.”
    Micky was mystified. “Why?”
    “Because of old Seth. He’s a Methodist, you know. Well, the whole family is, but he’s rather more devout than most. Anyway, he won’t finance arms sales, and as he’s Senior Partner, that’s bank policy.”
    “The devil it is,” Micky cursed. He shot a fearful look at his father. Fortunately, Papa had not understood the conversation. Micky had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Surely his scheme could not founder on something as stupid as Seth’s religion? “The damned old hypocrite is practically dead, why should he interfere?”
    “He is about to retire,” Edward pointed out. “But I think Uncle Samuel will take over, and he’s the same, you know.”
    Worse and worse. Samuel was Seth’s bachelor son, fifty-three years old and in perfect health. “We’ll just have to go to another merchant bank,” Micky said.
    Edward said: “That should be