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thick crimson carpets and gilt chandeliers; a huge Harrods reproduction desk and fake Chippendale chairs completed the effect of incongruity. A large colour photograph of the Shah with the Empress and the little Crown Prince hung on the wall behind Khorvan in a carved gilded frame. A signed photograph stood by his right elbow. Coffee and orange juice had been brought in for his visitors. His secretary, a slim, beautiful girl, poured and passed the cups. The smell of Turkish cigarettes was strong; the Minister smoked sixty a day. Although he never drank at public receptions, especially where foreigners were present, part of his bookcase contained a cocktail cabinet with every kind of alcoholic drink except wine, which he disliked. His favourite was malt whisky. He greeted Logan courteously, Kelly with amiability, and the subordinate hardly received an acknowledgement. Kelly had long since realized that they were not a gracious people. Khorvan offered cigarettes; all but Logan declined.
    â€˜Now Mr Field,’ he began. He spoke very good English and understood even better than he spoke. He had spent three years in London studying economics and it was during that period he had developed left-wing sympathies. ‘I have given very careful consideration to your offer. Very careful. I have reached an unfortunate conclusion.’ He made an arch with his fingers and looked at Logan. Logan didn’t move; no change of expression, not a muscle twitch. The Minister admired him for this; he might hate the man and try to wreck the negotiations, but at least he was going to enjoy himself. James leaned a little forward, instinctively prepared to be the diplomat.
    â€˜Not too unfortunate, I hope, Minister.’
    â€˜It depends on how serious you were when you submitted this offer,’ was the answer, directed at Logan.
    â€˜We have never entered any negotiation except on a serious level, Minister,’ Logan spoke curtly. ‘Please explain why you find the offer unfortunate. I had been told it was acceptable.’
    â€˜Acceptable to me, yes,’ Khorvan said pleasantly. ‘But to a higher authority – not.’
    â€˜What’s wrong with it?’ Logan put out his cigarette in the visitors’ ashtray. He wasn’t in the least worried by Khorvan. Nobody with any experience of the Eastern methods of conducting business would have expected anything but a last minute haggle over terms. He had come prepared to give something away.
    â€˜Let us consider the proposition as a whole,’ Khorvan said. ‘There were many contenders for the right to develop Imshan. Because of the size of the oil-field, every one of them was prepared to offer as much or more than you, Mr Field. But His Imperial Majesty decided in favour of a British company. Thanks to the persuasive powers of Mr Kelly.’
    â€˜It was more of a political decision than an economic one,’ James interposed. ‘His Imperial Majesty is a very great man. He thinks in global terms.’
    â€˜His decision to allow your company to export your share of the oil produced at Imshan at a discount on the OPEC price will not only have world-wide repercussions, but it will inevitably undermine the solidarity of the oil-producing countries. It will also, if I am not mistaken, enormously enhance Imperial’s position as a major oil company. You could become as important as Exxon.’ Khorvan looked at them in turn. ‘Yet in exchange for this, you propose to give no more than any of your competitors.’
    Logan leaned forward.
    â€˜As I see it, Minister, our contribution to the joint venture with the National Iranian Oil Company is to develop the field at Imshan. The cost of this development alone will be in the region of three hundred million dollars to produce up to six hundred thousand barrels a day. There will also be a township, hospital, schools, full modern amenities in an area which is deserted at the moment and a