Moroccan Traffic Read Free

cloud of citrus top-notes and a further new double cloud of resentment. ‘And a very good morning to you both,’ said Mr. Johnson, in exactly the same tone of voice. ‘The Boardroom? Or am I too early?’
    He didn’t mean it. He meant he was exactly on time, but the Chairman wasn’t waiting to greet him. I said, ‘Could I offer you a seat for five minutes? Sir Robert had to work late last night, and slept in the office. He asked me to offer you tea.’
    ‘Too kind, but I never drink before painting,’ said Mr. Johnson. ‘Why don’t I go through to the Boardroom and start?’
    ‘Don’t you need Sir Robert?’ said Trish. Trish is forward because of her upbringing; a nuisance not worth correcting, since she never stays anywhere long.
    He said, ‘Not if Miss Helmann will sit in his jacket.’
    He seemed to be serious. Trish said slyly, ‘Wouldn’t Mr. Dresden be better?’ Dresden went sallow. It was interesting. I’d thought they were sleeping together.
    Mr. Johnson Johnson inhaled. He said, ‘But is Mr. Dresden’s aura quite right? And really, the young lady’s attributes would be wasted. So what is left but the resourceful Miss Helmann?’
    We all got it. Val was scented, Trish was bosomy and I could bring him tea when he wanted it.
    My mother has trained me a body language. I received the key to the Boardroom from Dresden, and walked without haste to insert it. I opened the door at the second try. Mr. Johnson didn’t hurry me. He said, ‘Why should I bore you with advice? There’s decaffeinated coffee, or early retirement. You want to see the Chairman’s picture?’
    I followed him slowly in. It was there, covered up on an easel. At the other end of the room stood Sir Robert’s chair and his jacket. The door to his bedroom and office was shut. It was time to deal with Mr. Johnson. Comfort, Question and Listen; I knew what to do when insulted. I said, ‘Mr. Johnson, may I ask you a question?’
    He thought. He nodded. My mother, baiting me, looked just like that.
    I said, ‘Why do you paint, if you don’t like it?’
    He thought again. ‘Good question,’ he said. ‘Look, and tell me the answer.’ And he lifted and dropped back the sheet on the portrait.
    The Boardroom is proofed against sound. You could hear the low hum of the heating, and the creak of a chair, and the nearly inaudible click of the quartz clock. There was nothing to say. I said, ‘I’m sorry.’
    ‘Thank you,’ said Johnson Johnson. ‘Want to watch? Sit there, and don’t talk.’
    ‘You don’t need the jacket?’ I said.
    ‘Not particularly,’ said Mr. Johnson. ‘Quite enjoy someone breathing in the same room. Even fire and brimstone. Now shut up, there’s a splendid young lady.’
    Ten minutes later, Sir Robert bounded in. ‘Ah, Johnson, you’re working. Can you forgive me? Wendy dear, can you find us some coffee? What do you think of this, then? After five sittings?’ He wore a fresh shirt and tie and dark trousers. His waist was solid, but there was no flabbiness anywhere. He picked up and slipped on the jacket which I had not been required to wear. I had not been required to do anything but stand and watch paint being slapped round a palette and placed, without pause, on the canvas by someone who was not like my mother at all.
    I said, ‘It’s a very good picture.’
    ‘Good?’ said Sir Robert. ‘My dear girl, that portrait will be on the centre wall of this year’s Academy. You’re a genius, old boy. Charity will say the same when she sees it.’
    The genius said, ‘You got back all right then?’
    ‘Boring party. Yes. Didn’t know you knew that crowd?’ Sir Robert said. ‘Slept here last night, as a matter of fact.’
    ‘I thought you might,’ said the genius. ‘Who can claim to know a financial consultant except other financial consultants? Fiddler’s bidding, in fact. Muriel phoned me. Her people and mine are old friends. Nice girl, Muriel. Lucky chap, Oppenheim.’
    ‘You’re absolutely