Apparently, they can aim better than the ones we have now.’ He’d wolfed down the fish in two bites, then grabbed one of the two glasses of wine set before him without caring which one it was. It was a sweet Barsac that the Karols always served with fish; he gulped it down, then grimaced in disgust; he was teetotal, didn’t smoke and would never had gone near a woman, or played cards, or eaten pork if circumstances hadn’t forced him to seek out the company of members of the government. Government officials, it seemed, could only understand business matters when surrounded by food or women.

‘Live with the dogs, not like them,’ he sometimes told Karol, since Karol loved gambling, wine and women. ‘They’ll be the death of you.’

‘Brilliant deal, big money … Could tell you about it, if you’re interested …’ he continued. ‘Wonderful cannons,’ he said, finally allowing himself to get carried away, as was his nature, and singing the praises of the strange cannons as if he were selling stockings outside the entrance to some building.

‘But, for goodness sake, they were made in 1860!’

‘Why do you think they would be worse than the ones we have now? Don’t you think that our fathers were as sly as you and me? Why wouldn’t they have been? Where’s your evidence?’

‘If I might say something,’ said Chestov, carefully choosing a glass of wine and drinking it slowly, a smile on his pursed lips and a look of scorn in his eyes. ‘You …’

‘No, you allow me to say something. We must keep everybody’s role straight. After all, it’s not up to me to say whether these cannons are good or bad. I’m not an engineer. I’m not an artilleryman. I’m a “speculator”, a businessman. That’s my part in all this,’ he said, turning his back on Chestov to help himself to the partridge in cream sauce that was being offered to him; he smelled the salad and sent it away with a gesture of disgust, for he didn’t like the look of it.

‘I go to the War Ministry,’ he continued. ‘I say, “Here’s the situation. I’ve been offered this or that. Are you interested? Look into it and see if it’s suitable.” I wouldn’t take on such responsibility myself, what an idea. You want it? This is how much it costs. You don’t want it? Good evening, then. Naturally, it is essential that they understand … that everyone,’ he said, emphasising the word while staring fixedly and ironically at Chestov, ‘that everyone understands what is in his own best interest.’

‘What is in the interest of Russia,’ Chestov said harshly and looked around him, haughtily scrutinising everyone as if to remind them all that he was the representative of the government and had the right to look deep into their hearts and souls in the name of the Emperor.

‘Naturally,’ they all said at once. ‘Speaking of which, has anyone read the papers?’

‘Bring them here,’ Bella said to one of the servants.

They passed them round, each of them skimming the headlines before carefully looking at the Stock Market page, then impatiently crumpled them up and threw them on the floor where the young servant collected them with a silver-gilt dustpan and brush that bore the coat of arms of Count Petschersky.

‘Nothing new,’ said Max. ‘It’s the next Hundred Years’ War.’ He looked at Bella with sensuous desire. ‘How wonderful these roses smell …’

‘They’re the ones you sent,’ Bella said. She smiled and pointed to the delicate silver filigree basket where the roses were opening their petals in the warmth around the table.

Meanwhile, Chestov was saying, ‘As far as the cannons are concerned, I do not share your enthusiasm, my dear … er …’ He hesitated, pretended to be trying to remember a name he’d forgotten. ‘… er … Salomon Salomonovitch …’

Slivker understood the insinuation but merely shrugged his shoulders as if he were thinking, ‘You can call me a pig if you like, just do as you’re told.’

‘Arkadievitch, dear sir, Arkadievitch,’ he said affably, correcting the Minister’s son, ‘but never mind. You were saying?’

‘Your cannons, perhaps they might serve some other purpose? It seems to me they could be stripped down and used as scrap metal. I’m only a layman in such matters, of course, but I do believe we are short of scrap iron.’

Slivker, having achieved his aim, allowed himself to pause for breath; he took his time choosing some asparagus and waited quite a while before replying. ‘Would you care to speak to your father about it? My God, it wouldn’t commit you to anything … Of course he wouldn’t buy anything without thinking it over first …’

‘But he’s not the only one at the Ministry …’

‘Oh! You know, it’s only a matter of persuading the others.’

‘You mean bribing them,’ said Karol; he called a spade a spade.

‘Alas!’

‘The country’s in such a sad state,’ said Slivker who was only too happy to flatter Chestov now that he had got what he wanted.

‘When it’s an important matter of patriotism, as in this case, it’s not such a bad thing, but if you only knew … However, I can’t betray the secrets of the gods,’ said Chestov.

‘I know about a deal that’s better than your Spanish cannons. It’s a factory that was confiscated from an Austrian group at the beginning of the war and which is going to start operating again. I have it from a reliable source; they’re selling all the shares as one lot; they’ll cost 5 but will be worth 500 in two months,’ said Karol. ‘I don’t understand why people aren’t willing to get involved in sound business deals.’

‘Because’, Slivker said bitterly, ‘when you first get involved in a deal, you never know if it will turn out well.’

‘For example,’ said Karol, smiling sarcastically, ‘your bread deal with the army.’

‘What about it?’

‘You made us listen to you go on about it for six months. It ended up as a heap of rotten bread.’

‘The flour was of the finest quality,’ said Slivker, who seemed annoyed.