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you’d pick, Manse.’
    â€˜I go for a big single diamond.’
    â€˜That chimes with your personality, Mansel – unfussy, obvious, genuine worth.’
    â€˜Well, I hope so. But, look, Ralph, don’t let tales like that about Syb put you off.’
    â€˜Off what?’
    â€˜Off the best man job. Please.’
    â€˜Put me off? As you say, these are tales, only tales. Speculation. Besides, nothing would prevent me from –’
    â€˜I know – we all know – I know how you detests vulgarity and rough behaviour, especially in a church among vestments and effigies. If you hear this gossip, you might pull out, dreading a scene. But we need you there, Ralph, me and Naomi. Yes, need you. Like the ceremony wouldn’t be complete without you. We’re lucky to get a church that will take a couple of divorceds, but this luck is not worth a fart if you was to quit in disgust at what Syb might do and not wanting to be involved, which I’d recognize was within your rights.’
    â€˜Nothing will stop me, Manse,’ Ember replied. ‘Nothing. I’ve heard no stories, and even if I had I wouldn’t care. This is a rare – a unique – privilege.’
    Ember had one hand on the bar, about to pick up his drink. Shale put his hand over Ralph’s and pressed down for a moment. ‘Thank you, thank you, Ralph. I know for definite Naomi will be so content now, content and proud. This is like that event in the Bible making a fine future, what you mentioned just now.’
    â€˜Ruth’s baby?’
    â€˜True.’
    God, Ember did need some rapid clarity on what schemes Manse had under way. Did this creepy hand contact really mean something, a wholesome, eternal bond, after all, an authentic thank-you, a bracing pledge, nearly at the blood-brother level? It was Ralph’s shooting hand, immobilized for nearly a minute. When it happened, Ralph thought of that Godfather scene where Luca Brasi puts his hand on a bar and Sollozzo, the Turk, drives a knife through it, pinning Luca there while he’s garrotted. Were those earnest pleas about the best man role real, or tricks, or traps? He must try to line up something with Brown and make the first approach now.



Chapter Two
    Alone in an old, unmarked police pool Ford, Harpur saw Ralph Ember take two or three steps from a rear door of the Agincourt Hotel into the car park, and then stop. They were graceful steps – what one would expect from Ralph. He believed he had style. Ralph probably thought he had more of it than others might, but, just the same, Ralph felt a responsibility to move elegantly and offer his profile at favourable angles. He seemed to be waiting for somebody. Although most of the car park was dark, a single security lamp near the door made him identifiable, but his profile couldn’t at all come over in full glory through the dimness.
    Naturally, Harpur wondered whether Ember had managed to get something going with a girl dinner guest or a waitress, and expected her to follow him out now, possibly for something quick and doggie, or, more likely, to fix an arrangement for a better time. Ralph could undoubtedly pull. He looked quite a bit like the young Charlton Heston in, say, Ben Hur or El Cid – the same fine boniness of face and tall, wide-shouldered body. A long scar along one side of his jaw intrigued some women and gave a pretext for fluttering their investigative fingers on him, stroking that slightly raised line of shiny pink skin until other shiny pink skin reached the agenda, while clucking with sympathy and big, admiring curiosity. They thought the mark must hint at a story, and a story with Ralph as magnificent, though damaged, hero. The damage rated for them as highly as the magnificence because it ignited their caring side. Harpur had seen women react like this to Ember several times and occasionally wished for a face scar himself. About Harpur, though, people said he