The Body at the Tower - By Y. S. Lee Page 0,18

He drew breath to say so – and the rasping sensation in his lungs made him pause, reminding him in one breath of both malarial fever and professional failure. He had fallen gravely ill in Calcutta; had come close to death. He’d learned an equally brutal lesson in local politics, finding his work obstructed and his projects undermined because he lacked important sponsors.

He was quick to learn. Even in England – perhaps especially in England – it would do Easton Engineering good to impress the First Commissioner of Works. The man was enormously influential, both in his official capacity and in his private life. If James had learned only one thing in Calcutta, it was that connections were paramount. Perhaps he, too, was becoming a realist.

And yet. And yet. He couldn’t possibly accept Harkness’s offer.

Could he?

Harkness smiled once more, the first natural smile he’d shown since the real conversation began. “You’re thinking too hard, young James. It’s a plum job; the sort of job you and your brother could use. Just think of it: a spot of work, a short report, and the heartfelt gratitude of the Commissioner.”

He didn’t need the older man to tell him that. He looked about the office, taking in the careless heaps of papers spilling from cabinet to desk to floor; at the grubby walls and makeshift furniture. Did he really want to conduct a professional review of this old family friend? How could he find against him? Yet how could he not, if that was what conscience dictated?

But what a cowardly reason to refuse the work. If he took the job, he wouldn’t be Harkness’s lapdog. He’d be precisely what the Commissioner had specified: an independent engineer. His own professional pride demanded that he be impartial, even if he didn’t care about justice and truth.

Fine words, he taunted himself. Justice and truth might sound very well, but who would believe him once they learned of his long-standing family connection with Harkness? That was why he must decline the work, no matter how tempting. He’d find another way to build important connections.

“You’re a first-class engineer, Easton – you and your brother, both – and I thought it might be useful to you in the future, to have made the acquaintance of such a man as the First Commissioner of Works.”

Why was Harkness trying to sell him the job? How many candidates had already declined, and for what reasons? James knew he wasn’t the pre-eminent engineer of his generation – not yet, at any rate. Easton Engineering was still a small firm, his reputation not yet made. He couldn’t have been anybody’s first choice. “Why me?” he said slowly.

Harkness looked startled. “Well, I’ve just said you’re a sound man, a top-class engineer … and of course, our long friendship and my affection for your father’s memory make me glad to do you a good turn. Why, you don’t doubt your ability to conduct a simple assessment of the safety precautions on site, do you?”

“I don’t,” said James. His brain was turning rapidly. Too rapidly, perhaps. He wasn’t normally the dithering sort, but today he was both tempted and repelled in equal measure. And then a solution came to him. “I’d welcome the job if I were independently appointed by the Commissioner himself.”

“But my dear young man, it’s the same thing: as I said earlier, the Commissioner has left the matter entirely with me. My choice is his choice.” Harkness’s over-patient tone suggested that James was being obtuse.

“With respect, sir, it’s not the same thing at all.”

“You always were stubborn.” Harkness showed him a smile, but it was strained. “But you’re not foolish. Are you willing to risk the benefits this job will bring to you and your brother, all for a mere formality?”

James drew a deep breath. “Yes, sir. I am.” The compromise was far from perfect, said his weary conscience, but it hurt less than rejecting the enticing offer outright.

Harkness looked nettled. “Very well. I shall mention your … scruples to the Commissioner. For your sake, young James, I hope he’s inclined to accommodate your whim.”

On his way back to the carriage James lingered by the entrance, observing the builders at work. It was difficult to pinpoint what was wrong on a building site simply by looking, but he had a strong impression that all was not right in Palace Yard. Many mocked the idea of instinct, but he’d learned years ago to trust his. This appointment – if he got it – would not