go black tie, remember: no wing collar; a proper bow tie that you tie, a black one too, absolutely no colours; no silly velvet slippers; no cummerbund; no frilly shirts; no black socks; no handkerchief in the pocket. Velvet coat’s all right. I know,’ he said, smiling suddenly and showing his big ruined teeth, ‘you can go in a kilt. Perfect. Black Watch tartan. Ideal, Lorimer.’
‘Can I wear a dirk?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘What’s wrong with black socks?’
‘Only butlers and chauffeurs wear black socks.’
‘You’re a genius, Ivan. What do you think about fobs? I rather fancy one.’
‘No gentleman wears a fob, ghastly affectation. If you don’t want physically to wear a wristwatch then just carry it in your pocket. Far more the thing to do, believe me.’
‘Right,’ Lorimer said. ‘Now, about this helmet.’ He spread out three polaroids of his helmet collection and handed Ivan the list of their provenances. Ivan glanced at them and pushed them away.
‘Not interested in the burgonet or the barbute, but this fellow looks good. I’ll give you five thou for him. Oh, all right, seven thousand for all three.’
‘Done.’ Lorimer was making a profit but it was irrelevant – he never bought his helmets to make a profit. ‘I’ve got them in the car.’
‘Write me a cheque for £ 13,000 and he’s yours,’ Ivan said, reaching over to a table where the Greek helmet stood on its stand and setting it in front of Lorimer. ‘I’m barely covering my costs on this.’
Lorimer thought. ‘I can write you a cheque,’ he said, ‘but you’ll have to hold on to it until I say. I’ve got a rather nice bonus coming in but it’s not through yet.’
Ivan smiled fondly at him. Lorimer knew the affection was genuine, and not just because he was a regular customer. Ivan enjoyed his role as consigliere and general fount of all wisdom about matters sartorial and social. Like many Englishmen he cared little for what he ate or drank – a gin and tonic and banana sandwich would suit at any hour of the day – but in matters of decorum Lorimer treated him as positively oracular, and Ivan was amused and rather flattered to be consulted. It also helped that Lorimer never challenged a single opinion Ivan expressed or statement he made.
‘I’ll pack it up and you can take it away with you,’ he said, turning and shouting up the stairs. ‘Petronella? Champagne, darling, we’ve made a sale. Bring down the Krug.’
32. George Hogg’s Philosophy of Insurance. What does insurance do, really do ? Hogg would ask us. And we would say, diligently echoing the textbooks, that insurance’s primary function is to substitute certainty for uncertainty as regards the economic consequences of disastrous events. It gives a sense of security in an insecure world. It makes you feel safe, then? Hogg would follow up. Yes, we would reply: something tragic, catastrophic, troublesome or irritating may have occurred but there is recompense in the form of a preordained sum of money. All is not entirely lost. We are covered, after a fashion, protected to a degree against the risk – the bad luck – of a heart attack, a car smash, a disability, a fire, a theft, a loss, things that can, and will, affect us all at some or many times in our lives.
That attitude, Hogg would say, is fundamentally immoral. Immoral, dishonest and misleading. Such an understanding promotes and bolsters the fond notion that we will all grow up, be happy, healthy, find a job, fall in love, start a family, earn a living, retire, enjoy a ripe old age and die peacefully in our sleep. This is a seductive dream, Hogg would snarl, the most dangerous fantasy. All of us know that, in reality, life never works out like this. So what did we do? We invented insurance – which makes us feel we have half a chance, a shot at achieving it, so that even if something goes wrong – mildly wrong or hideously wrong – we have provided some buffer against random disaster.
But, Hogg would say, why should a system that we have invented not possess the same properties as the life we lead? Why should insurance be solid and secure? What right do we have to think that the laws of uncertainty which govern the human condition, all human endeavour, all human life, do not apply to this artificial construct, this sop that affects to soften the blows of filthy chance and evil luck?