‘Well,’ said Alan, thoughtfully, ‘it seems like you’ve thought of all the possible wrinkles. What are you going to do now?’

‘I have a farmer,’ said Shearson. ‘One representative farmer, whose crop is turning as black as Sammy Davis Junior all around him. I used to know his father, before his father passed on, and so there’s a good old-time friendship story for the newspapers in that. This farmer’s going to be my mouthpiece for all the struggling crop growers of Kansas and North Dakota. He’s articulate, and he’s out for extra compensation on top of his crop insurance, and with the right handling he could be very appealing. I haven’t met him yet, but provided he doesn’t look like Quasimodo, I don’t think we’re going to have any problems at all.’

There was a longer silence. Eventually, Alan said, ‘All right, Shearson. I’ll leave the ball with you. But don’t forget to keep me in touch. I don’t want you using my authority for deals you conveniently forgot to tell me about.’

‘Alan,’ said Shearson, warmly, ‘would I ever do a thing like that?’

‘Yes,’ replied Alan, and put the phone down.

Della sat watching Shearson with a mixture of amusement and respect. ‘You amaze me,’ she said, as Shearson picked up his cocktail and took a long swallow.

‘I amaze you? Why? I’m only doing my job.

‘Your job is to set up personal slush funds disguised as emergency appeals for stricken farmers?’

Shearson shook his head. ‘My job is to make the people who elected me happy. That’s why they voted for me. With this Blight Crisis fund, the agricultural aid supporters in Congress will get to feel happy, the private industries who donate money and have their names published in the papers will get to feel happy, the farmers will get to feel happy, and the public will get to feel happy.’

Della stood up and walked across the Arabian rug. The loosely-tied belt around her silky wrap came undone, and Shearson glimpsed her small see-through nylon panties. He raised his eyes to her and saw that she was smiling.

‘We mustn’t forget you,’ she said. ‘You will get to feel happiest of all.’

‘You don’t begrudge me a little satisfaction out of life? A little financial compensation for all the selfless effort I put into this nation’s affairs?’

‘You still amaze me,’ she said. ‘To take a situation like this wheat blight, and twist it around into a profit-making venture with only a couple of phone calls and a few minutes’ thought – well, that’s what I call genius. Black genius, perhaps. But genius all the same.’

He watched her closely, and then he held out his fat-fingered hand for her. She stepped a few inches closer, and he grasped her wrap.