The Three Sentinels by Geoffrey Household

Mass revolt is
     anathema—especially when elected leaders are made to swim.
    2. He hates land. Food should be organised and provided by governments. In that he agrees with Stalin, but God forbid that I should ever point it out!
    3. He is alarmed by any proposal to give away assets to what he calls dagoes. I, being an immoral capitalist, take a longer view. A contented community adds enormously to
     the value of Cabo Desierto and until we have it I will not advise acceptance of any offer for the field. If that means allowing a chap to get out of oil into potatoes I am perfectly prepared to
     help and encourage.
    ‘Don’t bother about Dave! He has the tendency of a weak man to square his chin, but at this end we can vote him down. I am more worried by what might happen at your end and
     can’t put a name to my suspicions.’
     
    A cautious letter like the label on a box of pills. May be prescribed with confidence but watch out for contra-indications! Still, there was warmth and support. It occurred to
Mat—not for the first time in his life—that he met with approval at the top and the bottom and mistrust in the middle.
    Lorenzo stopped the car at the gate to the sports ground and impassively opened the door for the General Manager. Though there was nothing obsequious about his bearing or legs, from the waist up
he always seemed to be waiting for orders. The loose gathering of oil workers returned Mat’s greetings as he walked through them, showing neither enmity nor encouragement; he might have been
a groundsman come to mark out the football field. That was more or less what he wanted. He had announced his intention as merely asking and answering questions on such minor points as canteens,
imports, use of launches and the school, and had firmly turned down a suggestion that the Mayor should ceremoniously take the chair. The meeting would then have developed into a competition of
eloquence, hardening attitudes and settling nothing.
    Fourteen of the leaders were there to receive him. The table round which they sat was intelligently arranged with Rafael Garay at one end and himself, flanked by Gil Delgado, at the other.
Though some members of the committee were cold and smug and some inclined to be over-hearty from embarrassment he was surprised at the deference shown to him.
    For an hour relations were easy enough. With pad and pencil in front of him, he might have been, say, a Borough Engineer at a meeting of tenants, ready to agree to some of their requirements and
to explain why others could not be met. Garay was his natural self. He gave the impression of a man so sure of his policy that he could afford to be reasonable, even grateful. Delgado, on the other
hand, several times struck a note of hostility. Why? A possible reading was that he had to pretend more solidarity than he really felt.
    ‘Wine is agreed then,’ Delgado said, ‘on condition that you do not expect us to hold out our mugs outside the church door. But what about water? Will you sign a contract for
our supply?’
    Nobody else spoke. For a moment Mat could hear the monotony of the surf. Evidently this was unexpected.
    ‘A lot of good that would be to you! If you put an end to the Company, what value has the Company’s signature?’
    That rammed home one of the illogicalities of their stubbornness. If there was to be no more oil, who or what would own Cabo Desierto? Delgado left it at that, his only comment being a half
smile of contempt directed down the table. It looked as if he accepted the answer and was ready to let it stay in the minds of the committee. The contempt could be for them.
    ‘Listen, Mr. Manager!’ Garay exclaimed. ‘No one will ever drive us from our homes.’
    ‘No need to repeat it. I agree. No one will. But you must excuse me, Don Rafael. I did not mean to break our understanding that the boycott would not be discussed. Now, before I leave, may
I ask one question? Tell me to go to the devil if you like! What