The sea was too much of everything, really. My mother used to say the salt gets into your pores and stays there, even in the city. I was looking at those old spice jars today, the ones from the market in Marseille, and thinking about how much they cost. It's ridiculous, the markup on something so basic. I should have told you something about the—the shipment, well, it's not that the shipment was late, it's just that...
The salt is a persistent thing, though. You cannot wash it away so easily. It is much like the... the situation with the logistics. You are rambling about spices, Nell. You should focus. It is quite funny, really, how people focus on the trivialities of a markup when the actual delivery is what matters. It was not a matter of the delay, but rather a matter of the contents. The pier was so crowded, though. Is the connection breaking up? You sounded a bit distant.
The pier was always crowded. You're being too pedantic about the markup. It was a twenty-percent increase, not just a general markup. Anyway, the connection is... is fine. You're just hearing the static. The static is... the thing is, when the boat pulls in, you realize everything you thought you knew about the weight of the cargo was wrong. It's like that time in Bristol, before the move. Before the rain started. It's really just that the... the paperwork was...
It was not twenty percent, it was a twenty-five percent increase on the wholesale. You are being generous with the numbers. And stop talking about Bristol; that is old news. We are talking about the cargo now. It is quite clear that the... the weight was the issue. Or was it the volume? You are making it sound like a mystery when it should be a simple matter of accounting. The static is fine. It is just the... the papers. You were saying?
It was twenty-two percent. Don't change the numbers just because you're impatient. And it wasn't just the volume, it was the density, the way things shifted when the hull groaned. It's harder to explain than just a line in a ledger. It's like... when you realize you didn't actually own the thing you were holding. But that's beside the point. My manager at the firm kept calling about the quarterly audits, but really, the truth is—the truth is that the labels...
The labels? You are making a great deal of noise about labels, Nell. If the labels were incorrect, then the entire manifest is compromised. It is a messy thing to admit, but you are dancing around it. You always do that. You go from the density of the hull to your manager at the firm as if they are even remotely related. The shipment is the matter at hand. Tell me, was the weight actually... was the weight deceptive? The static is getting louder again.
It wasn't a great deal of noise, it was a specific distinction. And the manager's name is Mr. Henderson, for heaven's sake, he's not just some vague entity. The weight wasn't deceptive, it was just... unexpected. Like when you think you've bought a solid piece of oak and it turns out to be hollowed out. The labels were accurate, they were just applied to things that shouldn't have been in the crates. It’s like... the thing is, if you had known, you would have—
If I had known, the entire affair would have been handled with much more precision. You speak as if a hollowed oak is a catastrophe. It is simply a matter of what was expected versus what arrived. If the labels were applied to things that should not have been there, then the shipment was not a mistake, it was a deception. But you are not saying that, are you? You are still talking about Mr. Henderson. Is it about the labels, or is it about the... what was it? The contents?
It wasn't a deception, it was just a... a deviation. And Henderson wouldn't care about a deviation, he'd care about the loss. If the labels were wrong, it's because the contents themselves were... they were different than the manifest stated. It’s like when you open a book and the ink is still wet. Or a different kind of wet. It’s just that if the contents aren't what we thought—if the shipment was actually—well, it's not that we were lied to. It's that we didn't ask.
A deviation is just a polite word for an error, Nell. You use such soft language to cover the hard edges of the truth. If we did not ask, then we were complicit in the mistake. That is the uncomfortable reality. It is like the time with the crates in the warehouse, before the audit, when everything seemed fine until we actually opened them. The ink being wet... that is a rather poetic way to describe a logistical failure. You are avoiding the point. The shipment was... what?
It was fine. The warehouse was fine, too. You're being far too dramatic. It wasn't an error, it was an... an oversight of variables. You always jump to 'complicit' as if there was some grand conspiracy. It's much simpler. The contents were... heavier. We expected a certain weight, a certain physical presence, and the crates were actually... well, they were much more substantial. It's like that time with the old grandfather clock in the hallway, before the movers arrived. It was far heavier than the manual said.
The manual was correct; it was the movers who were careless. You are comparing a shipping container to a clock in a hallway, and it is quite a stretch. If the crates were more substantial, then the displacement was wrong. That is the only thing that matters. You are trying to make it sound like a natural phenomenon, like the tide or the weather. It was a physical discrepancy. If the contents were heavier than the manifest, then the shipment was essentially a lie. The... the labels...
It wasn't a lie. A lie requires intent, and we didn't know. We just accepted the manifest as a given. You're being quite uncharitable about the whole thing. The displacement was, technically, within the margin of error, but the... the actual substance of what was inside was different. It wasn't that we were being deceptive; it was just that the reality didn't match the expectation. It's like... if the labels were fine, but the—the truth is that we should have—
You should have checked the scales before the boat left the dock. It is that simple. You are searching for a profound philosophical difference between expectation and reality when there is only the matter of the weight. It is quite exhausting to watch you struggle with the concept of a simple mistake. If there was no intent, then there was no lie. But there is still the matter of the missing funds, or is it the missing... the missing cargo? The connection is very... you were saying we should have?
It was three hundred and twelve kilograms, not a "simple mistake." And you're jumping from scales to missing funds as if they are the same thing. They aren't. The cargo wasn't missing; it was just... transformed by the reality of its own weight. The connection is fine, Ivo, don't be so sensitive about the static. It's just that... if we had checked the scales, we wouldn't have been so caught off guard. It's like that time with the... with the old cellar in Bristol.
Three hundred and twelve kilograms is a significant amount to simply lose to a margin of error. You are being remarkably defensive about a mathematical discrepancy. And why do you keep bringing up the cellar in Bristol? It was a basement, not a mystery of physics. If the cargo was transformed, as you so strangely put it, then the manifest was certainly no longer accurate. You are trying to bridge the gap between what was paid for and what arrived. It is all very... there is a lot of static now.
It was a cellar, not a basement, and the dampness there was far worse. You're being incredibly sharp about the kilograms, but you're missing the texture of the problem. A three hundred and twelve kilogram difference doesn't just vanish; it sits there, heavy and awkward, between what was promised and what was delivered. It's not a mathematical discrepancy, it's a physical presence. It's like... if the shipment was meant to be one thing, but we found that it was actually—the thing is, if we had—
If you had checked, we would not be sitting here arguing about kilograms as if they were philosophical ghosts. It is a concrete, heavy, physical matter. You talk of the texture of the problem to avoid the fact that the numbers do not balance. It is quite a clever way to hide the truth, Nell. If the shipment was meant to be one thing, but it was actually something else, then the shipment was a deception. You are trying to say it was not, but it was.
It was not a deception. It was an unexpected density. You keep using that word, as if we were orchestrating a grand theft. We were just... receiving. The numbers don't balance because we assumed they would, but that's a matter of human error, not malice. It’s like that time with the—with the heavy draperies in the parlor. We thought they were silk, but they were far heavier. If we had known the contents were truly... well, it isn't that we lied. It's that we didn't expect the truth to be so heavy.
The draperies were velvet, Nell. You are misremembering the fabric. It is quite difficult to take your analogies seriously when they shift so frequently. If the truth is heavy, then you should have been prepared to carry it. You keep insisting there was no malice, yet you act as if a great weight has been placed upon your shoulders. If the shipment was not a lie, then why do you speak as if you are hiding a secret? Is it the truth that is heavy, or the... the responsibility?
They were velvet. They were heavy velvet, and the weight was the whole point. You're being quite uncharitable about my memory. And it’s not that I’m hiding a secret, it’s just that... once you realize the weight of the truth, you can't just put it back in the crate and pretend it’s not there. The responsibility isn't a weight, it's the matter of the contents itself. It's that when we opened the first crate, we realized the manifest was... the truth is...
The manifest was what it was. It is a piece of paper, Nell. It is not a living thing that changes when you look at it. You speak of the weight of truth as if it is a physical object you can weigh on a scale. If the first crate revealed the manifest to be wrong, then the entire shipment was a failure of accuracy. You are trying to make it sound like a revelation, but it is simply a matter of the contents being different. What was in the first crate?
It was glass. Or something that looked like glass, but the weight... it was far too heavy for the volume. You always do this, turning a physical fact into a lecture on bookkeeping. The manifest said it was decorative glassware, nothing more. But the density was... it was something else entirely. It's like that time at the old house, before the move, when the porcelain was actually lead. If we had known the density was so much higher, the whole plan would have—
The porcelain was not lead; it was a much heavier glaze, and you know this. You are shifting the goalposts to avoid the simple conclusion. If the glass was heavier than the volume allowed, then it was not decorative glassware at all. It was something else entirely, something dense and solid. You are terrified of the implication, so you retreat into these stories about old houses and heavy fabrics. If the plan would have changed, then you were essentially operating under a false pretense.