Chapter 33
FAGERSTROM
Stig Fagerstrom had a Parisian pied-à-terre at 58, rue François Premier de Serbie, in the 8th arrondissement of Paris, just off the Champs Elysee. The apartment was at the very top end of the property market with its two hundred square metres living space, situated on the first floor overlooking the street below with its highly expensive boutiques. Fagerstrom had furnished it in his version of Louis XIV style, not really bad taste but simply nouveau riche.
Ennis glanced around the apartment and could not help thinking that it was not bad for weekdays. He had installed himself in an undersized elaborately carved armchair; it was upholstered with the kind of tapestry that certain French seemed to appreciate. Though it was not exactly ergonomic he tried to settle himself down as comfortably as it would allow. In the twin armchair facing Ennis sat Fagerstrom, his stocky figure and bulging midriff seemed to mould into the chair with natural ease, his left leg hooked over his right knee. Paul Bazanerie, very much he shortest of the three, sat bolt upright on the sofa. The walls were decorated with oil paintings some of which were originals and others inexpensive reproductions all in elaborate gold frames. In one corner stood what at first sight appeared to be a huge black glass vase though after a moment Ennis realised it was a TV.
Fagerstrom represented the interests of a Swedish group whose interests ranged from paper making to publishing and television. He had invited them to dinner that evening for preliminary negotiations of film, television and publishing rights for archaeological excavations in Brunei.
After finishing their drinks he informed them it was time to leave for the restaurant. They took the broad stairway to the ground floor into a high arched coach entrance that led into a courtyard. Stig gave a casual commentary on the history of the building that had been constructed about one hundred-and-thirty years previously at the time the Baron Haussman had remodelled Paris. He talked with detached pride like a nobleman describing details of his demur pointing to the entrance that had served for the horse driven coaches of the rich that led to the stables and servants quarters at the back of the courtyard. Stig was a successful agent but had been born in a small cold town in the centre of Sweden making his way up and finally Paris where he saw himself second only to the ambassador of Sweden and more permanent. In spite of his pretentious front he was jovial and easy to get along with providing that those he met respected his standing.
They crossed rue Francois Premier and walked down rue de la Tremoille to a corner restaurant.
‘Good family cuisine,’ said Fagerstrom.
‘Modest families,’ thought Ennis.
Bazanerie smiled in polite admiration for Fagerstrom’s choice.
‘I come here in the evening for my dinner, it saves making a mess in the flat,’ Fagerstrom laughed.
Ennis sat next to Bazanerie along a wood panelled wall facing the dining room with Fagerstrom opposite them. Fagerstrom insisted they take another drink and the waiter took their orders, a Bloody Mary for Ennis, a Whisky for Fagerstrom and a Kir for Bazanerie, and then handed them the menus.
‘So here’s to our good health and future business,’ said Fagerstrom lifting his glass with the others following suit.
‘Our group is very interested in sponsoring your archaeological and scientific work in Borneo. You may know that our forestry industries division is active in Borneo and we are planning to make significant investments in that country with your friend Mr Adianto’s group. In simple terms it would be a very good public relations operation for us. I may say that our group is prepared to back you with a lot of money,’ he said with the words ‘a lot’ pronounced quietly in a clear understatement.
‘There will be no interference, no questions asked, and no limit to the help we are prepared to give in the name of science?’ he raised his head in a challenge and smiled. ‘Can you see any other parties willing to go in without ties or limitations?’
Bazanerie pouted, ‘I don’t see why not, if the benefits are as good as we expect it to be.’
‘I can tell you very seriously that our group is a one of the world’s leaders in our field. By that I mean there are only ten in the world who have this kind of leverage.’
‘What do you want in exchange, I mean very precisely.’
‘Good point! That is really the key.’
The waiter hovered behind Fagerstrom waiting for their orders, the looked down the menu again cross checking with each other as if to be sure that they were on the same wave length.
‘Three duck pates, I can recommend it, it’s made here by the chef.’ The waiter took each of their orders for the main course and handed the wine list to Fagerstrom.
‘What would you like, I mean is red OK?’
‘Red is perfect.’ replied Bazanerie.
‘Good, I always drink red, I know nothing about white wines, it’s alright for your Coquille St Jacque?’
‘Absolutely, I prefer red too.’
Fagerstrom ordered a Medoc and the waiter left.
‘Our forestry business has an unfortunately bad image, pollution, ripping down the forest, destroying rivers and lakes, you know the story. So, public relations is the key to everything in our business. If we can counterbalance the bad image by endorsing scientific research showing at the same time what we are doing to serve the world and preserve the environment then everybody is happy.’
Bazanerie knew little about forestry industries, or about industry in general, his background was public relations and marketing and he reasoned in terms of television ratings and advertising time. Ennis observed Fagerstrom selling himself to Bazanerie; he was cool and very convincing explaining that his group’s resources were practically without limit dangling an irresistible invitation to funding that could not be refused.
The evening clients were part of the smart set that the quarter attracted, from fashion houses and expensive boutiques, from the nearby television studios of Cognac Jay, and wealthy residents. At one table a fifty plus entertained his young mistress a flashy dark girl that Ennis assumed was Moroccan. He noted that Fagerstrom flashed a glance from time to time in the mirror that covered the wall behind them; he was inspecting the women in the restaurant. It was his other sport after horses.
“We are planning a new pulp mill and tree plantations to supply wood, millions of cubic metres of wood, mostly whole wood but also the waste from a saw mill and a furniture plant. Even the bark and saw dust will be burnt to produce the mill’s electrical power. Nothing is lost.”
“Not even the forest?” said Ennis.
“As a matter of fact the tree plantations will save the natural forest.”
They changed the subject with Fagerstrom and Bazanerie discovering common interests, they both owned farmland. Bazanerie had inherited a large but run down family farm bordering the Basque country whilst Fagerstrom had bought a farm in Normandy where he bred horses for trotting. Both were weekend farmers acting out the popular myth of the gentlemen farmer but neither the time nor the real desire to become anything more than country gentry when it suited them.
Two weeks later Bazanerie concluded the negotiations with the Swedes and Ennis signed the contract that would provide him advance payments and royalties from Fagerstrom’s group as well as the funds needed to complete the excavations on the Brunei wreck.
The Lost Forest Page 33
