‘All right,’I concede. ‘If all else fails, I agree. We merge with American Pacific.’
Unexpectedly, a lump rises to my throat. And when I look at my father I see that he too is quite shaken. The magnitude of the decision, of what it means for our family, penetrates deep.
‘If all else fails,’ I repeat, more firmly. ‘But first we try the alternative.’
He nods. ‘Boddington?’ he says.
We look at one another. Then before he has a chance to muster his objections, I launch into my argument: I say that if we act fast we might raise ten million against the estate; I say that once the market sees us buying it will give everyone pause. He cuts me off in mid-flow.
‘I’ve already done it, Raef. I’ve raised twelve million.’
I stop and stare.
‘Boddington, and a few other odds and ends.’ He tells me who has lent us the money: another British merchant. He misunderstands my silent response. ‘It was the best I could do, Raef.’
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I mean, excellent. Twelve.’
‘Twelve, and a touch more.’ He hands me a slip of paper and I read the number: almost twelve and a quarter.
I look up. ‘You’re sure about this?’
He names the broker we use for our personal dealings. He says that we have credit for the full sum.
‘I meant about Boddington. You’re sure you want to put it on the line.’
He points to the slip. Not an answer, but the best I will get. God knows what it must have cost him to reach this decision; and then to act.
‘One other thing,’ he says. ‘The bidding can’t be done by committee. Even a committee of two. I’m leaving it in your hands.’
‘That isn’t necessary.’
‘I believe it is, Raef. This is moving too fast now. You have a feel for these things. I don't.’ He stands. ‘Believe me, if I thought there was a better way ...’ He spreads his hands. If he thought there was a better way he would never have risked Boddington.
‘When do we expect an answer from Gifford?’
‘We’re at his place for supper. Will you come, Raef?’
I look down at the number again: twelve and a quarter. Boddington. Without argument, my father has placed the most important thing in his life completely and utterly in my care. The foundations of the relationship between us seem to shift, and a new weight settles on my shoulders.
‘I think we should have some cut-off figure in the Carltons share price,’ he says. He points to the slip in my hand. ‘You try to stop the fall with that. If you succeed, well and good. If you don’t, I think we should have a cut-off.’
‘Then we merge?’
‘If Carltons drops to our agreed figure, then we do everythinglin our power to sell to Gifford.’
A fair suggestion. I can’t object to this. Once I’ve spent the twelve and a quarter buying Carltons shares, we’ll have shot our last bolt. If our share price continues to slide, we either agree a merger with Gifford or face financial annihilation; that, or a takeover by Sandersons.
Then I see something else: if we sell out to Gifford, we can redeem the pledge against Boddington. No doubt my father has thought of this too.
I tap the Reuters, the last trade in Carltons was at 245p.
‘What figure were you thinking of?’
He considers. ‘How does 200 sound?’
‘Make it 195.’
‘If it touches 195,’ he concedes, ‘we sell out. Family rules.’
I agree. This is strictly between my father and me.
16
* * *
‘Bid,’ I say to the broker down the line. ‘Yes. Bid, as in buy. And I’m not averse to letting the market know it’s my family. Stay on line. I’ll put you on the squawkbox.’ I hit the button and put down the phone.
‘Still there, Raef?’
‘I’m here. I can’t see my bid up on the screen yet.’
But then up it comes: 245p. It stays there five seconds, then disappears.
‘You’re done at 245,’ the broker tells me.
One hundred thousand shares at 245p. Plus stamp duty.
‘Bid 243,’ I say. ‘Another hundred.’
I watch the screen. The bid flashes up, but almost at once the broker comes back.
‘You’re filled at 243.’
The bid on the screen winks out. Brutal confirmation, if I still needed it, of just what we’re fighting. Everyone wants to get out of Carltons. Against this I have the rather meagre weapon of twelve million pounds.
‘Bid again,’ I tell the broker. ‘241 for a hundred.’
I have to be careful how I do this. If I keep bidding in small amounts, and dropping the bid, I might cause the very thing that I want to avoid; but if I stand at one price, and fight with everything I have, what happens when I run out of ammunition? It’s the kind of judgement I generally left to Daniel.
Remembering this, I call through to Becky and tell her to have Henry come down.
By the time he enters, I have a bid on of 239, and I’ve already spent a million pounds. I outline the situation briefly, not revealing how limited my resources truly are.
‘Mm. I’ve been watching it,’ he says. ‘Billy’s done Carltons’ chart.’ Carltons’ chart: a graph of the recent history of our share price. In the eyes of chartists like Billy, a sure fire predictor of future performance. ‘One line. goes down till it hits two hundred, then splits.’ Henry gestures with his finger. ‘A black line bounces back up. A red line keeps going down.’
‘I thought you didn’t believe in charts.’
‘Five million idiots can’t be wrong. Not in a market.’
I ask if he thinks I should wait till it drops then defend the price at 200.
‘No way. Put your name about. The market sees you buyin’, there might be second thoughts.’ He nods to the screen. ‘I wouldn’t piss around with small lots. Put a decent bid in every 10p fall. Make it look like you’re serious.’
I speak to the broker, changing the amount on the bid.
‘Maybe it’s none of my business,’ Henry ventures, ‘but I woulda thought there’d be some friendly support, you know, for Carltons.’
I remind him of the salvage operation in the Dealing Room midweek. We have blown all our favours.
I'm expecting him to leave now, but he doesn’t.
‘That Inspector Ryan keeps comin’ back here,’ he says. ‘Everyone’s wonderin’ why he’s so interested in us. Owen's runnin’ a book on who gets arrested. I’m fifty to one. Vance is down to even money.’
‘Tell Owen that if he doesn’t close that book, he’s fired.’
Henry smiles at first, then he sees that I’m serious. He takes another look at the screen.
‘If the Meyer bid comes unstuck,’ he says, ‘Carltons won’t even pause for a breather at 200 on the way down.’
The broker shouts over the box: I have bought a million and a half more Carltons at 239.
17
* * *
239, 234, 229. Nerve-racking: I know what that means now. A million and a half pounds every 10p fall, but the fall’s slowing as word gets around. After the deal at 239, Brian McKinnon came through on my private line to check on the rumour he’d heard: was I buying? ‘Confirmed,’ I told him. He asked me if I knew something I didn’t. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I know that 239’s a bargain.’ He laughed and hung up. Now, approaching close of trade, my bid of 119 sits on the screen beside someone else’s offer of 229. The price has sat untouched for almost quarter of an hour: the market has paused to reconsider. And I am beginning to hope.
Vance will not be arrested. I keep telling myself that. Because if he is, Henry’s right, the bid could well fall apart. And if the bid falls apart, the cascade of sellers in Carltons will turn into an avalanche. Twelve million pounds won’t save us then.
I think about my father and Boddington. Piece by piece, bid by bid, I’ve committed the estate to this struggle for the bank's salvation. Now, a third of the money gone, a growing
doubt comes to me: what right do I have to be doing this? If we open negotiations with Gifford at once, we’ll get a better price for Carltons than if we wait. And Boddington would no longer be at risk. But the bank would go; and I can’t bring myself to surrender it like that.
The broker shouts, ‘Seller at 225.’
Immediately the offer appears on the screen. I watch and wait, but nothing more happens. The minutes pass slowly. We have almost survived the day.
Then I think of Annie; of Annie and my wife. Where are they? Are they safe? I don’t even know that. Here am I, staring at a screen, wringing my hands over the fate of Carlton Brothers, and where they are, and how they are, God only knows. And isn’t this exactly what Theresa told me she hated? Even before Annie came, didn’t she accuse me of allowing my whole life to be devoured by the bank? In December — the month of our personal Somme — she hurled in my face the bitter accusation that by the time she slept with Daniel, she’d already lost me to Stephen Vance. I laughed then, in derision. Staring at the screen now, reflecting on the years of my marriage, that derisive laughter seems very hollow. Because it is true what Theresa said: there really is more than one kind of unfaithfulness.
‘You’re done at 219.’
Leaning forward, I hit the button. ‘Bid 209. Same amount.’
My bid appears on the screen. I fold my arms, and close my eyes for a moment. Just at the edge of sense now, I smell the subtle musk of my wife’s perfume.
18
* * *
Inspector Ryan follows me around the Dealing Room. We stop by a desk, and I enter Twintech’s name into our Dealing System.
‘Hugh’s confident,’ I tell him, and Ryan lifts his mobile phone to his ear and waits for Hugh’s okay.
Apart from Henry and the nightdesk, the dealers and salesmen have all gone home. With many of the trading lines still closed, it’s been a very quiet day for them. My own trading day ended with the 209 bid untouched: the sellers of Carltons are definitely reconsidering. But tomorrow the game starts anew; and with more than half my ammunition spent, I'm not looking forward to the morning.
When Ryan came to see if we were any further on with the fraud, Hugh sent us both down to the Dealing Room. ‘Raef’ll explain the trap,’ Hugh told him. And that's what I do now, quietly, so Henry and the others can’t hear.
‘Once a deal’s done, the trader enters the deal here,’ I say, pointing to the keyboard and screen. Ryan interrupts, his mobile still held to his ear, and gives me Hugh’s message from upstairs. ‘Morgan says, “Okay, next one”.’
I scrub Twintech’s name from the deal-screen and move on to the next desk. Ryan follows.
‘If someone enters Twintech down here, it’ll go through to Hugh’s screen upstairs. All lights and bells. That’s how he’s programmed it.’
‘And then what? You and Morgan come racing down and make a citizen’s arrest?’
‘We contact you.’
‘Naturally.’ He gives me a look. ‘What makes you think he'll trade tomorrow?’
‘The open position in CTL. If the market turns against him, he’ll cut the loss. That’s what he’s always done.’
‘And you’re sure the market will turn against him tomorrow?’
‘Reasonably.’
He doesn’t press the point, as if maybe he knows that he won't like the answer. We test the last two desks, and after getting Hugh’s okay from upstairs Ryan repockets his phone. On our way out the door, Henry calls across the room, asking if we need any help. I raise a hand and call, no thanks.
‘I went up to see Mr Win Doi,’ Ryan says, stepping after me into the lift. ‘Apparently he went home early.’
‘He’s afraid you’re going to send him back to Vietnam.’
Ryan does a double take.
‘Just an idea he got into his head,’ I explain. ‘But it might pay you to reassure him.’
Ryan thanks me for the advice, but I’m not sure that he's not being ironic.
Settlements, like the Dealing Room, is quiet: three girls remain, they stand by the fax machines, chatting. Hugh has installed himself by the door.
‘Good news,’ he says as we approach. ‘Nothing got put through in Twintech’s name this afternoon. The position's still open.’
Ryan props himself against Hugh’s desk and tells me that Penfield is talking like Carltons might be in grave trouble.
I glance warily over my shoulder; but the girls, I decide thankfully, can’t hear us.
‘I’m not a banker,’ Ryan goes on, ‘but if the Deputy Governor of the Bank of England's concerned, I’d say there’s genuine cause.’
‘We’ll survive.’
‘Whether you survive or not isn’t my worry, Mr Carlton. I’d like to know what, if anything, Daniel Stewart’s murder has to do with your problems.’
‘It hasn’t helped.’
‘Meaning?’
I turn to Hugh. This seems to be the time to mention the Twintech note that I found among Daniel’s papers. But Hugh’s look checks me.
‘Listen,’ I say, facing Ryan again. ‘It’s not only Daniel. We’ve had the DTI onto us, trading problems, this fraud note, it builds up. We’ve fallen out of favour. Daniel’s murder’s become a useful peg for the market to hang every rumour on.’ I repeat with more hope than conviction, ‘We’ll survive.’
Ryan gestures to Hugh’s PC and wonders aloud if there is really much chance of this trap coming off.
‘If the market moves against him,’ Hugh says. ‘Sure.’
Ryan’s mobile rings, he steps away and holds a brief conversation, voice lowered. Hugh taps impatiently at his desk. I get the impression that he wants to speak with me alone.
Ryan’s conversation ends. ‘The moment you get anything on this,’ he points his mobile at the PC, ‘I want to be told.’
‘Was that about Stewart?’ Hugh asks, referring to the call.
‘Someone known to us left the country in a hurry last Thursday morning,’ Ryan says. ‘It’s possibile it's connected with Stewart.'
‘Who?’
‘Known to us, the police, Mr Carlton. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’ He hurries out to the lifts.
‘Known to us?’ I turn to Hugh. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Not our problem.’ Hugh watches Ryan through the glass wall. Ryan disappears into the lift. ‘I’m having second thoughts on that Twintech list of Stewart’s. Have you got it here?’
I take it from my pocket and hand it to him. He examines it, thoughtfully.
‘You said there was some kind of note on Odin too,’ he says.
Odin. Again. I thought we had settled this. ‘I don’t know why Daniel was murdered, Hugh, but it wasn’t because of Odin. All right?’
‘Have you still got that note?’
‘Hugh, it’s not part of this.’
He regards me steadily. He will not let this go.
19
* * *
I take Daniel’s Odin note from the drawer of my desk. Coming out of my office, note in hand, eyes down, I walk straight into Vance. He hurries by me, talking over his shoulder as he goes into his own office.
‘Ian Parnell’s staying the night in town. I’ve offered him a room on Carltons.’
Vance is already on the phone, dialling, when I put my head round his door.
‘He accepted?’
Vance grins. ‘He's not likely to win any IQ awards, I can tell you that. He seems to think Haywood's his new best friend.’
‘Is he going to sell?’
‘We’ll put the thumbscrews on him tonight. The Savoy. You free?’
Tonight I’ll be dealing with wider concerns than young Ian Parnell. But I wish Vance good luck. If he can shake Ian Parnell’s holding free, the Parnells defence will fall apart, the Meyers will win the bid, and Carltons, after a calamitous week, will begin to look like a bank again. Hope abounding.
Upstairs, I hand Daniel’s note about Odin to Hugh. Hugh places the yellow Odin page side-by-side with the yellow Twi
ntech page that I found among Daniel’s papers. The layout of the two pages is identical.
‘You said Daniel would have told you about Twintech if he wasn’t involved in some way,’ Hugh reminds me. ‘You were sure if he’d come across it accidentally, he would have brought it to you.’
‘I’m sure he would have.’
‘What if it wasn’t accidental?’
I look up, uncertain what he is getting at.
‘What if he was doing what we’ve been doing?’ Hugh says. He touches the Odin page. ‘He did it once before, didn’t he?’
‘An investigation?’
‘Ahha.’
‘He would have told me.’
Hugh taps the Odin sheet. ‘After this? Put yourself in his shoes. He found the Odin deal, he thought he‘d uncovered a big problem, and took it straight to you. What did he get? A pat on the back? Well done, Daniel, you’ve just saved the bank several million quid?’
‘I told him I was aware of the situation.’
‘Anything else?’
There was; and remembering it now, I see what Hugh’s getting at. It feels like curtains being drawn back, and light pouring in.
‘I told him I didn’t need his help. I told him to stay out of it.’
‘You told him to stay out of it.’ Hugh echoes. ‘And he was your Treasurer.’
In fact I told Daniel rather more than this: I warned him that he'd already done quite enough meddling in my affairs. My affairs. And if Daniel found Twintech after that?
‘So let’s say Stewart still didn’t like the look of the Odin deals even after you told him to lay off,’ Hugh says. ‘Then he thinks to himself, if Odin got through the system, could there be any others? He does a trawl, just like I did. That’d be reasonable, wouldn’t it? He was Treasurer, he had responsibilities.’ Hugh raises one yellow page. ‘Bingo. He finds Twintech.’
Due Diligence Page 25
