by David Carter
‘So, ladies, we have a big mess that needs clearing up,’ she said. ‘Our first duty as a new board.’
‘The bottom line is, our late father was a big-time drug dealer. I think it’s disgusting!’ said Messine.
‘Get off your high horse!’ snapped Persia. ‘Do you mean to say if you’d known where the money came from to subsidise your silly fashion house, you wouldn’t have taken it?’
‘Of course I wouldn’t! How could I? And less of the silly!’
‘Girls, girls,’ pleaded Laura. ‘Try to remain objective. Our task is to solve the problem, not squabble over what has gone before.’
‘Legally speaking, what we should do,’ said Lisa, ‘is call the police right now, today, and advise them of the information we have discovered.’
She caught herself lapsing into American twang, cleared her throat and continued, ‘If we don’t, all here present, as directors of this company, are committing a serious criminal offence. Accessories after the fact, and maybe worse.’
‘Is that what you propose?’ asked Laura.
‘No. It isn’t. I am simply providing you with legal advice.’
‘So what would you do?’ pressed Laura.
‘Nothing.’
‘What do you mean, nothing?’
‘I mean precisely that,’ insisted Lisa. ‘Vimy ran this business successfully without any of us discovering a thing for more than a quarter of a century. Why can’t we, with all our expertise, resources, and intelligence, continue in precisely the same vein?’
‘I agree,’ said Persia, nodding vigorous encouragement across the table.
‘Me too,’ added Coral, her eyes alight, ‘and it’s what daddy would have wanted.’
No one could dispute that.
‘What’s the alternative?’ said Diane. ‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘Now hang on a minute,’ said Claire Sandolino. ‘It’s one thing to stumble across someone else’s illegal activities, but it’s another thing altogether to condone them, and even expand on them.’
‘Yes,’ said Laura, ‘It is, you’re right.’
Without warning Claire began laughing, softly at first, but gradually ever louder.
‘I can’t believe all this,’ she managed to utter between giggles. ‘I can hardly believe I’m saying it, but perhaps we could gradually sort it out, over a period of time, slowly weed out the nonsense, until everything is a hundred percent legit.’
Coral joined in the laughter, then Persia and Diane too. A moment later they were all screaming with joy at the absurdity of it. The high-pitched laughter leaked from the boardroom and could be heard floating through the general office.
‘Somebody must have told a filthy one,’ someone said, ‘for laughter like that!’
When the hilarity finally subsided, Lisa said, ‘I don’t believe the company could survive, by The Company, I mean Ridge Commodities, if this came out. If the Ridge Group has been funded all these years with dirty money, I think we’d be finished.’
‘In that case,’ said Claire, thinking of her sons and her recently discovered executive lifestyle, ‘there is no choice to make.’ She saw the future before her all too vividly, the nightmare of returning to struggling with bills and driving old cars, and shopping in Oxfam for second hand dresses, and giving up golf club and health club memberships. It wouldn’t do, there was too much at stake. ‘And anyway, it might be quite exciting. We must carry on as before,’ she reiterated. ‘We have no other choice.’
Laura nodded.
‘I’d like to put that to a vote. The motion is this; the board of Ridge Commodities continue to oversee Pegasus Trading, utilising Arthur Harkin as the general manager, and that under our supervision, every effort is made to push the business into total legality, however long it takes. It’s simple; you are either for or against the motion, but please think hard on it before you vote.’
Messine tutted and said, ‘Oh, go on then,’ as if it were a minor irritant in her day that she couldn’t be bothered with any longer.
Persia promptly added, ‘Yes, without question.’
Coral agreed. In her book anything illegal had to be fun.
Diane said, ‘It could have been worse; we could have been covering up murder. It’s a Yes from me.’
‘Thank God for small mercies, at least there isn’t a murderer in the family,’ whispered Laura, conveniently overlooking the fact her son Midge was doing life for that very crime.
Lisa glanced across the table into Coral’s eyes. Coral saw her coming, and each wondered what the other was thinking, as images of Carsos returned to their lively minds, as they pondered what the other might say. At least there were no murderers in the Ridge family. Or were there? Coral gave Lisa a muted smile and glanced down at her pad.
Lisa’s mind flashed back to that first day on Carsos, and that bastard, Nicoliades. If only she could turn back the clock, but she knew all clocks are one-eyed and only ever stare forwards. She glanced up and saw all eyes on her. Took a moment and a breath, and nodded and said, ‘It has to be a Yes from me too. We carry on as before, with the rider, as Claire said, that we do everything possible to legalise every aspect of Pegasus’s operations as soon as we can.’
‘That won’t be easy,’ said Persia.
‘I know that!’ snapped Lisa, ‘I’m not a fool.’
‘It’ll be impossible,’ said Coral, being realistic, reflecting the thoughts each of them secretly harboured, but dared to say.
H was H, and it would keep coming so long as Bulent Tarsus was involved, so long as Bulent Tarsus was alive.
‘I don’t care,’ said Claire, strangely upbeat, for she had seen the future, and it was full of Sandolinos. ‘A Yes from me too,’ she said brightly, ‘and do you know what? I’m looking forward to the challenge.’
WHEN SOULS LIE DOWN with the devil, there can be no redemption. It was a thought that several of them had considered. They were voting on becoming criminals, for a lifetime of sleepless nights and unlimited stress, to be forever worrying about who was watching whom, and who might come knocking on the door, and yet it had been a unanimous and resounding Yes.
And as if Lisa could read Claire’s mind, with thoughts of her boys running riot through the business in future years, she said, ‘I think we should remember we are all custodians, looking after the business, preparing for the day when it is handed en bloc to Hergest. We have a duty to preserve and protect it for future generations, and not to close it down. One day he will inherit everything. We must nurture it for his sake.’
‘Well said!’ said Laura.
Coral and Messine nodded at the thought, for the Ridge name and influence must remain paramount.
‘Yes, of course,’ said Claire, through clenched teeth, forcing a smile onto her chubby face. ‘We really must.’
Laura smiled too and said, ‘The proposition has been carried unanimously, seven to nil. We will maintain, protect, and nurture all business activities within our domain, with all the power and influence at our disposal, both the legal and the illicit. I’m proud of you all. I think you’re really brave. Now let’s have Mr Harkin back in and give him the good news.’
Coral broke all rules and lit a cigarette without permission.
Everyone moaned because they didn’t want temptation before them. Laura ignored her and collected the champagne from the fridge. She nodded towards the side table and Diane grabbed seven glasses. The bottle was popped open and foam spewed down the neck of the gleaming green glass. For a second, Laura forgot herself and licked it from the neck, before pouring the fizz into the flutes.
‘You do realise we are all terribly wicked?’ she said, her eyes wide and elated.
They all smiled back like a coven of witches.
They realised it all right, for it was the most exciting thing some of them would ever do.
Laura raised her glass and called, ‘To Ridge Commodities!’
‘Ridge Commodities!’
‘And, I guess... Pegasus Tra
ding!’
‘To Pegasus Trading!’
ARTHUR HARKIN TAPPED on the door, but no one heard. He’d been sent for, so he let himself in. He was anxious to learn his fate. The women turned as one and stared at the odd man framed in the doorway as if he were an alien, an impostor in their feminine domain. For a second their smiles vanished, and all was silent and still.
‘Is it a party?’ lisped Arthur.
The mood lightened as Diane grabbed him a glass.
‘It is, Arthur,’ whispered Laura. ‘It begins today, and will last a lifetime. That’s the plan. Get that down your neck, we have serious work to do,’ as Diane handed him a bubbling glass.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
MICHAEL RIDGE REMAINED in prison for a crime he did not quite commit, despite Lisa’s best efforts to have him freed. In his absence Persia cemented her position as senior trader and dreamt that one day she would slip effortlessly into the chairman’s seat.
Coral tours the world as Sophie Lewis, collecting lovers, charming buyers and suppliers alike, from Argentina to Thailand, from Australia to Peru. They adore her, and in turn she teases them unmercifully, for she can offer them perks their competitors couldn’t hope to match.
Messine, as always, dreams impossible dreams, and one day she will open that New York store, while Diane lives quietly with her memories, ever watchful and vigilant.
Andy and Derek still work at Pegasus. Both in their fifties, and both have grandchildren. They like nothing better than taking those kids on holiday to the villa they had specially built near Marbella in the late eighties. Their families have amicably shared the property since the day it was bought. Last year a developer offered them a million euro for the place. They turned it down. They have no need for cash and their holidays are beyond price. Andy and Derek are senior management, Pegasus grade five. Derek looks after recruitment and keeps the troops in line. He has a ferocious way about him that can prove useful. Andy sources new products and manages the giant Neston site when Arthur is in London.
Sheila Phelps from the Dam has long since retired. She will be eighty next year and lives alone with her two cats in the small modern house she finally managed to pay for. She still thinks of Vig with great warmth. That was as far as she ever progressed. She had no idea he is dead, and no one to leave her assets to, or Christmas presents to buy for, and with one rickety hip and one crumbling shoulder, she rarely ventures from her front door.
Ma Wilkins died of cirrhosis of the liver a few years back and that surprised everyone, as she never appeared worse for drink. The daughter Paula died a couple of years earlier from a heroin overdose and that surprised no one. Ricky and Ronnie are still active and healthy too. Ronnie married that pretty neighbour, Haley, and took in her twins as his own. They do live in a mock Tudor detached house in Hawarden, where Ricky visits them once a month, invariably accompanied by a different young woman from the estate with an intellect comparable to his own.
Bulent Tarsus still breathes, and that annoys some, though he is semi-retired and leaves much of the business to his two sons, Kamal and Hassan. He thinks of Vimy often, of the good times they shared, the money they made, and the adventures they had. He is hopeful that one day he will meet Vimy’s son, Michael. Consignments arrive; consignments depart, bound for Liverpool. Nothing much changes.
Aris still lives on Carsos. He’ll never leave the island he loves, and owns his own bar. Women still trek there from all over the world, though Aris leaves that business to the younger generation. Somehow that excitement died with Nicoliades’ passing, though the kid disagrees. He’s active enough, and older, and just as Lisa imagined, he’s become a cheeky handful.
Christos Sharistes often drinks in Aris’s bar, and sometimes speaks to Callia Galatia, though she has never accepted his invitation to return to Carsos.
Walter Darriteau and Karen Greenwood are still attempting to solve cases, some heinous, others mundane. They are currently working on the mysterious George Carpentaria case, you might have heard of it. It’s a brute. Off the record, Karen thinks she’ll soon be promoted and step into Walter’s shoes. She views that with excitement and dread at the same time. Walter hasn’t any inkling as to what he will do, other than prop up the bar in the local pubs, read more, get fatter, and maybe watch more cricket.
He’s well aware suicide rates for retired police officers are high. It’s known in the trade as eating one’s gun. It doesn’t bother him. It will never happen. He signed back on at the Internet dating sites and is never short of willing company, some good and some strange.
In his quiet moments he often thinks of Suzy Wheater and blames himself for leaving her alone for those few vital minutes. With each passing year he misses her a little more and occasionally, when he is alone at home, he has been known to yell out her Christian name for no apparent reason. It doesn’t worry him unduly, though he wouldn’t want to do it at work. He sees it as a reaffirmation of the bond they once shared.
Jeb Lomax returned to the United States and really did become an evangelist minister at some crazy church near Memphis. He passed on to his promised land in 1994. Edson Laria is dead too, cancer took him home in 1991, and that left smirking Cordell Mulroney in the hot seat, European head of Merignac’s operations, where he still is to this day. He is scheduled to retire next year, and like many before him, he views the prospect with trepidation. He has no idea what will drag him from his bed in the morning. The younger traders are running an active spread-betting book on his death day. They give him two years, max. Betting is brisk.
Pete Lee still warms Arthur’s bed, and will do so until his, or Arthur’s, dying day. As for Gabriel Grahame, QC, it took him a while to put the loss of the Ridge case behind him, but in time he did. He is one of the leading barristers practising in the north of England and will never be far from the newspaper front pages.
Mr Lincoln eventually married his secretary, Caroline, and they still successfully operate their insurance business from that pokey office in Chester, though in truth, she is now the driving force behind the Lincoln & Baines organisation, her and a smart guy named Donald Pickstock, who came to them from the Royal Marines. Mr Lincoln suffers from emphysema and the doctors aren’t hopeful. Caroline wouldn’t be Caroline if she weren’t making plans.
As for the most important character of all, Rocky Ridge, the man who began this saga, it was his eventual passing that inspired the recording of these events. He died peacefully two weeks ago, and Barney, his unnaturally ancient hound, mourned his master more than any human ever did. In Rocky’s case there was a happy ending for he’s reunited with his beloved wife, Mary.
You’d think that would be an end to it. All done and dusted.
You couldn’t be more wrong.
Chapter Sixty
- Jackie’s Story -
THERE ISN’T A DAY GO by when I don’t re-live the scene in the crowded saloon bar in The Cutlass, as Rocky peered through the smoke and gazed for the first time into Mary’s eyes, as she scurried away to fetch his dark stout through trembling fingers.
I envy that, the power of love at first sight, the certainty of it, a love so strong and everlasting, and I admit I am jealous of those fortunate souls who experience such a life-changing moment. It has never happened to me, not quite in that way. I think of my brother often and dream that things could have been different. I wish I’d possessed more courage but that will never change. None of us can change the past, but it doesn’t stop us wishing we could.
Time is a strange thing.
You can’t see it.
You can’t touch it.
You can’t smell it.
You can’t feel it.
You can’t borrow it.
You can’t save it.
You can’t buy it.
You can’t capture it, but it’s there, all around us, all the time.
MY NAME IS JACKIE GOMEZ, though that will not mean a great deal to you; but in my younger days I was known as Jackie Ridge, the self same younger bro
ther who went down with all hands on the SS Walkford in 1943. That was partly true, the ship sank right enough, but this is how it happened.
WE WERE HIT AT TWENTY minutes to three in the morning. A single torpedo struck us just ahead of the rudder. I hadn’t long gone off watch and wasn’t fully asleep. Surprisingly, no one was killed in the explosion, just luck I guess, but the stern of the ship was ripped open, and the ocean bled in as if the rusty tub had been stabbed. The boat filled within seconds. The bows rose clear of the sea, and it was obvious to everyone we were doomed.
I scrambled onto an old whaler, a long timber rowing boat, together with three men, and despite the crazy angle we were at, somehow we lowered that crate into the blackness and down onto the churning sea. It wasn’t a moment too soon because in the next second the old Walky reversed into the ocean with a strange rushing noise. It slipped right in, kept on going, and disappeared to the depths. It was all over in minutes and the suction, the down-draught, almost took us with it.
I glanced at my watch. It was ten past three and pitch black, as we began tossing up and down on the ocean. Me, Harry Blackett, and two other guys whose names I never knew. Sitting in that rocky craft we heard men in the water, screaming and hollering, and though we tried to rescue those desperate souls, in the blackness and confusion and heavy current, we never found a single one.
When dawn broke, the sea was calm and we saw we were alone, and worse, there was no land in sight, clear horizon, 360 degrees, and that is a frightening view I wouldn’t wish on anyone, not when crouched in an old rowing boat.
We comforted each other with the knowledge our last position was known, and they would come looking. But no one came. We’d been abandoned. I think if I’d known I was destined to spend five weeks in that tiny boat, I might have dived into the sea on that first morning.
