Bad Influence

by Desmond Harding

  “What am I going to do?” Bonnie asked.

  “You’ll have to act quickly. I’m not having my daughter deposed by that bastard.” May had always called Finian that because he had been born to the second Mrs Kelloway while she was still Miss Dernley.

  Bonnie had gone straight to May’s home after her row with Nathan. When she planned moves for her clients, Bonnie was clearheaded and precise. For putting the right “spin” on events, there was nobody better. But when things affected her personally, she had no idea. Hence her visit to her mother.

  “You’re at the height of your powers. You deserve that job,” May said.

  “No man in his right mind is ever going to give power to a woman – even if she is his daughter.”

  “Then you’re going to have to take it,” May said. “You’ve got to get rid of Nathan, and that son of his, or you’ll lose everything.”

  “How?”

  May poured herself a drink. She always thought better with a glass in her hand. “See Elizabeth,” she said suddenly. “Robert didn’t leave her that much money. Offer to buy his shares in the business... while she’s still grieving and doesn’t know what’s going on.”

  “It’s your son we’re talking about.”

  “He’s dead, and I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. But, my darling Bonnie, you’re alive. You are my main concern now.”

  “This isn’t right.”

  “Bonnie, if you want to run that company, toughen up.”

  “What if she turns down the idea? Or starts blubbing about Robert’s memory? You know what a wimp she is.”

  “That’s easy. Offer something in Robert’s name.”

  “Like what?”

  “You’re supposed to be the creative one.” May thought for a moment. “A scholarship, or better still, a yearly prize for excellence in public relations. Call it the Robert Kelloway Memorial Prize. That should get her.”

  “Okay. But how can I pay for the shares?”

  “Use my money. I’ve got gobs of the stuff. Who do you think financed Nathan in his early days?” May said. “I’ve waited to get my own back, and now the time has come.”

  Bonnie crossed to May’s drinks table. “I think I’ll join you.” She poured a small gin into a glass. “There’s still a problem.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’ve got twenty per cent and Elizabeth’s got twenty per cent. That’s forty per cent – still not enough for control. Nathan is the majority shareholder.

  “I’ve told you before. He is the largest shareholder, but he doesn’t control the majority,” May said.

  So much had happened to Bonnie that day that she had difficulty grasping what May meant.

  “I own twelve per cent of the company...”

  “Nobody knew that.”

  “Part was my wedding present from Nathan and part a settlement to keep me quiet and prevent a mucky divorce.” May poured herself a fresh gin. “Add my twelve per cent to that forty. Bingo... you become the next chairman.”

  “I must be stupid,” Bonnie said.

  “It’s a game Nathan loves to play – and I’ve gone along with it for too long.”

  *

  Norsteadt’s meeting with Mike Cook was short. Listening to him set out his case, Norsteadt quickly realised that he had no idea what had really happened.

  “These two men were maintenance engineers. They regularly spent time in areas where very complicated drugs were made,” Cook said. “It’s feasible that’s where they became infected.”

  “You’re asking me to make thousands of pounds of shareholders’ money available to these two men and their families on nothing more than a possibility?” Norsteadt got up from his chair and ushered Cook towards the door.

  “They’re suffering. The doctors have no idea what’s wrong and their wives are facing serious financial problems.”

  “If it was our fault, don’t you think more people would have been affected? The truth is that they are the only two suffering in such a way.” Norsteadt opened the door. “If you have proof we’ll consider it. But as things stand, we must disclaim all responsibility.”

  “My union is determined to get justice.”

  “Are you threatening us?” Norsteadt shook his head. “Calling a strike is a ridiculous suggestion. You unions no longer have that kind of strength.”

  “Mr Norsteadt, we won’t let things rest here. We’ll find some way to change your mind.”

  *

  Will, Andrew and Annabel forced their way into Bonnie’s office. She stared straight ahead, lost in thought. “Do you want to tell us what’s going on?” Will asked. He was holding the latest edition of the PR Times.

  “Sorry. Did I miss something?”

  Will picked up a red felt-tipped pen and circled a story on page three. He pushed it towards Bonnie. “We’re all on your side.” It was an interview with Nathan and Finian.

  Annabel said, “It gives the impression your brother...

  “Half-brother,” Bonnie interrupted.

  “... is going to run the company.”

  Bonnie read the story. “Doesn’t it just?” she said, firmly.

  That decided it. Bonnie picked up her phone and dialled. “Elizabeth? – Bonnie – Can we meet?”

  *

  Finian leaned on the bar of the Old Bell at the Ludgate Circus end of Fleet Street. Like many other daily and Sunday newspapers, The Morning Journal now operated from Docklands. Finian was one of hundreds of reporters who felt things would never be the same after the move from “The Street.” He thought he ought to visit his old reporter haunts one more time; in a short while he would no longer be one of them.

  All the same, things weren’t that bad. Under his arm were copies of the Daily Express and The Times. Both papers carried the Norton-Hunter industrial poisoning story. Finian, determined not to waste a good tale, had shared it with the two papers’ industrial reporters. That afternoon, he wouyld take deliught in showing the stories to his editor.

  *

  Winston Culpin hovered beside Bram Norsteadt. His boss was reading two stories cut from the same Daily Express and The Times. Norsteadt didn’t like having his company’s business discussed in the press. His instincts warned him that the story could be trouble. Norsteadt was sure of it.

  “I told you to keep a lid on this poisoning story,” Norsteadt said. He screwed up the paper and tossed it into his bin. “Tell me, who are the top PR companies in the country, Winston?”

  He couldn’t say he didn’t know. After all, he was supposed to be the expert. “At the top of the list has to be Kelloway and Bains... followed probably by First Line Communications and then... Grace, Trotter and Drake.”

  Norsteadt scribbled the names on his scratch pad.

  “Bram, I don’t think we need any outside help.”

  “Really, Winston? Surely these two stories suggest otherwise.”

  “I can handle everything.”

  Norsteadt wasn’t listening. “Set up a meeting with all of them.”

  Six

  Norsteadt had phoned Bonnie personally and asked her to pitch for his public relations business. She liked the sound of his voice, almost as much as she liked the idea of having the name of one of the world’s largest pharmaceutical companies on her client list.

  Before she could relax she wanted to get some of her early thoughts down on paper. But Bonnie became so immersed in her work that she almost forgot about meeting her sister-in-law.

  *

  When Bonnie arrived in the downstairs bar of the Piccadilly Hotel, Elizabeth was already there. In front of her was a glass of Perrier. Even at this time in the evening, she acts so bloody virtuous, Bonnie thought, and still in her widow’s weeds.

  “This isn’t really my sort of place,” Elizabeth said.

  “It’s just a hotel bar, for Christ’s sake, Elizabeth,” Bonnie said and ordered a glass of champagne.

  “I know but...” primly, she left the sentence unfinished.

  This was
going to be even harder than Bonnie had feared. She sipped her drink. “Robert’s death has left a hole in all our lives... both personal and at the company.”

  Tears welled up in Elizabeth’s eyes and Bonnie wondered whether this had been the right way to start. She put a hand on Elizabeth’s arm. “He was one of the most talented public relations men I ever knew.” This was not true; she thought him quite mediocre compared to either herself or Nathan. “His departure left us seriously short of quality staff.”

  The tears that Elizabeth had held back, suddenly burst through. Not now, Bonnie pleaded inwardly.

  “This might sound callous, but it has to be said.” She tried to make her voice soft and reassuring. “We must have new and experienced staff. To do that we need Robert’s shares.”

  “Why?”

  “The sort of people we want – the sort of people capable of taking Robert’s place – won’t come without equity in the company.”

  Elizabeth searched through her handbag for a handkerchief. “They’re one of the last links I have with Robert.” She dabbed at the tears. “I couldn’t.”

  Bonnie took another sip from her glass and looked around the bar. In one corner there was a man, staring at her. It wasn’t the idle look of someone gazing around a room, but one of definite interest. If she had been getting more sense out of Elizabeth, she might have done something about it. Bonnie had woken up with worse-looking men, but not tonight.

  “Both Nathan and I have thought of that. Even Finian came up with some suggestions,” Bonnie said. “With your agreement, we would like to establish a competition in Robert’s name. To ensure his memory. You could even hand out the prizes.”

  For the first time that evening, Bonnie saw a spark of life in Elizabeth’s eyes. “That would be nice.”

  From her briefcase Bonnie took a folder. “Look. These are the details. But it depends on an early decision from you.”

  “How soon?”

  “Soon.”

  Elizabeth picked up the folder and slowly turned the pages.

  “That’s an offer letter setting the price and everything. And this is a separate sales agreement for you to sign.”

  Elizabeth looked at the two documents. “This right? It’s made out to you. Shouldn’t it to be to Nat?”

  She recovers quickly, Bonnie thought.

  “Nat wants to retire. I’m taking over as chairman and managing director.” Bonnie placed her hand on Elizabeth’s again. “The job that should have gone to Robert.” Gently, Bonnie spoke in her ear. “I hope I can do as good a job as Robert would have.”

  Tears streamed down Elizabeth’s face again. “Sorry, Bonnie. I can’t think about these things now. I’ll have to call you.” She dabbed at more tears and left.

  “Was that tough enough, May?” Bonnie said out loud, and called over a waiter to order another drink.

  *

  That night, Nathan phoned Bonnie at her house.

  “Finn starts next week.”

  Bonnie didn’t know if she was expected to comment.

  “I’m not going to be in the office tomorrow” Nathan said.

  There’s a surprise, she thought.

  “And I want you to make arrangements for his arrival.”

  “I’ll look after things,” she assured her father.

  *

  Bonnie was true to her word. She started with Hollis Dorkley, the agency’s accountant. He was the longest-serving member of the staff after Nathan and Kit Thayer. Despite his close relationship with Nathan, he lived in fear of Bonnie.

  “Listen, Dorkley, my brother arrives on Monday. He has no PR experience, so he has to concentrate on learning the trade. That means no accounts, no bank statements, no strategic documents. No nothing. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Of course, Miss Bonnie.” Dorkley had called her that since she was a little girl and it appealed to her. He was only too pleased to agree and started backing meekly away from her to escape to his own office without a tongue-lashing.

  “Not finished. Does the company have rules and regulations?”

  “You mean Articles of Association?”

  “Whatever.”

  “If you need to know something...”

  Bonnie’s look could have lasered a hole in the man.

  “Of course,” Dorkley said. “Immediately, Miss Bonnie.”

  Dorkley finally scurried off.

  That done, she picked up the internal phone. “Andy. Come up and see your new office.”

  Egalitarianism had no place at Kelloway and Bains. While senior executives had offices of their own, personal assistants and junior staff, like Andrew, worked from desks in a central open-plan area.

  A few minutes later, he stood watching maintenance men removing the name “Robert Kelloway’ from the door.

  “Shouldn’t Finian have this?” Andrew said.

  “As we’re working together more and more, I thought it right we should be closer.

  Andrew looked worried.

  Bonnie fingered the lapel of his jacket. “Another new suit?” she asked. Andrew went meekly into the office and tried out the chair for size.

  Andrew was famous throughout the company for his suits. They were all the same colour and cut. The only difference was the lining; a different colour for a different day. Often Bonnie would ask, “What day is it?” and open his jacket and say, “Ah, blue – it must be Thursday.”

  *

  Bonnie and Annabel watched Andrew carry the last of the contents of his desk across to Robert’s former office. “Finished?” she asked.

  “That’s it.” He said.

  “Annabel, put my brother there,” Bonnie said pointing to Andrew’s newly vacated desk.

  “What if he complains?”

  “Where he came from, he won’t know the difference,” she said. “All newspaper newsrooms are like barns.”

  Seven

  When Bonnie arrived the following Monday, Nathan was already there. She shook her head. This was the first time he had been in before eleven in years.

  She watched him with growing contempt as he pottered about. “Just what I need in one day. A new business pitch and the arrival of the prodigal son,” Bonnie said to Annabel, bitterly.

  “Why have you put Finn with the juniors?” Nathan asked.

  “We’re reorganising. The arrangement is purely temporary,” Bonnie said and then added quietly, “He’s not going to be here that long.”

  At Nathan’s suggestion, Finian arrived at ten. In the tightly controlled business setting of Kelloway and Bains, he looked utterly out of place with his, t-shirt, jeans and boots. “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought my bike in. It’s in your downstairs lobby,” he said to Raymond, who sat behind the reception desk. His one concession to the agency was a black leather jacket.

  “That’s perfectly all right, Mr Kelloway,” he said. Raymond was working his way round the world from his home in California and Kelloway and Bains was his London job.

  “Call me Finn.”

  Nathan arrived in reception to greet his son. “It’s your first day so we’re easing you in gently,” he said. “But don’t expect the luxury of ten o’clock starts from now on.” Both men smiled.

  Nathan took Finian around the building, introducing him to everybody.

  “You would have thought that he would have had a haircut for his first day in a new job,” Annabel said.

  “What a jerk.” Bonnie shook her head. “This is going to be a bigger disaster than I thought,” she said. “Are you sure Elizabeth Kelloway hasn’t phoned yet?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  Finian showed no surprise when Bonnie took him to his desk in the open-plan area. “I’ve asked Beatrice to introduce you to the consultancy world,” Bonnie said and left. Beatrice Price was a large, muscular girl with good bones and a well-bred home counties accent.

  Beatrice fetched two mugs of coffee and placed one in front of Finian. “Here. Doesn’t kill the memory of this place – but it helps.”
<
br />   As Finian sipped from the mug, he saw a large brass horn with a big black rubber bulb – the sort that once adorned the side of pre-war London taxi cabs. It hung from a hook on the wall.

  “What’s that for?” Finian asked, pointing.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” Beatrice said.

  She pulled a chair towards Finian. “Bonnie Kelloway’s rules of public relations – lesson one. What is the most important thing a PR consultant can do?”

  Finian shrugged. “Get to know the client’s business?”

  “That’s the second.” Beatrice gave a sad smile. “First – discover his pain threshold. How much he’ll bear on his bills before screaming.”

  Finian laughed.

  “I’m not joking.”

  The smile vanished from Finian’s face.

  “Have you heard of ‘Blink PR’?”

  “No.”

  “Well, suppose you’re negotiating fees with a client and you name a figure. If he doesn’t blink, you say “that’s a month’ and if he still hasn’t blinked, you add that the figure is just for conceptual work. You keep piling it on until...”

  “... he blinks.”

  “You got it.”

  *

  Bonnie stood looking out of the window, a pack of white three-by-five cards in her hand. Her back was to the door and she didn’t see Nathan enter. She was mumbling to herself.

  On the cards were bullet points for the presentation she would give to Norsteadt and the other Norton-Hunter managers later that morning. Although she always wrote out her speeches in full, she then reduced them to bullet points. It made everything seem more natural. But for it to work, she needed to rehearse.

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  She turned. “Last minute run-through.”

  “I’d like you to take Finn to Norton-Hunter.”

  “He has no experience and this is potentially a major account.”

  “Then it will do him good. Show him how it’s done.”

  “But the way he’s dressed.”

  “Say he’s creative back-up. They all dress like that.” Nathan left before Bonnie could think of a fresh objection.

  *

  As Bonnie waited in her car, Andrew joined her. “I know you’re disappointed at not going with us, but I need you here. Remember the call?”