*
There was no evidence of what had happened in Norsteadt’s office the night before. Giles Denny perched himself where Bonnie had done wonderful things to Norsteadt: the sort of things he’d always hoped Margaret would do – but never had.
“I didn’t think it would come to this either, Giles.”
“But you said...”
“Look. We’ve got problems in the States with one of our production plants. Couple that with the fall in sales since the start of this union boycott...” Norsteadt shook his head. “Our cash flow is shot to pieces.”
“This isn’t fair.”
“There’s nothing I can do. We’re under pressure from everywhere. I must ask for the repayment of our loan – in full.”
“I don’t think I can find the money.”
“You knew the conditions. Nothing was hidden from you.”
“But I didn’t think you’d exercise it.” Denny was almost in tears. “That means Norton-Hunter will have the entire company.”
“It’s not something I want to do. The board has forced me into this position.”
“Can I have time – to see if I can raise the money elsewhere?”
Norsteadt put a comforting arm around Denny as they moved to the door. “Can’t extend it indefinitely. Maybe a few months, but not much more.”
Eighteen
The taxi parked across the street. The spot gave the three a perfect view of the restaurant. Finian checked his watch. “Any minute now.”
“How do you know?” one of the women asked.
“Let’s say I have access to my sister’s diary.”
Just then Bonnie’s Jaguar pulled up and she went inside. Norsteadt followed five minutes later.
“That’s him,” Finian said. “Still happy to go through with this?”
Linda Potter and Paula Getz looked at each other and nodded. “We wanted to become involved. And if this is what it takes...” Paula said.
*
Norsteadt was shown to the table. He kissed Bonnie on the cheek and squeezed her hand and they both ordered drinks.
“Had a good day?” Bonnie asked.
“Yes I did.” He thought how much closer he had come to taking control of Lycad Biotechnology. “A very good day.”
A waiter brought two menus. As Bonnie scanned the list of food, Norsteadt started to chuckle.
“What’s so funny?”
“Thinking what you said about dinner being dangerous.”
Bonnie stroked the back of Norsteadt’s hand. “Bit late to be thinking of that?”
“The one thing that frightens me is that you’ll remove the need for me to go home.”
“If that’s the only problem...”
“You asked me about my day. Maggie hasn’t done that in years.”
“They say that work is a fun place to run away from the responsibilities of family life,” she said.
“You’re right. This is fun.”
Bonnie leaned across the table and touched Norsteadt’s lips. “Before we get totally carried away.” Bonnie reached into her briefcase and took out a smartly bound report. “Here’s the research you asked for on the slimming industry.”
Norsteadt opened the report. “Headlines are these: the slimming industry has enormous potential for growth; women and men are willing to pay a fortune to recapture the figure of their youth.”
“Good.”
“In Britain and the United States about a third of the population carry far too much weight and are on diets. And the proportion seems to be growing each year. The potential market is enormous.”
The waiter took their order and left. The restaurant was filling up.
“I could go on, but it’s all in there.”
Norsteadt thanked her and put the report to one side. “Do you know what I smell every time I’m with you?”
“Rive Gauche?”
“No. Adrenalin. Adrenalin in high heels,” he said. “It’s a lot better than the alternative.”
“And that is?”
“Dressing gown till eleven o’clock and then leggings, a T-shirt and trainers for the rest of the day.”
“I feel sorry for wives left at home. They get the worst of it – stuck there all day with nobody to talk to.”
“Since last night, something has happened to me.”
“That’s the fun you get without the feeling of responsibility. It’s an incredible aphrodisiac.”
This was getting deep and Norsteadt decided to change the subject. “Did you see the story in the press about your brother?”
“Saying he’s the creator of a new form of union action? Lots of hot air,” Bonnie said. “Funny thing, I never thought of him as left-wing.”
“Doesn’t have to be,” Norsteadt said. “You don’t smoke, yet you happily work for a tobacco company.”
Bonnie didn’t respond and toyed with her bread roll.
“I think we may have seriously underestimated Finian,” Norsteadt said.
Neither Bonnie nor Norsteadt paid any attention to the arrival of the two women in the restaurant. Why should they? People were coming and going all the time.
Linda went straight to their table. “Mr Norsteadt, this is what you did to our husbands.” She scattered twenty, five-by-seven inch photographs, taken the day that Laslo and Ivan died. Some fell on the table, others onto his and Bonnie’s laps and the remainder tumbled to the floor.
At the same time, Paula went quickly from table to table, placing shots of her husband in front of the other diners. “You might like to know the sort of man you’re sharing this restaurant with.” She pointed to Norsteadt. “He’s responsible for this.”
In all, Linda and Paula were in the restaurant no more than thirty seconds, but their effect was remarkable. The head waiter sent staff to collect the photographs from the tables as quickly as possible. “I’m so, so sorry,” he said to Bonnie and Norsteadt. “This has never happened before.” He was wringing his hands in apology.
Bonnie pushed him aside and ran after the two women. As she burst onto the street they were climbing into a black cab waiting opposite. As soon as the door was closed, it sped off down the street. Bonnie could have been mistaken, but she thought she saw Finian’s face staring out from the rear window.
*
Margaret was reading her morning paper. “I see you’ve graduated fast,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“From the business pages – to the diary columns.” Margaret folded her paper in two and tapped a four-paragraph story in the Rod Monckton Diary. “The first few lines should give you the flavour. ‘Bram Norsteadt, boss of multi-billion pound drugs giant Norton-Hunter, got egg on his face when he went dining last night. And it wasn’t through sloppy eating. While engaged in an intimate tete-a-tete with influential PR woman, Bonnie Kelloway, the couple were showered with...’ Well, I don’t really have to go on. After all, you were there.”
Norsteadt kept quiet. He had never had an affair – he didn’t count his one-night stands – and hadn’t yet learned to lie to Margaret.
“Will you tell me where you’ll be tonight – or do I have to wait to read about it in tomorrow’s papers?”
“I told you, it was work.”
“Of course, I believe you, Bram. I’m sure you talked about business – for some of the time.”
*
“How do you feel about getting your own back on Northern and Provincial?” Finian asked.
Reg Ashlin took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know. They’ve been very understanding about the cost of the campaign.”
“Till Norsteadt had a word with them.”
“What have you in mind?”
“Making them our next target,” Finian said. “Move the union’s business to another bank.”
“Can’t do that.”
“With the support of the other unions, the pressure is now off.”
“I’ll need to get the executive’s approval.”
“Wait till the papers get hold of this. I can see the red faces already.”
*
Norsteadt was not a scientist. As he walked through the Lycad research centre, it looked no different from the dozen other laboratories he had seen at Norton-Hunter. There were test tubes and cabinets with piping running in and out of them; computer screens showed multi-dimensional views of drug molecules. Is this where they are making the brave new tomorrow?” he asked himself.
As Denny’s second in command, Hans Ketler had space to himself. It was more of a glassed-off area in the corner of one of the laboratories, than an office.
“Our book is well advanced,” Ketler said, as Norsteadt wandered around his room picking up and putting down papers.
“Good, Hans, good. I’m sorry there’ll be no credit for you, but the company will make it up in some other way.”
From his drawer, Ketler pulled a large ring binder. He opened the cover and pushed it towards Norsteadt. “I think we’ll start with an introduction setting out the history of DNA and how it was discovered. Then move on to...”
“I’m sure you’re doing a fine job.”
“The section on promoters is particularly interesting. I’m very pleased with that.”
“Hans...”
Ketler’s enthusiasm picked up speed. “They’re short pieces of DNA which control the behaviour of other genes. Act like a switch. That’s the heart of our work with the obesity treatment. Change the promoter, and you can alter the way genes operate.”
There was something else Norsteadt wanted Ketler to do, but he thought it better to let him rattle on for a few more minutes.
“There’s also a section on vectors. In most situations a new gene can’t be added to human cells without transportation. So we need a carrier and that is usually a virus, a liposome or a plasmid.”
“I’m sorry, Hans, but you’re beginning to lose me. Your knowledge...” Norsteadt put on a show of mock awe.
Ketler loved showing off. Norsteadt had known for a long time that the way to win over a scientist was to pander to his academic vanity. He watched Ketler smile, take back the manuscript and lock it away in the drawer again.
“How are the tests going with the obesity treatment?”
“Mitsanomol,” prompted Ketler.
“Yes.”
“We’ve confined our trials to truly overweight people – those whose weight is twenty per cent or more than it should be.” Gratuitous information was becoming one of Ketler’s trademarks.
“And the results?”
“Very pleasing.”
“Any signs of the previous troubles?”
“None whatsoever. I would say Denny was over-reacting.”
“Excellent. Good, good.” Norsteadt gave the impression of mulling something over in his mind. “Mitsanomol. How easy is it to produce?”
“If you know what you’re doing, some people say it’s as easy as making home-made beer or wine.”
“Pardon?”
“Let me show you.”
Ketler led Norsteadt to a row of polished stainless-steel vats about twelve feet high. A ladder led to a walk-way that ran three-quarters of the way up the vessels.
“It’s just a fermentation process.”
“If it’s that easy, could you arrange to make up a batch? Say five hundred treatments?”
“No problem. I’ll have to ask Dr Denny, but...”
“I’d rather this was kept between the two of us.”
“I should ask why – but I won’t. When do you need it?”
“I’ll let you know.”
Norsteadt was now totally convinced that Ketler had the morals of an alley cat, albeit a very ambitious one. Here was a man who wanted to go far, and he wasn’t fussed how he did it.
“Hans, your doctorate, it is a medical one?”
“One of them is. The other’s a PhD.”
“There’s something else I would like you to do.” Ketler opened his mouth in anticipation. “Not yet. Not just yet.” Norsteadt said.
*
Bonnie sat at her desk, writing. One of her televisions was tuned on to a news channel report. There was a change of story and young reporter appeared in front of the camera.
“I am outside the Church of England Synod...”
“Boring,” Bonnie said, and looked for the remote control to mute the sound.
“A strange place for developments in the battle between one of Britain’s largest unions...”
“Where is that thing?”
“... and Norton-Hunter, the giant international drugs company.”
Bonnie stopped.
“Responding to a request from the Associated Union of General and Technical Workers, church men and woman today agreed to support the boycott of all Norton-Hunter products,” the reporter said in an urgent voice.
“Bloody, bloody, bloody, sodding hell,” she screamed. She picked up her coffee cup and hurled it at the wall.
“In addition...” the reported added.
“What now?” Bonnie asked.
“The Church Commissioners have been asked to review their investment policy and consider selling any shares they hold in the company.
“The intervention of the Church of England in this fight – which centres on the mysterious deaths of two former employers – has given a strong moral impetus to the union’s cause. This is Kate Swearingen, outside the Church of England Synod, returning you to the studio.”
Bonnie found the remote and turned off the television.
“I’ll nail you to the wall for this, Finian,” she promised.
*
It didn’t take the media long to find out where Norsteadt lived. Shortly after the Synod decision, more than twenty reporters and television camera crews were stationed outside his house. Residents in the Buckinghamshire town of Beaconsfield weren’t used to having their privacy invaded like this.
A reporter switched off his mobile phone. “He should be here in five...” Just then a Mercedes swung off the road and stopped by the crowd. Norsteadt lowered his window and asked,” What do you want?”
“Mr Norsteadt?”
“Yes.”
“What is your reaction to the decision today of the Church of England Synod to support...”
“Out of my way.” He put the car in gear and reporters and cameramen jumped clear as he sped through his gates.
The reporters chased after him. The drive was long enough to give Norsteadt time to lock his car and escape into his house.
No sooner had he slammed the door than the bell rang. Margaret came running from the back of the house drying her hands.
“Leave it,” he said.
The letterbox opened. “Can we have a word, Mr Norsteadt?” Faces appeared at the windows of various rooms across the front of the house.
Norsteadt was realising how daunting it was for anyone who faced a hungry media pack for the first time. He needed help.
Bonnie’s direct line started to ring. Before she had the receiver properly to her ear, she could hear what sounded like Bedlam coming down the wire.
“Bonnie? You there, Bonnie?”
“That you, Bram?”
“Television crews and reporters are camped outside my house. They’re demanding interviews. What am I going to do?”
“The one thing you don’t do, is appear. I’m not having months and months of work ruined.”
“They won’t go away.” Norsteadt sounded petrified.
“Stay where you are, and remain calm.”
“I’ll call Culpin.”
“No.” Bonnie thought for a moment. “We’ll get some junior manager – from Personnel. He can take the flak. We have to downgrade this to a departmental issue – not a corporate one. As chairman you must appear above all this.”
“Will it work?”
“The media don’t mind who they savage, as long as there is some carcass to gnaw at,” she said. “Get whoever you choose to call me and I’ll brief him on what to say.”
<
br /> *
Bonnie wasn’t the only one with a special interest in watching the news. Reg Ashlin turned off the television and sat back in his office chair.
“We’ve got them on the run,” Cook grinned. “They’ll give in soon.”
“I’m not so certain,” Finian said. “We’re hurting them – sure – but Bonnie’s not the sort of person to surrender easily.”
“You’re too pessimistic,” Cook said.
“They’ll try something else.”
“So?”
“That news story has given me an idea.” Finian made some notes. “Can the union buy some Norton-Hunter shares? After this, the price should be cheap.”
“For our pension fund?” Cook joked.
“No – put them in the name of say a dozen members – who you really trust.”
“I can’t think why,” Ashlin said.
“Insurance – for a rainy day,” Finian said.
Nineteen
Ketler was like a child with a new toy. He had never been in a corporate jet before. He leaned towards the window to get a better look at the puffy white clouds floating by.
“Your cooperation has meant a lot to me, Hans,” Norsteadt said. He was sitting across the narrow aisle from Ketler. It was the first time he had looked up from his paperwork since take-off.
“Just doing my job.”
“It’s beyond that. I want to involve you more in what I’m doing. That’s why I invited you on this trip.” Ketler put on his most eager face. “I’m looking for someone to act as a medical consultant in a venture I’m planning.” Norsteadt said.
“I’m listening.”
“Before I go any further, this must remain confidential,” Norsteadt said. “I can say that you’ll be properly rewarded.”
“Confidential like the production of the extra Mitsanomol?” Ketler said.
“Quite so.”
“The two wouldn’t have anything in common?”
Norsteadt stopped for a moment to assess the situation. Any further and he would be committed.
“I’m planning a chain of slimming clinics in Britain and Europe. If the idea works, we’ll expand to the United States.”
“And you’ll use Mitsanomol as the basis for the treatment?” Ketler asked.
“Correct.”
“Won’t that be illegal?”
Bad Influence Page 12
