by Nick Thripp
‘Not tonight,’ I replied, determined not to give anything away. ‘In any case, why don’t you put your case directly to her? Why come through me?’
‘Oh, I’ve tried, believe me. Repeatedly,’ he drawled. ‘We had lunch at The Ivy a week ago, and before that at the Savoy Grill, and before that at a few other places. She’s very obstinate, and I don’t know why. Do you?’
I was surprised he’d entertained Rachel so frequently, though I wasn’t going to show it.
‘Rachel’s got a mind of her own. Once she’s made it up, she’s very difficult to shift.’
‘That’s why I like her, and that’s why I want her to work for me. I’m tired of yes-men.’ He picked up and drained his glass. ‘Anyway, how’s the audit going? I hear you’re now The Man at AP, and hailed as one of the coming men in accountancy.’
‘The audit’s going OK so far.’ I didn’t need to be reminded I owed my success to him.
‘By the way,’ I said, ‘I presume that if Rachel did come and work for you, I’d have to step down from my role in the audit. Conflict of interest and all that.’
He smiled. ‘There are ways and means. It wouldn’t be an insurmountable problem.’
‘I’m not so sure. As we’re married, I don’t see how I could claim to be objective.’
‘Well, when you get the chance, tell Rachel how much I’d like to work with her. The job will be exciting and the package incomparable. If she does well, she’ll be the hottest property in the City.’ He got up and sauntered to the door. ‘Thanks for the scotch, most pleasant. That’s a good distillery. I have a bottle of 1926 Macallan. I’m keeping it for when I have something really worth celebrating.’ He turned to me as he grasped the door-handle.
‘A couple of your neighbours, I believe, are friends of mine; Simon and Amelia. Lovely people.’
He let himself out and I finished my tea. I didn’t believe he really thought I had any influence over Rachel. So why had he come? And as for my continuing as audit partner if she did go and work for him, well that was just nonsense.
I phoned Rachel who, predictably, was still in the office.
‘An admirer has just been round here. He fancies your brains and insists you go and work for him.’
‘Who’s that?’ she asked irritably. Rachel never liked to be disturbed, and was rarely in the mood for light-hearted banter.
‘John Beart.’
‘Again! He’s been inundating me with job offers, invitations to dinner, weekends in the south of France, you name it.’
‘Are you tempted yet?’
‘He made me a very attractive proposition. I told him I couldn’t leave SD because I’d promised the Board I’d stay for at least three years to turn the business round.’
I was consoled by her response. ‘Of course, if you did go to work for him I’d have to stand down from the audit.’
‘Right.’ I could tell by her voice that Rachel, her mind elsewhere, had returned to her computer screen, and was waiting for me to say goodbye.
‘One other thing.’
‘Yes,’ she said absently.
‘When will I see you?’
‘Oh, not now! Can’t you tell I’m busy? Let’s talk later in the week. Perhaps we can have dinner.’
‘OK. I’ll call in a couple of days. Bye for now.’
‘Bye.’
As the line went dead, I leaped to my feet, slammed my cup onto the table, and paced the room, swearing and cursing. Then I kicked the sofa. Rachel treated me like a troublesome sales representative.
The front door bell rang. I collected my thoughts and went to answer it.
Amelia stood there, wrapped in a dark coat, the hood casting a deep shadow over her face.
‘I baked a ginger cake this afternoon and wondered whether you’d like some.’
‘Oh, how sweet of you.’
‘You don’t exactly make it easy for visitors, do you? I nearly broke my neck on the step, and it’s taken me five minutes to find your bell in the dark.’
‘I’m so sorry. You’d better come in and recover. Drink?’
She looked at her watch.
‘Better not.’
‘Sure?’
‘Oh, all right, just a quick one.’ She pushed her hood back and stepped over the threshold. ‘Simon likes dinner on the table when he walks through the door.’
‘Lucky man,’ I said, feeling a sharp pang of regret at the absence of such comfortable domesticity in my life.
I poured two gin and tonics.
‘You know John Beart, I hear,’ I said.
‘Such a darling man. Simon does quite a lot of business with him, and we’ve socialised a bit. How do you know him?’
‘We were at school together. I also work for his auditors.’
‘What a coincidence. Simon’s one of the major institutional investors in his fund. John’s such fun, isn’t he? Hardly what you’d expect of a big City financier. He’s got a wicked, irreverent side, though you have to get to know him really well to see it.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry, banging on about him when he’s one of your oldest friends.’
‘He’s not really a friend. More an acquaintance. I generally only see him at work. Do carry on; it’s interesting hearing another side of him.’
She looked at her watch again. ‘Actually, I must be going. Thanks for the drink.’ She drained her glass.
‘And thanks for the cake,’ I replied. She left quickly, not turning back at the gate to wave.
*
A few weeks later I went down with my annual cold. It happens every year at about the same time and it’s always a stonker, more like ‘flu really, and it lays me low for a few days. It was on the second day of the infection, when my eyes were burning in their sockets and my whole body racked with shivers that, out of the window, I happened to notice Beart’s distinctive Maserati Quattroporte outside Simon and Amelia’s house. Though I would have liked to linger and observe what happened, I felt too feverish and, with a feeble shrug of the shoulders, made my way back to bed.
When, still rubber-legged and unworldly, I dragged myself back to work, I was told that Martha, the sharp-suited audit manager on the Beart account, wanted to see me.
She bustled into my office, a stack of plastic folders in her hands.
‘There are some issues on which we need to take a view.’ She ran through several technical points where she thought the Investment Fund was not in compliance with audit standards.
‘Should we qualify their accounts?’ she asked.
‘Martha,’ I replied, ‘Do you remember what I said? It’s our biggest client, its fees pay your salary and mine and those of a large number of other AP staff. We could go in, guns blazing, and risk losing them, or we could take a more measured approach and have a quiet word. Having reflected on it, what do you think we should do?’
‘They’re quite significant irregularities…’
‘Yes, and it’s a big business, still finding its way. I think we need to make allowances. Leave it to me.’
Martha bristled.
‘Do I have to?’
‘Yes, you do.’
She grabbed her papers and swept out of the room, muttering.
*
Later that afternoon I phoned Martin, who’d moved over from the Corporate Office in Beart Enterprises to be Finance Director of the Investment Fund, and ran through our concerns with him.
‘Glad you brought this to my attention.’ I could hear him drawing on a cigar at the other end of the line. ‘Rest assured, I’ll sort it out.’
‘I’m reassured to hear it. We won’t be qualifying your accounts, this time at least. Of course, some muted references will appear in our audit report.’
‘Much appreciated, old chap. I’ll look forward to thanking you more formally at the end of audit dinner. We’re bookin
g somewhere rather special. Well, cheerio then, and thanks again.’
Chapter 19
The Neighbours, 1986
‘The new job is fantastic.’ Rachel took a sip of her wine. ‘You have so much more freedom as CEO.’ The wine bar was crowded and, casting a quick glance around her, she leaned forward. ‘We’re looking at some take-over targets. One of them much larger than SD. Even so, the investment bankers think we can pull it off with a rights issue.’
‘I’m sure they do, so they can earn a fat fee.’
Someone passing nudged my elbow and I slopped my red wine, staining my white shirt. I dabbed ineffectually at it with a tissue.
‘You’re such a cynic. They’ve done an in-depth analysis. All the pros and cons, all the synergies. It’s incredibly exciting. The biggest ever rights issue in UK history. Just imagine.’ She sat back in her seat, glowing.
I shifted in my chair to avoid the cigarette smoke swirling across from a neighbouring table.
‘So, no chance of your decamping to join Beart’s Investment Fund then?’
I topped up our glasses, emptying the bottle. I already felt lightheaded. I should have eaten some lunch.
‘None. I’m in my element. Why would I want to move?’
‘More money, higher public profile, the chance of working with one of the most talked about men in the City—’
‘None of them interests me. I have a vision for growing my business beyond all recognition, and as for working with John Beart, he’s the one who appears in the newspaper articles and colour supplements. I’d forever be in his shadow, like the Duke of Edinburgh.’
‘I hope you’d be more tactful and less racist.’
The wine bar was crammed with City types and the smoke was becoming unbearable.
‘Want to move on somewhere?’ I asked. ‘Perhaps get something to eat?’
Rachel nodded and drained her glass.
‘What about you? Still happy out there in darkest Surrey?’
‘It’s pretty dull,’ I confessed. ‘Everyone’s so much older, apart from Amelia, of course.’
‘Who’s Amelia?’ Rachel had all but lost interest in me sexually. Even so, another woman’s name was still enough to elicit a slight spark of interest.
‘Amelia Ellice, married to Simon Ellice. They live opposite. He’s one of John’s biggest institutional investors, apparently.’
Rachel’s face took on an enigmatic expression.
‘I met them at some do organised by an investment bank. He’s a lot older than her, right? Balding, portly and she has long auburn hair; quite pretty if you like skinny women.’
‘Yes, that’s them.’
Rachel’s sphinx-like expression was still in place.
‘Why the suppressed smile?’ I asked. ‘What’s so amusing?’
‘Nothing, really. There were some rumours about him. He was what they used to call a “confirmed bachelor.” Then, suddenly, he married and had a couple of children.’
‘He’s got two daughters at boarding school.’
‘Boarding school already? They can’t be more than ten. Anyway, what’s your interest in the lovely Amelia? I hope you’re not thinking of having an affair.’
‘Would you care if I did?’
‘I’d never sleep with you again.’
‘You never sleep with me now.’
‘Don’t exaggerate. I know it’s not very often …. anyway, I’m very busy. If you’d wanted someone to be at your beck and call whenever you fancy a bit, you should have married one of the secretaries. They’d probably have been all too happy to throw everything up to cook your meals and minister to your other needs.’
‘You sound really sexist, Rachel. Just because someone’s a secretary doesn’t mean she doesn’t have career ambitions. In any case, I’m not thinking of having an affair with Amelia. I think she may be doing a bit on the sly with Beart.’
I recounted my sighting of Beart’s car. As I did so, I wondered whether what I was saying was true. I’d been feverish and could have been mistaken.
‘Sounds like John, from what I hear,’ she replied. ‘He has quite a reputation as a ladies’ man.’
We finished the meal and, unusually, Rachel invited me back to the apartment. I don’t know whether it was jealousy of Amelia or the desire to prove that our sex life wasn’t completely moribund, but we did make love, in a cool and passionless way, before Rachel’s eyes closed and she began to snore lightly.
I lay awake wondering why we were married. Although we got on well enough as friends, most of the time we lived separate lives. Perhaps, as neither of us seemed to have a strong inclination to be with anyone else, and there was no financial imperative, there was no reason not to remain married. Still, it seemed a curiously negative logic for staying together.
*
Sipping an espresso, I gazed through the dining-room window at the persistent rain making a marsh of the lawn. Then, unshaven and wearing a threadbare dressing-gown over my pyjamas, I slumped onto the sofa, picked up The Sunday Times and lobbed the review – I’d stopped bothering with culture – into the wastepaper basket. In about an hour I’d stroll down to the pub and have a couple of pints. I might even treat myself to one of their roast dinners. Then, suitably anaesthetised, I could while away Sunday afternoon with a siesta.
A loud, urgent knock on the front door made me jump. I walked slowly into the hall, pulling my dressing-gown cord tight. Through the glass, I could see four shapes, one large, three small.
Opening the door, I found Amelia, her two daughters, and a giant teddy bear dressed in a tartan overcoat. Behind them were two bulging suitcases. I scanned their expectant faces. One of the daughters was sniffling quietly, while Amelia’s eyes were puffy and red. The other daughter was hugging the bear, which returned my stare glassily.
‘Well, hullo,’ I said, not quite knowing what tone to adopt.
‘Do you mind if we come in?’ Amelia glanced over her shoulder.
‘Sure.’ I held the door open and stepped outside to pick up the suitcases.
‘Go into the drawing-room, darlings,’ Amelia said, and they trailed off. When they’d gone, she whispered, ‘Simon’s thrown us out, the bastard.’
‘God, that’s terrible. Legally he can’t do that, can he? I’m sure you have a right to be in the house, particularly if you have the children.’
She stifled a sob and I resisted the temptation to put my arm around her.
‘He was in such a rage, throwing things, threatening me…we just couldn’t stay there.’
‘So you came here?’
‘I wondered if you might put us up for a few days, until we sort ourselves out.’ She looked around the sparsely furnished hall. ‘I know it’s a lot to ask.’ A tear rolled slowly down her cheek. ‘We wouldn’t be any trouble and I’d pay rent, of course.’
I shook my head at the suggestion.
‘When do the girls go back to school?’
‘They’re meant to go next week. They’re so upset I’m not sure they should. It was all his idea to send them to boarding school anyway.’ She stood rigidly in front of me while a shiver seemed to run the length of her body, starting at her head and ending at her feet.
‘I’d like to help. I don’t want to end up in the middle of a matrimonial war though. Does Simon know you’re here?’
Amelia shrugged.
‘He might have spotted us crossing the road.’
‘What if he comes over and tries to muscle his way in?’
She looked disappointed I’d even asked the question.
‘Sorry to impose on you. I’m not thinking straight. If I can use the phone to call a taxi, we’ll leave you in peace.’
‘Where will you go?’
She shrugged her shoulders again. ‘We’ll find somewhere. There’s probably a B&B not too far away.’ She steppe
d away from me and called the girls.
‘Look,’ I said and she turned back. ‘You can stay for a day or two. Make yourselves at home. I’ll take care of Simon if he tries to throw his weight about.’
Relief swept across her face, and she hugged me, kissing me on both cheeks.
‘You’re such a darling. We’re so grateful, aren’t we girls?’
I consoled myself that Simon looked too badly out of shape to present much of a physical threat.
Before I knew it, Amelia was upstairs assigning bedrooms to her daughters and rummaging in the airing cupboard for bed linen. I brushed past the bear which was guarding the foot of the stairs and went to shower and dress. It struck me they might be hungry and there wasn’t much food in the house.
‘Want to come to the pub for lunch?’ I bellowed. Amelia’s head emerged from one of the bedrooms. ‘My treat, of course,’ I added quickly.
‘Can Bruno come?’ Annabel’s disembodied voice piped up.
We marched into the pub, Bruno on my shoulders like a mahout on an elephant, and I asked for a table for five. Annabel had been insistent he have his own seat, so when we were offered bread rolls, I wrapped a napkin round his neck and placed one on a side plate in front of him.
By the time we returned to the house the girls’ tears were long forgotten. I found an old pack of cards and, with much hilarity, taught them to play Cheat. Amelia won comfortably every time.
The next few days were odd, but pleasantly so. It was strange coming home to delicious cooking aromas, to have someone there to ask after my day, and to listen to the two girls explaining in quirky detail what they’d been doing. By Thursday I was becoming accustomed to it, and liked it.
On Thursday evening, after dinner, Amelia drew a deep breath.
‘We’ll be going tomorrow. I’ll wash the sheets and vacuum before we leave. Thank you. It’s been so kind of you. I hope we haven’t been too much of an imposition.’
I felt a pang of regret. I would miss the companionship, the smells, even the sisterly squabbles between the girls. At last the house was feeling like a home.
