by Nick Thripp
The next morning Richard stopped me in the street outside our offices.
‘I was about to give you a few bob for a cup of tea before I realised it was you. You look ghastly. What the hell’s the matter?’
‘Nothing.’ I tried to edge past him, but he held me by the arm.
‘Come with me.’
He led me to a small café around the corner and ordered two coffees and a round of buttered toast.
‘You look as though you haven’t eaten for a week.’ He pushed the toast towards me and sniffed the air. ‘Or taken a shower. Come on, what’s the problem?’
I didn’t need further prompting to unburden myself. He listened carefully, nodding occasionally and asking a few questions.
‘I’m so sorry,’ he said when I finished. ‘Everything seemed to be working out so well. I know it’s not much comfort now, but you will get over her.’
‘Plenty more fish in the sea, pebbles on the beach, that sort of thing you mean? What do you know about it? You found your pebble and have clung on like a limpet ever since.’
He put his arm around my shoulder.
‘Fair comment. Only trying to console you. Anyway, come to dinner. After an evening with my wife and kids your life won’t seem so bad, but please do have a shower first.’ The prospect of experiencing their easy-going domesticity left a bitter taste in my mouth so I declined the invitation, though I did take his advice and slunk home to shower, shave and change my clothes.
Amelia and the girls moved out a couple of weeks later and I was left to pack up the house alone. I didn’t have the energy, and eventually Richard got my secretary to organise a removal firm to do everything.
The contents were put into storage and I checked into a drab concrete and glass hotel overlooking the Cromwell Road. Finding the right house no longer seemed important, and I resolved to buy a flat convenient for work.
Tears ran down my cheeks as I walked round the empty Thorpe Barton for the last time. It had been a shrine to my relationship with Rachel, and then, for a short period, a home. Now it was a mausoleum for my unfulfilled dreams. Soon it would be rubble. As I slammed its front door behind me, Thorpe Barton seemed to encapsulate my every failure.
*
With the passage of time I gradually returned to a more balanced mental state, resuming my duties at work and socialising, on a small scale, outside it. At last I screwed up my courage and contacted Rachel. To her credit, she didn’t bear a grudge. As far as I could ascertain, she was spending her time concentrating on her job and wasn’t involved in any other relationships. We started to meet for a drink or a meal occasionally. When we were together we’d talk about mutual friends, acquaintances, work, the economy, politics, even sport. Anything in fact, so long as it wasn’t about our marriage or its demise. She didn’t express any regrets about what had occurred. It was almost as though our wedding had never happened.
*
To distract myself from the emptiness of my life, I spent much more time at work. The Beart Enterprises account continued to grow rapidly, driven by the success of the Investment Fund, which was delivering spectacular results. As time passed, I found myself gradually climbing the partner ranks, moving from salaried to equity partner and then becoming one of the senior partners. I loaded myself with more work and volunteered for everything irrespective of what it was, living entirely in the present.
I didn’t allow myself time to look back on all my mistakes nor forward to a lonely future.
*
Unexpectedly a postcard arrived from Marbella. It was from my mother.
‘Hello dear,
I hope you are very well. Reginald and I got married yesterday and we’re planning to stay here. There’s a lively British community, and we even have an English butcher from Hackney and a plumber from Bolton. There are so many of us, we don’t need to speak any Spanish. I’ve bought a lovely villa called Nuestro Abrigo and we’re very happy. I hope Rachel and you will come and visit us.
Love, Mum x’
I felt a guilty pang; I’d forgotten to tell her about the break-up of my marriage, let alone my abortive relationship with Amelia.
Chapter 22
The Takeover, 1990
I was in my office, leafing through some paperwork one Sunday afternoon. I’d been contemplating playing golf until the almost horizontal rain dissuaded me and, in any case, the office on a Sunday was convivial. The puritan atmosphere pervading the place from Monday to Friday gave way at weekends to one that was informal and relaxed. Lots of people abandoned their loved ones to come and do some work, either out of zeal, or in a surprisingly large number of cases, out of preference. Whatever their motivation, they seemed intent on making the most of it with take-aways, often accompanied by bottles of beer and wine brought in from the local Asian shop.
As I took a swig from my bottle of Duvel, the phone rang. It was Rachel.
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘In person; what are you doing this evening?’
*
The nondescript trattoria in which we met was festooned with photographs of Venetian canals, and staffed by burly waiters with straggly moustaches and East End accents.
Apart from a cursory peck on the cheek, Rachel didn’t waste time on pleasantries.
‘This is absolutely top secret. You must swear not to tell a soul.’
‘Anything you say will go no further.’
‘John Beart is launching a takeover bid for my company.’ She paused to gauge my reaction. I dutifully inhaled sharply, although, having worked closely with his organisation for some time, nothing he did surprised me.
She took a deep draught of her wine. ‘It makes no sense. There’s no fit between us and his other companies. I’m buggered if I can understand the logic. Got any ideas?’
‘Perhaps he’s awash with cash and wants to diversify.’
‘No one diversifies these days. That’s so 1970s. There must be a better reason. What the hell can it be?’
‘How do you know about the bid if it hasn’t been launched? Surely that’s privileged information?’ I was secretly impressed Rachel had managed to hear anything in advance about Beart’s plans. His security was normally impenetrable, hence his ‘Dark Star’ nickname.
‘Confidential sources.’ Rachel tapped her nose with her forefinger, and I imagined she felt pretty smug about how well-connected she was. ‘Anyway, it’s not much in advance. He’ll announce his intentions tomorrow, and if we reject his proposal a hostile bid will follow shortly.’
‘Time to brush up the CV. He’s never been known to fail.’
Rachel’s smile was rather wan.
‘There’s a first time for everything.’
Somehow her voice lacked the steely conviction I normally associated with her.
*
Rachel’s intelligence was proved right. The following morning Beart phoned her. She recorded the conversation and played it back to me as we sat in another anonymous restaurant, this time an Indian near Waterloo. It went like this.
‘Morning Rachel, it’s John. How are you?’
‘OK thanks, John. How are you?’
‘Top of the world, absolutely top of the world, thanks. I thought it would only be polite to ring and let you know I’m going to buy your company.’
‘Kind of you, John, although I struggle to see the shareholder value. We’re in completely different businesses, there are no synergies, the City— ’
‘Yes, I know all that. Fortunately, I don’t have to explain myself to anyone. We’ll offer a good price for an amicable merger. If your board rejects that, then we’ll go hostile. I’ve already had assurances from several of your major shareholders that they’d support the takeover. The choice is yours. Accept gracefully or be humiliated publicly. Oh, by the way, just in case you were wondering, the
re’s a place for you in Beart Enterprises, which I think you’d find very interesting and, as I’m sure you’re aware, would be a lot more lucrative than your current job. Well, must be going now; busy day and all that. You’ll be hearing from us formally very shortly. Bye.’
She switched the machine off.
‘The cheek of the man to phone me up and make it all sound like a fait accompli. And as for offering me a job to let the deal go through, that must break every City code there is.’
‘He never had much time for codes. What are you going to do?’
‘We’re going to fight. The board’s behind me. The take-over makes no sense.’
Our curries grew cold in their metal dishes as Rachel bombarded me with tales of the prowess of the investment bankers she’d retained to argue her case. Eventually I grew tired of waiting and spooned some food onto my plate.
‘He’ll find out he’s got a fight on his hands, make no mistake of that,’ Rachel said, and we raised our glasses of sharp and watery red wine to ‘La Resistance’.
The takeover battle didn’t materialise. Beart had been telling the truth when he boasted that the institutional investors would back him. A few soundings indicated resistance was futile and, after a brief period of negotiation, a merger was agreed.
*
I was at the Beart Enterprises head offices one evening when I chanced upon Beart sauntering down the empty corridor towards the auditors’ office. He gave me a cheery wave.
‘Mind if I come in?’
He didn’t wait for my reply.
‘Make yourself at home.’ I gestured in the direction of a chair. He perched on the windowsill.
‘How’s the audit going?’
‘Still on schedule. Why do you ask? I thought you left all that stuff to your minions so you could do the sexy take-overs.’
‘You know Rachel’s coming to work for me?’
Outwardly I remained calm and said nothing, though my heart missed several beats.
‘Yes, she’s going to be CEO of the Investment Fund. Should be quite a challenge for her. I hope it doesn’t cause you a problem.’
‘Me? Why should it cause me a problem?’ I was stuttering despite my attempts at self-control.
‘Conflict of interest, what with you two having been married and all that. Don’t you remember? You were the person who alerted me to it in the first place.’ He stared me coolly in the eye. ‘Personally, I don’t think it should be a show stopper for AP, seeing as that’s all in the past now. Even so, no doubt you’ll have to run it past your ethics committee.’
‘No I don’t think it should.’ My mind was numb. I wondered whether it was jealousy about Rachel, or some deep-seated rivalry with Beart. I thought I’d got over both.
I couldn’t get hold of Rachel when I phoned later that evening. I imagined life was hectic in a company merger, so I left a message and didn’t try to contact her again for a while. Several days later she returned my call.
‘I’d been meaning to phone you. I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘You’ve accepted a job with Beart.’
‘How did you know? It’s not public yet.’
‘Confidential sources,’ I replied.
Chapter 23
Neil again, 1994
Neil’s hair was thinner and greyer, his face fatter and redder and his neck a lot thicker.
I greeted him in the time-honoured fashion.
‘What’s yours?’
‘Bitter and a packet of salted.’ He put his arm on my shoulder. ‘Good to see you again. It’s been too long. I should’ve been in touch sooner.’
‘My fault,’ I replied. ‘I’ve been meaning to phone you for ages. You know how it is.’ Two pints were slapped down in front of me, spilling a little from both. My money was taken and my change handed back without the barman saying anything, and I wondered what had happened to the fine old tradition of the friendly landlord and the warm welcome. We found a table, its surface awash with beer, and sat down. Looking around at the state of nearby tables it was obvious no one was going to wipe it, so I mopped it with a tissue which I then crammed into the already overflowing ashtray.
Neil lifted his glass to his lips.
‘Cheers. Here’s to you.’
‘How’s life, Neil?’
‘I’m in B6 now. I love it.’
‘What’s B6?’
Neil spun a nut into the air and caught it in his mouth.
‘You must be the only person in the country who hasn’t heard of us. We’re an Apollo squad bringing together all the police disciplines to combat the most sophisticated multi-disciplinary and global criminal gangs. And you?’
‘Chugging along. Partner on the Beart Enterprises account.’
‘Don’t mention Beart to me.’
I was struck by the venom in Neil’s tone.
‘Whyever not? You used to be such mates.’
‘That was before I found out it was Beart who closed my business down all those years ago. It’s a perk of this job that you can do a little personal research. What’s more, he sold his interests in the bandits that thrashed us as soon as my outfit folded.’
‘Very strange,’ I said. ‘He never does anything without a reason, although it’s often difficult working it out. He’s definitely a one-off.’
Neil took a deep draught of his pint. ‘Let’s talk about something else. It’s putting me off my beer.’
‘Sorry mate. Do you reckon we’ll make it into the Premier League next season?’
‘I can’t stand the Premier League. It’s just the big boys trying to exclude the little clubs like ours, and snaffle all the loot. It’ll be the end of football as you and I know it, and it’s all down to greed.’
‘Oh, come on, Neil. You can’t blame them for wanting to make money. Their owners are only human.’
‘Show me a human being, and I’ll show you a crime waiting to happen.’
‘That sounds a bit extreme mate; not everyone’s corrupt. There are some good folk around. What about Mother Theresa?’
‘Just because we haven’t got the dirt on her doesn’t mean there isn’t any. I don’t know anyone who isn’t on the take in some way. Whether it’s fiddling expenses, diddling the tax man, or setting up a multi-billion dollar ponzi scheme, it’s all theft. It’s only a matter of opportunity.’
‘Does that mean you’re corrupt too?’
‘I’m pretty clean, probably cleaner than most around here.’ He surveyed the people at surrounding tables. They looked a seedy bunch, most of them reading tabloids or racing papers or merely gazing into the middle distance. One well-dressed young couple was sitting in the corner holding hands and I wondered if they were so besotted with each other that they’d strayed into the wrong pub.
‘Before you start feeling smug,’ he continued, ‘let me remind you how, when we were lads, we both sneaked into Town’s stadium through that hole in the fence, almost every other Saturday.’
‘No doubt you boys in B6 will be putting a stop to major crimes like that.’
Neil stared silently into the depths of his beer before saying, in a voice which sounded very distant, ‘I dream of the day when I discover what Beart’s up to. There’s something deeply rotten behind that flashy façade.’
We lapsed into silence again. Someone had put Every Loser Wins on the jukebox for the third time. I tried to block the sound out; I couldn’t stand Nick Berry. Neil scratched his ear lobe.
‘What’s he up to?’ he asked. I drew a deep breath before replying.
‘Can’t imagine Rachel working for a dodgy firm. My ex-wife has many faults; lack of integrity isn’t one of them.’
‘People often slip into dishonesty almost without noticing. They make one slightly iffy decision, then that goes wrong so they compound it with another; that doesn’t work so they do something
else that’s close to the line, and then take an action that’s just the other side of it. Before they know it, they’re lying, sometimes even to themselves. If they’re lucky, they get away with it and they cover their tracks. If they’re unlucky ……well that’s where we come in.’
‘If it’s a matter of luck, why do we need B6, and all those regulators to protect us?’
‘To make you feel more secure. Believe me, there are lots of bad guys who get away with it all the time. You ought to know. You’re an auditor. How many times have you caught a major malefactor? You might catch some junior buyer who’s on the take in a small-scale way.’ He sighed. ‘Even that’s unlikely. How many cases have there been of companies whose auditors signed off the accounts only for them to go belly up shortly afterwards? No, it’s a jungle out there and the predators are winning. What B6 does is dependent on others’ incompetence or bad luck.’
We went for a curry. Neil told me that after a series of disastrous relationships he’d given up with women. I told him I hadn’t seen anyone since Amelia.
‘Do you ever see Rachel these days?’ he asked.
‘Rarely, she’s so busy with her job. We’re still on good terms though.’
‘Is she going out with anyone?’
‘Not as far as I know. She wouldn’t have time.’
A thoughtful look came over his face.
‘I always liked Rachel. Nice woman.’ Then his expression puckered into a sleazy grin. ‘Quite fit too.’
I never liked it when Neil made lecherous comments. That Rachel was the object of them made me doubly uncomfortable.
