by Nick Thripp
‘You’re going to have to sort this one out yourself,’ was her blunt reply. ‘Something here doesn’t add up. I’m not going to get involved.’
A few months passed and, true to his word, Beart took his business away from us. It was a calamitous blow. More than half our staff was billed to his account, and we had to institute a savage round of redundancies. Our younger more promising staff, as well as the more experienced and capable ones, deserted us for other accountancy firms. We were left with the unemployables, those we should have weeded out years before.
Worse still, a few months later, someone, I can only surmise it was one of Beart’s henchmen, told the Inland Revenue we were aiding and abetting tax evasion, naming some of our larger remaining clients. The Inland Revenue carried out dawn raids on my home, those of other AP personnel and on our offices. The tax inspectors installed themselves in our boardroom, where they remained for several weeks, disrupting our normal business activities and carrying out a campaign of harassment and intimidation. As one of them explained, these operations were so high profile and so expensive, they had to stay until they uncovered something, so even after the firms about whom the initial allegations had been made were found to be clean, they moved onto others.
Most of our remaining clients abandoned us, fearing they would be the next to be picked on. We tried hard to find new ones to fill the vacuum, slashing our fees and offering extravagant dinners. They must have smelled our desperation because no one showed any interest. Then I started to receive reports that Beart had been poisoning the market with tales of our incompetence.
We sold the lease on our glass and steel office in the famous Bell-Jar building and moved to run-down premises near Holborn that were so dingy the only plant I could keep there was an etiolated dracaena, which clung to life in a thin shaft of light that snaked its way in from between two neighbouring office blocks.
Apart from soliciting new business, there was little to do. At about 11 o’clock I would head to The Magpie, returning about 3.30. In the evenings, I’d go home and drink myself to sleep. I’d given up cooking and lived on kebabs from the late-night take-away.
*
‘We can’t go on like this anymore,’ Richard said as I limped into the office one morning. ‘I’ve been looking at the figures. We’re insolvent. We’re going to have to wind the firm up.’
I stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘We’re broke. Can I put it any more clearly than that?’
I shook my head and slumped onto the chair behind my desk.
‘No, I suppose you can’t.’
‘You’ll have to call a partners’ meeting straight away,’ Richard said. ‘We can’t delay. We’re trading while insolvent.’
‘Like fuck I will. Most of them won’t even look me in the eye when we pass in the corridor. They can go to hell.’
‘Look,’ said Richard, reaching across the desk and putting his hand on my forearm. ‘Beart has put it about that the real reason for our dismissal was you went off with something valuable of his mother’s and won’t give it back. Says he could have lived with our incompetence, he’s grown so used to it. What he can’t tolerate is your dishonesty. It isn’t true, is it?’
‘A load of balls. I told you why he sacked us.’
‘I believe you,’ Richard replied. ‘The trouble is, no one else does.’
I didn’t bother to go through the pretence of working. Instead I rushed to the pub as soon as it opened. After four pints and a large scotch, I wended my way back into the building and found it seemingly deserted, though everywhere were clues of recent occupation; a still-warm coffee cup here, a half-eaten pizza there. Then I became aware of raised voices coming from the boardroom. Not wanting to face a confrontation with the partners, I made for my office via the vending machine, where I was collecting a cup of coffee when Richard approached me.
‘Someone spotted you coming back and they want you to join the meeting. I think you’d better.’
With my heart fluttering, I walked slowly to the boardroom and pushed the door open. The room, full of sullen faces, fell silent.
‘Nice of you to turn up.’ It was Andrew Liversedge, a red-faced man whose rank incompetence made me look the acme of professionalism. ‘It’s Captain Disaster, finally deigning to spare us a few minutes of his valuable time.’
Several of the partners muttered profanities. A few started a slow handclap.
Staring at their puffy faces and aggressively scared eyes, my initial impulse to turn and bolt for the door gave way to the desire to take them all on.
‘Who’s got something to say?’ I demanded, hands on hips.
There was a moment’s silence. Brian Alcock broke it.
‘Through your incompetence, you’ve thrown away the Beart account, we’re standing on the edge of the precipice, and you ask whether anyone’s got something to say? You’re bloody lucky we don’t rip you limb from limb.’
Several partners waved their fists and yelled abuse. I raised my hands and shouted over the noise.
‘And what have you ever done, Brian, to bring in new business? What have any of you done? At least I landed the Beart account and hung onto it for sixteen years. You’ve all done bugger all except grow fat on the back of my success.’
‘Not true. I brought in the MasonMurray account.’ Alcock’s jaw jutted out as he spoke and I experienced a strong temptation to punch it.
‘And what a dog of a business that is,’ I retorted. ‘Just about every worthwhile account, apart from Beart’s, we inherited from Braithwaite and his crew. You, collectively, have done nothing to grow this firm.’
‘You bastard,’ Liversedge yelled, his face now purple, his veins like fat slugs. ‘We were doing all right. You got us into this mess.’
‘By defending our integrity,’ I shouted back, to a chorus of cat-calls.
‘Like fuck you were. You nicked something from Beart’s mother and won’t give it back.’
‘I didn’t—’ I protested, but was drowned out.
‘Now we’re all ruined, thanks to you. What about the Limited Liability Partnership you promised to set up?’ It was Ted Evans, a man with a Neanderthal’s sloping forehead and an IQ in the low teens.
There wasn’t much I could say. Braithwaite and his cronies, in their time at the helm, had refused to follow the major accountancy firms when they converted themselves into Limited Liability Partnerships. They took the old-fashioned view we should be prepared to back our judgments by putting our own wealth on the line, rather than, as they saw it, hiding behind limited liability. I’d always thought Braithwaite was deluding himself and promised to make the change when I took over. However, I hadn’t got round to it, and so we partners found ourselves jointly and severally liable for all debts.
‘I always did what was best for the firm,’ I said above the partners’ baying. ‘It’s—’
I experienced a sharp pain as a Blackberry struck me behind my right ear, a clammy trickle of blood oozing slowly down my neck.
‘Steady on!’ Richard shouted. It was too late. A fusillade of Blackberries was unleashed. I covered my head with my arms and the missiles bounced painfully off them. I edged towards the door and, when the bombardment abated, ran for it. Thank God no stones were available, I thought as I bounded down the corridor to my office, otherwise I might have faced the same fate as Saint Stephen. I stuffed a few things into my briefcase and raced towards the exit. Richard intercepted me as I was about to leave the building.
‘Sorry; no idea it would get so ugly. Are you all right?’
‘They’d give hyenas a bad name. I’m finished with this bunch of wankers. Tell me what I need to do to wind this firm up and I’ll do it.’
I could hear feet pounding along the corridor which led to the foyer, and wondered how many years, or centuries, it had been since a businessman was lynched by his colleague
s in London.
‘I’ll let you know what you owe. Oh, and take care.’ Richard gave me a pat on the shoulder. ‘Keep in touch.’
I ran for the door as a horde of panting middle-aged men burst into the foyer, sweating and swearing in equal measure. With a bit of luck, a couple of them might suffer coronaries I thought, as I puffed and wheezed down the road.
*
Some weeks later Richard phoned and told me my share of the liabilities. It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. AP’s out of London property estate had been sold quickly to an expanding firm of lawyers which took care of a large chunk of debt. If I sold my flat and liquidated all my assets, I could cover my own share of the liabilities and even keep my cherished black BMW, the sole tangible reminder of my time as an accountant.
Shortly after, I received a Civil Court claim form from Beart alleging misappropriation of his mother’s crucifix. I phoned Rachel.
‘He can’t be serious, can he? He knows it was stolen from me and I’ve reported it to the police. What more can I do? What does he want, blood?’
‘He wants you arrested for theft. The police say it’s a civil matter. He’s still in a frenzy. My advice is make yourself scarce. I don’t think it’ll blow over, exactly, but some of the heat might go out of it. I still don’t understand why he’s so angry though. I know it was his mother’s crucifix. Even so, it seems a bit over the top.’
I scrunched the form up into a tight little ball and dropped it into a bin in the park. I decided to take Rachel’s advice. If he wanted to pursue his case he’d have to find me first, and I wasn’t going to make that easy. With money I’d stashed away for emergencies, I rented a room in a crumbling concrete tower block in Bermondsey which was scheduled for demolition.
*
I was sharing with three thirty-something-year-olds, one male and two females, all working in the charity sector. The only person I’d told of my new address was Richard, and I knew he wouldn’t let on to anybody. I doubted whether anyone would be able to track me down.
Less than a week later, while heating a can of baked beans and scorching some toast under the grill, I had a visitor. It was Neil.
‘How the hell did you find me?’
‘Easy-peasy, mate. You stick out here like a pimple on a tart’s arse. Let me buy you a drink.’
*
‘Not going so well, I hear,’ Neil said, and I was sure I saw a flicker of satisfaction cross his face. ‘Too bad mate. Still, I’m sure it’s only a temporary setback.’
Even though I couldn’t imagine anyone ever wanting to employ me again, I wasn’t going to expose my self-doubts to Neil.
‘Something will turn up. By the way, I had a funny old interview with some of your friends in Scotland Yard a while back. I’d have thought you’d have shared what I’d fed back to you, but they said they’d been told nothing and grilled me like a pork chop.’
‘I asked them to go easy on you.’ Neil sat back in his chair, relishing my discomfiture. ‘No more than a light going over.’
‘They said they’d never heard of you,’ I retorted. ‘And they didn’t have a good word for B6.’
‘Mind games, mate. We all do it.’ He picked a peanut from the pile lying on the torn packet and flipped it expertly into his mouth. It was the third time in a row he’d accomplished this trick.
‘Very impressive. So, they did teach you something at Hendon. Anyway, what progress are you making?’
‘We know Beart’s up to something; it’s just a case of finding out what. I can smell a wrong’un, and believe me, he’s rotten to the core.’
‘Perhaps Beart is playing mind games of his own, Neil. Personally, I wouldn’t give him a drop of water if he were dying of thirst and I owned a reservoir. However, the rest of the world thinks he’s a model citizen. Sits on lots of committees, gives bundles of money to charity and visits No 10 more frequently than the milkman.’
‘I didn’t know you were part of his fan club. In fact, I thought you disliked him as much as I do, especially since he’s nicked all your women off you.’
The loud noise of fellow revellers in the Prince of Wales seemed to die down to a background hubbub and everything moved in slow motion.
‘What do you mean, all my women? He only took Rachel off me, and that was because I was fool enough to let her go.’
Neil took a swig of beer, keeping his eye steadily on me. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
‘If that’s what you choose to believe.’
‘What do you mean, Neil?’
‘You really want to know?’
I nodded. ‘Spit it out.’
‘I have it on good authority he was shafting Amelia while she was living with you.’
‘Unlikely, Neil. She’s a lezzie. Came out shortly after we split up and moved in with another woman.’
‘I don’t think so. She’s Beart’s creature, always has been. I heard he arranged for her to move into a nice house, all expenses paid and visits her on the quiet from time to time, just as he did when she was supposedly married, and just as he did when she was living in what you thought was bliss with you. In fact, if you believe the rumours, Beart is the real father of her daughters.’
Jealousy clamped my chest, squeezing the breath from my lungs. I finally managed to force some words through my constricted throat.
‘What about her husband? Didn’t he object?’
‘Beart probably had something on him, otherwise he wouldn’t have married her in the first place. It was the classic marriage of convenience, only in this case it was all for Beart’s convenience.’
We sat in silence as this new information sank in. It was all so implausible. However hard I tried, I couldn’t make sense of it. My mind flitted back to what had seemed halcyon days when she, her daughters and I had taken on the semblance of a happy family.
‘Water under the bridge,’ I said. ‘It was all a while ago.’ I reached for a peanut.
‘And now he’s shagging Suzie.’
I choked on the nut, coughing uncontrollably and he slapped me on the back. When I recovered, I looked at his face to see if he was joking. His expression was grim.
‘Are you sure?’
He nodded gravely.
‘Sorry mate. I take it you didn’t know. He’s set her up in some nice little love-nest too. He’s got quite a harem of your ex-women, hasn’t he?’
‘Does Rachel know?’ I couldn’t imagine Rachel tolerating his philandering, least of all with her own sister.
‘Know what, mate? About Suzie, or Amelia?’
‘I don’t know, either, both. Amelia would be bad enough. Finding out about Suzie would really crack her up.’
‘Not yet, mate. Soon will though, I can assure you of that.’
‘How will you tell her?’
‘Tell her? Interfere in the private lives of the nation’s citizens? What do you take us for?’ He grinned broadly, tossed three peanuts into the air together and caught them all.
*
The story only made the inside pages of the News of the World, which I’d bought because Neil tipped me off. Though the photographs were grainy and the headline – ‘Knight of Passion’ – corny, the evidence was incontrovertible.
It didn’t take Rachel long to phone me. Her manic work ethic and relentless pursuit of success meant she’d acquired few, if any, true friends. Her tone was brisk and I could imagine the firm line of her jaw as she spoke unemotionally into the receiver.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen the News of the World?’
‘As a matter of fact, I have. I bought it to read why Andre Albakken paid well over the odds for Igor Ludochenko, then left him festering on the bench.’
‘Never mind all that. Did you see the article about John and Suzie?’
‘Couldn’t really miss it.’
‘Think it’s true?
’
I was struck by how unemotional Rachel seemed.
‘How would I know?’
‘Because you live with Suzie, for one reason, you dumb cluck.’ Her voice had changed suddenly from steely to angry.
‘Well in a manner of speaking, though I haven’t seen much of her recently. Anyway, I suspect it’s true. I’m sure he’d sue them if it weren’t, so we’ll only have to wait a short while to find out.’
‘I’m not waiting ten seconds. John and I are through.’ She paused. ‘He’ll live to regret it, the bastard.’
‘What are you going to do, Rachel? Nothing silly I hope.’ I couldn’t imagine Rachel throwing herself off a cliff; she would be more likely to hurl Beart to his death.
‘I’m getting out of here, I’m quitting Beart Enterprises, and I’m going to get even.’
‘I read of a jilted woman who cut the crotch out of all her partner’s pairs of trousers. Perhaps that might be the place to start?’
‘I don’t think a little sartorial vandalism is going to do much to satisfy me. No, this is one I want to get absolutely spot-on.’
‘Well, if you want to go out for dinner and talk about it—’
‘Thanks. I’ll let you know. Sorry, better go now; I’ve got lots of things to think through.’
Chapter 32
Rachel disappears, 2004
I thought I’d better let Rachel sort herself out after the traumatic experience she’d been through, but when I hadn’t heard from her for a few weeks I started to worry. Could even the self-sufficient Rachel be depressed? She wasn’t answering her mobile and I wasn’t sure how to contact her. I knew she must have moved out of the Belgravia home she’d shared with Beart and, from what she’d said, would no longer be working for Beart Enterprises, so I tried calling her mother. An unfamiliar female voice answered.
‘Could I speak to Edwina, please?’ I said.
The voice sighed. ‘Sorry, there’s no Edwina here.’
‘That is the Vicarage, Wintlesham?’
‘Yes, and we’re the new owners, and no, I’m afraid I don’t have a forwarding address. You must be the umpteenth person to ask.’
