Dan let out a deep breath. “Because of nine-eleven. I lost one of my best mates in the building, as well as a good number of work colleagues. I just decided then that there were more important things in life other than trying to make piles of money.”
Patrick nodded slowly. “I can understand that.” He leaned forward on the table and fixed Dan with an intense stare. “But you miss it, don’t you?”
Dan smiled. “Yes, I do. Every day. If you’ve had a pretty tough upbringing without any of the niceties of life, then you have to fight to survive. You have to be one step ahead of the gang on the street, otherwise you’re going to end up lying facedown in the gutter nursing four broken ribs . . . or worse. The job was made for me, like it was made for every other boy and girl who started from nothing and ended up dealing in the City. We all sailed pretty close to the wind, but we knew instinctively how to handle a situation that was as volatile and as unpredictable as our backgrounds in life. It was just . . . the survival of the fittest. Cowboy country, really.”
“Hah!” Patrick exclaimed, slamming his hand down on the table. A fierce excitement suddenly burned in his eyes as he turned to his wife. “Kate, did you hear that?”
Katie grinned broadly at him and nodded as she poured hot water into the teapot.
“You . . .” Patrick continued, pointing his finger at Dan, “have just come out with my expression. I could almost have taken a bet that you would too.”
Dan laughed. “Why?”
“Because”—Patrick clenched his fists and waved them about in the air, trying to find the right words— “because that kind of business is so vibrant, so cut and thrust, so . . . basic that it puts a fire in your belly and you know that if you don’t just go out there and grab every opportunity that arises, you’re going to . . . shrivel up and die.”
“And you reckon that your business is like that too, do you?”
“Exactly.”
“In that case, it must have been a hell of a change from being a lecturer at a university.”
He seemed surprised. “How did you know about that?”
“Dan knows everything about us,” Katie said, placing two mugs of tea in front of them on the table. “He gleans all his information from Woman’s Weekly, don’t you, Dan?”
Dan twisted his mouth to the side at the teasing remark. “Not always, but on this occasion, yes.” He turned his attention back to Patrick. “So how did it come about?”
“Do you really want to hear it?” Patrick asked, casting a challenging look at Dan.
“If you could be bothered.”
Patrick took a drink from his mug. “Okay then. Well, you’re right, I was a lecturer—in marine biology at Plymouth University. The department there also used to carry out research projects for fish farming businesses and the like, and that was how I first came across Seascape. But anyway, that part of the story is quite a bit down the line. What really happened first was that an old mate of mine from London came down to stay with us for the weekend. He was running a successful wholesale business, supplying fresh fish and scallops and the like to restaurants throughout the West End, and he just happened to mention that he was on his way down to Penzance to find a new buyer.” He paused to take another gulp of tea. “Anyway, all the students were away on holiday at the time and there was no ongoing research in the department, so I asked him what it entailed. He said that it was pretty simple. One just had to go into the buying shed and buy the right quality at the right price.” He looked over to Katie who was watching Sooty busily colour in a picture on a large piece of paper that she had spread out on the floor in front of the Rayburn. “It was just twice a week, wasn’t it, Kate?”
Katie looked over and nodded.
“So I asked him if there was any reason why I shouldn’t be able to do it. He wasn’t too sure to begin with, because he was concerned that once the university started up again, I wouldn’t have the time. Anyway, I suggested that if he paid for my fuel, I’d work without commission for the duration of the holidays, and then if it didn’t work out or I proved completely inept at the job, he hadn’t lost out too much. So, at about four-thirty on the Monday morning, we both headed down to Penzance. We did a bit of buying and—well, if you’ll excuse the horrible pun—I got hooked.”
“So you did continue doing it?”
“Yes. It all worked in very well. Just before the beginning of the next semester, I juggled around with the timetable and made sure that I wasn’t giving lectures on the mornings that I went off buying.”
“How long did you do that for?”
“Oh, now,” Patrick drawled, scratching at the unshaven stubble on his chin, “I took over Seascape in ‘ninety-one, so . . . maybe, two years?”
“And then Seascape came on the market.”
“Yes. Well, to be quite honest, it never actually came on the market. I knew Archie Brannon, the owner of Seascape, quite well, and I’d been up to Fort William a number of times to see him. He had started a really good business, processing langoustines and prawns for the European markets, primarily Spain, Italy, and France. He found out that when all the fishing boats came into harbour up here, they were just dumping the small catch over the side. So he decided to capitalize on it and he made a bloody good job of it too. The only trouble with Archie was that he had one appalling failing. He couldn’t keep his pants on. Eventually, his wife ran out of patience and dragged him through the divorce courts, and she came out with a hefty settlement. Archie was already heavily borrowed at the bank, so he was left with no alternative other than to sell the business.”
“How did you find out about it?”
“We were working on some research for Seascape at the time, and I got a telephone call from Archie saying that we had to stop everything. He told me the whole story, and that night I went home and discussed it with Kate.”
“What do you mean? Buying the business?”
“Exactly. I wasn’t going to hang around. At the time, we’d only been married a couple of years. We had no children, no animals, no commitment to anyone else but ourselves. Kate was working as a secretary in some law firm in Plymouth and was bored out of her skull, and I would much rather have been working full-time around the harbours in Falmouth and Penzance than teaching hungover and apathetic students in the classroom. So we grasped the opportunity. I negotiated a price with Archie, we sold the house in Plymouth for a packet, and then moved up here, the proud owners of Seascape.”
“And how did you cope with the change?”
Patrick smiled at Katie. “Oh, we managed, didn’t we? It was completely different, though. I had never come across xenophobia before, but by God, it hit us in the face when we got here. I was known universally as ‘the Englishman’ at every harbour in Scotland. Seascape had been in business for five years, but when I started buying, it was always ‘sold to the Englishman!’ “ He smiled and shook his head. “But, my word, it was fun. I remember going up to Ullapool for the first time, and driving down the hill into the town. There were all these boats in the harbour, nearly every one of them was flying a different national flag, and sitting out in the bay were these bloody great Russian trawlers. When I got down to the harbour, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It wasn’t just fish that was being traded. It was everything! The Russians were bartering with their vodka and caviar, and the Scottish fishermen were dealing in Levi jeans and whisky, and the Spanish were in there too. It was just one big international, free-for-all market.” Patrick let out a scoffing laugh. “In Ullapool of all places! Stuck right up there in the northwest of Scotland!”
Dan smiled. He was beginning to warm to this man more with every moment that he was in his company.
“But it was hard to start off with, I have to admit,” Patrick continued, “especially for Kate. We’d sunk every last penny into the purchase of Seascape, so we were forced to live pretty much hand-to-mouth for a couple of years before we really got it going. And to do that, we had to expand the business, and that meant buying from other har
bours. It was then that we came up against some pretty shady characters who didn’t like us butting in on their market.” He settled his elbows on the table. “I remember one time returning from the East Neuk of Fife with the refrigerated lorry stuffed full of prawns, and about twenty miles into the journey, the bloody thing just stopped dead. Now, what you’ve got to realize is that if the lorry stops, then the refrigeration unit packs up as well. So I was desperately looking around under the bonnet, but I just couldn’t work out what the hell the matter was with the damned thing. Anyway, having checked absolutely everything else, I eventually took the cap off the fuel tank and it sort of grated as I turned it. There was still sand stuck in the neck of the tank.”
“Someone had put sand in it?” Dan asked incredulously.
Patrick shrugged. “It was a warning. ‘Don’t come back here, Englishman.’ That sort of thing.”
“What about the load of prawns?”
“Oh, we unloaded this oozing, smelly load of pulp when I got back to Fort William.”
“You lost the lot?”
“Yes. About three thousand pounds’ worth.”
“Did you ever go back to buy in Fife?”
Patrick held up his hands defensively. “No way. Those guys meant it. I didn’t want to end up floating in the harbour.”
Katie came across with a mug of tea and slid herself onto the bench beside Dan. “There was one time when you nearly got killed in the line of duty.”
Patrick shot her a quizzical look. “When was that, Kate?”
“In Italy.”
“Jeez, yes. Now that wasn’t funny.”
“What happened?” Dan asked.
Patrick contorted his face. “I had a new customer in Pisa. I didn’t know much about him, but he’d put in a big order and he insisted that I go over there with the shipment. Anyway, I’m pretty convinced now that he was Mafia. I arrived at his place in the evening, and he took one look at the prawns and said that I was trying to swindle him. ‘They are all deefferent sizes,’ he said. So he and two of his henchmen pushed me into the cold store, threw in a lightweight anorak, and locked me in with two pallet loads of prawns. ‘I want them sorrted out by the morrning!”
“Don’t tell me you were left in there overnight?”
“Too bloody right I was.”
“How on earth did you survive that ordeal?”
“Not very well. I returned back here with double pneumonia and my bank balance about five thousand pounds short.”
Dan laughed. “This is unreal! I wouldn’t have thought that running a prawn business could prove to be such a dangerous occupation.”
Patrick shot him a wink. “Ah, but that’s what makes it so much fun. You’re dealing in”—he clicked his fingers and pointed at Dan—“well, you said it. Cowboy country.”
“Yes, but my line of business was pretty tame compared with that,” said Dan, leaning back against the window and pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “You don’t get into those kinds of situations in the City.”
“I bet you did. I bet you laid your life on the line every time you made a deal.”
“Not literally.”
“All right then, your livelihood. Weren’t there times when you thought, If this deal doesn’t go through, then that’s me finished?”
Dan smiled. “Yes, constantly.”
“Well, there you go then.” Patrick thumped his fists on the table. “I think there are great similarities between us, Dan. Neither you nor I have ever had anything handed to us on a plate. We’ve both had to fight hard to succeed in businesses that were never our absolute destiny. And that’s what makes success all the sweeter.” He glanced round at the kitchen clock. “Listen, Kate said that you were catching a train this evening. What time does it leave Fort William?”
“Just before eight o’clock.”
“Great! That gives us just under four hours,” Patrick replied excitedly, as he grabbed the two sticks off the chair and began preparing himself for a move to his feet. “How would you like to see around the factory?”
Katie broke her silence. “Wait a minute, Patrick.”
“What’s wrong?” Patrick asked, a questioning scowl on his face.
“Do you really think you should?”
“Of course I should!” he retorted, pushing himself with a great deal of effort to his feet. “There’s nothing wrong with me!”
“How will you get to Fort William? I can’t take you. I’ve got to pick up Max.”
“That’s no problem. Dan can drive the Merc and I’ll get Pete Jackson to bring me back.”
Katie shrugged her shoulders. “Well, if you’re sure. Just don’t overdo it.”
Patrick gave her a sweet, innocent smile. “I shall be a model of tranquility and calm.”
“Oh yeah? That’ll be the day!” Katie laughed.
Even though Dan had reversed the car out of the barn and parked close to the back door, it was still a full ten minutes before Patrick managed to heave himself into the passenger seat. Despite having to negotiate the lethal flagstones in the courtyard, he dismissed any offer of help, and there was nothing that Katie or Dan could do other than to stand watching in fearful trepidation as he laboriously wobbled his way around the car, the rubber tips on his walking sticks losing their grip on more than one occasion. Once he was settled in the car with his sticks tucked in around his feet, Katie leaned in and gave him a kiss on his cheek before closing the door.
Dan walked round and met her at the rear of the car. “Thanks for the hospitality, Katie,” he said, “and probably the best idea would be to draw a thick black line through our meeting this morning.”
“Agreed,” replied Katie, “but nevertheless, it’s been a pleasure to meet you, and I have to say, selfishly speaking, that I am delighted that you made the trip. You’ve been a real tonic for Patrick. He doesn’t get to meet many kindred spirits up here, and I haven’t seen him so stimulated for ages.”
“He’s a great man—and a survivor, too.”
“I sincerely hope so.” She surprised Dan by reaching up and giving him a kiss on his cheek. “You must give Patrick your telephone number in London. He’d love to speak to you every now and again.”
“Of course. I’d like that too.”
“What are you lot doing?” Patrick’s muffled voice boomed in the car.
Katie smiled. “You’d better go. Have a good trip back to London.”
“I will,” Dan replied, walking to the driver’s door and opening it, “and I’ll remember your tip about giving the backhander to the steward.”
“You do that.”
“And please say goodbye to Sooty for me.”
“Of course.” She shooed him away with her hands. “Now go, before he starts getting hopelessly agitated.”
Katie had been right about the weather, only she had been a good twelve hours out with her prediction. As they pulled out onto the main road at the head of the loch, Dan suddenly realized that the mist had dispersed, and the sun beamed through the broken clouds as they scudded westwards towards the dark, towering presence of Ben Nevis. The waters of Loch Eil had turned from murky brown to muted blue and the hills on the far side were transformed to purple and green in their newly acquired light. Even though the ground rose steeply to one side of the road, Dan was now made aware of the vastness of the countryside that surrounded him. There was a mysticism about it, a power in its complete emptiness that seemed to diminish even the need for human existence. Yet, for some reason, he didn’t feel uncomfortable with it. It was as if every stone, every tree, every shadow-filled crevice on the hills was saying, “Don’t be frightened. Don’t run away. You are quite welcome to be part of our world.”
“You haven’t been listening to anything I’ve been saying, have you?”
Dan turned to look at Patrick. “Sorry?”
“I was just attempting to point out to you that that’s our house over there on the other side of the loch.” Patrick smiled. “Ah! I see you’ve got t
hat look in your eye.”
“And what look might that be?”
“The same one that I had when I first came up here. This countryside has a hell of a draw, doesn’t it?”
Dan laughed. “I’m a Londoner, Patrick, right to the core.”
“So was I.”
“Really?”
“Well, southwest London. Wimbledon, actually.”
“Ah,” Dan said with a smirk on his face. “Home of the well-heeled. Educated at public school, were you?”
Patrick cleared his throat. “As a matter of fact, yes. You wouldn’t hold that against me, would you?”
Dan shook his head. “No. As a matter of fact, I don’t think that I hold many things against anybody. I feel that if you end up being content with your own existence, then you take everyone at face value.”
“And my face fits?”
Dan shot him a wry smile. “It’ll do.”
Patrick laughed and slapped a hand on Dan’s arm. “I like you, Dan. You’re a man after my own heart.”
The factory was situated on the north side of the small industrial estate through which Dan and Katie had driven earlier in the day. It was longer than most of the other buildings but still constructed in similar prefabricated fashion. At one end of the shed, next to the main road, a paling fence did rather an ineffectual job of hiding from view a motley line of rusty containers that were jacked up on metal supports, and most of the car parking space was taken up with stacks of empty pallets and blue plastic boxes. Dan waited for a small forklift truck to buzz backwards at speed across the forecourt before pulling into a parking space in front of an insignificant door marked Office. He switched off the engine and got out of the car, and immediately could tell that Patrick’s factory was partly responsible for the all-pervading smell of fish that emanated throughout the area.
Dan walked around to the passenger side and held the door open for Patrick. “Can you manage?”
Patrick replied as Dan thought he might. “No problem.” He shifted his legs manually out of the car. “Listen, I’ll tell you what you can do. See that shed over there?” He pointed to a wooden building wedged in between the paling fence and the nearest container. “You’ll find a wheelchair in there. I hate using the bloody thing, but the floor in the factory is always soaking wet, and that’s lethal for me.”
A Risk Worth Taking Page 14
