Out of control (23 page)

David, who runs the place, supplied us with the clubs and a solid tot of whisky before we started and gave Pierre a short talk on the old traditions of the game and some very useful advice.

“Slow yer swing doon, laddie. These shafts have got an awfy lot more whip in them than what yer used tae!”

So we wielded brassies, cleeks and mashies for a couple of hours, returning to the clubhouse with a better understanding about what golf is all about. There must be something in it if it has survived for more than five hundred and fifty years, spreading out all over the world from its humble beginnings on the links at St Andrews.

Pierre was astonished when I told him that the first written reference to the game dated from the middle of the fifteenth century when King James had issued a decree forbidding the playing of ‘gowff’. He wanted the young men of the country to practice their archery instead in order to defend the country.

We ventured north of the Tay and played Rosemount and the next day managed to take in the delights of the Queen’s course at Gleneagles.

By Thursday evening we were golfed out and decided to hit the road north the next day. I needed some relaxation before the showdown on Tuesday.

I checked in with Mike and Helen before leaving and was assured that all was under control.

I also received an unexpected call from Brian Dawson.

“Just calling to let you know that I’ve just had a call from a friend who’s still at LyonPharma and it might interest you. Remember I told you that there was a new girl that had come over from France to work with Macek? ”

“Yes.”

“Well apparently she has disappeared. I don’t know when it was but seemingly one Monday morning she didn’t turn up and Macek is not a happy man. He’s rampaging around like a madman, interviewing all the staff and creating a hell of a fuss. I don’t know what’s happened to her but I thought you might want to know.”

I said nothing except to thank him for the information.

Would Macek think I had anything to do with it? I hoped not. I didn’t fancy being run off the road again. I decided that it was unlikely and put it to the back of my mind.

The drive up was perfect. As I had my car back we were able to enjoy a quiet trip, hood down, enjoying the sunshine. Over the hills and up to Perth, round the city and up the A9 then off into the mountains and glens, the moving clouds giving us light and shadow and the road twisting its way round the hills, scattered with sheep and the occasional farmhouse.

All was well at the hotel.

I was delighted to see Maggie again. I had been with Pierre all week so I hadn’t been bored or lonely but I realised how good that welcoming hug and smile were and wondered if I would have been as content over the last week if I didn’t have this relationship. It suddenly came to me that I would be glad when this business was finished and we could be off on our cruise.

However, first things first.

I left the others to relax in their own way.

Liam had taken to fishing and would hobble off to the loch with his rod, accompanied by Ana, and come back an hour or two later, quite happy but without a fish in sight which didn’t seem to bother him particularly. Pierre read and walked, sometimes with Sophie when she wasn’t helping Maggie.

I contemplated the character of M. Bernard Dugain - what I knew from others and what I’d seen on the videos.

I 
had seen anger in people before. I had felt anger and knew that it was an emotion which one learned to control. It could be positive and channelled. I knew that much. But I also knew that at the extreme end of the spectrum it can sometimes turn into rage, the effects of which could be remarkably different.

Brian Dawson’s description of how Dugain had behaved at their sales conference was undoubtedly rage. And I knew that someone in a state of rage can easily lose much of his or her capacity for rational thought and reasoning. They become out of control. Their normal thought processes go out of the window and they are perfectly liable to say things that, if they had retained control, they would never say.

I’d seen it in kids when they are young. The dreaded tantrum. Liz and I had taught Callum to control his anger. But not all parents did or could. It was quite understandable, therefore, that someone who had not acquired the habit of controlling his anger could easily be susceptible to occasional fits of rage given the right circumstances. Put this into a man with an over-inflated ego, used to getting his own way, and the result was likely to be pretty explosive, especially when faced with a threat to his pride, position, or status.

I knew nothing of Dugain’s background and I didn’t really care but I hoped my reading of the man was right.

I wanted him to explode in rage at the meeting and it was my job to make it happen.

We drove down on Monday afternoon to stay overnight with Heather and Oliver.

Heather was still a bit twitchy about what I was planning to do and the next morning before we set off I was treated to an extra tight hug and a “be careful.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” I assured her. It was an automatic response – maybe I should have thought a little more about it.

Pierre and I arrived at Bioscope’s offices around eleven. We were welcomed by Richard and a slightly nervous Helen.

Richard had no idea what was planned but it was clear that Helen had done a great job persuading him that selling some of his shares was the right thing to do. He was sociable for five minutes or so and then disappeared off into his lab to get on with some work. I went to find Mike closeted in the small room next to the meeting room playing with a computer screen and some recording equipment. “Everything is absolutely fine,” he said. ”Come on, we’ll do a test. You go next door and sit at the table and sing the first verse of ’Waltzing Matilda‘. I’ll set things going then you can come back and see the results.”

Not having any argument to counter his suggestion I did as I was told. I came back and watched the playback. Apart from the singing it was perfect.

Then we both went through to the meeting room and he showed me how they had installed the cameras in the ceiling, disguised as spotlights. The microphone had been incorporated into the projector that always sat on the table. If need be there were backups hidden behind the screen. I was impressed. Nothing was noticeable.

Back in the little box room he had put three extra chairs for Ross, Maclean and Pierre – a bit cramped but it would do.

Satisfied that all was ready I proposed that we all went out for a bite of lunch, planning, to be safe, to be back a good hour earlier than Dugain was expected. Helen knew the general idea of what I wanted to do but not exactly how I thought I could achieve it. I told her it was better she didn’t know. That way she would appear more natural.

Helen’s team had been asked to come at one o’clock so that I could review the various documents that were necessary. Her lawyer, a Mr. Cameron, arrived first. He had come through from Glasgow. We chatted pleasantly and he showed me the deeds of transfer that he had prepared.

Her tax advisor and accountant arrived together. They were local, from Stirling, and knew each other well. We were introduced and Mr. Cameron went off with Hamish Duff, the accountant, to make sure that all the papers were in order. I stayed outside in the sun with Ian Potts, the young tax specialist, discussing the weekend’s football results. He and I had nothing to prepare.

Inspector Ross and Sergeant Maclean had arrived earlier and were in the small recording room with Mike and Pierre. None of the others were aware of their presence.

Just before two a car arrived and parked in the visitors’ slot. Two men emerged.

This was the first time that I had ever seen Bernard Dugain. He was taller than I had thought. He must have felt a little cramped after his journey because he stretched himself while the other man who had been driving scuttled round to the boot of the car and extracted two briefcases. Rather than handing one to Dugain he carried them both himself and dutifully followed behind as Dugain loped up to the front door and went in. A brief glance in our direction but not even a nod or a ‘Good afternoon’.

I waited while Potts finished his cigarette and we followed them in.

In the meeting room Helen had apparently already introduced Dugain to Cameron and Duff who were sitting back down again at their papers. The man who had accompanied Dugain was also sitting at the table on the opposite side pulling files out of one of the briefcases and arranging them on the table in front of him. I wondered who he might be. Dugain was standing at the window, his hands in his pockets and his back to the room, presumably admiring the view.

Helen turned as we came in.

“Hi, Bob. Come and meet our visitors.” Dugain turned as we went towards him. Half a head taller than me, his pale grey eyes looked down at me through his small round glasses. 

“Bob, this is Mr. Dugain, the Chief Executive of LyonPharma,” and turning her head to him, she said “Mr. Dugain, this is Mr. Bob Bruce, my financial adviser.”

We shook hands. His grip was light, his fingers long and thin and he withdrew them quickly as if not being very keen on physical contact. I watched his eyes very carefully as my name was mentioned and thought that I saw the slightest of expressions flit across them – as if, perhaps, he had recognized the name?

The man at the table was introduced as the Managing Director of LyonPharma and he made such an impression on me that I can’t even remember his name.

Richard arrived, flustered, from his lab, was introduced to the visitors and we all took our place at the table. I hoped that Mike’s equipment was working.

We were a total of eight. I had asked Helen to invite all these people, even if they weren’t strictly speaking necessary, because I wanted as large an audience as possible. That we were six and they were two suited me fine.

Helen took the centre of one side of the table with Richard on her left. Messrs. Cameron, Potts and Duff sat together at one end. Dugain gravitated towards the other end, the head of the table as it were, but I had warned Helen in advance that I wanted to sit there. I had anticipated this possibility because, if I had read him correctly, he wouldn’t like someone other than himself sitting at the head of the table and I hoped that would grate a bit with him. She gently intervened and piloted him to the seat opposite her. I smiled to myself and took the slightly larger and more comfortable chair at the end.

He sat down, pushed the chair a little bit back from the table, as if to distance himself from everyone, legs crossed, hands in his lap and a superior expression on his face, ignoring the documents that his MD had placed in front of him.

I had asked Helen to start the ball rolling. The only thing I had requested her to do, other than what would be perfectly normal in such a meeting, was to question Dugain right at the beginning about how his research team had managed to discover the properties of ultra-violet to enable them to register their patent. She did it beautifully.

“Mr. Dugain, if we are going to be partners and work together in the future there’s one thing I’d like to know. We both know that LyonParma and Bioscope were both working on the same project for the Alzheimer drug and you managed to get in an application for a patent just before us. The discovery of the solution in our case was, I admit, a sheer stroke of luck, but I’d be interested to know how your team discovered it.”

I made as if this didn’t interest me much but I was watching him carefully out of the corner of my eye.

“I really don’t know,” he replied casually. “I‘m not a scientist. I’m afraid I can’t give you the details but I hope you’ll get a chance to discuss it with my team when you and Richard come to Lyon.”

From what Antoine had told me I knew that was a lie but I didn’t react, especially because I was aware that he was watching me closely as he said it and maybe we had made him feel just a little uncomfortable. Because of the question he couldn’t help but remember the name of Liam Bruce and a Bob Bruce was sitting just along from him. Would he be wondering if there was a connection? I was hoping so.

One seed planted, I thought. Now on to the next phase.

The next stage was to bore him. If, as I suspected, his attention span was short this would be best way to get him to the first stage – impatience. So I had planned that Mr. Duff would go through all the financials.

Like a good accountant he produced a pile of papers about an inch thick and proceeded to distribute them to Helen, Richard and Dugain. Without any further ado he started to explain the numbers in the balance sheet and the revenue statement for the last two years.

It was pretty boring stuff – lists of assets, explanations of provisions, evolution of costs etc. I took no part in this. I didn’t have a copy because I had told Duff I didn’t need one. I had already seen all the figures. While Dugain listened to the dry voice he tried to give a semblance of being interested but I could see that he just wanted this part over as soon as possible.

His Edinburgh MD listened dutifully and took notes. He asked the odd question until Dugain told him to shut up.

As Duff droned on I watched the man become more and more exasperated. Time to add another niggle.

I caught Helen’s eye and winked. She looked puzzled for a second.

Not being interested in this part I thought I might as well do something so I pulled out my newspaper, turned to the sports section and started to scan the football results. Dugain glanced at me and scowled. Helen had let a fleeting smile pass over her face, being careful that Dugain didn’t spot it.

Duff was in control of the meeting at this point and, as I suspected, Dugain did not like that. He waited a minute or two and then spoke sharply to me.

“Would you mind putting that newspaper away, Mr. Bruce? This is a serious meeting. Shouldn’t you be following this?”

“Oh, sorry,” I replied with a polite smile. “It’s just that you don’t need me for this bit and I’ve already gone over all these numbers.” But I folded up my paper and put it away.