The Deal (22 page)

She was allowing her emotional stability to be rocked by her loyalty to her brother and her desire for Oliver. She kept thinking back to the river bank and remembering those moments with him. And that message he’d sent…

“I want to walk down the Mall holding your hand.”

No words had ever captured for her what she really needed in a relationship before. She desperately wanted to make that same walk. She was ready to give herself to Oliver, to one man. She didn’t want to be alone any more.

Oliver looked across the table.

“If I’m completely honest, I’m not enjoying what’s happening.”

“To us?” she asked.

“No. Not in the specific sense. I like to live my life by making each day as fulfilling as possible, but at the moment I’m finding the tensions at work quite difficult to deal with.”

He went on to explain about the conflicts with Gavin and the lack of support from Andrew. He mentioned that Charles had gone on holiday.

“I feel I should be dealing with matters better but I just can’t control the meetings.”

She looked at him. Why was he talking about work?

“But are you finding our situation difficult?” she asked.

“That’s why I wanted time to think,” he said. “I’ve been wondering if we’ve been complicating matters.”

In his own mind the situation was clear. He had two objectives: to raise two million pounds and to get closer to her. Both were proving less than straightforward.

“Complicating how?” asked Amanda

“I’ll raise the money for City Fiction. That’s my job.”

“But you’re not the fund-raiser, are you?”

“Gavin and Duncan are the lead brokers but I’ve raised money in the past.”

“So are you saying that I’m the problem?”

“We have to think about Alistair, yes, and your commitment to him. But I’ve come to a conclusion.”

Amanda tried to look less anxious than she felt.

“Only one thing matters,” he said.

She gazed back, heart beating.

“You,” he said.

“Me?”

“You are simply the loveliest woman I’ve ever met. I find it impossible to put it into words.”

“Well, you could try,” suggested Amanda.

“Every few moments I find myself thinking about you. I can’t get you out of my mind. Your beauty. Your vitality. I never thought a woman would do this to me. I know that the moment I have you in my grasp I’ll never let you go.”

She listened to his honeyed words. A lot of men had expressed desire for her – Zach had been particularly eloquent. But this was different. A new level.

“But there are issues,” she said. “I have to make my peace with Alistair. You must talk to him. You must complete the fund-raising.”

“There are no issues,” said Oliver, “apart from one.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Do you want what I want, Amanda?”

She placed her hand on top of his.

“Very, very much,” she said.

The mid-morning phone call took Jody by surprise – but she immediately accepted Dimitri’s invitation to lunch at the Dorchester Hotel. His chauffeur picked her up in Queen Street at around 12.30pm and, with a clear drive along the Embankment and right to Trafalgar Square, through Mayfair and into Park Lane, she found herself sitting down with her host at 1.15pm. A glass of champagne was placed before her and then the waiter appeared with a dozen red roses, which were presented and then taken away.

It had been her intention to ask him how he knew her business telephone number, as she couldn’t recall naming Harriman Agnew Capital during their first drink together.

But instead she pointed out to Dimitri that she did not know his name or anything about him. Then, without any formality, she was served a plate of fresh grilled sardines with a mustard sauce and a glass of cool Chablis. Dimitri continued to drink vodka and take calls on his mobile. Despite her confusion, she could not keep the huge grin off her face.

“My full name is Dimitrius Illyor Petraffus,” he said. “I am proud that you have joined me for lunch. I have asked about you in the City. You are highly regarded as finance director of Harriman Agnew Capital. I like the new partnership. I’ll meet Andrew. He will want to meet me.”

She put her knife and fork down and looked at him. She wanted to ask him why he had changed hotels but the moment passed.

“So this is about business,” she said.

“You are a lovely lady. We have many, many beautiful women in Russia but I always think that a wonderful English lady is more alluring. My English is good, no? Alluring, yes! This is about my coal mines, but if I can do it through you, it will be good. I’m very generous and I always reward those people who bring me what I want.”

Jody smiled, in what she hoped was an alluring manner. “Tell me about your coal mines, please…”

Dimitri waited while the grilled Dover sole was served, off the bone. The next glass of wine was a Riesling. He continued with his vodka.

In the next fifteen minutes he built a picture of his family background in Leningrad, his time at university and his early days working for the energy regulators out of Moscow. As he began to talk about his days as a businessman, she put a hand on his arm.

“Dimitri,” she said. “I want to hear everything about you in much greater detail, but I must get back to work. Will you allow me to cook for you in my home one night?”

She surprised herself with this suggestion, but she wanted to understand him better without the constant phone interruptions. She instantly liked him. He had charm and personality and he carried himself as a leader of men. She had no idea where it might lead, but she knew she must get to know him better.

Oliver was in a sombre mood. He had met with Alistair. They’d agreed the schedule for the preparation of the draft share subscription document, the meetings with the lawyers and the accountants, the key role that David Singleton would play in preparing cash-flow forecasts and the work that Abbi would be undertaking in preparing Alistair, Amanda and David for the investor presentations.

At no stage was Oliver alone with Alistair and he’d given no indication that he wanted to talk privately.

He had returned to the office to meet another prospective client and worked at his desk for the remainder of the afternoon. At around six o’clock he was leaving the building to catch the tube home to Clerkenwell when he found himself in the lift descending to the ground floor, together with Sara.

She accepted his offer to buy her a glass of wine and soon they were standing on the cobbled path outside The Golden Lion in Tabernacle Street, among several hundred other early evening drinkers. A table came free and they sat down. They exchanged pleasantries and he decided that a bottle of wine was needed. When he returned to their table he noticed that she was dressed in a light green top and jeans. She was not physically demonstrative, preferring to sit fairly still, just occasionally using her hands to emphasise the point she might be making. She was a good conversationalist and seemed interested in what Oliver was saying. He slowly moved to his interest in her adventures on joining Harriman Agnew Capital and her thoughts on City Fiction.

“I’m amazed how I’ve been seduced by the attractions of City Fiction. The people involved seem almost like disciples. They love their books and the authors. They take fantastic care over the production of each title.”

“Yes, but it’s whether they can sell the books that matters.”

“eBooks are changing everything. But you know, Oliver, I think I got it right. They must find some winners.”

There was a pause in their conversation after Oliver made a clumsy attempt to pry into her private life. Sara admitted to living near to the Tower of London and little else. He made only one attempt to introduce a more personal element which she rebuffed by standing up and returning a few minutes later with a second bottle of wine.

He decided to tell her about his search for the composer of the piece of music that he wanted to trace. She insisted he explained it to her from the start. He tried humming the theme but she guided him back to the start of the story. The playing of the piece on the radio, the girl cyclist and her accident, hearing the music again at The Westbury
,
his search through the Russian composers – Rachmaninov, Shostakovich, Tchaikovsky, Medtner and Rubinstein.

“Sara,” he said, “it’s so frustrating. My father suggested that I listen to some of Anton Rubinstein’s music. I’d never heard of him so I did some research.”

He noticed that she seemed interested so he told her what he had discovered.

“Anton Grigorevich Rubinstein was born in 1829 and died in 1894,” he said. “He was a Russian Jewish pianist who founded the Saint Petersburg Conservatory. He was renowned for his sarcasm and a prolific composer. Twenty operas, six symphonies and works for chamber ensembles.”

“Wow,” she said. “And I thought that Andrew Lloyd Webber had done pretty well.”

He laughed and drank some wine. As the evening progressed the noise outside the pub grew louder. He moved his chair nearer to her.

“He was one of Russia’s greatest ever pianists,” he continued, “but it was for his five piano concertos that he is best remembered. It’s these that are mainly played today, including the fourth that was said to have influenced Tchaikovsky’s own concertos.”

“Very impressive,” exclaimed Sara, clapping her hands together. ”You know your Russian composers!”

“Thanks. I’ve always had a capacity for memorising information. It’s putting it to use that’s my challenge,” he laughed.

“Take me through the music again,” she asked.

“Right. Piano start. Da-de-da with the emphasis on the first da.” He repeated the start. “Da, that’s long, then de-da.”

“Which octave?”

“Pardon?”

“Which section on the keyboard?”

“Oh. Lower down. The left hand.”

They looked at each other and laughed.

“This could be a long night,” she said. “Da-de-da. Then what?”

“Violins and piano together going up the scales right to the top. Then the brass section with the trumpets and drums. Then dum,dum,dum,dum.”

“Then what?”

“I think the theme was repeated. Da-de-da and so on and it may have been twice.”

“Did you hear the whole piece?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“How long?”

“Perhaps eight minutes.”

“So have you heard any of Rubinstein’s works?”

“It’s unlikely to be him. Not that much of his music is played on the radio these days. I went through the Classic FM schedules for the last six weeks and couldn’t find his name at all.” He poured some more wine into their glasses. “I managed to download one of his piano concertos from the internet. It’s not Mr Rubinstein who wrote my piece.”

She seemed unconvinced.

“But your father identified him,” she said.

“And when I heard his music last night I knew it wasn’t him.”

They played with the idea of having a final glass of wine, but reluctantly agreed that tomorrow was a working day. They left the wine bar, parted company and went their separate ways.

At three o’clock in the morning, Oliver was awoken by a beep on his phone. It was a message from Sara.

“Used all search engines. No music with title ‘Ascent’. U heard ‘mountain’: could b European. Father right. U say piano dominates. Must b pianist who composed and who’s popular. It was Liszt. Listen 2 Liebestraum - 1 of the greatest pieces of piano music composed. U should play Mephisto Waltz No.1. That’s the sound U described 2 me.”

He put his head back on the pillow, touched by her efforts.

The following evening Dimitri cancelled his dinner engagement with Jody. With an hour to go, and as the hostess prepared to put a rack of Welsh lamb into her kitchen oven, Dimitri tele-phoned to say that he was delayed because of an extended meeting. He was sending the car to pick her up at eight o’clock. He’d cut the call before Jody had uttered a word.

She arrived with the chauffeur at the Dorchester Hotel at eight-forty and was soon tucking into a glass of white wine and canapés with a verbose Dimitri. He spent a shorter amount of time on his more usual charm offensive and quickly launched into extended detail about the contract he had negotiated for the exporting of his coal production into the Ukraine.

“Jody,” he continued, as he drank some more vodka, “they tried to re-negotiate the price of the coal fifty minutes before my representatives were due to sign.” He slammed his fist on the table. “Jody, big mistake. Nobody tries it on with Dimitri Petraffus. They received a call from a friend of mine in the Ukrainian trade association. It was a short phone call, Jody. They signed fifteen minutes later. It is worth fifty million dollars. It is only the start.”

“That’s a lot of coal, Dimitri.”

“I own very big mines, Jody.”

He picked up her hand and kissed it.

“Me and my team will present to Harriman Agnew Capital tomorrow.”

She raised her eyebrows and asked with whom he had organised this.

“You will speak to Mr Andrew Agnew,” he roared. “We’ll arrive at eleven o’clock. You’ll raise me ten million pounds and I will be saying a very generous ‘thank you’ to my friend Jody!”

As can happen in the Sporades, the afternoon thermals disappeared and the Harriman’s boat drifted southwards towards the Greek coastline.

They were all together on the upper deck. Lucy had covered herself in sun block and applied a surgical approach to her three children. Scarlett was already becoming conscious of her figure and directed her mother carefully during the procedure. Lily was playing with her games console and laughing. Tabitha was feeling the heat and hiding under a huge straw hat. After speaking on the radio, Charles rejoined his family. He told them that the winds would pick up in about an hour’s time. It was very hot. Lucy checked everybody again. She was absolutely paranoid about skin cancer.

Charles poured everybody a glass of fresh fruit cordial and then, to Lucy’s surprise, announced to Scarlett, Lily and Tabitha that they were going to have a new baby.

He laughed. “It might be a brother!” he said.

Lucy looked at him in surprise.

“Charles,” she hissed. “I haven’t seen my doctor yet.”