The Deal (29 page)

There was silence in the room. Her colleagues were not to know that her outburst was based on the five page letter she had written to her MP at the weekend.

“Duncan,” said Oliver. “What you’re saying is that the sales team will have problems selling the shares.”

“Yes. With respect, I don’t really understand what Jody’s talking about, but I do know that the clients are reading the newspaper headlines and watching news programmes. They’re more risk averse than at any time since 2008.”

“So what are you doing?”

“We’re starting this morning. We’ll have four of us on the phones. Let’s meet at six tonight and I’ll summarise what we’ve achieved. But I’m telling you not to expect too much.”

The meeting closed a few minutes later. Sara nodded to Martin and Abbi and suggested they went out for a coffee. The range of drinks at Starbucks seemed more appealing than that of the staff room.

Amanda settled back on the park bench and sighed with contentment. Two hours earlier she had been rather nervous. She had thought through each person’s point of view. She had carefully selected a modest, pastel coloured dress. She’d tried hard to listen to the others, but she’d also wanted to make an impact. As they had walked away to be taken home she knew she had achieved her aims. She was asked by the remaining person present if she had any further thoughts.

“Thoughts,” she said. “Thoughts…” She paused and reached for a hand. “It’s funny. What I’m thinking about now is so different to what I expected to be pondering over in my mind.”

“OK. Develop that for me.”

“I had a checklist in my mind and I was ticking the boxes. I expect that you were doing the same.”

“No. I’ve only got one box to tick.”

“Yes. I get that. It’s easier for you. I have to think about my personal responsibilities.”

“Why? I’ve done that already. You’ll be wonderful. Just think what they’ve been through.”

“But it’s more complicated than that.”

“So which boxes still remain unticked, Amanda?”

“I’m not sure there are any left,” she said and smiled.

Charles Harriman opened the front door. He had been at the kitchen sink washing up the breakfast dishes when he’d heard the front doorbell ring. He looked at the visitor with a sense of concern.

“Mr Harriman. DCI Rudd. I was in the area and thought I would call in to see how Tabitha is getting on.” Sarah paused. “Is Mrs Harriman in?”

Charles invited DCI Rudd into the house and she followed him into the kitchen. There was fresh coffee in the percolator and she gratefully accepted a cup, but refused the offer of a ginger biscuit.

“I know how busy you must be, so I appreciate you calling in,” he said.

“You’re obviously working from home today,” she said. “You’re in the City if I recall?”

“I was,” replied Charles. He explained to DCI Rudd about his decision to change the way he lived his life; how the work of corporate finance no longer attracted him.

“The abduction of Tabitha made us re-evaluate our lives,” he said. “Lucy has a good position as a doctor and I managed to sell my business. We’ve been very fortunate.” He stopped. “What is going on at your end – what will happen to the Masters?”

“The slow wheels of justice are turning now,” said Sarah. “He’ll probably get a short prison sentence. The family are running the shop.” Sarah paused. “So, your daily routine must have changed quite dramatically, Mr Harriman?”

“Being a house husband is pretty hard work,” he said. “To be honest, I quite enjoy having more time with the girls. Scarlett is maturing all the time. She’s the only one who talks about the kidnapping.” He laughed. “And I certainly have the best kept garden in the area.”

“Do you not miss the buzz of professional work?” she asked.

“Not really. I’m taking a greater interest in politics and I watch the news programmes during the day. The Eurozone crisis is keeping me occupied at the moment.”

“My reason for calling was actually not just about Tabitha,” she said. “I don’t know whether you know, but the police these days are putting greater emphasis on our community work. We have several advisory groups and I was wondering whether you and Dr. Harriman might be interested in joining us. For all the wrong reasons your experience makes you very well placed to help us.” She paused as her coffee cup was refilled. “We want to know if we could have handled the abduction of Tabitha any better – as an example of what I’m trying to say.”

“You found her. What else mattered?” said Charles.

“What I’m trying to suggest – ” DCI Rudd stopped speaking and took a call on her phone. “I have to go,” she said. “May I call back one evening to pursue this further?”

“Probably not,” said Charles. “Please don’t misunderstand me. We’ll always be grateful for what you did, but this isn’t for us. I’ll leave others to worry about the community.”

Their eyes met as DCI Rudd stood up and prepared to leave and she saw something in his expression that concerned her. She decided afterwards that Charles hadn’t listened to anything she had said. He was, in her opinion, scared of something, but what that was she did not know. As she drove away, she saw Charles pulling up some weeds from his front garden in her rear view mirror.

Martin put the three lattes on the table.

“Is mine with skinny milk, fatso?” asked Sara.

He ruffled her hair and smiled.

“Duncan’s not going to raise the money. I found his attitude pretty unconvincing,” he said.

Abbi took a long gulp from the cardboard cup before replying. “I think he’s feeling the pressure. He had rather aligned himself with Gavin.”

“He did come out well after showing his strength of character in Russia,” said Martin.

“But he said this morning that he can’t sell the shares in City Fiction,” said Sara.

“That’s what I heard,” he replied. “But let’s wait until tonight.”

“No,” said Sara. “The atmosphere was bad this morning with Alistair. He and David Singleton are nervous. We have to demonstrate some progress.”

“How?” asked Abbi.

“Well,” said Sara. “Let’s ask ourselves another question. Who put the money into Bloomsbury, for example?”

“We can get a list of the shareholders,” said Martin. “But we can’t approach them. They’re not our clients.”

“But,” enthused Abbi, “what about the institutions which invested? We can present to them.”

“If they’ll see you,” said Martin. “They’re both public companies so holders of three percent or more are a matter of public record. Sara, just go onto the AIM and PLUS websites and look up the individual companies. It’s all on there.”

At six o’clock, in the conference room, Duncan reported that his sales team had placed fifteen thousand pounds of shares in City Fiction. The mood around Chatham Capital was decidedly dejected.

As Martin left the office with Sara and Abbi he recounted a conversation he’d once had with Ian Bridges. He told them that Ian had said that the key to raising money was getting the first investor. “Get a fund in and the others will follow.”

Sara heard this and tucked it away. Her plan was already well under way.

“Coming for a drink?” asked Abbi.

“No. Things to do,” replied Sara.

The additional commitments at Chatham Capital and the financial aspects of the buy-out of the business meant that, for Jody, time was at a premium. She reached the home in West London and immediately found herself in a meeting with the nurses and a doctor. The change in Ben’s drug regime was reviewed and a nurse said she had already noticed an improvement. This was offset by their concerns that earlier in the day he had experienced a minor fit that was quickly halted.

After the meeting was concluded she spent an hour with Ben, who was not himself. She had been warned that the change in prescription might have a short-term effect. She talked to him nonetheless about England’s winning cricket match against the Indian tourists but he curled himself in a ball and seemed unresponsive. He would not have understood much of what Jody was saying, but the doctors had taught her that the repetition of her voice would give Ben more security.

As she left the ward and looked at the other beds with their occupants, she experienced an awful sinking feeling.

Sara had listened carefully to the discussion on shareholders’ lists. She spent the rest of the day downloading information on several publishing companies from the official AIM and PLUS Markets websites and from the individual businesses.

By three o’clock in the afternoon she’d identified seven London-based funds which had made investments into the sector. She then investigated each of the funds – she was particularly interested in the lists of directors.

It wasn’t until an hour later that she made her discovery. It was exactly what she was looking for. She checked her facts one more time – he was a Peer in the House of Lords and a Liberal Democrat, and the fund of which he was a non-executive director had made investments into two publishing companies.

Sara sent a text message and she received a response almost immediately. At six o’clock that same evening she met with one Liberal Democrat MP – her former bed partner.

She’d decided that the only way she was likely to make progress was to tell the truth. She gave her companion a complete package of information on City Fiction and made her proposal. She said that she would be most impressed if an introduction could be made to a certain gentleman in the Upper House.

Sara had struck gold: the MP and the Peer were to meet later that very evening. The package of information was handed over and the MP himself was surprised at the enthusiasm with which it was received.

What neither Sara nor the MP could have known was that the Peer, now into his seventies, had spent the last two years writing his memoirs. He’d been a City Investment Manager and felt that he had some interesting tales to tell. He had found an agent who had, initially, taken the book to the two publishing houses in which his fund had invested. Both companies had rejected his submission.

As the Peer read the information on City Fiction he became more interested. The following day he visited the offices of his fund in Old Broad Street and met with the chief executive. The head of investments was called in and within an hour had distributed the information to his team. At five o’clock that afternoon a complete analysis of City Fiction was given to the chief executive.

A day later a decision was taken to consider an investment in City Fiction. A call was made to Oliver Chatham who, initially, couldn’t understand how the fund was involved. At this point, Sara had picked up the news and met with him to explain what she’d done.

Twenty-four hours later, Alistair, Amanda and David completed a superb presentation to the analysts at the offices of the fund. They then had a private meeting with the chief executive and his non-executive director, and were asked to return in the afternoon. By five o’clock they were advised that, in principle, the fund would make available one million pounds. Alistair was elated and Oliver breathed a huge sigh of relief.

As they left the building they found that the Peer was waiting for them and swiftly invited them to join him for a drink at his club in King William Street. Once they had settled comfortably into their Edwardian surroundings, their host told them that he thought that he and several of his associates might be willing to invest in City Fiction.

“Of course it’s not a condition of our investment,” he said. “I just wondered if you would have time to consider my book?”

He handed Alistair a brown paper parcel and ordered a further round of drinks.

Duncan’s sales team went into action the following morning. The news that the fund was investing opened the doors and by lunchtime Chatham Capital had provisionally booked the two million pounds for City Fiction.

“Three days’ hard work ahead but we’ll get there,” he announced.

Alistair had spoken to his main freelance editor and overnight they both speed read the Peer’s book. By lunchtime they had completed a four page critique and had delivered their report by courier to the House of Lords.

To their surprise, it was not bad at all.

Later on, when Oliver was to reflect on the events of the summer of 2011, it didn’t escape his thinking that ‘the deal’ all started in the Polo Bar of The Westbury
.
He could recall with absolute clarity the early stirrings of his attraction to Amanda.

It was in ‘the Haven for Lovers’ of that same hotel that he found himself on the Wednesday evening following his fraught meeting with Amanda. He needed company and he was looking forward to seeing his colleague again. He’d never disguised his affection for Sara. They’d been thrown together by the City Fiction transaction, and it was her research report that had led to Harriman Agnew accepting the client. And it was now to be her analysis of the shareholder groups which would be the springboard to the successful fund-raising.

It was, however, her exposure of Dimitri Petraffus and her willingness to suffer personal abuse and danger which so affected him. She was beautiful, too, in her own way, but it was more her air of mystery that tantalised him. Men the world over will always chase what they cannot have.

He looked at his watch. She would be joining him in thirty minutes. Popular jazz played out around him and Louis Armstrong was suggesting that it was a wonderful world. Oliver smiled.

The ending with Amanda had come suddenly and unexpectedly. She had been in the offices of Chatham Capital delivering a package of documents to Melanie. Somehow she had heard a reference to Sara. The speaker had said he thought that she was meeting Oliver later that evening. It was a chance remark and it was not conclusive but it was enough for Amanda. She’d asked if Oliver was in the office and was told that he was out at a meeting. She’d returned to City Fiction and texted Oliver, asking that they meet in the Threadneedles Hotel in Lombard Street for a drink at five o’clock.

He’d said that was fine and she’d arrived at the bar area wearing a business suit. She went straight in for the kill, but he’d held up his hand and suggested he bought some drinks. He’d ordered two glasses of wine and allowed Amanda to explode. She’d told him that she’d always been suspicious about his attraction to Sara.