Trading Reality (37 page)

I saw further argument was pointless, and led her out of the building. We passed Rachel’s office. Rachel was in there working. She looked up and saw us walking past.

I hesitated for a moment, confused. Would it look odd to introduce them, or would it be odder still if I didn’t? Karen solved my dilemma. ‘Who’s that staring at us?’

‘That’s Rachel Walker, the technical director. I’ve told you about her. Come and meet her.’

So we went into Rachel’s office. She had obviously spent the night there. There was an empty bottle of wine on her desk, and two ashtrays, both full. She was smoking as we came in. She looked even more of a mess than usual; her hair was tousled and in her eyes, and she was wearing a black shapeless jumper over jeans with holes in.

Karen edged reluctantly in. She disliked tobacco smoke, and she extended that dislike to all who produced it.

‘Rachel Walker, this is Karen Chilcott.’

Rachel stood up. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ she said, with only a touch of coldness. ‘What do you think of the place?’

Karen looked down over her wrinkled nose. ‘It’s different to what I expected. I thought there would be more machines, and conveyor belts and things.’

‘Yes,’ said Rachel. ‘You’re absolutely right, we ought to have more conveyor belts, don’t you think, Mark?’

Karen looked at me sharply. I changed the subject. ‘Can you tell Karen what you’re working on?’ I regretted it as soon as I had said it.

‘Certainly,’ said Rachel smiling sweetly. ‘Put these on.’ She gestured to the virtual glasses that were plugged into her computer. I wanted to stop Karen but I was too late.

Rachel quickly tapped a few keys. Suddenly, on the screen in front of her was a shiny mass of grey, green, brown and red. Karen let out a yelp. ‘You are now inside a patient’s liver. You see that there,’ Rachel said, pointing to a giant solid grey-white ball covered with thin tendrils, ‘that’s a tumour, and it must be removed. This is a program that will allow a surgeon to use an endoscope to examine a liver prior to an operation. It’s a terrific breakthrough. Take a look around.’

The image began to swell and spin. It made me ill just watching on a flat screen, it must have been horrible for Karen. She put up with it for about five seconds, and then tore the glasses off. ‘Yeucch,’ she exclaimed, looking rather green herself. She got up from her seat. ‘Thank you, I think I get the picture.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Rachel. ‘It’s so realistic it does take a bit of getting used to. I’ve got another one that doctors can use to diagnose cancer of the colon. Do you want to see that?’

‘No thanks,’ said Karen, as I propelled her out of the office, glowering at Rachel over my shoulder.

Rachel just repeated her sweet smile. ‘Bye now. Thanks for dropping in,’ she called out after us.

‘Whew, what an awful woman!’ said Karen. ‘God, I pity you having to work with her. Get me out of here!’

We drove back to Kirkhaven in silence. I was angry. Angry with Karen for refusing to see how important FairSystems could be, and angry with Rachel for having pulled such a stunt. What had she been thinking of?

The rain abated as I cooked supper, and the evening sun emerged, pale and watery, flickering in pink and gold on the surface of the still disturbed sea. The meal went down well, and we walked over to the Inch Tavern for a drink afterwards.

The pub was warm and snug, and Jim Robertson gave us a friendly welcome. Karen relaxed. Her cheeks had picked up a pink glow from the walk, and her yellow hair and white teeth glimmered in the subdued light of the pub.

‘I saw Dad on Thursday,’ I said.

‘Oh yes? How did it go?’

‘Not good.’

‘He won’t back you at the EGM?’

‘I don’t know. He didn’t say. But I doubt it after our conversation.’

‘Why? What happened?’

‘He said my mother had an affair with another man when she was young.’

‘Really? Do you believe him?’

‘I’m inclined to,’ I said.

Karen wrinkled her nose. ‘Why do you think he told you this?’

‘Because of who the other man was.’

‘Who?’

‘Walter Sorenson.’

‘No! You can’t be serious!’

‘I am. His point was that he’s forgiven Walter. And so I should forgive him. But I won’t.’ I felt the anger rise in me again. ‘He’s manipulating me, and I don’t like it.’ I took a sip of beer. ‘Did you ever forgive your father?’

I looked up at Karen, and was surprised by what I saw. Her eyes ignited. Anger flashed in them. ‘Will you shut up about my father! And all this stuff about men running off with bimbos! Can’t you see I don’t want to talk about it?’

I stretched my hand out towards her. ‘Karen, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t touch me!’ screamed Karen. ‘Just keep off me! I don’t have to put up with you any longer. Now leave me alone!’

She pushed herself away from the little table in the pub, blinking back the tears, and rushed past the gawping drinkers for the door. Reddening under their stares, I followed.

Outside the pub, it was raining hard. Karen stood on the pavement, breathing deeply, her hair turning dark as it soaked up the rain.

‘Karen, come home. Let’s talk,’ I said, putting my hand on her shoulder.

‘I will not talk to you!’ she shouted, tearing my hand away with such force that it hurt my wrist. She trudged off up the hill into the rain. I watched her hunched body disappear round a corner, and then turned back to Inch Lodge.

I waited for her, brooding over what she had said, what she had done. I had seen her angry and hurt before, but I had never seen that anger directed at me. And I didn’t like it at all. My mind was a jumble of indignation, incomprehension and worry.

At about midnight, I heard a knock at the door. She was soaking wet, water streaming from her nose, her chin, her hair and her clothes.

‘Karen – ’

‘Don’t even think of trying to get into bed with me,’ she said, pushing past me, and rushing up the stairs. After a couple of minutes I heard the bath running.

I sat in the sitting room, waiting until I heard the slamming of the bedroom door. Then, slowly, I climbed the stairs, and pulled myself into the bed in the guest room.

Karen came down late the next morning. She had dark rings under her eyes, and she was sniffing from the beginnings of a cold. I hadn’t slept very well myself, and I was tense as I sat with a cup of coffee and a newspaper spread out in front of me.

I waited.

‘I’m sorry, Mark.’

She walked over and we embraced. ‘I don’t know what got into me. I’m really sorry.’

‘It’s OK,’ I said, brushing the hair from her face. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

But it wasn’t OK. We tried to be polite and friendly to each other all day, to pretend that nothing had happened. But it had.

The day was a disaster. The wind and rain came back with a vengeance, hammering against the windows of Richard’s house. We spent most of the day inside, reading the papers or watching television, talking little. When it was finally time to take her to the airport, and I saw her heading off for the departure gate, I was relieved. So, I suspect, was she.

I was in a dark mood as I drove back to Kirkhaven through the unrelenting rain. My hopes for the weekend had been dashed. Karen was unimpressed by Kirkhaven, and had become quite negative about FairSystems. But her explosion really unsettled me.

Half of it I understood. I knew how raw the pain of her father’s walking out on her remained. I had seen how remembering her abandonment could affect her. But, in the past, this anger had been directed anywhere but at me. I had always been able to join her in her misery, to help her through it. That was really the basis upon which our relationship had come about.

Now her anger had been directed at me. Full blast. That, I was not used to.

What had I done? What had changed?

We were in a large board room at the offices of Burns Stephens in Edinburgh. The walls were wood-panelled, and a chandelier sprawled down from the ceiling. A worthy Victorian advocate glowered at the small group of people in the room. Although Burns Stephens was less than ten years old, they had acquired impressive offices in a Georgian building in Drumsheugh Gardens, within walking distance of Charlotte Square, the elegant financial centre of the city.

The board was lined up on one side of a long table, facing four rows of reproduction regency chairs. In the centre was Walter Sorenson. I was seated on his right with Rachel next to me. On the other side of Sorenson was David Baker, then Nigel Young, the urbane merchant banker, looking at ease in the surroundings. Next to him were Willie, and Graham Stephens, FairSystems’ lawyer, who both presided over neat piles of papers.

In front of Rachel was my sheet of paper dividing shareholders into SALE and NO SALE. We needed fifty per cent to win. By our calculations, as long as my father and Karen sided with me, I would make it with fifty-three per cent of the vote against forty-seven per cent. But I wasn’t at all sure that was the way it would go. I had run over my last conversation with my father a dozen times, and each time had come to the conclusion that he would vote against me.

The worst thing was that now I couldn’t be sure how Karen would vote. When I had asked her the previous week, she had clearly said that she would support me, but had things changed over the weekend? I just didn’t know.

I had been furious with Rachel on Monday.

‘Why did you go through that charade with the liver?’ I demanded. ‘It was hardly going to persuade Karen to support us.’

‘I wanted to show her how powerful virtual reality can be,’ Rachel answered with a straight face.

I snorted. ‘It was just petty jealousy.’

‘Jealousy?’ repeated Rachel, raising her eyebrows. ‘And just why would I be jealous? Why should I care if you go out with an ignorant merchant banker?’

‘Oh, quit playing games,’ I muttered in frustration. ‘You’ve probably put her off FairSystems for ever.’

‘But I thought you said she was firmly behind you,’ said Rachel.

‘Well, now I’m not so sure,’ I said, stalking off.

Here we were, sitting down doing the sums, with only five minutes to go before the vote, and I could tell Rachel was not so certain she had done the sensible thing. She was biting her bottom lip, and frowning down at the sheet of paper in front of her where she was drawing never-ending rings around Karen’s name.

‘Is there any chance that some of the public stockholders won’t vote? We might scrape by then.’

I shook my head. ‘I very much doubt it. Scott Wagner seems to have total control of the stock. I’m sure he can persuade them all to vote with him.’

I caught Wagner’s eye amongst the small group of people sparsely scattered through the room. He saw me, smiled, and winked. Damn! He looked so confident. I was even more sure that he had tied up the public stockholders’ votes.

It was interesting that Wagner had come all the way over from San Francisco. It was important to have representatives from his firm there to deliver the proxy votes and to watch what happened, but there was no need for the head man himself to be present. I suspected that he had a deal in his inside pocket, and he would be ready to show it to Sorenson and David as soon as I was removed.

I hoped he had flown five thousand miles for nothing.

I looked out for Carl Jenson, and Frank Hartman, but they were not there of course. I recognised most of the small crowd. There was Wagner and a sidekick, my father, Keith, Andy, Terry and a dozen other employee shareholders of FairSystems grouped together at the back, and two other men, sitting uneasily three empty chairs away from each other. One was short, tanned, with a moustache and a lime-green polo shirt. The other was a tall man with glasses, a white button-down shirt, and a dark grey suit. They both looked American.

My father had chosen to fly to Edinburgh to cast his vote, when he could quite easily have done so by proxy. He wanted to be there at the end, I thought morosely. There was no sign of Karen, nor did I expect her. There was no need at all for her to be present.

Sorenson cleared his throat, and called the meeting to order. Immediately his deep voice imposed its authority on the room. With his square shoulders and upright posture, he dominated proceedings.

‘First of all, I would like all the shareholders present to identify themselves. Willie Duncan will check proof of identity and any powers of attorney. Please state whether you will be voting in person, or whether you have already sent in a proxy vote. Since this is a small gathering, why don’t we go one by one? You sir.’ He pointed to the short man with a moustache and a polo shirt.

‘I’m Darren Polona from Jenson Computer. I will be voting in person on behalf of my company.’

Sorenson nodded as Willie scurried over to check his papers. He pointed to the tall besuited man a couple of chairs away.

‘Martin Woodcock of the International Secure Fund of Bermuda,’ he drawled. I was right, he was also an American. ‘We have already filed our proxy.’

I leaned over to Rachel. ‘I bet that fund is one of Hartman’s. He’s probably here keeping an eye on things for him.’

The others were all straightforward. Within a couple of minutes Willie had all the papers he needed, and Sorenson moved on.

‘We only have one item on the agenda today,’ he began. ‘This is the following resolution:

“That Mark Enrico Fairfax be removed as managing director of FairSystems and that he be replaced by David Anthony Baker.”

‘Enrico?’ Rachel whispered in my ear.

‘It comes with the Italian mother.’

‘Before taking votes from the floor, I will ask Willie to read out the result of the proxy votes.’

This was it. It should be easy to tell which way Karen had gone from these votes. Rachel had the numbers in front of her.

There was total silence in the room.