Almost a Crime (11 page)

as if he had taken a decision to unburden himself. ‘We need

it rather badly. We’re sailing very close to the wind once

again, very close indeed. I know we’ve got more accounts

than we can handle, but they’re all costing a hell of a lot.’

‘They’ve always cost a hell of a lot,’ said Tom. ‘It’s a

costly business. They pay a lot as well.’

‘I know that, but salaries have shot up recently, and so

have the rates on this building, not to mention running

costs. And then there’s the back interest and penalties to our

friends in the Revenue; that’s really hit us this half year.’

Eighteen months earlier they had appointed a new

young, brash accountant who had said he could get their tax

liability down: he had suggested that part of their vast

entertaining budget — ‘not tax allowable, should be, it’s a

disgrace, when you think what you boys are doing for the economy’ — could be put down as new equipment. ‘It’s

entirely reasonable, you’ve spent a fortune on this new

system of yours. I’ve just bumped it up a bit, you pay

enough to the buggers anyway. Down to you, of course,

but that’s what I’d suggest.’

Confronted by an urgent need — as always — for cash, and

presented with a way to find at least some of it, they had

agreed to turn a blind eye to that section of their tax return.

The Inland Revenue had taken a hard look at their

accounts the following year, and discovered the discrepancy.

The amounts had not been large enough to incur

serious penalties, and they had fired the accountant, but

there had been a hefty slug of back tax and interest which

had hurt their cashflow.

‘Even the Drapers don’t solve our immediate problem,’

said Cotterill, ‘not until they’ve signed. I think we may

have to increase our charges again.’

‘We can’t, not on the new business, and there’s a lot of it.

We’ve won — what? — four new accounts this year. They’re

all in for fifteen grand a month, except for Carlton, and I’m

charging him twenty. And on the ongoing stuff, we only

put the standard rate up in September. They all took it on

the chin. We can’t do it again.’

‘The simple fact is we need to. Or get a couple more

accounts without incurring any extra costs whatsoever.

Make do with the resources and people we’ve already got.

Otherwise—’ he shrugged — ‘otherwise, we could be in a

bit of trouble. In the short term. Long term our position

and our prospects are superb. It’s the old cashflow problem.’

‘So?’

‘So we need the Drapers and their Pro-Media. Or

another account. Or to cut costs.’

‘I don’t see how we can cut costs any further,’ said Tom.

‘We’re down on staff as it is — everyone’s working an eight

day week. Look, my father-in-law’s got some new prospect

for me apparently — if he ever deigns to ring me about it.

That could save our bacon.’

‘We don’t just need it saved,’ said Cotterill, ‘we need it

fried into really nice, tasty, crispy pieces. Think you can do

that?’

‘Oh, I expect so,’ said Tom.

‘Got a minute?’ Melanie Faulks looked over her half-moon

spectacles at Octavia. She was probably the only woman in

London who looked good in half-moons, Octavia thought;

they suited her rather zany, wild-haired charm.

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Now look, about this sponsor you’ve found for Cultivate.

Clever girl.’

‘Yes. Melanie, I’ve been meaning to - that is, I’m a bit

worried—’

Octavia’s direct line rang sharply. ‘Excuse me.’ Only

three people had that number: Tom, Caroline and her

father. She couldn’t ignore any of them.

It was Tom.

‘Hi. Look, I’m really sorry about this, but I’ve had

Michael Carlton on the phone. He says he hasn’t heard

from you about his sponsorship suggestion. Or your local

lot, down in Somerset.’

‘Good timing. I’m just going to talk to Melanie about it.’

‘Oh, fine. Look, I don’t want to pressurise you, Octavia,

really, but—’

‘Tom, just leave it with me. It’s complicated. For lots of

reasons. But I’ll do my best. Sorry, Melanie,’ she said,

putting the phone down.

‘That’s okay. But I do hope the sponsorship isn’t going to

to fall through. I’d like Margaret Piper to know about it as

soon as possible, she’s been on the phone again. You said

you were worried?’

‘No, I don’t think it’s going to fall through. Although I

must phone him. But, Melanie, I did tell you he was a

client of Tom’s, didn’t I? The guy who’s offered to put up

the money?’

‘No, I don’t think you did tell me,’ said Melanie slowly,

‘not that he was an actual client. You said you’d met him

through Tom. Well, I don’t suppose it matters. It can’t, it’s too important. We’ll have to do the usual window dressing,

of course, make out his wasn’t the only hat in the ring.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘So what was the worry?’

‘Oh, nothing really. It can wait.’ This was not the time to

air her further anxieties about Carlton’s development; she

certainly shouldn’t discuss it until she had done her

homework, checked out any local branches of Foothold.

‘Good. Like I said, clever girl.’

‘Well, let’s hope he doesn’t change his mind. I’ll fix a

meeting, shall I?’

‘Yes, sure. Soon as poss. And let me have the details,

would you? The amount he’s prepared to put up, when we

could have it, what he would be looking for in return, all

the usual stuff. And does he want to come in, have a

meeting here? He’d better, I think.’

‘Yes, of course. Although …” It should be avoided for as

long as possible; he was sure to start talking about his

development and the centre.

‘Fine. Just fix it.’

Michael Carlton was out when Octavia phoned, wouldn’t

be back until after five, his secretary said. She left her

number, mentally crossed her fingers, crushing her unease

about the whole venture, and reached for her file on

Foothold. Please, please God, don’t let there be a branch in

— where was the actual town? Oh, yes, Felthamstone.

There was. A big one.

Octavia suddenly felt rather sick.

Bob Macintosh, who had done as Tom told him and played

a waiting game, was finally phoned after lunch that day by

the press officer who had suggested the photocall. Had he

made his decision yet and if so when would it be

convenient for the photocall to be set up? ‘The minister and

his own family are more than happy about this.’

Bob Macintosh said that he was still very unhappy about it, but that he was prepared to consider it, and that he would, in any case, prefer any future discussions to be held

not with him, but with his advisers at Fleming Cotterill.

The press officer said that sounded unnecessarily complicated,

that it would be far better just to arrange things

between the two of them. Bob Macintosh said that in that

case there was nothing to arrange, and that he felt it should

be known that a journalist had approached him direct about

the affair, very anxious to hear his version of the story.

Five minutes later he phoned Fleming Cotterill. ‘He said

he’d be in touch with you, Tom. I do hope this is going to

work.’

Tom said he was very confident that it would and settled

down to wait for a call from Westminster.

The first call Tom received came not from Westminster,

but Felix Miller, disproportionately irritated at Tom’s

failure to return his call. Most of his emotions with regard

to Tom were disproportionate, certainly the less pleasant

ones. It was something they both recognised, but were

totally unable to do anything about. Felix, because his

hostility to Tom was so deeply rooted, an intrinsic part of

the passionate emotion he felt for Octavia; Tom, because

short of lying down and dying, as he had been heard to

remark, nothing he could do would endear him to Felix.

All they could do was dissemble, struggle for courtesy.

‘Hallo, Felix. Good of you to ring. Sorry about

yesterday. Got terribly tied up.’

‘Yes, yes. Pity though. Probably too late now.’ It wasn’t

of course, but he wanted to make his point. Tom should

return phone calls promptly; it was not only discourteous,

but inefficient, not to.

‘Well, in case it’s not, maybe we should meet? With your

man.’

‘I’ll have to speak to him, Tom. He may not actually

want to pursue it. All other things being equal, though,

you’d be able to take it on, would you? Got the capacity

and so on?’

‘Yes, Felix, we have the capacity.’

‘Because better not get involved at all if you can’t cope

with the workload.’

‘We can cope.’

‘So you say, but if you’re too busy to return a phone

call…’

‘That was not an indication of our overall capacity, I do

assure you. I didn’t personally have the time to phone you

yesterday morning. An assistant would not have done, I

imagine? I was in one long complex meeting after another

and—’

‘Yes, yes, all right. You’ve made your point. Well, I’ll

endeavour to set up a meeting. With my contact. Cadogan’s

his name, Nico Cadogan — his company’s Cadogan

Hotels, as I expect you know.’

‘I certainly do. Very interesting company. Although not

doing terribly well just at the moment.’

‘You hadn’t heard any rumours? About a bid?’

‘No,’ said Tom, ‘but—’

‘I’d have thought your ear was closer to the ground that

that. Anyway, it’s no secret. Or won’t be much longer.

Western Provincial are after him.’

‘That would be an interesting marriage.’

‘One that naturally Cadogan wants to prevent.’

‘Naturally,’ said Tom. ‘Difficult, though. Can’t always be

done, in my experience.’

He had picked up on the analogy about marriage,

thought Felix, regretting he had used it. Tom didn’t often

get to score points off him, but when he did, he enjoyed it.

‘Well, it would be up to you to prevent it,’ he said

shortly. ‘Anyway, I’ll set up a meeting. I’ve done quite a

hard sell on you, Tom, but from now it’s entirely up to

you. Now, while you’re on the phone, is Octavia all right?’

‘Yes, I think so. Why?’

‘She sounded terribly tired the other night. She does too

much - you should try and make her rest more.’

‘Felix—’

‘She’s not physically very strong, you know. She never

has been.’

‘Felix, I hate to argue with you, but I think Octavia is

quite physically strong. Actually. And if she’s tired—’

‘Of course she is. Surely you’ve noticed it?’

‘Not especially, no, I hadn’t. I agree with you she does

too much, but that is largely of her own volition.’

‘Is it? I don’t know that that’s true. She puts in a lot of

hours for you, all the entertaining—’

‘I don’t—’ Tom stopped suddenly. ‘Yes, she does do a

lot. Of course. But she is quite driven herself

‘Driven? I wouldn’t have put it quite like that. She drives

herself.’

‘Felix, I take your point. And I’m sorry if she’s

particularly tired. I’ll — talk to her, make sure she’s all right.’

He shouldn’t have to be asked to talk to his wife, thought

Felix. It wasn’t fair.

‘Right. I’ll get Cadogan to ring you. And make sure you

return any calls promptly this time, won’t you, Tom?’

‘Felix, of course I will. I’m sorry again. And thanks for

thinking of us.’

Felix sat looking at the phone after Tom had rung off. The

warmth in his tone, the wholeheartedness of his apology

had sounded genuine. He clearly wanted this account. And

if he got it he would handle it well. Felix had no doubts

whatsoever as to Tom’s business ability; if he had, there

would have been no question of his recommending him.

And he also recognised the power of Tom’s brain, which

was first class. It was indeed one of the problems, as

Marianne had once rather courageously proposed, of his

relationship with his son-in-law; had he had an inferior

intellect to his own, been less well read, with less capacity

for original thought, Felix could have despised him. As it

was, he was forced into a fiercely uneasy admiration for

him. This, combined with an emotional distaste and a

ferocious jealousy, made for a dangerously powerful mix.

He had never, he had once admitted to Marianne, had any

reasoned grounds for his dislike of Tom. But he also knew, and had also said to her, that if Tom did anything that really

hurt, truly damaged Octavia, he would have no compunction

whatsoever in killing him. ‘In fact,’ he had said, with

an icily regretful smile, ‘I would be unable not to.’

He had made this statement on the back of a bottle and a

half of claret; but Marianne had always felt that it was

actually terrifyingly true.

It was almost the end of the day when Tom phoned Bob

Macintosh. ‘Progress, I think,’ he said. ‘Just had a very

interesting conversation with your friend at the House. He

does seem very concerned that you should cooperate with

them over this. I said you weren’t quite so keen, but there