Tall Poppies (44 page)

Meyer nodded and scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page. ‘If that’s your company account, I’ll transfer the funds across at once. I’m afraid you’ll have to disappoint Mr Lolland. Meyer Bottling got there first.’

Nina and Elizabeth exchanged a quick glance. Nina took the signed contract, and they shook hands.

‘Good to have you with us. I’m.sure with such a capable deputy you’ll make very rapid progress,’ Meyer told Nina with relief.

‘Thank you.’ Nina smiled back. ‘But I should set you straight. Elizabeth is my partner.’

In the cab on the way back to Soho, Nina looked at

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Elizabeth with amazement. ‘Lolland replied to our pitch? They turned me down flat!’

So?’ Elizabeth grinned. ‘That’s a reply!’

Nina streamlined Meyer’s operations and cut costs, while Elizabeth provided them with a marketing prospectus for fresh clients. Tropex retained their account, and Meyer entered discussions with three more companies. Nina sent Peter Meyer pitching segments of the market he’d never even considered.

‘How can you possibly know so much? You’re so young!’ he said, the night they toasted the Tropex renewal.

‘Dragon teaches you fast,’ Elizabeth muttered.

‘I’ve been in this game for over seven years,’ Nina said. Meyer needed no convincing. He paid Roth Consulting, with a bonus. And he spread the word.

A month later, they had more work than they could handle.

Elizabeth and Nina found it hard going. They hired a secretary, a mature woman returning to work. She was cheap, but ten times more efficient than the gum-chewing teenagers with uninterrupted experience. Helen Potts kept them civil to each other: they couldn’t snipe in front of her, although they were respectful of each other’s talents. Elizabeth’s effortless confidence and polished manners worked beautifully with clients, but they still got under Nina’s skin, and Elizabeth hated the draconian way Nina ran the place: in at eight a.m., out at eight p.m. Plus, there was mountains of work, with little reward. All the money they saw went as fast as it came: hiring new equipment, moving offices to Hammersmith, paying lawyers and accountants as they set themselves up. Nor were their fees large. They were undercutting the big boys, and all their clients were baby firms.

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However, they were too busy to snipe much. It was like scraping your way out of prison with a grapefruit spoon. At night they fell asleep when their heads hit the pillows.

It was a makeshift alliance, but bills got paid. Jobs got done.

They were in business.

‘Mrs Potts, could you hold the fort for half an hour?’

It was a cold June morning, rain pouring down on Hammersmith Broadway. Nina could see it splashing on the red roofs of the buses that crawled past their windows. Elizabeth was silhouetted against the dull grey sky, her blonde head bowed over transparencies for a new brochure. Wellkin Pharmacies was their biggest client yet, but that wasn’t saying much. They had six shops in the West End, a lot of clutter and no way to keep up with Boots. Nina was trying to persuade the chairman to specialise and Elizabeth was dreaming up a new look. The fee on this job was ten thousand - it

would cover overheads for months.

‘Certainly, Miss Roth.’

Elizabeth glanced up. ‘Something up?’

‘Let’s go into your office a second,’ Nina said. Elizabeth followed her into the orderly room she’d had decorated with framed ads, and settled into a chair. Nina seemed edgy and tense, and Elizabeth’s guard flew up.

‘I’ve got a proposition, but I need your consent for it.’ Tm listening.’

‘I think we’re in the wrong business.’

‘Oh! Is that all? Well, that’s reassuring,’ Elizabeth said irritably. ‘Is this New York angst? You should leave Woody Allen on Manhattan, Nina. We have six jobs in hand and three more waiting.’

‘Yes, but what are we getting out of them?’

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‘Money. OK? Are we done with the therapy session now? Because I’m really busy.’

‘Jesus Christ, will you hear me out?’ Nina snapped. ‘We’re not making enough money. We’re keeping ourselves afloat, that’s all, and since we can only handle so much consulting work, that’s not going to change. We’re just going to trundle along making a minor profit. We’ve been so busy we haven’t looked at the big picture.’

‘Can’t see the wood for the trees? You’re right, but I think we’re working as hard as we can.’

‘It’s not about working harder. It’s about working smarter. We need to advise bigger firms, and to do that we need something more concrete to offer them. Sterling Health don’t need us to teach them how to suck eggs, but ‘there’s still a lot of wastage in their systems. If we can fix

that, we can command real fees. Hire staff, expand—’ ‘But we can’t fix that. You just said so.’

‘Not on our own, no, but what they need is computer help. I can pinpoint market improvements - did it for Dragon and Dolan.’

feah, but you never even graduated high school, you can’t write a major computer program. It would take a genius like Clive Sinclair—’

‘I know somebody. I think he’d go for it, but I’d have to offer him a partnership. Do you agree?’

‘Providing our decisions have to be made unanimously,’ Elizabeth said coolly. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be outvoted by you and a friend.’

‘Understood. Though I’m sorry to say he and I aren’t exactly friends,’ Nina admitted.

Elizabeth gave her a small smile. ‘Hasn’t hurt us so far.’

Nina used Elizabeth to track Harry down. She knew the numbers for Lilly’s French lab like the back of her hand: she’d fought so hard with Harry over the location.

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‘I’m sorry, Lady Elizabeth, I can’t help you.’ Dr Hall’s Australian accent was thick and rather sour. ‘Henry Namath walked out of this firm months ago. Don’t tell me Dragon has more business with him.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Elizabeth played a hunch. ‘You sound as angry with him as I am.’

‘You’ve got a beef with Harry?’ Lilly snorted. ‘He means nothing to me.’

‘Actually, he owes me money. Quite a lot. I loaned him twenty grand when he moved to England.’

‘Well, that’s different. Twenty grand?’ Lilly laughed meanly. ‘I have an address here somewhere. Unless he’s fled the country. Thirty-four Fount Street, South London. Phone number …’

Nina caught the Tube to Charing Cross and picked up a cab at th station rank. She wanted to turn up looking successful. That would convince Harry to listen to her. She told herself she had to be strong, very dry and businesslike. It would do no good pleading with him to give her a second chance. Tony told him the truth and he was disgusted; that’s why he didn’t call or write when she was fired. She hadn’t seen him since that Chinese dinner.

I was right the first time, Nina thought. I should never have let another man into my heart.

She was getting stronger all the time. She never let Elizabeth see she was unhappy, and she’d die before Harry got a chance to realise it.

For this meeting she had dressed with incredible care. Her raven-black hair was spritzed into neat submission with a burst of Elnett, she wore a dark green Jil Sander pantsuit, crisp and attractive, with Stphane Kelian pumps and camel leather gloves. Simple gold studs in the ears, soft make-up, Mac colours and Shu Umera brushes. Nina wasn’t going to hide away from him. She refused to

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apologise for being attractive. Dr Namath could take her or leave her.

The taxi pulled up outside his house. It was a quiet street near the Oval, a pretty mews house with a cherry tree in the front yard. She could see a light burning in the upstairs window. He was there.

She felt almost light headed with nerves as she paid the driver and walked up the steps.

Nina rang the bell. She was afraid she might run away, so she rang it three times, pressing really hard. The faint sounds of the Rolling Stones clicked off from upstairs and she heard him racing down the stairs. The door wrenched open.

‘All right, all right, Jesus fucking Christ, what’s the—’

Harry jumped out of his skin. He did a double take, then a triple take.

Nina tried to keep her impassive look but her control was deserting her like water sloughing off Vaseline. Harry was so surprised he hadn’t said a word. It suddenly occurred to her he might just slam the door in her face.

‘I do have a telephone,’ he said slowly.

‘I thought you might just hang up on me. I’ve got a proposal for you, Harry,’ Nina said.

‘Well.’ Namath scratched his head and gave her a strange look. He was so attractive, he took her breath away. He was wearing a T-shirt, and it was plastered to him, sticking to his lean torso. His legs were covered in a black pair of workout shorts, black socks and beat-up sneakers. His chin was peppered with two days’ stubble. His face was glowing; he’d clearly just been working out. Erotic images flashed uninvited into her mind: Harry doing push-ups, Harry laying into a puncbbag. She felt the sudden pulse of lust all through her body. Like a hunger you didn’t know you had until you smelt food.

‘You’re making quite a habit of it.’ He lifted his T

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shirt. ‘I’m as unprepared as the first time. You can come in, but you’ll have to wait while I have a shower.’

Nina went dry mouthed. She said, ‘Fine, thanks.’ Namath stood back to let her in. His London house was an extension of the Swiss place, furnished minimally, with hardwood floors and exercise equipment stacked in a corner - a bench, heavy-looking dumbbells. Only a set of shelves on one wall, stacked with computer texts, spoilt the seamless line. It was a small slice of TriBeCa in South London.

‘Kitchen’s right through there. Coffee’s freshly made,’ Namath said. He bounded back up the stairs two at a time.

Nina went into the kitchen and fixed herself a coffee. It was so American, so recognisable it hit her in the gut. Coffee beans from Gloria Jeans, wafting cinnamon amaretto.all round the kitchen. An empty Haagen-Daaz pot by the bin. Where did he get this stuff? She tried to take her time with the coffee, noisily opening cupboards and choosing a mug and switching off the machine. Trying to take her mind off the faint hiss of water coming from upstairs, trying not to think of him, standing there, with the water sluicing him down, pushing the soap across his armpits and his back …

She set the coffee down and leaned against the side, light with longing. It was bittersweet: he was so sexy and so close, and she had lost him. Did he have a girlfriend? He must have, by now. The thought made her wretchedly jealous, more pictures drifting, through her mind like toxic gas. She felt physically nauseated. And sick with desire.

Thank God I’m not a man, Nina thought. It would be so obvious.

‘So.’ Harry’s voice jerked her out of it. He was wrapped in a voluminous navy bathrobe and rubbing his hair with a towel. ‘What’s the story?’

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‘You broke the partnership with Lilly. Why did you do that?’

Harry reached over to the coffee pot and poured himself a mug, took a sip and gave her a cold glance. ‘That’s really none of your business. I guess you must have got this address out of Lilly. Don’t ask her any more questions about me, Nina.’

She flushed. ‘You’re right. I apologise, I just needed to

see you.’

‘Why?’

‘I want to suggest something to you.’

‘Oh?’ Harry dropped the towel on the floor and leaned back against the oven. He watched her neutrally, like he was trying to read her. ‘Business or pleasure?’

, If I said pleasure, would he kick me out of the house? Nina wondered miserably. Then she shoved that thought aside. She was offering Harry something she knew he’d be into, but she had to pitch it right. She squared her shoulders and looked him right in the face.

‘Business. Strictly business. And believe me, Harry, this

i perfect for you.’

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‘There is a train strike. Please make alternative transport arrangements. Contact your local tourist information office.’

Jack grinned at the announcements crackling out of the Underground tannoy at Heathrow. Welcome back to Britain. Life sure was a lot easier in this country when you had money. He bought a paper, jumped in a cab and gave the guy directions to the Regency Hotel in Maryle bone. The-Times was the usual mix of optimism and outrage: victory in the Falklands, birth of Prince William, an IRA attack in Hyde Park. The photos showed Household Cavalry horses with their necks ripped from their torsoes. Sickening. Italy had just won the World Cup. They took soccer real seriously here: the sports pages were full of dissections. The US had come last in its qualifying group. What the hell, soccer was a limey game anyway. Jack flicked to the business pages.

He wondered how Elizabeth was doing. What Elizabeth was doing. When he’d called Dragon it was like butting into a wall. No, sir, they had no information, Lady Elizabeth had left; no, sir, Lord Caerhaven wasn’t available; no, sir, under no circumstances could they release her address. Perplexed, Jack rang the castle. Monica Caerhaven had been vague but jumpy; she muttered something about Earls Court, excused herself, and put the phone down. Something was definitely up.

The British Ski Federation gave him her address with no trouble. Ronnie Davis, reduced to coaching

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third-raters like Karen and Kate, almost fell over himself

in his eagerness to help.

‘She’s running some computer firm. Consultants … they just changed the name. I got a number here, if you can ever get through. I keep trying to get her to come and coach, maybe do something with the youth programme, but she’s way too busy.’ Ronnie sighed. ‘Gawd, I wish she would, great to have her teaching the kids.’

‘You can’t teach what Elizabeth had, Ronnie.’

‘Bloody hell, mate, you got that right.’

In his room Jack unpacked, dropped to the floor and

did fifty stomach crunches to shake off the lazy feeling he’d gotten from the flight. Then he dialled the number that Ronnie had given him. The company was out in