The Deal (20 page)

She did not live. She existed. She always tried to be positive. The merger of the two firms and the securing of the finance director job had given her a massive boost.

She studied the summary in front of her:

Mortgage

Balance outstanding £410,000. Value of flat £360,000

Monthly payments, interest only £847.10

Bank overdraft

Limit £18,000. Balance £6,300.00 overdrawn

Credit cards (6)

Total balances £49,231.06

Monthly payments (including capital) £1,733.50

Bank personal loan (over four years)

Balance outstanding: £19,434.67

Monthly payments
:
£588.55
 

Jody earned, before bonuses, an annual salary of £96,000. Her monthly take-home pay was £4,688.89. Her financial outgoings were well over £3,000. At least she could walk to work.

The one figure she could not face writing down was the direct debit to her bank account from the clinic for Ben’s care. The one for the last month had been for £1,344.43.

She sat on her favourite comfy armchair and drank some more vodka, this time with less tonic.

The following morning, Abbi surprised Sara by saying that she needed to talk. They left the office and went together for a coffee, which Sara bought. She placed the cardboard containers on the table and told Abbi about events yesterday and the progress being made with City Fiction and the writing of the investor story. She stopped suddenly and looked at her companion.

“You’re going to tell me. Why not now?”

“Medical tests,” said Abbi. “Yesterday. A private clinic.”

“You ok?”

“Not me. Jonathan.”

“Problem?”

“Try unprotected sex with another woman.”

Sara remained silent.

“He told me over the weekend. Usual thing. Office drinks to celebrate a new contract which Jonathan had won for the business. Wine bar. Seemed like a good idea. In Jonathan’s business he’s a target for the younger girls. One, and she’s really pushy, apparently ‘persuaded’ him to book a hotel room.”

“Where were you?”

“You’ll love this, Sara. I was visiting his mother, who’s in an old people’s home in Bethnal Green.”

“The tests?”

“Clear.”

“Good bye Jonathan?”

“Well, I’m hurt. But I still love him to death.”

“Till the next time.”

“He’s absolutely gutted. I really believe him.”

“Want some advice?”

“Yes, please.”

“Make him suffer. Separate beds for a week. Get him wanting it so much he’ll never forget what the consequences are if he tries it again.”

“Bit late for that. Last night... well, I wanted him.”

Sara laughed. She stood up and looked at her workmate.

“Back to City Fiction, Abbi. There’s work to be done.”

Gavin and Duncan were biding their time. They were still confused and pissed off by the way Charles had simply told them that the firm was merging and they were relocating to Queen Street. But, on the other hand, it was year four of the recession and they knew they were doing well to retain their positions as corporate brokers in Harriman’s team. It had been a better year in 2010, with some new business opportunities coming in from Asia. They had received bonuses at Christmas but, at ten percent of their salaries, the money, which was taxed at the higher rates, made a minimal difference to their lives.

They had taken an instant dislike to Oliver. And now, though Gavin’s language had toned down, his attitude remained the same. It was not the public school, Oxford background issue. That was the norm in the City. It was his air of entitlement and his promotion as head of corporate finance in the new firm that really got to them.

They watched as the City Fiction contract materialised. Abbi really knew her stuff, but they agreed that Oliver and Ian would struggle to raise the funds – and they had no intention of helping them. They’d defend Ian when the time came. Oliver would carry the can for its failure.

Andrew poured Rachel a sherry. He was drinking wine.

“So she’s settled in?” he asked.

Her daughter, Bryony, had arrived in Australia two days earlier and was preparing to backpack up to Queensland before crossing over to South East Asia.

“Yes. The whole party seems to have found its feet. How about you? Have you had a good day?”

“Charles came and went.” He told Rachel what Sara had said to him. He also told her that he had received a letter from the regulator saying that they were happy with the merged firm and Harriman Agnew would retain its permissions.

“Meaning?”

“Clean sheet again. We’re back in business.”

“We’ve not made much money over the last three years, Andrew. Are things going to get better?”

“It really is a stronger team now. Our difficulty is there is so little business in this country. I voted for Cameron and I applauded Osborne’s budget. The deficit has to be reduced… But, I’m beginning to think that they’ve cut too much.”

She moved around to settle beside him more comfortably.

“You know you were talking about Gordon Brown’s book,
Beyond the Crash
? Well, you left it lying around so I read it.”

“And?”

“Well, if I understand his position, he is saying that America and the UK, and large parts of Europe, are fucked with crap currencies and unsustainable budget deficits. Global growth depends entirely on consumer spending in China, India and the rest of East Asia.”

“Don’t forget about Africa, Brazil and Canada, but yes, that’s a great analysis.” He smiled and poured some more drinks.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“I’m planning a two week trip: Singapore, Hong Kong, China and South Korea. Will you come?”

“Not India?”

“I’ve never been comfortable trying to do business in India. Their commitment to their investors never seems to be at the level we expect. No, we’ll start at Singapore.”

“I’ll come,” she said. “You can leave me in Hong Kong and pick me up on the way back.”

“Agreed,” he said. “I’ll confirm the schedule with the lads tomorrow.”

The waters around the Sporades, to the west of the Aegean Sea, were warm and tranquil. There were twenty-four islands from which Charles and Lucy could choose but only four were inhabited. They had chosen to moor up at Skopelos. Their forty-two foot boat, which they had picked up off the Greek coast, was designed for eight to ten people. Charles had passed his coastal navigation exam and was a careful skipper. Lucy managed the winches and they both knew the knots for the ropes. The girls wore safety jackets at all times when they were on deck and were attached to safety harnesses. Scarlett and Tabitha delighted in pretending to navigate the wheel while Lily played with her games console.

On their third evening, at around six, they were dressed and ready to go into the local town. Charles secured the cabin locks as they climbed up the ladder and walked over to the quay side, ready to choose a taverna.

Lucy managed to order various dishes, all with chips. Scarlett was next to Tabitha and Lily was sulking because she’d now decided that she didn’t like her bunk bed. But an ice-cream feast improved her mood at the end of the meal and, before long, all three girls were back on the boat and fast asleep. Before she finally shut her eyes Tabitha was aware that Lucy was applying more aftersun cream to her left shoulder. As a doctor, she was obsessive about protecting her daughters’ skin.

Lucy and Charles sat on the deck, drinking the coffee Lucy had brought from England.

“Ok?” he asked.

“Fine. Another lovely day. I think we need to find a beach tomorrow and let the girls have more time on land.”

“Good plan. I have Wilbur Smith to keep me company,” he laughed.

She smiled, though she found she couldn’t concentrate long enough to read a book. She occupied herself instead with magazines and medical journals.

“You were telling me about statins.”

“Yes, I was. It was an article in
The Lancet
that caught my attention. We dish statins out like Smarties. They’re supposed to be this wonder drug. I think that doctors in Ealing between them have half the population worrying about their cholesterol levels.”

“Is that not a good thing?”

“Well, who am I to argue with the experts?” she replied. “Obviously with today’s fatty foods people are clogging up their arteries and statins will save lives.”

“So what’s your point?”

“Just instinct, really.” She drank some more sherry. “The longer I’m a doctor the more I wonder at the workings of the human body. I have learnt that time after time, if you give the body a chance, it will sort itself out. Take me prescribing statins. I have patient after patient worrying themselves about their cholesterol reading. ‘Mrs Smith. I am pleased to tell you that your cholesterol reading is 4.8.’ Mrs Smith has no idea what I’m talking about. She’s been brainwashed to believe that this one reading is going to determine her future health.”

Lucy was warming to her subject. “I could help Mrs Smith so much more if I had the time to advise her on her diet. What will she go and do? She’ll be elated about the reading I’ve given her and she’ll rush to the bakers and buy some cream cakes.”

“So why prescribe her statins? Just give her some diet sheets.”

“I do that, of course. But the answer to your question is professional indemnity.”

He looked puzzled. “What’s that got to do with Mrs Smith’s cholesterol?”

“It means that if Mrs Smith drops down dead with a heart attack, my records will show that I provided the correct treatment. I can’t be at fault except I didn’t prolong her life.”

“So what was in the article that excited you?”

“There’s some research out showing that statins may cause diabetes. It confirms what I suspect but I cannot practise on my gut feelings...”

“So Mrs Smith will continue to get her statins,” he laughed.

“Yes, and her cream cakes!” Lucy smiled at her husband.

Suddenly the atmosphere between the two of them changed.

“I know you want to ask me,” he said.

“You don’t have to answer,” she replied.

“I want to say that I wouldn’t have opened it, Lucy, but that third night was bloody difficult.” He paused. “When I saw you suffering with the paper headlines, I suffered with you.”

“It may not get much better. You drank too much alcohol for such a long time.”

Charles told Lucy what Sara had said in the office.

“Was it our fault, Lucy?” he asked his wife.

Lucy put her glass down and went and sat at her husband’s bare feet.

“Charles,” she said. “I need to tell you something.”

“What do you mean? That sounds serious.”

“Well… I’m pregnant.”

Charles looked at Lucy in complete surprise.

“Have you seen the doctor?” he asked, at last.

“Charles, I am the doctor!”

He laughed too.

“Any chance of a boy?”

Jody read the letter from the clinic with a growing apprehension in the pit of her stomach. It explained that Ben had suffered two seizures during one night and they needed to change his drugs regime. The doctors wanted to attempt a three-month trial, which would cost Jody an extra three hundred pounds a month. They thought that Ben was suffering from scoliosis.

Amanda landed at Heathrow Airport late on Thursday afternoon, where she took the express train into London and the Jubilee Line to St. John’s Wood. She reached her flat, unpacked, showered and drove straight over to Alistair’s house. She had with her a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape, which she knew was one of his favourite red wines.

She was nervous and hoped she would be able to explain her concerns without upsetting him. When she arrived, he was working at his desk and seemed pleased to see her, thanking her effusively for the wine. After she’d sat down and made herself comfortable, they discussed her sales figures which, in these recessional times, were remarkable. He was even more pleased with the results of her foreign rights negotiations. Europe was developing into a united market for financial services and Alistair was sure that this improved the potential for his finance-based titles.

“We must discuss this with Abbi and put it in our presentation,” he said.

“So… that paper you wrote,” she said. “It was very interesting. But are you sure that I’m right for the position of COO?”

“You’re the perfect choice. It’s a dream team. Me, the publisher, you the COO, David as FD and Oliver as chairman.”

There was a long pause. “Have you asked him yet?” she asked.

“Of course not. We must have a board meeting first.”

“It’s just, Alistair, I’ve got some doubts about Oliver.”

“Why? He’s ideal. Young, talented, experienced... just what we need. You’ve been raving about him for ages. Why the doubts?”

“Well… isn’t he a bit young?” Amanda was clutching at straws.

Alistair looked at his sister with narrowed eyes.

“What’s really going on here, Amanda?”

She cast her eyes down to the floor and sighed.

Alistair knew from experience that his sister’s moods were often influenced by her relationships. He decided to test out his theory.

“What happened to Zach? I liked him.”

She told her brother about the decision she’d made, about her concerns over Zach’s seeming lack of interest in his wife and children.

“So there’s no man around at the moment?”.

“Er… well… not quite. There is somebody.”

His face broke into a smile. “Great, that’s great news. Who is he?”

Amanda took a deep breath – and began to tell her brother about her relationship with Oliver; how it had started, how cautious she had been, why she had put the affairs of City Fiction first and how cleverly she had thought up the basis of ‘the deal’...

At which point Alistair exploded. She had never seen his face quite so red.

“A deal?! What the hell were you thinking? How dare you go around doing some sleazy ‘deal’ on my transaction? Oliver is raising the two million as a professional corporate financier, not to gain access to your knickers!”

“Alistair! How dare you talk to me like that? You make me sound like a...”