The Deal (28 page)

“Is that Eliza Montegray who we just happened to have lunch with recently?” asked Oliver.

“By an amazing co-incidence I think it is,” laughed Andrew. “She rated you.”

Oliver stood up, walked away from his chair, ran his hand through his hair, turned round and sat down again.

“That’s it?” said Oliver.

“Have you any questions?” asked Andrew. “Here’s our offer in writing.”

Charles went to say something and then realised that Andrew had worked out his situation some time ago.

After Oliver left the club, still in shock, Andrew telephoned Jody. He finished the conversation by telling her that if she wanted it, he would lend her one hundred thousand pounds, interest free, over ten years. He would also write off the ten thousand pounds which she owed him.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because,” Andrew replied, “Oliver’s going to need you.”

Amanda was sitting in her favourite chair in the lounge of her flat. She was drinking a cup of fresh coffee. She had read the letter three times and even then she needed to spend more time thinking it through.

It was a long, carefully written missive. The first part was, for her, sheer poetry. The style, the individually crafted phrases, the stirring emotions… it all combined to create a wonderful sense of destiny. It had not been necessary – but if the writer’s intention was to dig deep and recapture past feelings, the result was a success.

The second section came as a complete surprise to her. She followed through the police involvement and their consequences. She read the long sentences and felt the man’s underlying pain. Even though every word, each sentence, every paragraph had clearly been reviewed and carefully edited, there were more questions she wanted to ask and to which she needed answers. She accepted a woman might have written certain parts in a different way.

She stopped reading, stood up and went over to the full length mirror in her bedroom. She stood in front of it, turned round and looked at herself from top to bottom. She then studied her face. She wiped her eyes and went back to her chair and to the letter.

Her telephone rang and she allowed the answer-phone to click in. She listened to Alistair’s request and decided to return his call a little later in the evening.

She read the penultimate paragraph again: it carefully summarised recent developments, the outstanding issues and their possible solutions. She paused again and thought through each of the proposed answers. She was, at this point, neither agreeing nor disputing any individual matter. They all led to one over-riding proposal, which completely overwhelmed her.

The final paragraph asked her to think things over and, when she was ready, to text a reply. She already knew her answer. She was not scared to respond or to find the right words. She was overwhelmed by a sense of responsibility. This wasn’t a knoll in Regent’s Park or a picnic by the side of the Thames. Her decision could, and almost certainly would, affect five people’s lives.

An hour later she texted a short reply. It was neither “yes” nor “no”. It was, however, much nearer to the positive.

She then thought briefly of Oliver, but decided to move on.

Oliver finished explaining the circumstances to his colleagues. He said that he had met with the bank director and they had agreed a loan of one million pounds. That would be paid out to Charles and Andrew. Their balances would remain as subordinated loans.

“What’s subordinated?” asked Sara.

“I’ll explain later,” whispered Martin with a smile.

“In addition the bank will advance us an overdraft facility of another million, but I think it’s too much borrowed money. I suspect that Charles and Andrew are underwriting it. We need to find a million ourselves. I can put in half a million.” He had spoken to his father, who had objected quite strongly to being woken up in the middle of the Australian night.

Abbi rushed from the room and made several calls from her mobile phone.

“I’ll put in one hundred thousand pounds,” said Jody. They all looked at her.

“I’ll talk to my husband,” said Melanie. “I think we’re good for fifty thousand.”

“I haven’t got any bloody money,” said Martin. “How about I invest fifty thousand from my future commissions?”

“I’m in for ten thousand pounds,” said Duncan, “providing I can do the same as Martin up to forty thousand pounds.”

“So. We have seven hundred and fifty thousand pounds,” said Oliver. “It’s still not enough. We need a million.”

“You’ll give up and not complete the deal because we are a little short of the sum required?” exclaimed Melanie.

“Look at what our clients go through, Melanie. So many of them are under capitalised. It will be hard enough without worrying about cash flow. We have a reputation to rebuild. The market will know about Dimitri Petraffus. I must have a million pounds.”

“We need to think about changing the name,” said Sara.

“I’ve already searched the register,” said Jody. “Chatham Capital is available. I’ve already registered it and all the web names.”

“We still need to find two hundred and fifty thousand pounds,” said Oliver. “I’m not committing without the extra money. Let’s meet again in an hour’s time.”

For several of the potential shareholders in Chatham Capital, the next sixty minutes passed slowly. A few hurried and furtive phone calls were made.

Oliver asked all his colleagues to return to the board room.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I need another twenty-four hours. I can’t find the extra money. The bank has said no and both Andrew and Charles have told me to find it myself.”

“It’s like the bloody dealing floor,” said Duncan. “The last tranche is always the hardest because you’ve asked everybody.”

“But you always find it,” said Martin.

“There’s always the one person you’ve forgotten about,” added Duncan.

Abbi coughed and moved her coffee cup.

“Jonathan will invest two hundred thousand pounds,” she said, “and my mum is lending me the rest.”

There was a stunned silence.

“Jonathan has one condition,” continued Abbi.

“Condition?” asked Oliver.

“Sara stays with us. If not, he’s out.”

“Can I have some shares, please?” asked Sara. She looked at her watch. She was going to her doctor for an examination and didn’t want to be late.

Friday went well for Oliver. He had consecutive meetings with his lawyers, accountants and bankers. He met with each of the team, discussed their individual investments and answered their questions. Melanie continually texted to keep him appraised of her progress with the regulators. He made a phone call late in the afternoon. Sara had agreed to his proposal.

She stretched out and undid two of the buttons on her shirt. She had enjoyed their meal together and was gazing around the lounge of his flat.

“I was surprised to get your phone call, Oliver,” she said.

The new head of Chatham Capital laughed. He explained that he wanted to share the evening with the person who had made it all possible.

“To be honest, Oliver, we all think you have the hots for Amanda Wavering,” she said.

“Never believe a rumour,” he laughed. “Surely I don’t have to tell you that, Sara.”

“I must go home,” she said. “Can you call me a taxi, Oliver, and can you pay for it?”

He tried hard to persuade her to stay but she was determined to leave. As she reached the door she turned and looked at him.

“Oliver, have you read
The Girl who Played with Fire
?” she asked.

“The Stieg Larsson book?” he replied. “Alistair keeps going on about the series. I’ve read
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
. Why do you ask about the other book?”

“
The Girl who Played with Fire
…” Sara began. The phone rang and the taxi driver announced that he was waiting downstairs.

“You should read it,” said Sara and she was gone.

Oliver poured himself a drink and felt a sharp pang of disappointment. He would experience another when he decided to play Mussorgsky’s ‘Pictures at an Exhibition’ again.

As he slumbered on his sofa he realised that this wasn’t the music he had heard on his car radio. The piano was wrong, the orchestra was wrong. He sighed. How many bloody Russian composers were there?

The five days, which began on Monday 18 July with a full meeting of the Chatham Capital team, were to prove exhausting for all those involved. The euphoria of the management buy-out was dissipated somewhat by the endless meetings with the bankers, the accountants, with Charles and Andrew and with the individual members of staff who were completing their financial arrangements. Melanie wondered if she should move into the offices of the Financial Services Authority in Canary Wharf, such was the amount of time she was spending with the regulators. One requirement was that any shareholder owning ten or more percent of a regulated business has to be individually approved by the Authority, which meant much more paperwork. Oliver was simply being pulled from pillar to post.

But, even in these tense and demanding circumstances, almost all his colleagues were watching their new leader mature. It was accepted that he had been undermined by Andrew and the extreme behaviour of Gavin during the now aborted Russian mining transaction. He’d tried to assert himself as the then head of corporate finance, but the riches of Dimitri’s deal had seduced them all. Jody, in a private moment, wondered if she had let Oliver down. Now it was in the past. Oliver had bought two new suits and had his hair re-styled. He walked around with an authority no one had seen before.

The one person who watched him more closely than anybody else was Sara. Oliver was lost in admiration for her resourcefulness and courage in undermining Dimitri Petraffus. He’d managed to retain the disc for a night before handing it back to Melanie and had played it in the privacy of his flat. He had been horrified by the muffled sounds of violence and overwhelmed by the lengths to which Sara had gone. Sara, for her part, just loved his growing authority. He reminded her of her late father and had several of his mannerisms. She had always thought of him as a decent, sporty, serious man but now she noted an inner fulfilment beginning to emerge. She’d asked him what his father thought about the buy-out and he’d taken an email out of his inner pocket and allowed her to read it.

It was not only Oliver who was growing up on the spot. Martin was showing increasing leadership qualities and it was he who insisted that everybody stopped whatever they were doing and attend a meeting in the conference room. He took the lead and Oliver was more than happy to allow him this latitude.

“Abbi, Sara and I met with Alistair and his colleagues at City Fiction this morning,” he said. “There is some good news. Over the weekend, Abbi has worked on the investor presentation and this morning the lawyers have approved the document. We’re ready to roll.”

“And the bad news?” asked Melanie, fresh back from Canary Wharf.

“I’ll let Duncan tell you,” said Martin.

“Bottom line, market conditions are dire,” he said. “I don’t want to stir up issues but the reason Dimitri’s business so appealed was that even in these times of recession there’s always an investor demand for mineral and natural resources.” He paused and drank some water; he knew that he was rebuilding his reputation with his colleagues. “That’s obviously because demand from China, the Far East, South America and Africa is holding up prices.” He paused again and picked up Abbi’s presentation package. He waved it in the air.

“This is a great piece of work by Abbi, Sara and Martin. We’ve got clearance from Melanie and the salesmen’s script has been approved. We’re ready to sell the shares.”

“So what’s the problem?” asked Jody.

“There are two. City Fiction is in publishing. It’s not oil or gas. It’s much more speculative. Please read Sara’s original report. It’s all in there.”

“I’m lost,” said Oliver. “Sara’s recommendation was positive.”

“Agreed. But it focused on the risks involved and how Alistair needs to find winners. Sara’s decision was to back him.”

“No,” said Sara. “That’s not what I wrote and it’s not what Abbi has put in the presentation. We focused on the annuity income.” She stopped and turned to Martin. “Hey, look, fat man, I’m learning the lingo!” Everybody laughed, which helped ease the tension.

“Abbi and I are saying that the business is solid. Alistair is first class and Amanda is vital to the operation. What Duncan, I think, is talking about is that extra quality which makes an investor write out a cheque.”

Oliver smiled. “You really are catching on, Sara. I had a pal who called it ‘sizzle’. He’d say to me, ‘Oliver don’t show me a deal until it has sizzle’.”

“So where’s the sizzle in City Fiction?” asked Jody.

“That’s the only problem,” said Duncan. “The brokers are ready and keen to try to sell the stock.”

“Ok, but you said there are two problems?” said Jody.

“The economy is in dire shape. It’s continual bad news from America where Obama is fighting the Republicans on his budget deficit reduction proposals. The Eurozone is in stress with Greek debt, and now Italy, and add in Spain and Portugal. But I think the issue with our clients is the lack of growth. The second quarter’s figures were awful. Cameron seems to want to save the world and Osborne says we can get our bonds away. They’re like headless chickens.”

“No, I won’t have that,” said Oliver. “Cameron is showing himself to be a very decisive leader and Osborne has the confidence both of the City and the bond markets.”

“Cameron is going to wreck the NHS.”

The meeting stopped as everyone around the table absorbed the vehemence of Jody’s statement. “Five bloody pledges,” she said. “He has no idea what he’s doing. He thought it looked good to sideline Andrew Lansley. The great Prime Minister giving another wonderful speech. He should try getting the NHS to work now.”

“You sound as though you’re talking from personal experience?” asked Melanie.

“No, no. It’s just a friend of mine has had another bad experience. Just look at the reality. The closing down of the PCTs and the LHAs was supposed to cost one and a bit billion. The latest estimate is three and we know it’ll be five. And, as yet, the bill is stuck in Parliament receiving the Liberal Democrat treatment and there are no savings.” She slammed her fist on the table. “It’s crap government.”