Deadly Business

by Quintin Jardine

  ‘Given the disaster that mine was?’

  ‘No! I didn’t mean that at all. The thought never occurred to me. We’ve only known each other … or been reacquainted … for three days. This could be just a fling for both of us. I’m not naive; I understand that. Christ, man, we live on different continents.’

  ‘One day at a time, sweet Jesus,’ he sang softly, in a rather nice tenor voice. ‘Primavera, my love,’ I smiled, a little coyly no doubt, at his use of the ‘L’ word, ‘I can’t wait to meet your old man. You’re forgetting, he’s the only member of your family I haven’t met yet, given that I’ve worked for your brother-in-law a couple of times, and met your sister in the process.’

  ‘In that case, prepare yourself for a gentle interrogation in Auchterarder, and for being taken to the pub. My father’s not a big boozer, but he does like an occasional pint of Guinness … don’t worry, though, he won’t force it on you.’

  We stepped out of the shower and towelled ourselves dry, then I shooed him from the bathroom. ‘I’ve got to do my hair and put my face on,’ I told him. ‘For that I need space and privacy.’ I checked the time. ‘Go on, get dressed, we’re running late.’

  I was also running on empty. I’d had a long, eventful, and inevitably tiring day. I needed refuelling, for I had to prepare for the board meeting next morning and that would mean another early start. It took me less than five minutes to make myself reasonably presentable; my hair is never a problem and I restricted myself to what I call a half face, that being more make-up than I usually wear but not the full works.

  I was in the Rock ’n’ Roll bedroom of our Rock ’n’ Roll suite, dressing for dinner, when the phone rang. Liam … why are men always ready first? … picked it up.

  ‘Yes?’ The inevitable pause. ‘No, reception was correct,’ he continued. ‘This is Primavera’s room. Hold on a second, and I’ll pass you across to her.’

  I stepped round the bed and took the handset from him. ‘Woman,’ he mouthed silently.

  ‘Hi,’ I began, as he read my mind and moved behind me to finish the job of fastening my bra. ‘Primavera.’

  ‘Who the hell was that?’ Audrey gasped. ‘And don’t tell me it was Tom. I know his voice is changing, but that one belongs to somebody else.’

  ‘Ask Conrad,’ I told her. ‘He’ll be able to work it out. Or ask Janet; so will she.’

  ‘I will, don’t worry. Whoever he is, he sounds, mmm, interesting.’

  ‘You got that right,’ I agreed. ‘How are the children?’

  ‘As you’d expect,’ she replied. ‘They were both stunned when we told them. Wee Jonathan’s in pieces. I’ve left Janet to look after him. She’s done her crying, for now at least, and she’s in control of herself.’

  ‘What about Duncan?’

  ‘Not a problem, as yet. He tried to … let’s say, assert himself as the new head of the house before they arrived, when it was just the two of us there and the housekeeper. “I’m the children’s daddy now,” he said. We had a bit of a confrontation; I told him that might be so, but they barely knew him, and that if he ever wanted to have any sort of a relationship with either of them it shouldn’t begin by him telling them their mother was dead, and that he had to leave that to me. I’d already sent Conrad a text, letting him know what had happened. Duncan got the message. He was there when they arrived, but backed off as soon as he’d said hello … or tried to. Wee Jonathan spat at him as soon as he saw him. Now he’s staying away from them. To be honest, Primavera, I don’t believe he’s interested in them. He’s been on the phone for half the day, but I don’t know to whom.’

  ‘Uncle Phil?’ I suggested.

  ‘That’s a real possibility. I had a call from him a few hours ago. He said that he’d been advised by the company secretary of my appointment to the board and asked if I’d be at the meeting tomorrow. I told him that, in the circumstances, I couldn’t attend. Then he said, “In those same circumstances, we should cancel it, shouldn’t we?” I replied that that would need the approval of the chair. He asked how he could contact you, and I told him you were in transit, bound for Edinburgh. I lied a little; I said you probably wouldn’t be contactable this evening. Mind you, maybe it wasn’t a porky after all, given who answered the phone.’

  ‘Whatever,’ I said, ‘you did the right thing. Does Phil Culshaw know I’m here?’

  ‘Yes. He asked for the name of the hotel and I couldn’t not tell him. But I said that you probably wouldn’t be there until the evening.’

  ‘Even at that,’ I pointed out, ‘it’s nearly half past eight. I’d have thought he’d have called by now.’

  ‘Will you cancel the meeting if he asks?’

  ‘No way. This is a listed company, and we must give the impression of business as usual. I have to get my arse firmly planted in that chair, right away.’

  ‘But who’ll control it, Primavera, who’ll really control it?’

  ‘That’s the question. You go and look after those kids and leave me to work that out. I’ll keep you informed of what’s happening here. Bye.’

  I hung up, frowning as I pulled my top over my head … carefully, not disturbing my hair.

  ‘How are they?’ Liam asked, quietly, from the bedroom doorway.

  ‘Bereft,’ was the only word I could find to reply as I moved to join him. ‘It makes me shudder, to think of what they must be feeling right now. Tom too, to an extent; he and Susie were close. She was his stepmother, remember.’

  ‘Of course.’ He took my hand, and I leaned against him for a couple of seconds, enjoying the sheer, long-forgotten luxury of having someone with whom I could do that.

  ‘Okay, Lance,’ I said. ‘Let’s go and knock on his door. He must be hungry and I am thirsty. In fact I feel like getting pissed, an option that a single mother has very rarely; so please, honey, make sure I don’t.’

  ‘That’ll be easy. Drink the same as Tom and me, and you’ll be fine.’

  I smiled as I remembered our first dinner together, forty-eight hours before, when I’d somehow got, or felt, half cut on sparkling water, as my protective barriers began to collapse. ‘I should be wearing the Versace, shouldn’t I?’ I chuckled.

  ‘Yeah, you should. You’d have had to pack one fewer flimsy if you’d brought it.’

  I gazed at him. ‘You knew I wasn’t wearing any?’ I exclaimed. ‘Is it cut so low you could see my minge?’

  ‘Not quite, but it is tight. When we went into the restaurant and I was walking behind you, well, let’s just say there was something in the way you moved.’

  ‘Oh no! Then most of the people in the square that night … and all the women, trust me … will know that Primavera was out with a man, sin bragas.’

  ‘Si,’ he agreed. ‘Y por qué no?’

  ‘You speak Spanish?’ I gasped.

  ‘Solo pocito. But as a global-travelling single man you’d expect me to know the word for knickers, surely.’

  Twelve

  We knocked on Tom’s door a minute after the promised time. He must have been waiting behind it, for it opened in one second flat. It was clear he saw it as a special occasion, for the boy who would normally dine with his mother on a June evening wearing shorts and a cap-sleeved T that showed off his thickening biceps was dressed in creased, dark, long trousers, a conventional pale blue shirt and his black soft leather jerkin. I glanced at his feet. My God, he was wearing black shoes … and socks!

  He looked different, a boy who’d taken a firm step up the ladder to manhood. Having reclaimed my womanhood, I wondered whether he saw a change in me.

  He had his iPad tucked under his arm. ‘Do we need that?’ I asked. He nodded, frowning slightly, and so I didn’t take it further.

  He waited until we were seated at our table, before flipping back the tablet’s blue cover, and handing it to me. ‘I thought you’d want to see that, Mum,’ he said.

  Tom’s a regular trawler of news sites, among them the BBC. The page he showed me was from its Scottish sectio
n, a report headed, ‘Oz Blackstone widow dies’.

  Immediately below was a photograph of Susie, taken some years ago, with Oz; around ten, I reckoned, for she was pregnant with wee Jonathan and they were on the red carpet at a movie premiere. I read the story.

  Scottish business is today mourning the death of Susie Gantry (40) who passed away this morning at Nice Airport, after touching down on a flight from Paris, the last leg of a journey from Arizona, where it is understood she had been receiving treatment for leukaemia.

  Her death came minutes after the company she controlled, The Gantry Group PLC, announced that she was stepping down temporarily as chairman, to be replaced by her friend Mrs Primavera Blackstone, the Scottish film legend’s second wife, and mother of their son, Tom. Tragically, Ms Gantry, three times winner of the Scottish Businesswoman of the Year award, was accompanied on her last journey by her second husband, the Scottish writer Mr Duncan Culshaw. The couple were married in a whirlwind ceremony in Las Vegas only last week.

  This afternoon Mr Culshaw was unavailable for comment at the family home in Monaco, where he was understood to be comforting his two stepchildren, Janet and John.

  His uncle, Mr Philip Culshaw, the chief executive officer of the Gantry Group, said, ‘We are all devastated by this tragedy. The company has a board meeting scheduled for tomorrow, but it is questionable whether it can proceed. In the meantime, shareholders can be assured that its business will continue as usual, in their best interests.’

  Sources close to Duncan Culshaw added that he was overcome by the tragedy, but that he would protect his stepchildren’s interests as their new guardian.

  I was steaming mad as I handed the iPad to Liam, but I kept quiet until he’d finished reading, and handed it back to Tom. ‘Two points,’ I said, when he had. ‘Phil Culshaw is not the CEO of the Gantry Group, and he never has been. Susie always had executive control, until this morning. I’m the new chair, and I will have a part to play in deciding who the new chief executive will be. Second, he can question all he likes, but the board meeting is going ahead. If he thinks I can be brushed aside …’

  Liam touched my arm. ‘Darlin’,’ he murmured. ‘Be cool. This man worked with Susie for years. He’ll be as shocked as the rest of us, so it’s best not to make judgements on what he says in the immediate aftermath, based on quotes in a report that can’t even get the kids’ names right.’

  I frowned. ‘Granted. But surely to God he’s not so dazed and confused that he isn’t making a point of getting in touch with me. He knows where I am. Audrey told him.’

  ‘Oh.’ Tom’s voice was a murmur but it carried across the table.

  ‘What?’ I asked.

  ‘I had a phone call,’ he said, ‘in my room. I picked it up and I answered.’

  ‘How did you answer?’

  ‘I said Digue at first, then I remembered where I was and said, “Yes?” the way you tell me to answer the phone in English.’ It’s true; I taught him to give nothing away before the caller’s identified himself. ‘There was a silence and then a man said, “Is that …?” then he stopped and said, “No, that’s absurd, it can’t be. I’m sorry, I must have the wrong room,” and then he hung up.’

  ‘The voice,’ I asked. ‘What can you remember about it? Young or old? What accent?’

  ‘Older. And he was Scottish, a bit like Grandpa Blackstone, but it definitely wasn’t him.’

  I looked at Liam. ‘Culshaw?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘But why was he put through to Tom’s room?’

  My new partner beamed, and his eyes twinkled behind the specs. ‘Because I signed for our room. As far as reception’s concerned, you’re Mrs Matthews. If Culshaw asked, “Do you have a guest named Blackstone?” they’d put him through to Tom automatically.’

  ‘Okay, I can see that, but when he picked up, why should he ring off like that?’

  ‘The only thing I can imagine,’ Liam replied, ‘is that he thought he was talking to a ghost. When Tom used his telephone voice just now, it dropped an octave, and went right down to where it’s headed full-time. It even gave me a start and I’m sitting across the table from him. Culshaw must have known Oz well. To hear his son, out of the blue, without knowing who it was …’

  Of course. I remembered I’d warned Susie about that very thing, in one of our last conversations. And that made me think of her, and realise that we’d never speak again, and that she would never have the shock of hearing her stepson answer the phone in his father’s voice.

  And that made me whisper, ‘Poor Susie,’ lay my head on Liam’s solid, comforting shoulder and shed a few tears.

  He slipped an arm around me, with Tom, my young man, looking on. When I was okay and had dried my eyes, thankful that I hadn’t given myself the full treatment and wasn’t in need of repair, I was aware that there was a waitress hovering, ready to take our orders. I hadn’t even looked at the menu, so I told Liam that fish of the day would be fine by me, if that’s what he fancied; he did. Tom is still a full-on carnivore; he opted for steak and chips.

  I went with Liam’s suggestion and joined the guys in the fizzy water. ‘Should you call Culshaw?’ he asked as we waited for the bowl of green salad that he’d ordered as our starter.

  ‘Hell, no. If I did, we’d probably get into an argument about whether the meeting should go ahead or not. I don’t need that right now … nor is there any need for it. The company secretary had his instructions. It’s been convened. End of story.’

  ‘What’s the agenda?’

  ‘The usual; minutes of previous meeting, chair’s remarks, review of current activities, finance director’s report, any other competent business.’

  ‘Will there be?’

  ‘Other business? Almost certainly, but I’ll decide whether it’s competent or not.’

  Liam smiled. ‘You’re looking forward to it, aren’t you?’

  ‘No,’ I protested. ‘It’s the last thing I wanted to be doing.’

  ‘But you are. Susie’s destiny has affected yours. Yes, you could walk away and decline the chair. You could still do that with a one-page letter. But you won’t because it’s not in your nature. Your blood’s up, you’re seeing enemies in the shadows, and you’re spoiling for a fight.’

  I raised an eyebrow. ‘You reckon?’

  ‘I do. When I was in the GWA, we all played characters, and that was mine. For a while it was me for real, too, until I got straightened out.’

  ‘But my enemy isn’t in the shadows. He’s Duncan Culshaw. We’ve clashed before, and he threatened me again a couple of days ago. He told me he was out to destroy Oz’s memory.’

  Tom straightened in his seat, his face darkening; he hadn’t known that.

  ‘That was before Susie’s death, and it was bluster,’ Liam said. ‘I won’t ever let that happen, I promise you. If you ask me, Culshaw was only ever out to make a fast buck for himself. That’s what his extortion attempt was about. As Susie’s widower, he’s achieved that, so why should he bother with you any longer?’

  ‘Because it’s personal between us?’ I suggested.

  ‘If so, he’s made a big mistake and he’ll discover that. As of now it isn’t just between you two,’ he nodded in Tom’s direction, ‘and him. A threat to either of you is a threat to me, and I’ll deal with it.’

  ‘How?’ I asked.

  ‘Simple. I’ll visit him and tell him to stop.’

  ‘When you do,’ Tom murmured, ‘can I come?’

  ‘As long as you promise not to get angry with him.’

  ‘I promise. I know, Liam,’ he added. ‘Anger weakens me.’

  ‘In that case I’ll barely be able to lift that fork in front of me,’ I told them both. ‘For what I feel about the man goes way beyond anger.’

  ‘Which is why you must put him out of your mind,’ my man declared. ‘He won’t be in the room at your meeting tomorrow, and you mustn’t give him access through your thoughts.’

  As he spoke, the salad bowl a
rrived. One of us had been wrong, for not only had I the strength to lift the cutlery, I wolfed my way through half of it.

  Dinner was over by nine fifty-five. There were a few people in the bar, but Liam and I didn’t even think about joining them. Instead we went upstairs with Tom, and straight to our rooms. I warned him not to stay up late watching television, realising at the same time that his own hotel room was effectively his own household, and that he could bloody well do what he chose.

  I switched on the Ten O’Clock News on BBC as soon as the door closed behind us. Still thinking like a single person, Primavera. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘Did you have other ideas?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Liam grinned, ‘but watching the TV news shouldn’t knock them on the head.’

  We sat on the couch in the Rock ’n’ Roll sitting room, and watched as the day’s events unfolded. I hadn’t expected Susie’s death to make the national news, but it was second lead in the Scottish segment that followed. It was no more than a video version of the report I’d read, but with some library footage of Susie with Oz and a clip of Phil Culshaw being interviewed. I’d seen a still picture, but you can never be quite sure when those were taken, and a good photographer can be a really accomplished liar. I tried to picture Duncan in his late sixties, but couldn’t see much of a family resemblance. I hoped that extended to his character as well, noting the truth that it was the BBC who’d described him as CEO, and not a title he’d claimed for himself.

  I turned the telly off as the end credits ran. ‘You want first shot in the bathroom?’ Liam asked.

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘You go ahead. I’ve got one thing left to do.’

  I’d put my phone to sleep during dinner, so I wakened it and checked to see if I’d missed any calls or texts. I hadn’t so I used it to call the landline number in St Martí, and punched in a code to interrogate my voicemail there.