by Neil Rowland
“That’s hardly likely, you know, given all the evidence against him,” Pixie commented.
“Quite so. He’s had many chances to face up to his own actions. He has to be confronted with the consequences. But you don’t sound as certain as you once did Miss Wright, about the evil nature of this rogue... this pit trash hooligan.”
“Why should I condemn him, if it could affect my own work?” she wondered.
He studied her intently. “Mm, well, Pitt was Lucifer in the ZNT deal. You understand the subversive role he took. Our partners are concerned to stall his wrecking actions. If we’d listened to him, then you and even I would be living under Waterloo Bridge by now. You’d be selling that magazine for the homeless. By that I mean all the junior staff at this firm. You’d be applying to a housing association in south London, wouldn’t you Pixie, for a roof over your head. You’d be turning down the drug dealers on the landings and street corners.”
“That would be most unlikely,” she informed him.
“Do you really imagine so?” he challenged. “Where else do you hope to sustain your present life? Which business is going to pay you as much as this, Miss Wright, never mind your property and shares portfolios? Are you intending to go off and do some secretarial work for the NHS?” he challenged.
“I’m aware of my present conditions...and remunerations,” she assured him. “Do we follow this profession entirely for ourselves, Sir Septimus? Clive was adamant that the City has a crucial role... that the financial system shouldn’t be bankrolled by criminals, oligarchs and former communists,” Pixie stated evenly.
Sep gave a startled and appalled chuckle. “That’s his world view? Then where does the value come from? What does Pitt know about the higher echelon of finance? What right does that self-righteous prig have to sit on judgement of a risk taking industry?” he fumed. “Only the loonies and the losers describe this place as a casino,” he insisted. “Doesn’t stop them drawing on their pension funds, or other investments and stakes,” he retorted.
“Are you asking us to lose any ethics, Sir Septimus?” she replied.
He fixed her sternly through his wiry bristling eyebrows. “What would you expect from the money markets? From the global trading of bonds, currencies and commodities? The markets are the province of saints and do-gooders?” Sep wondered. “When did you lose your mental grip on current market conditions, young lady?” he argued, tossing his spectacles back down.
“Clive thought you had lost the plot, in regard to the ZNT deal. He said you had got into bed with those fund managers. In Clive’s view the firm couldn’t justify being exposed to such huge risks, as they pushed us into illegality,” Pixie reminded him.
“You consider that Pitt wanted to save the world?” he jeered.
“Not exactly the world,” she replied. “But everybody here at the firm, including yourself...and even your family.”
The financier looked away an instant, to enjoy a bitter, sniggering soliloquy. “We help bankroll UK PLC. That isn’t like your grandmother’s tea party, I can assure you. You want to play fair, do you; you want to obey all the rules and regulations? The world has changed, the global economy has shifted. You have to deal with the post-crash world and the creatures it has created. It isn’t a comfortable place, half the time, but we have to manage the change and, let’s be frank, take advantage.”
“But Clive raised serious issues about governance at ZNT... relating to the divestiture at BIP. Clive made a strong case against brokering an unsolicited acquisition. He had evidence of insider trading and fraudulent transactions. Why did you attempt to erase his documentation?” Pixie coolly challenged.
“Do you want to transfer City revenues overseas? Lose competiveness abroad? Consolidate the European markets in Frankfurt? We already have to contend with stupid politicians at home and abroad,” he pointed out. “We’re already locked in an absurd square dance with the Revenue and the Exchequer, without playing social worker to a traitor like Pitt,” he complained. “Didn’t we offer Clive and his family our international relocation package? Extremely generous terms, including tax and immigration support. Was he prepared to take me up on that?”
“For Clive these were principles. We’re literally struggling to keep control of our own economy... to manage UK business and industry, to the interest of its people. That would be his argument, if you asked. Otherwise we may literally lose our political and social freedoms, along the way. Do you want to service these tyrants, Sir Septimus?”
“Tyrants? How are you going to bankroll your liberties? How are you going to maintain our global position? Remain competitive? Retain a first world standard?” the banker argued.
“There surely has to be a sense of due process,” she said.
“Pitt breached the trust I placed in him. He would have destroyed this company, for his brass farthing principles. I should have left him with his father in that dusty building society. My family has been in the City for over three hundred years. I know more about sustaining this company and UK plc. This sex criminal was obsessed with destroying my reputation... and I’m determined to take him down, Pixie, before he sets himself up for another pot shot. What the hell is he doing back on the streets, anyway?” He worked up a melodramatic fury.
“Clive understood the risks you were taking with ZNT. He was literally attempting to give you the information,” she replied. “He had good reasons to suspect the motives of that fund and he was, you know, trying to save your reputation. He wished to warn you about unnecessary risks.”
“How can you be so deluded about this nasty mill boy? This prig, who was motivated by an irrational personal grudge,” Winchurch insisted, easing his tall, stiff shirt collar.
“Clive faced personal dangers...to blow the whistle on the flotation. He took on huge risk. Why should he do that? You’ve gambled all on ZNT. In the short term he was prepared to break rules. You know, to hack your systems, to consolidate in the long term. Clive was desperate to change the culture at this firm,” Pixie argued.
The financier was not buying it. “Why listen to this malevolent rogue? I was fully vindicated when he destroyed the virtue of my daughter,” he said, angrily.
Pixie’s serene expression showed faults, like hairs in face cream. “Did you study his evidence or, you know, take his views seriously...even before that crime?” she wondered.
Sep had a suspicious, stung look. “I didn’t need to study his arguments to understand them. But it is a hypothetical conundrum, isn’t it? The world has shifted and we must shift too! Are you certain Pitt hasn’t been in contact? He hasn’t threatened you?”
“Absolutely not, I can assure you.”
“Perhaps he has persuaded you about his case and, who can say, won back your confidence?” he asked tenaciously. He leaned across and studied her with a penetrating sheen to his ruthless, hound dog eyes.
“It’s hard to keep a cool head, but I am capable of making my own judgements,” Pixie said. She reinforced her detached persona.
“Any idea what he did with that stolen data? He stole very sensitive information from us, don’t you know? He had no authority to look at that. Did you forget that? You’ve nothing to share about our missing files, do you? Didn’t you get any insight from Pitt? Has this memory gone to nothing? Or is everything stored beyond our reach?” Sep persisted. He rolled around a paperweight - consciously or not - which contained the image of his wife as a young woman.
“I have to apologise, because I’m also at a loss,” she told him. “Clive probably takes all your secrets with him,” Pixie argued.
The banker scrutinised her as if scrolling through her HR file. “So he didn’t pass anything over to you, for safe keeping? He didn’t put you under any pressure like that, to aid and abet?”
“I’m not so easily susceptible to pressure,” Pixie assured him.
“Hmm, well,
such a man will go to remarkable extremes. You have not been taken in by him like that Miss Wright, have you?” he pressed.
The questioning was disturbingly direct, but her composure was expensively well trained. Her old school in Geneva was down the Strasse from ZNT’s elegant, if discreet headquarters. “I was merely horrified to see him again, and I rushed away from him,” she reported.
The financier’s gaze twinkled. “That’s a completely understandable reaction. The sight of him alone must be terrifying to any woman. He’s a menace to the opposite sex. But it would have been profitable, in retrospect, if you had tried to speak to him...to get some clues about his intentions...his likely movements.”
“It was a natural reaction,” she said. “But I didn’t lose my head.”
“No, good for you... you must have been frightened,” Sep agreed, reconsidering. “I can only think he was taunting us, because Esmeralda’s ordeal was not made public. I refused to offer her to public entertainment in the gutter press. But the faster Pitt runs, the quicker we shall play catch up,” Winchurch predicted. “Our partners already warned me and I have a top investigative firm involved. We have every confidence in their detective work. Pitt doesn’t understand what he’s up against now. We’re going to take him out soon. This has gone far beyond a grudge match,” he suggested.
Sir Septimus took advantage of his springy chair to relieve tension.
This interview terminated, Pixie returned to her desk. It was a struggle to recompose herself or see any point in her work. Then she was conscious of getting nowhere in her desire to help Clive. She found the courage to call through to her boss and say there was something else on her mind. Her boss was also finding it difficult to concentrate on any other matter and suggested she came back.
“How may I help you? What’s concerning you?” Septimus ventured, as she was admitted.
“Excuse me, sir, but I forgot to ask you. What’s Emma’s condition these days?” Pixie enquired. “Can I ask how your daughter is recovering?”
“Slowly,” Sep replied. “Much the same. Why do you ask?”
“Do you mean that she is still traumatised? Not able to speak very well...not willing to mix with others?” Pixie asked.
“She has made some improvement,” he added, struggling for a layman’s account. “Thanks for asking.”
“That’s all right, Sep. I’m concerned about her. I was present that day. I was the most reliable witness.”
“The doctors are doing their best. She isn’t sleeping very well...she still has those bad ideas. I don’t know when she can go to university, or meet with her school friends again.”
“I would like to visit her. Perhaps it would help. I need your permission and we’d have to arrange a suitable time, if you are in favour.”
Pixie was running hot and cold, but she sustained a shiny exterior. The hint of blush on her cheeks looked charming, flattering to her boss, rather than a betraying sign of fear, in recognition of her dissembling tricks.
“You would really like to pay her a call, would you?” Sep’s features lightened.
“It plays on my mind, that I haven’t visited her in hospital yet.”
She felt her breathing constrict, convinced her true interest was transparent.
“That’s a touching thought Pixie. I appreciate your offer. You may be the perfect lady to chat to her. You have always been an example to her.”
“Is she a patient at one of the new BIP hospitals?” she wondered.
“She’s a guest at the Sir Septimus Winchurch ZNT Research Hospital, no less,” he stated proudly.
“Quite a name,” she agreed, playing him.
“As it has been, rather flatteringly, re-named,” he said. His warm eyes glazed with tenderness and he offered a charming smile. “I have to spend our profits on something. I can’t dole out big bonuses every quarter to you guys,” Sep added. “You get rewarded for closing a deal here, not closing the company. One does like to do some good works. My colleagues and I are determined to use our wealth to help the less fortunate in society. My family has always been involved in charity and philanthropic activity. So don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, Miss Wright. I believe we are mending broken lives. You may remember those little infants from Bethnal Green coming to see our offices and learn what we bankers get up to,” he recalled warmly.
“Are there official visiting hours at your hospital?” Pixie pressed.
“Not exactly, as it were, but I’m visiting this afternoon, if you’d care to accompany me,” Sep offered.
“I would like that very much,” Pixie told him, finding a smile.
“You’re really very welcome, young lady,” he told her, delighted, puffing out his broad chest. “This is a private research hospital, of course, so there are not open wards there, as such. But I’m sure you can visit my daughter, and get a little tour of the place. The executives of this company tell me that much of their work is cutting edge.”
“If you don’t need me around the office today,” Pixie replied.
“Don’t worry about that.” Sep found such dedication amusing. “What a blessing you are Pixie. As many of our chaps say, you are the “head and shoulders” girl. What would I do without you? You’re one of the best traders in town. If only our Esmeralda had taken after you from the beginning,” he said, regretfully.
“Is she going to be okay with a visitor?”
“Come and join me this afternoon. Leave work alone for a few hours. We’re comparatively quiet this quarter. We’ve had our big success, so why not enjoy the glow? Perhaps it isn’t too late for my daughter either.”
“If you are sure about that,” Pixie said. She didn’t have another plan, but she did have second thoughts.
“Excellent. That’s all settled then. I’ll have them bring round my car...and I’ll call for you,” he smiled.
Pitt and she had intended to go to the hospital together. But that could be risky and dangerous to pull off. Pixie realised that her improvised ruse to get access had become more likely. Clive was sometimes over confident and too bold, just like his old self.
Clive would never gain access to the hospital himself, she thought. It was much better and safer this way. To a degree she preferred to speak to Emmy alone. The girl was more likely to open up to her, as a sympathetic female. Then she could get closer to the truth and test Clive’s real character.
23
Following lunch Sep summoned her and they left the Winchurch building. His head-of-state BMW was delivered from a parking zone beneath HQ. This vehicle was imposing amidst a fleet of employees’ luxury sports cars. The financier had decided to leave his regular chauffeur behind and to drive himself. This decision alarmed Pixie but there was no way to avoid this head to head.
Sep liked big limos as they made his shortness an irrelevant factor; after they had been adjusted to allow him to reach the wheel. Maybe he wanted to be occupied with the road during their trip, to distract himself from internal agitation.
Winchurch’s characteristic impulse to take control made Pixie uneasy. Ironically she felt much safer with Pitt. But at this stage she didn’t want to give Clive all her capital. They were involved in a dangerous game with Winchurch and his powerful new clients, some of whom had places on the board as part of the deal. Clive had tried to whistleblow, but his arguments had been stifled. They’d knocked the instrument from his hands before he could play. Pixie was put into a difficult position then, exposed to the financier’s scrutiny. What if he already understood her deception? Sep had brazened out parliamentary committees in his time. Coping with a disloyal analyst was just like shooting a sluggish grouse.
The pavements around the Old Lady were thronged, presenting a typical view, yet she felt isolated and threatened. Pixie hardly dared to look at her boss; to lock in with his pugnacious profile. Sep occupied the driving seat; fu
lly knowing that she had given assistance to Clive; that she might be willing to help him again. To an extent, since Pitt’s re-emergence, she still suffered divided loyalties.
For some while the young woman and her boss didn’t speak. But his first remark heightened her fears. The car had wound its way out of London, taking the motorway south. He no doubt felt freer to talk, while she felt more confined.
“Are you afraid Pitt will be back in contact?”
“With me?” she replied. “Clive doesn’t know how my life has changed,” she insisted.
“There’s no need to be afraid of him, you know. Lucifer has already fallen and we’ll snuff him. You should contact me immediately, if there’s any sign of him. You have all our security contacts, don’t you?”
“Certainly,” she replied, pretending to follow his surging over-take.
“Good girl,” he exclaimed, darting glances at her. “You will be the one he wants to see, if anyone. Pity that he didn’t bump into me instead. He wouldn’t have got away so easily. We’ll break his balls, if you’ll excuse the phrase. Typical of him to pick on the ladies,” Sep remarked, referring to the previous week’s encounter.
“All the same, he’s quite a hefty guy,” Pixie reminded him, teasingly.
“I can take care of street scum like that,” Sep assured her.
“Do you really think so?”
“In actual fact my wife is a little taller than me. She isn’t a lot shorter than you. Of course you’ve met her a few times haven’t you? My physical size isn’t something that has ever bothered me,” he argued, turning to look at her for a few seconds. “I was the nimblest wicket keeper of my year.”
“Why should it?” she offered, tensely. “Stature isn’t a man’s only weapon.”
“Exactly so. We’ll see Clive Pitt go to the devil and roast yet, have no fear,” he remarked, with a certain relish. “For all his scruples he’s a big bully of a chap, wouldn’t you agree? But have no concern, Pixie, because a strong physique and a determined character isn’t going to help him any. If the old school taught me anything it was common sense... as well as self-reliance and respect for others. ”