by L M Bee
“We’d make a great partnership,” she confirmed, pausing to glance at her phone when it trilled.
“It’s Vladimir, excuse me a moment. Hello darling, I’m sitting here with our hero, Mr Harry Olivier.”
She listened closely, paying careful attention. “Yes, totally agree with you, one good turn deserves another. Absolutely. I’ll ask him and call you back in a bit.”
When the call ended she reached out to put her hand on his knee again, tilting her head and furrowing her brow with sincerity.
“Vladimir thinks we should do business together. You scratched my back, now we would like to scratch yours.”
Harrison wanted to explode with excitement, buzzing at the thought of getting closer to the Lovushkas and their network of stinking rich friends. With their patronage, her best friends would be drawn in to become his new friends, like the spider and the fly.
They were interrupted by a snappy knock on the door, and security stepped aside to allow her assistant to enter holding a laptop and three mobile phones in one hand. Feet together, with a nod of respect to his employer, Max held out one of the phones.
“Apologies for the interruption, ma’am. An urgent call from Moscow. Head office suggested you might want to take this in private.”
She thanked him and took the phone, walking over to the French doors to stand with her back to the room. To anyone eavesdropping, it didn’t sound good; the call appeared to upset her. Afterwards she silently passed the mobile back to Max who promptly left the room.
Anna Lovushka walked slowly back with her head down, and took her place on the sofa again, looking noticeably paler and slightly deflated.
“Everything all right?” enquired Harrison politely.
“Um …” she murmured, looking downcast and fiddling with one of the black linen napkins, twisting it round and round her finger.
“Can I trust you, Harry?” she asked, looking her most angelic.
“Of course you can.”
“The truth is, no, I’m not all right. Can I tell you a secret?”
“You know you can always trust me,” he soothed with absolute sincerity.
“I know Harry, sorry to even ask, it’s just one has to be so careful nowadays. I knew instinctively the first moment I saw you, you’re a trustworthy man. And the way you leapt into the water without hesitation to rescue Fifi, speaks volumes about you. But what I’m about to tell you is highly confidential, you mustn’t breathe a word, promise?”
Harrison nodded solemnly, without taking his eyes off her, whatever she was about to divulge was bound to benefit him – he could smell it.
“This isn’t public knowledge yet. That call was from Vladimir’s office in Russia, one of our personal assistants relaying tragic news. Apparently there’s been a helicopter crash in Moscow, and unconfirmed reports are suggesting that Oleg Kovalchuk was onboard.”
She paused, eyes brimming with tears. Gently placing the palms of both hands together, as if praying, her fingertips gently brushed her lips.
“I pray Oleg has survived. He’s one of Vladimir’s closest friends, and an extremely important business associate …” She paused again. “Harry, what I’m about to tell you is absolutely top secret. I’m trusting you not to tell a soul, do you understand?”
“Absolutely,” he swore, doing his best to appear wholly trustworthy.
“Oleg and Vladimir were the founders of the 10% Club.”
Harrison frowned earnestly, absorbing every word, praying she wouldn’t stop this spate of confidential information.
“You probably haven’t heard of it before. Arguably the most influential committee in Russia, formed by Vladimir and Oleg. Ten anonymous businessmen, all influential oligarchs like my husband, hand-picked to take their place at round table meetings in Moscow. Very little is known by outsiders, information is strictly limited, but members are automatically recognised as men of phenomenal power. Each one donates 10% of his annual profit to a scheme benefitting the club’s chosen charities. This year, I’m very fortunate, they’ve chosen to include LoveHeart. In lieu of a membership or joining fee, each member donates half a million pounds to secure their place at the table. The total sum is then invested, and the annual profit presented to the chosen charities in the form of a grant. Together with further revenue invested in specific charitable projects, approved by the club, as a result of the members working on behalf of the charity to secure investors from their own personal list of contacts. Thus, one of the most influential committees in Russia, with the unspoken prestige of supreme power.”
“Christ, it sounds impressive,” declared Harrison, salivating at the thought of so many wealthy individuals gathered round one table. What he would give to get a foot in that door. Getting involved with something like this would be the ultimate achievement for him, but by the sound of it, you had to be an oligarch to be invited. His mind was racing, wondering how he could overcome that particular obstacle. His immediate train of thought being, if only he could be judged on appearances, especially his new image, surely he would be considered a suitable candidate. Tonight he looked the part, dressed with such style, and knew it suited him. Not only did he look like an oligarch, he felt like one too, especially since Anna Lovushka had been sharing confidential information. Surely another blatantly obvious sign that he was ready to mix in their circles. He never once suspected his own sanity, only the intellect of others.
“I’ve had an idea,” she proposed. “Imagine if your charity and mine were to join forces. We could combine my pop-up hospitals for children undergoing cancer treatment with your holiday homes, so families can stay together in their own 'home' during that crucial period. The family homes would be constructed in a group around a mini hospital, complete with a team of round the clock professional medical staff. The children would feel like they were being treated 'at home' with their family in the same building for support. Also easing the stress of additional expenses by covering the cost of their accommodation, thus negating the need for them to travel backwards and forwards, all expenses paid by fundraising and generous donations.”
Harrison tried his best to look impressed about the holiday homes and hospitals, but in truth his mind was still obsessing about the 10% Club; a slush fund with more money and power than anything else he’d ever heard of.
In truth, her LoveHeart charity didn’t interest him in the slightest. As far as he could see it involved doing a load of work for nothing, helping a load of people he didn’t care about, the exact opposite of his own personal ambitions. No, his master plan was to do as little work as possible to achieve the greatest amount of money for himself and Mo. God, he needed to talk to her so badly, they’d always shared every decision together. Mo was the other half of his whole. This was all snowballing so fast, he needed to consult her as soon as possible.
Taking a sip of champagne, Harrison made a conscious effort to adjust his focus back to the conversation, and pushing aside the image that had popped into his mind of Anna Lovushka as the goose that laid the golden eggs.
Sophia decided the time was right to ramp it up another notch and increase her pitch.
“But that’s not all,” she added, “I’m trusting you implicitly here, but if we’re going to be business partners, I see no reason not to share this with you. Promise me you’ll keep this next bit totally confidential – please?”
“I swear,” he replied solemnly, crossing his heart.
“At the 10% Club’s next board meeting, the main topic on the agenda is a very exciting offer from The Walt Disney Company. As you probably know, they run six Disneyland resorts around the world – California, Florida, Paris, Tokyo, Shanghai and Hong Kong. Disney are offering to provide sufficient space at all six resorts for LoveHeart pop-up hospitals to treat children around the world. Imagine, if you and I were to join forces, we could provide pop-up hospitals within a clutch of holiday homes to house the sick children and their families. Specially designed around a fully staffed mini hospital on site, eve
rything required to the treat the sick child 'at home' surrounded by Disney characters and all the fun of the theme parks.” She paused to check he was paying attention. “Imagine being a small child, terrified about having to leave home for cancer treatment, wouldn’t you prefer this to staying in an ordinary hospital? And what an incentive for the child to fight and get stronger, all those Disney characters right outside the door waiting to meet you when you’re feeling better. Wouldn’t every child in the world benefit from such a special environment and instantly feel happier?”
“Inspired!” raved Harrison, looking suitably impressed.
“By working together and combining our projects, we can create centres at every Disneyland Resort in the world – think how many thousands of children that would benefit globally!”
Sophia wanted to snigger as his eyes bulged out of their sockets with greed, suspecting he was more than likely envisaging the biggest theme parks in the world haemorrhaging a superabundance of vulnerable targets. Shuddering to think what else was running through his egocentric little brain, warped and wired for audacious ambition, probably on overdrive right now imagining him and Mo expanding their network globally by training up teams of women to play Mo’s role of listening to the mark’s sob stories – Sophia could almost see his mind whirring.
To snap him sharply back to reality she singsonged clearly, “More champagne, Harry?”
It took him a moment to register. “Um, yes please.” He coughed into his fist before enquiring tentatively, “Any idea how many people visit these resorts each year?”
“Fifty million in America alone!” she exclaimed in awe. “So calculate the total worldwide, record-breaking numbers! Then ask yourself, how many of those families have a child with cancer?”
“How many?” he quizzed, having zero empathy but clearly trying his best to look like he understood their plight.
“Globally over 300,000 children are diagnosed with cancer every year! Over 300,000 a year!” she repeated to underline the staggering number.
“300,000!” he echoed in amazement, his mind clearly going off on a tangent.
Sophia guessed he was busy doing rough calculations in his head. Leaving his brain to tick over for a moment, she slowly topped up their glasses and put the bottle back in its hole on the ice sculpture. Taking her time, she carried two little glass plates of blinis and placed them on the table in front of him, before joining him again on the sofa to carry on with her proposal. Aware his mind had been wandering, she made a conscious effort to catch his attention, before launching back into her spiel intent on repeating the salient points.
“Imagine being a sick child and going to Disneyland for treatment! Every child in the world would love that!” Leaning forward, she picked up one of the plates and offered him blinis. He mutely shook his head, so she put the plate back down and continued in earnest.
“On a serious note, it would be crucial to employ the world’s top specialists, round the clock for each treatment centre – excellent global fundraising would be imperative. But if LoveHeart’s hospitals and your holiday homes were designed to work together, hand in hand, then the families wouldn’t have to split up or travel great distances or bear the cost of their accommodation. We would be providing a safe place for them to stay with their sick child throughout treatment, all expenses paid by fundraising and donations. A million times better than any ordinary hospital during their challenging and crucial time, especially because Disneyland is the ideal environment for creating happy family memories. The child would have the loving support of their family around them throughout treatment, helping them to feel more secure, lifting their spirits and making everyone happier.”
Harrison was busy doing a quick sum in his head. He was salivating at the quoted 300,000 families a year, trying to calculate the number of vulnerable targets that figure might include. Definitely no way he and Mo could manage those sort of numbers on their own; a scattershot approach might be best if they trained up hordes of protégés, working on a commission only basis. But then he instantly dismissed his own brainwave: not as appealing as he’d first thought, it didn’t sit well with the control freak in him. He reminded himself of the KISS principle, Keep It Simple Stupid. Yes, the simple solution, after sorting the wheat from the chaff, would be to make a beeline for the most affluent – quality rather than quantity.
Speechless with enthusiasm, Harrison felt like he’d just been handed the winning lottery ticket and couldn’t believe his luck.
On the one hand he wanted to get in with the oligarchs, that made his mouth water, all that money and power mustered round one table; he wanted some of that to rub off on him, reckoned he deserved it, his ego told him he’d earned it.
On the other hand, the number of potential marks corralled at their Disneyland treatment centres would be beyond his wildest dreams.
Adamant he couldn’t afford to let either of these opportunities slip through his fingers, his mind was made up: he wanted both.
Both would lead to fortune and prosperity. But he had to move quickly, and daren’t risk missing out on either simply by delaying to consult Mo. He’d made his decision, he would just have to forge ahead without Mo’s knowledge for the time being, ready to sign on the dotted line. He would explain his actions to Mo afterwards, when the ink was dry, convinced she would understand – this was a chance of a lifetime.
Totally distracted by his thoughts, he was vaguely aware of Anna Lovushka standing up and moving towards the door. He looked up at her just as she stopped and turned. “I must tell Vlad about our brilliant idea!” she enthused. “Won’t be a moment, just nipping out to call him in private, he’s fanatical about privacy. Wait for me here, I’ll be right back.”
As security closed the door behind her, Harry reached into the inside pocket of the dinner jacket for his phone.
“Mo, it’s me. Everything all right?”
“Yes, except I’ve just had a narrow escape. You won’t believe it, Annabel’s here moonlighting as a waitress!”
“Annabel?”
“That out of work actress we hired to play your receptionist in the swanky Monaco tower block. The posh blonde from Gloucestershire – Daddy has a big agricultural machinery company.”
“Oh, her. What about her?”
“She’s only here at the bloody party, earning extra cash as a waitress, and capable of blowing our cover.”
“Don’t worry about that silly girl, daft as a brush. Listen Mo, you won’t believe the discussion I’ve been having with our hostess – you and I are moving up into the big time!”
“The big time, what do you mean?”
“I mean, I’m sitting here with Mrs Oligarch and she only wants my charity to join forces with hers.”
“But yours isn’t real silly, it’s just a line you spin.”
“I know that, you know that, but she doesn’t know that – it’s our means of getting in on the action.”
“In what way?”
“Her charity creates pop-up hospitals for kids with cancer.”
“Why’s that of any interest to us?”
“Because The Walt Disney Company are offering space to build them at their six Disneyland resorts around the world. She wants to add a group of my holiday homes around each hospital, so the families have somewhere to stay whilst their kids have treatment – she says it’s the perfect partnership. I don’t give a shit about her charity, and you and I will have to work on finding some gullible sponsors to pay for building the holiday homes, but that won’t be a problem. The point is, it’s the key to accessing some mind-blowing numbers.”
“What sort of numbers are we talking about?”
“Fifty million people a year visit Disneyland in America alone! Six resorts worldwide, so calculate the global total! Plus apparently over 300,000 kids get diagnosed with cancer each year.”
“Think of the number of vulnerable family members those numbers would include,” exclaimed Mo, completely gobsmacked.
“Now you�
��re on my wavelength! With so many people gathered together in one spot, we’d have a clear view of the lot, and be able to pick and choose our marks – only go for the ones that are minted.”
“Ooh, I’ve gone weak at the knees,” gasped Mo, planting herself on a chair.
“And that’s not all, a helicopter’s just crashed in Moscow with some bigwig on board, good friend of theirs. He and Vladimir set up a powerful committee of ten businessman, except now there’s only nine, and you know how much I like to get close to things like that – let some of that gold rub off on me,” he joked.
“The smell of money excites you,” stated Mo matter of factly, “turns you on.”
“She’s been telling me all about it. Apparently, if you’re on that committee, you’re automatically recognised as a man of phenomenal power. One of the most influential committees in Russia she said.”
Playing with the blinis on the plate in front him, he stuck his finger into his mouth with a few little black balls of caviar stuck to the end of it, instantly grimacing at the salty fish taste.
“Yuck, what the fuck’s this stuff made of?” he said, spitting it out onto a napkin and quickly rinsing his mouth with champagne.
“What’s that?”
“Caviar.”
“Virgin fish eggs,” stated Mo matter-of-factly. “Stop deviating and get back to the flipping point.”
“Ugh, revolting,” muttered Harrison, rubbing his mouth repeatedly on a black linen napkin before continuing. “Not sure they’ll let me through the door though because you need to be an oligarch, but since her husband founded the club, maybe there’s a chance he’ll bend the rules for me – especially since they’re feeling indebted to me for saving the dog. If I can get close to that lot, worm my way in, there’s bound to be some major spin offs. She’s just gone off to phone her husband, explain to him she wants our charities to work together. As you can imagine I don’t give a monkey’s about the flaming charities, couldn’t be less interested, but it’s definitely the best way to get in deeper with the Lovushkas – and if I can wheedle my way onto that committee too then we’re in with the elite!”