by John Dysart
I asked him if he knew whether Antoine had ever met Dugain.
“I don’t think so. I know he’s still got a chunk of shares in the company but he’s no longer very close to things. He kept in touch when the old owner was still alive but now he just sees it as an investment. He’s actually quite pleased because their shares have risen by fourteen percent since the announcement of the new patent.”
“In spite of the fact that we suspect that they stole the information from Bisoscope,” I added gruffly.
“I know, but Antoine doesn’t know anything about that.”
I let his comment pass.
“Did you manage to find out whether Irina Vasilescu was ever employed by them?”
“Yes, she was, for about six months.”
“Well that confirms what Brian Dawson told us.”
*
Mike, Sophie and Oscar went off the next morning back to Forfar and I left with Pierre for Fife. I bade a reluctant farewell to Maggie, having fixed the date with her for our cruise in three weeks time.
As I had the meeting with Albion Venture Capital on Wednesday, on Monday I treated Pierre to a round on The Old Course at St Andrews. I was able to tell him a little of the history of the game as we fought an offshore wind which helped to keep my slice more or less in the fairway on the first nine but resulted in me playing most of the back nine going down the rough.
My only noticeable feat was when I managed to play ping-pong with the seventeenth green, going from the road across the green and into the bunker and back again to finish with a nine. At least it was one less than the famous occasion when a Japanese competitor in the British Open had ended up with a ten.
Pierre left on Tuesday. We had agreed there was not much more he could do in France except for one thing he suggested that might be useful.
“This girl, Irina,” he said over supper. “If she’s been the victim of a group of criminal elements in Romania, don’t you think we should tell the police?”
“I thought about it but until I’ve more information I didn’t see much sense in telling them here in Stirling. And I’ve got no contact with the police in France which is where they seem to be bringing them. That’s much nearer the source and would be better.”
“I have. I know someone fairly high up in the police in Lyon. Do you think I should speak to him?”
“I’m not sure. If they go poking about in LyonPharma won’t Macek hear about it?”
“So what?”
“Let me think about it. I’ll call you in a few days if I think it makes sense.”
Once Pierre had left I switched my mind to the upcoming meeting with Helen and Richard and Albion Venture Capital.
*
We met as arranged and ran over again how we intended to tackle the meeting. Helen would present the overall picture, Richard would explain the science and I was there to add a bit of persuasion.
Alec Smith received us warmly. He led us along to a meeting room and we were introduced to a couple of his fellow directors – David Paton, a man in his late sixties, and Jacques Blondel, a younger man and French. He interrupted his phone call, shook hands perfunctorily with us and then carried on barking questions down the phone as he paced backwards and forwards in front of the window. He gave the impression of someone who would rather be elsewhere and that this meeting was a waste of his time.
The young lad who had just taken over the file was also there. Coffee was served and we got down to business.
The whole presentation took about an hour – just long enough to be able to explain the whole story, but not too long so that our audience would get bored. We anticipated questions and we weren’t disappointed.
The young portfolio manager was quiet during the meeting. He was clearly nervous of voicing any opinion that might go against his bosses, preferring to listen to what they had to say.
Paton seemed to be a bit bamboozled by the sharp-end science he was listening to. He did, however, ask several questions about our cash and profit projections and was keen to understand the assumptions on which they had been based. I put him down as a finance man, but with not a lot of imagination.
Blondel was more aggressive. He was there to make money and almost all his queries related to risk.
He’d given the impression of listening to everything that had been said but I wasn’t convinced. He’d been scribbling a few comments on the pad in front of him but I didn’t get the impression they were anything to do with the project in hand. Twice his phone had buzzed and he had excused himself and gone out to answer it while we carried on. A self- important little jerk was my conclusion.
When we had finished Alec asked for comments.
The older man had nothing to add except “Let’s discuss it amongst ourselves, Alec. We’ve got a definitive offer which is based on a valuation of the company at nine hundred thousand pounds. That gives us a reasonable return on our investment. It’s true that if Mrs Mackie’s plans come through we’d get more but I’d like to go through the numbers quietly tomorrow.”
I had to counter that and try to dispel any doubt he had.
“We have done two projections – optimistic and pessimistic. In the optimistic scenario in three years the company will be worth somewhere around three million. Even in the pessimistic one it will be worth at least one and a half. That means…”
Blondel cut in.
“Provided you can find a buyer, Mr. Bruce. A company is only worth what someone is willing to pay for it.”
As if I didn’t know that, I thought to myself, trying not to get riled. If he wanted to start trying to score points I wasn’t rising to the bait. Is it some kind of insecurity complex that gets people acting like that? Here we were supposed to be discussing a business proposition as partners, not bloody adversaries.
“You’re quite right,” I said as smoothly as I could. “I think Helen has shown how attractive a proposition Bioscope would be to some of the big boys.”
He smiled, leant back in his chair, and, when he was sure he had our undivided attention, asked the next question.
“Mrs. Mackie, three years ago you presented us with a project based on a potential patent that would be a breakthrough in the treatment of Alzheimers. We believed you and invested. We put more money in last year when you told us you were near completion. Now we discover that LyonPharma got there first and you can’t go forward with a patent application. How do we know that the same thing couldn’t happen again? What happens if someone else beats you to it again? The risk is too high and there is an offer on the table.”
That was a nasty thrust but, I suppose, justifiable. Helen looked across at me not sure how much to say. They knew nothing about the leak and our theory of information theft and I didn’t see any point in bringing that up. It had happened and we had agreed beforehand that accusing LyonPharma of espionage wasn’t going to get us anywhere.
“We mustn’t forget that it was LyonPharma who had offered to buy the shares,” I had reminded Helen earlier. “Albion has no emotional attachment to either party. They’re in it for the money. If they report our suspicions back to Dugain – with no proof – it won’t help us any.” I answered for her.
“That’s an extremely unlikely scenario. As Helen said, we have absolutely no knowledge whatsoever of anyone working in this direction. As far as we are concerned we are alone in the field and the only real issue is finalising our processes and proving that it all works. Richard is totally convinced it will.”
There was no more to say so Alec wrapped up the meeting and we left having given each of the four a hard copy of our presentation. Alec and the finance man accompanied us down to the door, clutching their copies and promising to get back to us in a couple of days. Blondel had been left behind in the meeting room answering another phone call. I parted with Helen and Richard outside the offices. In spite of Blondel’s attitude they both seemed to think things had gone quite well. I wasn’t so sure. Maybe I was getting paranoid but the fact that Blondel was Frenc
h bothered me.
It didn’t take them long.
Two days later Helen phoned me. Alec Smith had just called her to tell her that they had decided to sell. Because he had stalled LyonPharma for a little while, Dugain must have been worried and had come back to them with a slightly increased offer – ten per cent more - and that had tipped the balance. He claimed that he had wanted to stay with us but he had been out-voted and they would sell their shareholding.
Helen was very upset. “Bob, what do you think we should do now?”
“First of all make sure that the other Venture Capital company won’t sell. Tell them to let you know immediately if Dugain approaches them. I’ve an idea that I might be able to find someone safer to take these shares if by any chance he tries it.”
I would talk to Pierre. He could afford it.
“I’ve already spoken to them and they have assured me we’re safe. I promised to send him a copy of the presentation and come up and discuss it with them whenever they wished.”
“Well done.”
Competent and confident as ever, she was holding her nerve.
I did some quick thinking. She wasn’t going to sell her shares so the only way he could get a majority was if Antoine de Clermont sold his. And I had no idea what his position would be. It was about time that I went to see him.
“Helen, I’m going to go away for a couple of days. Nothing should happen during that time. It’ll take a week or so until Albion finalises the transaction. Just sit tight until I get back. If anything happens, text me. Oh, and by the way, before I hang up, is the company OK for cash for the next few months?”
She assured me that, normally speaking, they were fine – tight but fine. “A last question – does Antoine de Clermont know much about your two new projects?”
“Yes, a bit – but not the current status of our research. He’s an old friend, as you know. I keep him up to date occasionally. He’ll understand the value of hanging on to his shares if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Or not, I thought to myself as I hung up. He could just as easily make a deal with Dugain and sell out for a reasonable price now rather than hold on in the hope of more. Would he do that? I had no idea.
There was no choice. I was going to France.
I phoned Mike. I told him what had happened and what I intended to do.
“Bob, why don’t you just drop the whole thing? You don’t know what’s going on. Someone has already tried to bump you off. What happens if he’s the guy behind the whole business?”
“How could he be?”
“Well if what you say is true isn’t it possible that he’s pulling the strings behind Dugain?”
“Well, if I go I’ll find out.”
“You’re a bloody idiot. Drop it.”
“I can’t. I can’t sit back and see this poor kid get screwed by a bunch of corporate vultures. I’ve got to find out.”
“Well, be it on your own head. Don’t expect me to help you get yourself killed.” And he slammed down the phone.
I was angry. I was angry at Mike for hanging up on me. But I was even angrier at the thought of some bloody predator trying to cash in on a couple of young people who were trying to build a business and had invested a lot of their time and money in it. They deserved to succeed and I couldn’t just sit back and see them lose out.
I suppose I also felt a bit guilty that it had all happened through Liam. Determined, I got up and went to my computer and searched for a flight for Paris. I was lucky. There was one the next day in the early afternoon.
The next morning I packed a bag for a few nights and set off for Edinburgh Airport. I was in Paris by five o’clock. I hired a car and set off south. Rush hour on the Péripherique slowed me down but I was eventually on the A6 heading south west. I drove for about an hour then left the motorway to find myself accommodation in Chartres for the night. I had another couple of hours to do the next day.
I had no difficulty finding a Logis de France hotel tucked away in a side street not far from the cathedral. It didn’t have a restaurant but the owner recommended a bistro about five minutes walk away. The patron was welcoming, the food was excellent and the wine, on his recommendation, was first class. After the trip that Pierre and I had done and the ensuing discussion about the different wines of France I was starting to discover and appreciate the infinite varieties of the vins du terroir for which the country is famous. I would drive through to Saumur the next day and decide how to approach my meeting with Antoine.
I needed a couple of answers.
Would he admit to sending the letter? Had Dugain offered to buy his shares?
Chapter 15
I was on the road by nine thirty, refreshed after a good night’s sleep. As I drove down through the wide flat countryside towards the Loire I rehearsed in my mind how I was going to approach Antoine.
I was convinced that he had had a part to play in the ambushing of Liam and I was determined to get to the bottom of it. There was no other explanation. He was the only person who had known that Liam was working at Bioscope.
What would Pierre say if he knew that I was making this trip? I had no doubt that he would vigorously defend his friend, especially because of his relationship with Madeleine. His judgment would be clouded by that I was sure. I‘d worry about telling him after I knew the truth. Eventually I decided I had gone over it enough in my mind. When I arrived I would play it by ear.
I relaxed a little and admired the countryside as I drove down towards Tours. Antoine lived on the outskirts of a small village not far from Saumur which left me about another half hour of driving. I had time for a light lunch which I took at a café at the side of the river. I watched the water making its way lazily west toward the coast at Nantes where it would merge into the Bay of Biscay. Although one of the longest rivers in France the Loire is wide rather than deep and broken up by mud banks and occasional rocky outcrops. It seems to flow over rather than through the land.
Fortunately I remembered the way and I arrived at Antoine’s mansion around two thirty.
The long straight driveway up to the front of the house was familiar, lined by enormous rhododendron bushes which must have been at least a hundred years old. I parked the car and went up the wide steps to the front door and rang the bell. There were no other cars in front of the house so I was hoping that perhaps Madeleine had gone out and I would find Antoine alone.
When the bell was answered by the familiar face of the woman I had seen on my last visit, their housekeeper, she confirmed that ‘Monsieur was at home’ and he was in the large front room he used as his study. She went to announce me and then came back and escorted me through.
Antoine was sitting in his wheel chair behind his desk leafing through some papers.
He looked up with a welcoming smile.
“This is a surprise,” he said. “Welcome, Bob. To what do I owe the honour of your visit? Are you on your own or is Pierre with you?”
I had decided to broach the subject as soon as possible and not go through the awkwardness of the usual polite small talk.
I responded simply that Pierre was not with me. This brought a slightly puzzled look to his face.
“I’m afraid I’ve come about a rather serious matter which I would like to discuss with you if you can spare me half an hour of your time.”
“Certainly. It must be important if you’ve come all this way to see me.” he replied. “What is it about? How can I help?”
He motioned to a chair and invited me to sit down.
I steamed straight in.
“Antoine, I have flown down from Scotland and then driven down here to see you for one particular reason and a second subsidiary one. It concerns my grandson Liam.”
I was watching his face closely and thought I detected a momentary look of concern flit across his features. I certainly had his attention.
I went on. “If you remember, it was thanks to you that I had an introduction to Helen Mackie at Bios
cope who very kindly gave Liam a job six months ago.”
He nodded. No particular reaction so far.
“I was glad to be able to help. Has it worked out well?”
I carried on.
“I’m afraid not. Liam no longer works for Bioscope. He has been fired for inadvertently giving away confidential information about the research the company was doing. He accidentally gave away a piece of information in the presence of someone who was spying for LyonPharma. And I believe you are aware of the fact that they have recently lodged a patent application which has ruined Bioscope’s chances of developing their new drug.”
There were signs of concern in his eyes. His expression remained immobile but I thought I detected a fleeting sign of worry lines across his forehead. That decided me that the quickest way for the truth to come out was a direct accusation.
“I want to know who it was that you paid to set up Liam. I want to know why you did it - why you callously ruined the beginnings of a young man’s career. Because I can’t for the life of me work out what it was that you had to gain by it. You were also ruining a company in which you yourself were an investor. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”
Pretty strong words, I admit but I was sure he had something to do with it and the postmark on the letter had added to my suspicions. True, he was a friend of Pierre’s and I had liked him when we first met but I had to get to the truth.
I stopped there and leant back in my chair glancing around at the wooden shelved, book-lined walls, collected over generations. What would his forebears have thought? Unless they had also been a rapacious bunch of thieves.
His first reaction was shock. I don’t suppose anybody had ever spoken to him like that before. He reacted instinctively.
“What are you talking about? What right do you think you have to make such an accusation?”
I cut in angrily before he went any further.
“Liam was set up. Someone was sent to try and get information from him. Unfortunately he let slip the key element in the research programme which, when it was transmitted back to Lyon, allowed them to get to the same results as Bioscope and get in first with their patent application. And the person who was sent over received the identity of her target by mail in an envelope which was posted in Saumur, just down the road.”