by John Gubert
Charles felt sorry for their families and mentioned it. “Well, we can’t start being contrite. It’s dog eats dog. If we don’t destroy them, they’ll destroy us. We didn’t ask them to butt in. It was their bloody fault.” Maria’s response may have been brutal, but they knew it was accurate.
“And,” she continued, “they have only charged the boys who were caught joyriding in the stolen car with the theft of the vehicle. So they’ll get away with a light sentence. And there appear to be no leads from the cars at all.”
Charles switched off the shower and dried himself. “Now, before you tell me you’ve changed your mind about stripping off, go out and organise a decent continental breakfast for me. Then I need to go through all the routine stuff on my desk. And I want to run through some of the plans with Stephens and my father.”
“And this afternoon,” added Maria, “you and the Honourable James have a meeting with the Bank of England. And you have meetings with the two legal teams. The first is on the take-over and the second on the flotation. So you’re going to be busy. I’ve arranged for you and Jacqui to have a salad in your office together. You will want to catch up on things.”
He was soon at his desk and sorting papers. The great thing about being a chief executive is that you have lots of people to whom you can delegate all the routine tasks and anything else that you find tedious. Through his year or so at the bank, he hadn’t found it difficult to move the paperwork. Ironically, he was seen as a good decision maker as a result. People love doing tasks for the chief executives. And they actually had some quite competent people in the middle ranks, as well as a cartload of absolute cretins at the top.
Jacqui walked into the office just before nine. She knew how to revitalise him. That day she wore a blue suit. Its cuffs and round collar were ribbed with gold braid. A diamond on a white gold chain was the only other adornment. Her hair was pulled away from her face. Her skirt stopped several inches above the knee and revealed her flawless legs clad in the sheerest of pale beige tights. Her heels were medium height and added a couple of inches to her five eight. As he got up, her perfume greeted him just before her lips. The mixture of the clean scent of her shampoo and the gentler jasmine odour of her perfume wafted over him seductively. He then felt the softness of her lips and, as his arms went around her, the gentle invitation of her whole body.
“I missed you,” she whispered gently. “It’s better that we’re together when there’s danger. It seems worse when we are apart.”
He smiled at the comment. “From the last week or so, you could say it’s pretty tricky when we are together as well.”
“Let’s get back to work, though. I’ll see you for lunch. We can work out what we’re doing over the weekend. I’ve been told of a great new pub that has got a lovely chef. That will suit your love of stodgy British food and roast.” With that she swept out of the office and across to hers.
At eleven, Charles did the chief executive’s statutory walk around the office. It helps to have been seen before making a big acquisition. He started at the ground floor, greeting the doormen and the branch staff. One floor up, they had the back offices. There they still moved masses of faxes even if the industry claimed to have become fully automated. A mass of telexes and other messages had to be fed into the computers to allow the deals to progress. The City was, in reality, a technology backwater, especially in the operations areas. He stopped and asked some of the staff about their work. He was one of the few directors who ever came down there, and that guaranteed him a sympathetic audience.
He worked his way up the building. Leaving the nether regions of the operational departments, he walked through the legal and audit departments. They were able to do all the day to day tasks. He would not use them for the take-over. They were stolid and honest, he doubted they would understand the way Americans worked. He preferred more malleable hired help for that task, partly because he paid them well for a purpose. And that purpose was to tell him what he wanted to hear, how to complete the take-over in the quickest possible time.
On the penultimate floor was the corporate finance department. His pass didn’t work there. It was always infuriating how those arrogant sods hid behind the regulations to bar all and sundry from their hallowed overpaid halls; even their chief executive. The top floor housed the treasury department and here he felt more at home. This was where they traded in all financial products, including foreign exchange and derivatives.
The dealers were in full form with their coarse humour. “Why do Essex girls wear knickers?” called one. “To keep their ankles warm,” came back a predictable shout. Charles laughed and cynically waved at them before heading to the glass box where Stephens lived.
He was on the phone but quickly ended the conversation. “How are your plans coming on?” asked Charles.
“There are a whole series of deals that we have put together with the companies you formed. They look as if we have taken in around twenty million of fees and are running positions that appear to be hugely profitable for us. In reality, we have even lent the companies the twenty million to pay us our fees and are running a genuine loss of some hundred million. We’ll run up as many positions as we can over time, up to the maximum. Then, after the take-over, we can run some more through the American banks. Nobody understands these things. They are hugely complex and involve quite a lot of judgement in valuing them. The accounts people usually come to me for help with them and, even if they don’t, the dealers will refer to me.”
“What happens if you are away? I don’t want these things discovered by chance.”
“No problem. I have a computer model that prices the things. That’s the only way to do it. They really are complicated. I am working on fixing the model. It’ll have a few files that it will ignore on my password but read on everybody else’s. The files will over-ride their input and price how I want the price to go. Nobody can check the programmes as I have encrypted them and then ring fenced them with a security code. That way, even if someone had a question, they would have to come to me.”
“Isn’t it unusual to protect the files in that way?”
“Well yes. But I can always claim that I am doing it so that nobody accidentally corrupts a file. The auditors would find it a reasonable approach. They won’t look at the programmes; they couldn’t understand them unless they had a degree in quantum maths. And, if they had, the buggers wouldn’t be auditors.”
“I guess you’re right. I won’t ask what you have done to hide the real value. I’ll just trust you.” Stephens smirked. Charles looked coldly at him, “But only if you deliver the goods. There are two things you have to remember. First, you’ll be seriously rich and totally free when this is all over. Second, if you stray one inch from my instructions, you’ll regret it for what little would remain of your life.”
The smirk had left his face. He was scared. Charles grinned, but it was not a warm grin, and said, “And there could always be another little bonus. We pay well for loyalty. Remember that as well.”
Charles clapped his arm round his shoulder, if only as a matter of show for the watching dealers. He then walked away, sensing the frightened and resentful eyes on him. Stephens had given him an idea. He would go on a trip sooner rather than later. The phoney computer files would be put in use and they would not need him again. But, in the meantime, he needed him to peddle a few more crooked trades.
He walked back to the directors’ offices and popped in to see the Honourable James. He said that the meeting with the Bank would be routine. He was planning to fly out to New York to see the candidate for Chief Executive over there.
“I’ve had some good reports on him,” he said. “They say he’s from one of the oldest East Coast families. That’s old banking blood. He’s had a distinguished career. Seems the sort of chap we should have on board. I’m seeing him and his wife for dinner. I find that’s the best place for these sorts of chats. His wife is from Chile. She’s from an old Spanish family. Th
ey go back a long way and are real nobility. Her great grandfather was the younger son and went to Latin America to look after the plantations they owned.”
“Fantastic. That ties in with the impression I got from the regulators. They were all keen on him,” Charles said aloud. ‘What an idiot,’ he thought to himself. ‘He’s looking to take on a top man in a major bank. He is really only interested in his blue blood and the fact that his wife is the right class. He believes the interview should be a chat at dinner. That will look good in any investigation.’
As he left, he smiled to himself. The irony hit him. Once again, poor Charles Rossi was going to be let down by his Chairman.
Back in the office, he touched base with his father. All was well and he was continuing in his careful identification of companies whose share price he could manipulate. This was his forte. He had no qualms about him. He talked to his mother as well. She was helping his father but, as usual, was keeping in the background. She would keep the books and also do some of the research on the companies they were acquiring.
They found companies with unmarketable shares and gradually built up stakes. Then when the time came, they really ramped up the share price before they got out at a massive profit. It was a tried and tested formula.
And some of the companies were the same ones as Stephens was trading with. Others were the ones that they would lend money to. All the funds would be siphoned off and the siphon, of course, always led back to them.
Jacqui came in around lunchtime and soon afterwards they were brought their salads. He told her about the incident at the airport and also about the discussion with Giovanni. She found it hard to make it out.
“It sounds as if Rastinov could really be dead and that someone is masquerading as him. I suspect that means there has been a revolt in the Russian Mafia. They were getting quite tame. We need to be careful. I wouldn’t put it past my father to profit from the fact and he seems to be doing that by pretending that we can solve the problem by withdrawing the business from the market and running it. I doubt he invented the story about Rastinov, but I do think he’s trying to use it to get his way. He could have been behind the attack on you. I’m less sure about his involvement in the others. Giovanni is right; both of us could be acceptable targets to him, but not Juliet.”
Charles changed the subject. “Any luck on the island?”
“I have passed the word around. It’s not that easy. There’s a possible one near Mauritius. It would be our island and we would need to build on it. But I prefer something a bit more inhabited. I had thought of Mustique, but am not convinced. There are a couple of possibilities around St Lucia. Once we have a shortlist, we should go and check them out.”
“That sounds fun. Do we leave for Sussex tonight?”
“Yes. But you need to leave here by six. Claire will leave this afternoon and take the car and luggage down with the nanny and Juliet. We’ve got to use the estate. There’ll be a lot of us, you and me, Juliet, the nanny and Claire. Maria will come down and join us for lunch on Sunday. I’ve booked the pub I mentioned. The weather should hold but it’ll be fairly chilly.”
The cottage was a genuine one with thatched roof and all. It had a good-sized garden and a small gatehouse down the lane. The couple who had taken it acted as gardener and housekeeper. Jacqui would have told them of their arrival and the house would be aired and warm with the fridge well stocked.
They only had three bedrooms in the cottage. There were two largish ones and a small one. Then, downstairs, there was a lounge and a dining room. It was completed by a kitchen downstairs and a couple of bathrooms upstairs. It was simple but just perfect for them. The village people didn’t know who they were. They thought they were City people. They thought they were well off. But otherwise they were quiet and kept to themselves. The couple who looked after the place must have given good reports on them. They got their house rent-free and were hardly demanded much in return, so the gratitude was merited.
They would go down by helicopter, picking it up from Battersea on the way from the office. That meant they should be in Sussex by seven at the latest. Charles looked forward to a quiet evening in front of the large open fire. It was their refuge. It was the only haven they had.
The afternoon meetings went well. The US regulators had obviously talked to their London counterparts. The different sets of lawyers were progressing well. Charles agreed with them what they would deliver over the next two weeks. By half past five, he had emptied his in tray, made his phone calls and wrapped up all his meetings.
Maria was still working as he left. “See you Sunday. Be a good girl.”
“Dunkillin made a pass at me. Otherwise nobody’s shown interest,” she said in reply. “So it looks like a TV supper or a trembler for a dirty old man.”
“What a choice,” said Jacqui who had followed him, “I’d take the supper.”
With that, they went to the garage where the driver waited. The roads from the City were not yet too overcrowded. They drove south of the Thames and into Battersea. There, the helicopter waited and by six fifteen they were soaring above the weekend rush and heading the forty miles to their retreat.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The helicopter swooped over the Sussex hills. They were dark and gloomy against a starless sky. The low, thick clouds had their dreary night hue and threw ominous shadows across the ground below. In the distance there was an expanse of sea. From there it looked calm with the occasional white horse on the horizon. But the wind that buffeted the helicopter told them that was an illusion. Close by, the sea would be turbulent and the cold water far from smooth.
As the helicopter landed in the field next to the house, the trees and bushes bent in its wake. The wind itself was strong enough to bend the trees the other way on the far end of the field. It would be a chilly walk to the cottage. And, for the first time, they noticed it was raining. It was gentle now but it could soon start pelting down. The clouds were menacing enough.
His mind flashed back to a time in the South of France. He remembered the cliff, the car with its two bodies and the flashes of lightening. He recalled the cruelty of nature that night as they had disposed of the two killers who had lain in wait for them. Their bodies had never been found. To the best of their knowledge, nor had the car. He shuddered as he looked at the trees again. Jacqui saw his look and gazed at the sky. She shuddered too. “It’s like at the cliff near Ramatuelle,” she said, reading his mind. He nodded.
“Let’s run to the cottage. We need to be inside.”
Charles jumped down from the helicopter and put his hands up. Jacqui allowed him to swing her down, briefly brushing her lips against his as she came level. They waved to the pilot and ran to the gate that led to the cottage. They winced as the rotors sent a blast of rain and a rush of wind at them as the pilot took off again for London. Then they ducked and hurried up the path.
They had hardly knocked when Claire opened the door and let them in. “It looks foul out there. The fire’s going in the lounge. And you might just catch Juliet before she falls asleep.”
They walked in and she was right. Juliet saw Jacqui and climbed on her lap. Minutes later she was slumbering, her head resting against Jacqui’s chest. Charles looked at the two. Jacqui, her hair blown by the wind and her cheeks still pink from the cold outside, sat in the chair. The reflection from the fire illuminated her in its gentle glow. And, gradually, she seemed to breathe in unison with Juliet, whose colouring made her seem a miniature version of her mother.
She held Juliet gently and her looks, her body, everything about her softened. She lowered her head and gently kissed the child’s hair. The child appeared to sense this through her sleep and cuddled closer to her mother. Charles wished he could capture that moment in more than his memories.
In the event, the spell was broken by the nanny’s arrival. She failed to notice the peacefulness of that moment as she walked up to Jacqui and asked if she should take Juliet. Jacqui place
d her fingers on her lips and shook her head. She wanted that feeling of closeness to last. The nanny suddenly realised that and left them in peace. Charles sat in his chair enjoying the moment and yet wishing his child were asleep on his knee.
They carried her upstairs and Jacqui changed her. She tucked her up in her cot. Her favourite toy, a panda, was placed near her. She looked angelic as she lay there asleep. Her dark hair and pale olive complexion nestled against the pure white pillow. The pink blanket reflected the rosy hue in her cheeks. Jacqui drew the curtains shut. If Juliet woke, the movement of the branches on the trees outside would frighten her otherwise.
Quickly changing into casual clothes, they went downstairs. Claire was curled up in one of the chairs reading a book. The nanny was in the kitchen and they asked if she wanted to sit with them. But she, too, was tired and indicated that she would go to bed. She would sleep on a camp bed in the same room as Juliet. That gave Claire the use of the other bedroom.
They were now alone with Claire. Jacqui sat on the sofa and cuddled up to Charles. They could hear the wind blowing more strongly outside and the windows resounded with the beating of the rain. “It’ll be muddy tomorrow. Juliet will insist on going out and seeing the collie puppies on the farm. And she will also want to have a ride on the Shetland pony there.”
“We’ve our boots and jackets and stuff. It’ll do us good to get some fresh air and healthy rain and all. I hope Claire hasn’t only brought those heels with her.”
Claire was wearing a pair of quite alarming, spiky heels that evening, along with a pair of leggings and a fluffy violet sweater.
“Oh don’t worry about me,” she said. I’m going to commune with nature. I’ll go out in my birthday suit if need be. Or if you are too conservative, I’ll wear an anorak and green boots like you.”