To Murder Matt

by Viveca Benoir

  He opened his door.

  “Margaret, I just emailed you a list of people I need meetings with next week. Also, I need a flight to Spain end of this week. Arrange it all, will you?”

  “Do you need accommodation?”

  “Oh yes, that too. Thanks Margaret. Let Ken have all the flight details, will you?”

  “Will do.”

  Standing at the executive check-in desk at the airport, Dean tapped his foot with increasing impatience. It was becoming more of a nervous habit, rather than one brought on by his impatience to check in. There were, after all, only two people before him in the check-in queue. He looked over to the economy check-in desk, the ones that tourists used to go on holiday. Several in the queue were squabbling amongst themselves, and he wondered what had happened to dress codes. A woman at the check-in desk was arguing with the attendant about excess luggage and allowances, which she had clearly flouted, if her bulging suitcase was anything to go by.

  “But how can I make it lighter? You want me to empty it here, now? No, I am not paying extra, I won’t.” The attendant, realizing that the queue was getting ever longer, while she was not getting anywhere with her passenger, called over a supervisor, who took the errant woman aside to ‘sort things’.

  Sitting in the executive lounge, classical music gently playing in the background, Dean began reading the report Ken had emailed to him the night before.

  “It's always the same, isn’t it?”

  Dean looked up to see who was speaking to him.

  “I said it’s always the same, you try and prepare for your meetings with little time and space, and then you are called to board, just as you are getting into the flow of things. You work like a dog on board, and then just as you are ready to finish it all, you land. You arrive and you still aren’t prepared.”

  A voice came over the speaker system announcing his flight was boarding.

  “There you go, just as I was saying.”

  Dean started packing away his papers and smiled at the stranger. Boarding, and sitting on the plane, he looked out of the window at the airport staff busying themselves around the plane. He saw someone sitting down next to him.

  “We meet again.” He held out his hand. “Matt, Matt Mellor.” He smiled. Dean took his hand and shook it as he introduced himself. He was hoping that this man wouldn’t talk all the way to Spain.

  “What line you in?”

  “Yachts.”

  “Oh, pleasure or charter?”

  “Both, plus design and bespoke manufacture. It depends on the individual client needs and requirements.”

  “Is it profitable?”

  “It can be, like anything it depends on your target market and contacts.”

  “Have you a card?”

  “Yes.” Dean took a business card from his inside jacket pocket and handed it to Matt. “Here you are.”

  “Thanks, here is mine.”

  Dean looked at the details on the small white card. Matt Mellor, Sports Marketing Consultant. “Didn’t I meet you at a party recently? You were a racing driver, weren’t you?”

  “Yes, I used to be in Formula 1, but since my accident, I am more behind the scenes now. I take it you aren’t a fan?”

  “Not really, too fast paced for me. You must have been aware of the dangers before you started, I mean, regarding your accident?”

  “Yes, but there is the excitement of it all; the speed, the sound, the women, the money and the glory. Now at thirty-five, I’m an old man of the business. Also it’s a precision sport. Your reflexes, no matter how sharp you are, they slow over the years. Racing isn’t what it used to be. Years ago it was the skill of driving. Now it’s the skill of the technicians behind the scenes. We are just the oil monkeys driving the car.”

  “Well paid oil monkeys though,” Dean replied.

  Matt laughed.

  “Yes, it has its perks.”

  “Sounds like you had quite an accident, if you gave it up.”

  “Well, I was afraid I had lost my edge. One tiny mistake could not only kill you, but your fans too. I decided to quit before I killed anyone, myself included. I had a new prototype steering wheel, which failed. I lost control and ended up smashing into the barriers. I only got out a few seconds before the car exploded.”

  “My goodness.”

  “Yes, so now I concentrate on marketing all different sports. I sell the advertising that you see in locations, sponsorship deals. That sort of thing.”

  “With your contacts, that must be a great job. Is it profitable?”

  Matt smiled at the return question and realized instantly how he had sounded when he had asked.

  “Yes, I think I am safe there. In order to be interested in sport, let’s take the F1 as an example. You have to have a certain amount of capital to be actively involved and even race your cars, build a team, Research & Development, to follow them around the world, maintenance crews, flights and hotels for everyone. And let’s not forget the promo girls that look pretty on the tarmac! For the fans, it’s the same. They have the same costs of travel and accommodation, although not to the same scale. The glamour and the possibility of mixing with the elite and the rich, it all pulls in people from outside of the industry. Maybe I am being cynical about it, but there are so many who will think nothing of spending several hundred thousand on advertising solely to get into the VIP tent and meet the drivers and their hangers on. Some will pay anything to have their logo on the side of the car. It was easier years ago, when it was booming, but its still big money.”

  “You make it sound simple.”

  “It is, if you know the right people and how much money they have. If they want something, then they will buy it at any cost. I am the middleman there to buy it on their behalf, for a fee, of course.”

  “Well in that case, keep my card, and if any of your clients want a yacht, let me know and I will make it worth your while. I can find anything in the yacht and powerboat world and if they want something unique, we can even build it for them.”

  “Good, you have a deal. Look why don’t we meet up again in London? Or come by my office. We can go through some details.”

  “OK, I’ll call you when I get back.” Dean smiled and looked out at the plane being pushed back ready to taxi for its take off. Things might be looking up after all.

  Stepping into the warm Spanish sunshine, after the air conditioning of the airport terminal, Dean looked for his name and his driver. He loosened his tie and put his briefcase on the ground as he removed his jacket and scanned the crowds. Even though it was linen, he felt too warm in the heat of the sun. He picked up his briefcase and started walking towards the taxi rank.

  “Dean. Sorry I’m late, traffic was bad.” Ken was weaving through the people towards him.

  “I thought you were sending a driver.”

  “Yes, I would have, but his wife is having a baby and she chose today of all days, so I came instead.”

  “Thanks, I’m glad you did. Maybe we can talk on the way? You can bring me up to speed.”

  On the way, Dean was wondering how to tell Ken that the project was almost out of money. He wanted to broach the subject in different surroundings and so instead of speaking he looked outside at the passing blur of colourful scenery.

  In the office at the marina, Ken pulled out a page covered with the technical scribbles and the lines plan.

  “It’s here. This is the main problem.” He pointed to an area circled with red pen. “After I ran the figures through the computer, this area was highlighted as a problem.”

  “Oh god, why wasn’t this spotted before?” Dean stared at the plans.

  “Well, remember when we first started? It wouldn’t have been cost effective to do a manual lifting, so the design was plotted full size immediately on sheet film, and it wasn’t analysed because the computer had crashed. At the time, the drawings were accurate to a millimetre, or so we thought.” He paused. “When the hull mould was made, we noticed a small discrepancy of ten mi
llimetres. The hull will have to be redone and the whole design modified.”

  Dean slammed his fist on the desk. Ken continued.

  “I hate to say this, but the interiors were all designed in relation to the original fixtures and, as I have said, they are now incorrect. We will have to modify those and if we can’t, we will have to start again.”

  “Again? How could you go ahead if there was any element of doubt; even the tiniest one? Do you know how much money I have already invested in this project? It’s been one problem after another...” Dean sat down and began to look through the papers strewn across the desk in front of him. By the window, on the wall, were other technical drawings full of specifications which had all been crossed out.”

  “Bring me those.” Ken went over to the wall and took them down.

  “There must be something that can be done with a few small changes. There must be something here.”

  Ken shook his head.

  “No, I’m sorry Dean. I’ve already gone through them several times. All the changes that can be made, have been made. I have made marks here. The interiors are the least of our worries. They can be changed quite simply. It’s time consuming but not impossible. Our biggest area is obviously the hull moulds that have already been made. We will have to do those again. I can’t see any other way round it.”

  Dean looked at all the pages before him. It was a nightmare. Every penny he had was in this project. Every penny, and much more of the bank’s money. Money that wasn’t even his in the first place. To start again would be financially impossible and yet he couldn’t just let the project crumble. He had to find a way that would allow him to continue. This yacht was his lifetimes dream.

  “Right Ken, what do you need from me to resolve this mess?”

  “I need the go ahead to have the corrected design made up to full size sheet film and authorize the manufacture of the new hull moulds. After that, the interiors won’t need to be changed. They will all fit in perfectly. We can use the existing hull moulds on a future yacht design, so they won’t be wasted.”

  “Okay Ken, I am going to have to come back to you in a couple of days with the answer to that. I have to raise additional funding to cover this setback and allow us to complete the whole project. Don’t do anything; don’t say anything to anyone until I get back, will you? The last thing I need is the staff all walking out, or going on strike or something. I have a meeting later today with the Spanish authorities. There may be a possibility there, but don’t count on it.” Dean stood up and closed his briefcase. “Oh, and I will need your car for a few hours whilst I am here, because if I don’t, you and I will be out of a job tomorrow. If you need me, leave a message for me at the hotel. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  Dean left, taking the car keys off the desk as he did so. Ken watched Dean drive off into the distance. It was a while before he returned to the desk to sit and look at the plans again.

  As Dean drove off, he could feel ideas forming in his mind. When he returned to the UK, he would compile a list of events all designed to highlight his yachts and booming business. He already had Margaret working on a conference and everyone invited would be a potential investor. When he was mingling, he would broach the subject of business opportunities and sow the seed, so that they would approach him individually. There would be an added incentive for them to become his partner, for fear of him offering the opportunity to their competitors. They would be fighting amongst themselves to become a part of his operations. He laughed aloud at the simplicity of his idea. He would stop by the marina on the way back to reassure Ken everything would be ok. Feeling relieved, he collected his things from the hotel. He decided not to stay but to speed back to the UK so he could start work. He had no appetite to lounge around in the sun wasting time.

  The conference was due to take place in a week. He had decided to use the Ritz in St. James. Image was everything in the industry, and he wanted to portray established money and family tradition. Dean turned in his swivel chair and looked out to the grey weather. It was a stark contrast to the weather a few days earlier in Spain. Passing his windows, a few straggling tourists meandered down the narrow street and past his window. The damp pavements and the disappointed looks on their faces said everything about holidaying in England. Whilst Hamble had seen an upsurge in tourists, made popular years ago by a television series that used it as a location, it had little to offer those wanting more than a quiet break away. The phone rang and Dean span around to answer it.

  “Hello Dean, It’s Matt. I met you on the plane the other day. I’m back in the country. I may have a couple of possibilities for the yacht charter.” Dean jumped up at hearing this.

  “That’s very quick Matt. I’m impressed.”

  Matt laughed.

  “When I do business I don’t like to hang around. I can either see something is going to work, or it isn’t, and I don’t waste my time. When are you free to meet? I’d like to get this all wrapped up as soon as possible. I can come down to your offices or you can come to mine.”

  “As a matter of fact, I have been meaning to come to London. I have a meeting set up at the Ritz, we could meet there, but I won’t be free for a couple of days yet.”

  “That’s very handy. I have a deal with the Maitre D’ there. Am sure we can get a great table.”

  “Ok how about Friday?” Dean was busy pencilling in the Ritz and Friday before Matt had answered.

  “Yeah, fine. See you then.”

  Dean put the phone down. Things were beginning to improve. The conference was organized with just a few minor things still to do. He had Matt as a handy new contact and things could only get better.

  He sat down and the phone rang again.

  “Hey you! I have been trying to reach you, but your phone is always busy.”

  “Did you try my mobile?” He looked at his mobile. “Oh yes you did, I see several missed calls from you! Hi Ellen, how are things with you?”

  “I think they are ok, but I was worried when you weren’t around.”

  “You did? Oh, that’s so kind of you! But I had to go to Spain on urgent business. I meant to tell you, but things were so rushed.” Dean smiled at her concern. He heard her laugh at the other end.

  “Was that remark because I often go away on business, and don’t tell you, Dean? Touché.” She laughed again.

  “Actually I did try to reach you a few days ago, before I left, I was wondering if you wanted come down here to go riding, or even sailing, if you prefer?”

  “Hmmm, when were you thinking of?” Ellen sounded happy at the thought.

  “This weekend would be good for me,” Dean said.

  Ellen checked her diary. For once she had a free weekend. Delia had cancelled only the day before.

  “Yes, why not? I was supposed to go shopping, but she has the flu and isn’t in the mood for a new pair of Jimmy Choos. I think she is more into bathrobes and Kleenex this weekend.”

  “I tell you what Ellen, I have a lunch meeting at the Ritz on Friday, I could pick you up and bring you down in the car, when you are finished, of course.”

  “I can arrange my own travel plans, thank you!” She laughed as she heard his exasperated sigh. “Okay, okay, pick me up when you have finished. Call me on my mobile.”

  ***

  On the way to the Ritz from Piccadilly, Dean almost walked passed his tailors in Jermyn Street. He had ordered several items from them over the phone a few days before and as he stopped in, he was pleased to note they were ready, although it meant carrying a bag of shirts to a meeting, hardly a professional look.

  Outside the Ritz, which was always as impressive as he remembered it, he stepped aside to allow a coach load of people to move through. The coach appeared to be disembarking its contingency of Japanese tourists. They all spilled across the wide pavement and congealed into a mass of brightly coloured plastic ponchos and cameras outside the main door. There was a babble of abrupt sounding conversation as they made their way ‘en masse’ in
to the main foyer of the hotel, chattering and smiling as they went. The doorman tried to smile at their chatter, but it was hard for him to hide his disdain as the flashes from their cameras blinded him as they passed.

  Dean remained at the side and watched the tide of small people flow passed, causing him to pause several minutes, before he too could enter the building. Heading over to the restaurant, he saw Matt sitting at a table and signalled to the Maitre D’ that he knew where he was going.

  Matt looked up as he approached. He smiled broadly and stood up to shake his hand. They exchanged pleasantries, seated and then sat down.

  “It was lucky I met you on the plane,” Matt said as he looked at the menu. “I was due to meet a client who was interested in the Grand Prix. I mentioned it would be a much nicer experience if he chartered one of your yachts, said it would impress his clients. He practically signed the contract there and then, but I wanted to discuss the options with you first. After all, we haven’t even discussed contracts and terms ourselves yet.”

  Dean smiled. He was already counting the money mentally. Matt would be talking big money and whilst talking about money was always loathsome, he needed it to finance his current flailing project. Matt continued, his eyes glinting as he spoke.

  “Needless to say, it depends on what you have available and what my commissions will be. We all need to make a living. I am sure you agree?”

  Dean smiled, but there was something he didn’t like about Matt in that instant. His eyes were dark and dull, impossible to read, but he just had a feeling that not everything was as it first seemed with Matt. His eyes were smiling, but the sentiment didn’t reach them. Dean felt an instant of dislike and distrust for the man seated opposite him, but he was in a bit of a bind and he needed the deal. If he had a choice, he would stand up and relying on that gut feeling, walk away. But as it was, he was in no position to do so and remained seated, a bland smile on his face as Matt continued to speak.