“But what about Bonnie? I can’t stand her, but she’s worked damned hard and is supposed to be good.”
“After what’s happened today, that’s the last thing I’ll agree to. Anyway, the idea’s not worth considering. She’s not cut out to lead a company.”
“If I don’t dress like an editor, I certainly don’t look like a PR man.”
“Lot of that has changed now.”
“Maybe, but I certainly don’t think like a PR man.”
“I want what keeps your ears apart,” Nathan said. “Not the way you wear a suit.”
Finian thought for a moment. “Oh, I get frustrated, particularly when they bugger around with some of my stories, then I think of getting out.”
“Well then?”
“No, Dad. Journalism is not the perfect job, but it’s all I know. Right now I’m one of the top specialist writers in the country. Having got to the top of my own particular greasy pole, I’ll enjoy the view a little longer. Sorry.”
Four
Bram Norsteadt, among those who knew, had the reputation of being an astute “company doctor”. He never made the headlines of the business pages, but when a firm was in trouble it was he whom the banks, worried about their investments, so often called in to turn things around.
For years he was part of “The Surgery”, a group of corporate first-aid men who went into companies to help them back to business health. In return they asked for, and were paid, huge fees.
Two years before, Bram – he was christened Abraham but hated the name – had been asked by a consortium of banks and shareholders to straighten out Norton-Hunter. Norsteadt liked the place so much he decided to stay, and sold his share of The Surgery to his partners. For the past year he had been chairman and chief executive of the pharmaceutical and healthcare giant.
His partners were unhappy at losing their best fee-earner and, as a farewell present, gave him a model of a wooden bridge which had been burnt in half. The symbolism was clear to everybody.
“You want more cash?” Norsteadt shouted as he paced around his office. Giles Denny shrank further in his seat.
“Lycad needs the money to continue its work. Progress on our new product hasn’t been as fast as I’d hoped,” Denny said.
“You can say that again. You’re consuming money almost as quickly as we can make it,” Norsteadt said. “You’ve had, what, five million pounds from us.”
“For which you’ve had five per cent of my company,” Denny countered.
“Pieces of paper and a lot of promises. But no products.”
“Every step we take is into the unknown.”
“It’s not my idea of fun telling the board they have nothing to show for their investment. They want quick results.”
Norsteadt stared out of his window. The M4 motorway swept past a mile or so away. “We’re still suffering from buying Abercrombie Healthcare. Weren’t you there once?” Denny nodded. “That was a bloody dud company as well.”
Norsteadt picked up one of the dozen photographs he had on display of the single occasion he met the Queen. Although they were cleaned each night, he still gave it an extra polish with his handkerchief.
“Giles, we were counting on more progress.”
Many of Norton-Hunter’s conventional pharmaceutical drugs were coming to the end of their patent life and would soon be vulnerable to generic companies; copyists who manufacture and sell drugs out of patent at a fraction of the price charged by their original developer.
Additionally, a number of new drugs that Norsteadt was banking on had been scrapped because of serious side-effects discovered during trials. Only recently the pharmaceutical analyst with stockbrokers Scott-Farrow questioned the prospects for a continuing growth in profits. In one morning the remark knocked ten pence off the Norton-Hunter share price.
To help restore the company’s fortunes, Norsteadt had convinced the board to invest in Lycad. The biotech company was developing a range of highly attractive products which, when they eventually reached the market, would earn millions.
“That prick of a finance director is already asking difficult questions. You should’ve heard him go on about the obesity treatment fiasco.”
Denny sprang to his own defence. “Mitsanomol could turn out to be the most profitable drug – ever.”
“Spare me.” Norsteadt turned to his desk. He didn’t share Denny’s medical zeal. “It’ll still take years of testing, and we’re running out of time.”
“If you hadn’t insisted on early results, we might not have had these problems,” Denny said. “You’re pushing us too far, too fast.”
“Do you realise how many jobs depend on me pushing people like you? What do you think would be left at Norton-Hunter if I waited till everybody was nice and ready?”
Norsteadt pushed back his iron-grey hair. That, along with his voice, were his two redeeming features. The rest caused problems. Some thought him shallow, others bland. Norsteadt was intelligent, but even in his late forties he was not much more than a blank canvas, happy to adopt the latest idea presented to him – even if it totally opposed the one he had championed the day before.
“Bram, you’re not a scientist, so you don’t know how we think. Look at the good we can do. Gene therapy makes it possible to re-programme the human body. Potentially, it’s one of the greatest advances in medicine. That sort of thing can’t be rushed. We need time.”
“And more cash,” Norsteadt added.
“Yes. We do need more money.” Trying to explain his feelings, Denny said, “You suggest we make cheap copies of existing drugs. That’s like painting by numbers and I’m not interested. I’m working at the frontiers of science, not raking through the dustbins of pharmaceutical history.”
“You’re being uncooperative. If that’s your attitude, I’m not prepared to ask the board for more money.”
“What can I do?”
“Be more careful with what you have left.”
The phone on Norsteadt’s desk rang. His secretary said that Winston Culpin wanted an urgent word.
“Send him in. We’ve finished here,” Norsteadt said.
Culpin put his nose round the door and oiled into the room. “Come in, Winston. Which reporter has upset you today?”
“Finian Kelloway, the industrial editor at the Morning Journal. He’s asking about two of our employees. Said they’re suffering from some strange wasting disease.”
Norsteadt stared at Culpin and shrugged.
“Just thought you should know.”
“Had an official from some union on the phone this morning,” Norsteadt said. “Wanted a meeting about some sort of industrial poisoning. Do you think it’s the same thing?”
“Could be. The names I have are Ivan Getz and Laslo Potter.”
Norsteadt looked at a note on his desk and didn’t see Denny stiffen. “Yes, that’s them.”
*
May watched her daughter, Bonnie, march back and forth. “All right, I pushed too hard.”
“I know that one-time husband of mine. I warned you,” May said.
“Time’s flying and I’m in a hurry. There’s so much to do with the company.”
“Patience. That’s the only way with Nathan.” May poured a large gin and tonic and offered it to Bonnie. She shook her head. “Nathan can’t last forever and there’s no one else to take over.” She sipped the drink herself. “Finn looks set in newspapers, so he’s no threat.”
“Hope you’re right.”
“Swallow your pride and apologise to Nathan.”
“You sure?” Bonnie asked.
“Trust me. Say you just wanted the best for the company. He’ll like that.”
“Okay”, Bonnie said. “Nathan will always have the upper hand. He is the majority shareholder.”
“He may have the largest shareholding, but he doesn’t hold the majority,” May said. “And don’t look at me in that funny way. That’s all I’m saying for the time being.”
*
“Mike. Having difficulty getting information on your two shrinking workmen,” Finian said. He leaned back in his chair, the telephone wedged between his chin and shoulder and flicked chocolate crumbs from the front of his shirt.
“Norsteadt has agreed to meet me. A story from you would put extra pressure on the company,” Cook said.
“All right. I’ll knock out a piece.”
*
The pouring rain made a misery out of “doorstepping”. Outside a nondescript government office, Finian waited to report on talks about the take-over by a Norwegian consortium of an engineering company that had once been the flagship of all that was best in British engineering but was now a shadow of its former self. The only shelter was a nearby pub. Journalists covering the meeting took turns standing watch, while the others kept dry and passed the evening with pints of bitter.
The meeting broke up at 9.30 p.m. The public relations man hired by the Norwegians said the talks had been adjourned until the morning.
Finian called his editor. “Jan – Finn here. They’re meeting again in the morning. I’ll send you a holding story right now.”
“Don’t bother. Doesn’t sound much. And forget about tomorrow. If there’s anything we’ll take agency.” This wasn’t the first time his paper had lost interest in what he knew was an important story.
“How are you handling my industrial poisoning tale?” he asked.
“Interesting read.”
“That’s all?”
“Well written, like all your stories,” she said. “Got to go. Call on the other line.” The phone went dead in his hand.
It was dark and raining harder than ever. Finian was glad he hadn’t brought his bike. From the side of the government building, a large black Range Rover pulled into the street.
In the rear, reading the evening paper, lounged the same PR man who had briefed them a few minutes before. Finian longed for similar warm comfort.
*
“If things are so bad, why not accept Nathan’s offer?”
Finian looked at his wife and thought he didn’t deserve such an understanding partner.
“It would be a hell of a gamble, Emma.”
“Not really. If it goes wrong you could always go back to the papers.” Finian kissed her gently on the forehead and took refuge in her confidence.
“Still a big step, away from everything I know. Need to think about it some more.”
*
Over breakfast the next day, Finian scanned the Morning Journal. He couldn’t find the story he had written for Mike Cook. Perhaps it had run in an earlier edition, he thought. It looked like the entire paper had been remade after the late-breaking story of a train crash in Northern Italy that killed more than a hundred passengers.
Later, at his desk, he discovered it hadn’t been used in any edition.
Finian caught his editor in the corridor on her way to the morning news conference. “Jan, I can’t find my industrial poisoning story. Are you holding it over for today?”
“Been spiked,” she said. “Nobody’s interested in industrial stories any more. The days when union bully-boys held the country to ransom have long gone.”
Back at his desk Finn opened his wallet and looked at a photograph of his wife. “I hope you’re right,” he said out loud.
The phone was answered immediately. “Nathan.”
“Finn, my boy. What can I do for you?”
“Is your offer still open?”
Five
Nathan sat writing behind his massive desk. Almost every other executive in the company composed straight on to a laptop. Not Nathan: he insisted on working with a pencil and a yellow legal pad.
Bonnie stood at the door to his office watching him scribble away. “Can I have a word, Dad?”
Nathan looked up with a start. He was cautious. “Come in.”
She plonked herself down in a chair. “I’ve been silly.”
“About what?” Nathan asked, being deliberately slow.
“You know. The board meeting.”
“That.”
“I want to apologise. I was only thinking of the company.”
Nathan cocked a quizzical eyebrow at his daughter. “It’s not like you to admit you’re wrong. Did May put you up to this? Sounds like one of her ploys.”
“Can’t you take things at face value?”
“If you don’t mention it again, I won’t.”
Nathan went to the door and handed his secretary two pages torn from his pad. “Wendy, make a draft of this, please.”
“What happens to the company still has to be resolved.”
“It has been. That was a letter appointing Finn to the company.”
“I see.” When Bonnie looked back on the conversation, she would regard her two words as totally inadequate, but at the time she couldn’t think of anything more appropriate. “Do you expect me to compete for your job?”
“No.” Nathan said.
Bonnie felt relieved, but only for a moment.
“When he’s ready, it’ll go to him automatically. I’m going to groom him as chairman.”
That was it. She felt cheated and used; like being hit in the head and stomach at the same time. Without warning, it became impossible for Bonnie to hide her shock, and then the pain she felt. She fought back the tears. After all she’d done.
“I earned that job.” Bonnie tried to stifle her growing fury. “In your eyes, the fact that I’m your daughter and not a son is a disadvantage.” She had difficulty catching her breath.
Nathan looked shocked at Bonnie’s sudden intensity. The rage was genuine. Not one of her periodic and well-rehearsed losses of temper.
“Look, Dad. The danger for any family firm is nepotism. Members of the family have to be better than everybody else. We have no idea whether Finn can do the job.” Bonnie paused, and added, “Why? Have I been such a disappointment to you?”
As she had asked, he would tell her “You always talk about managing people. Don’t you realise? Only things can be managed? People must be led,” Nathan said. “You say “go” – real leaders say “let’s go”.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I had to make a judgment. Would you, as a woman, be prepared to commit a lifetime to your career? I don’t think so.”
“Commitment? Commitment? You question my commitment? Who came to the office every school holiday to stuff press releases in envelopes? Who then traipsed all over London hand-delivering them?”
Bonnie was on her feet.
“Who forgot about finding a husband so she could spend all her time here, learning from you? Who was it, Daddy?”
She leaned across Nathan’s desk and got as close to his face as she could. “Was is darling Finn? Or was it this second-rate woman?” She pointed a finger at her chest and then left.
Time for tears was gone. She looked around her office for something, anything. Bonnie’s eyes stopped at a small white marble bust of the goddess Diana. Nathan had given her the statuette to mark her first year with the company.
She carried it, high over her head. For a moment it was stationary; then down it came. “Damn, damn, damn,” Bonnie screamed as she drove it through the glass table that stood by the wall. “Thanks for nothing, Daddy.”
*
Denny and Ketler were waiting outside his office. The look on their faces told Norsteadt that neither of them brought good news.
“You two had better come in.” He asked his secretary to fetch fresh coffee. “It looks like these two need it. I know I do.”
“The two engineers with the wasting disease.”
“What about them?” Norsteadt asked, warily.
“It’s possible, just possible, that it was the result of the gene therapy trials.”
Norsteadt threw his hands in the air. “That’s all we need.”
Ketler happily watched Denny flounder. “When Culpin mentioned the names, they sounded familiar. The two signed up for the trial just before it was cancelled.
“H
ow in the name of all that’s holy did that happen?”
“The treatment was developed for the obese. My guess is that when it was given to someone naturally slim, it put their metabolism into overdrive. In short, they’re consuming their own flesh.”
“Is that scientifically possible?” Norsteadt asked.
“Anything is possible. No one knows for certain how the body will react. That’s why we do clinical trials.”
Ketler leaned forward, showing an interest for the first time. “Can I say something?”
“If it helps us out of this mess.”
“Only the three of us know about this. From the hospital’s point of view, the men have gone, the trial cancelled and everything forgotten.” Ketler shrugged. “So I suggest we do the same.”
Norsteadt and Denny watched him carefully. “In fact, as the men were last-minute arrivals they didn’t even appear on the official list of healthy volunteers for the trial.”
“How do you know?” Norsteadt asked, greedily.
Ketler pushed some spreadsheets towards him. “I printed these out.”
“Aren’t you concerned about what happened?” Denny asked.
“I don’t let it get to me. If you start to think of such things, there’ll be no progress. Sometimes science has to be remote.”
Norsteadt riffled through the spreadsheets and looked at Ketler in a new light. He always considered him a bright scientist, but totally wrapped up in his work. Now Norsteadt saw hidden depths. “Very good. I’m seeing the guy from the union this afternoon. Now I can give him a brush-off.”
“Shouldn’t we offer some compensation?”
“Why?” Norsteadt asked. “We’re the only people who have any idea what happened.”
“But...”
Norsteadt cut Denny short. “Do you want to lose your reputation and your entire life’s work?”
Denny stayed silent.
“Thought not.”
“Anyone who enters a healthy human trial for a new medication takes some risk,” Ketler said. “Theirs was just greater than expected.”
*
“It could be years before the silly old fool calls it a day,” May said. “He doesn’t recognise what he has under his nose.”
Bad Influence Page 3