‘I think it’s a brilliant idea,’ I told her. I turned to face her and said, ‘Catherine, it’s too late.’
She stared at me in surprise and then asked, ‘What do you mean, it’s too late?’
‘I mean that I’m going to buy all the wine.’
Now Catherine was looking at me in absolute astonishment. I told her about the compact I had formed with Francis, in as few words as possible. It still took quite a while.
‘You can’t really mean it,’ she said at last. ‘You’re going to sell your company and give up your career, just in order to save Francis from dying a wretched man?’
‘That’s what I’ve said I’ll do. You think I’m mad, don’t you?’
‘I think that would be about the best thing I ever heard anyone ever do. Are you actually going to go through with it?’
‘Francis is having a new will drawn up, to leave everything to me on various conditions which I have agreed with him. One of them is paying off the mortgage. He’s probably changed the will by now. And I’m going to have to get my skates on and sell my company, otherwise I won’t have the money to do it all.’
‘But what will you live on?’
‘Oh, I’ll probably have to go on working for whoever buys my company, at least for a while. Anyway, I’m hoping that my share of the proceeds will be worth quite a lot more than even Caerlyon will cost me.’
Catherine went and sat down on a sofa, and cupped her wine glass between her hands. She stared into the fire for a moment, thinking.
‘You’re going to live in Caerlyon and look after Francis’s wine: it’s better than a fairy story.’
I said nothing. Sometimes, when I thought about what I had committed myself to doing, I broke into a cold sweat. This was one of those moments. What on earth was I doing? Then something happened to change that. Catherine put her glass down, stood up, and walked across to where I stood beside the window, looking at the snow.
‘Wilberforce, I think that is the most wonderful story I have ever heard,’ and she put her arms around me and kissed me. The odd thing was, I don’t think either of us expected what happened next. I don’t think she intended anything more than a sign of affection, a sign of gratitude for what I was proposing to do for someone she had known and loved since childhood. But then we were in a tight embrace, and I was returning her kiss, before either of us had any idea of what was happening.
If we had not both heard the noise of a car coming along the drive, I don’t know that we could have stopped. We broke apart and Catherine looked out of the window. She was trembling, holding her arms and hugging herself, as if to wake herself up.
‘Oh God, Wilberforce, I didn’t mean to do that,’ she said; ‘I don’t know what happened.’
‘Catherine . . .’ I began. I’m not sure what I would have said, but she interrupted me anyway.
‘It’s Ed,’ she said, in a different tone of voice.
We went into the hall to meet Ed, who parked his car, bounded up the steps and let himself in.
‘Hello, darling,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d come over and make sure you were all right, in all this dreadful weather. It’s really beginning to snow hard.’ Then he saw me standing just outside the drawing-room door and said in a surprised voice, ‘Wilberforce! I thought you were a working man. What on earth are you doing here?’ He did not sound particularly pleased to see me.
‘We’ve been talking about Francis,’ Catherine told him. ‘I had an idea and I wanted Wilberforce to come out and listen to it. But he’s had a much, much better idea.’ She turned to me and said, ‘I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but you have to tell Ed.’
So then I had to tell Ed the whole story all over again. Ed listened intently, once exclaiming in surprise when I told him my decision. He wasn’t just intent on me. Once I saw him look at Catherine, as she sat there, rapt, watching me tell the tale of my folly over again. Then he looked back to me.
When I had finished he said, ‘You must be completely mad, Wilberforce. Certifiable.’
‘Oh, don’t say that,’ said Catherine. ‘I think Wilberforce is being absolutely wonderful.’
‘I rather agree with you, Ed,’ I said.
‘But it is an amazing thing to do. You’re a dark horse, Wilberforce,’ said Ed. We talked about it all for a few minutes longer and then, looking at my watch, I said, ‘I need to get back. We’ll see each other soon.’ I didn’t know whether I was speaking to both of them, or just Catherine, as I said this.
‘The roads aren’t too bad,’ said Ed, ‘but take it easy.’
As I drove away, the tyres crunching on the newly fallen snow, I saw a daffodil had come out beside the drive and was poking through the snow. It was winter now, but spring could not be far away after all. I wondered what the year would bring, whether it would all really happen or whether I would come to my senses and tell Francis I had to forget the whole absurd idea.
I wondered what had just happened between Catherine and me. Then I wondered what would happen next.
Three
I did not see Andy the afternoon I returned from Catherine’s house. Instead, I drove straight home. It took me a long time to drive back through the snow, but by the time I got back to the city what little had fallen there had turned to slush. When I arrived back in my flat, I made myself a mug of tea, sat on the sofa in the living room and replayed the scene that had just taken place between Catherine and me, about twenty times. I still did not understand what had happened. Of course, Catherine was Ed’s girlfriend, she had always been Ed’s girlfriend, and soon they would be married. What had happened had been one of those odd, embarrassing accidents: you set out to plant a kiss on a girl’s cheek, she moves her head and by chance you have touched her lips.
Then I imagined how I would feel if I heard they were going to be married. It was not a good feeling.
After an hour of this I thought I might go mad if I didn’t do something. I had a computer at home from which I could access the server at the office. I thought I might log on, check my emails and do some work. On the way to my computer I opened the drawer of my desk and decided to pull out the letter from the investment bank in London who had written asking whether I would be prepared to discuss selling the business. I had often received letters of this sort, but something about this one made me feel it was quite serious, not just a fishing expedition. I found it, and read it again. The writer was someone called Bob Fulford. Then I sat down at my desk, picked up the phone and dialled the number.
‘Andromeda Investments,’ said a girl’s voice.
‘Bob Fulford, please,’ I said.
‘Who’s calling, please?’
‘My name’s Wilberforce - from Wilberforce Software.’
After a pause, I was put through.
‘Mr Wilberforce?’ said a pleasant voice.
‘You wrote to me that you knew someone who might be interested in buying my company?’ I asked him.
‘Yes. I remember. I was going to give you a call to follow that up, if you hadn’t got in touch. I have a client who is a great admirer of what you’ve done with your business.’
‘I’d be willing to meet him, but not up here.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it. There’s nothing lost by having a conversation, is there? You just tell us what suits you, and we’ll make an arrangement.’
A few minutes later, when I put the phone down, I had agreed to go to London to meet the representatives of Bayleaf Corp, a huge US company based in Houston. As soon as Bob Fulford told me the name, I recognised it, and I knew why they would be keen to buy us. We would be more of a snack than a main course for them, but still, I could understand why they might have an appetite.
The next morning, as soon as I arrived at the office, Andy came in. He looked ill at ease. He handed me a mug of coffee and sat on the corner of my desk. He made as if to pat me on the head. ‘There’s a good boy, now,’ he said. ‘Go and sit in your basket.’
‘What is it, Andy?’
‘While you were out yesterday - oh, by the way, I made a sale to the Miller people - I decided to take some action.’
‘Well done, Andy. What action?’
He wasn’t looking me in the face for once. He stared at the picture of Bill Gates that I kept on the wall, and then said, ‘I called Christopher Templeton last night. I’ve arranged a meeting in London tomorrow to discuss floating the business on the stock market. Will you come?’
‘No, I won’t come,’ I said. ‘It’s your project. You do it.’
‘But you’ve no objection to me going, and spending a few thousand pounds on fees if we need to, just to map out a plan?’
‘None at all. Only don’t expect me to be wild with enthusiasm about it. Go and see Christopher, and then come and tell me what it will all cost and what we get for our money, and I promise I’ll think about it.’
‘Wilberforce,’ said Andy, standing up, ‘I don’t think your heart’s in this business any more - not the way it used to be. That worries me. I get a good salary here, but that’s all.’
‘You have twenty per cent of the equity,’ I reminded him.
‘No I haven’t. Not right now. The way it’s set up, I have options over twenty per cent of the equity if you decide to sell the business, or we decide to float it. Then I can cash in, not before. And I’ve got to a stage in my life, and you and I have got to a point with this business, where I know it’s now or never. I’m prepared to put in another ten years of hard graft to build this business up into a really big company. But the way forward is acquisitions, using our shares to buy businesses. That’s what I want your agreement for.’
I thought about my own telephone call, and my own planned meeting with the London investment bank and its American client. I wondered whether I shouldn’t tell Andy about it. I decided I would not, until I was certain there was something in it. Even as I made that decision, I thought: That’s the first time I’ve kept something back from Andy.
Andy looked at me sharply. ‘Is there something on your mind?’
‘Nothing special,’ I told him.
‘And you’re not pissed off with me for taking unilateral action?’
‘I’ve said I’ve no objection. If you think it’s the right thing to do, go and do it. You’re the finance man. Just don’t sign on the dotted line without talking to me again.’
Andy shook his head. ‘I’d never do that,’ he said. ‘I know I have my faults, but stitching up one of my friends isn’t one of them.’
The next day Andy went down to London. I went to the office, and sat at my computer all morning, but I didn’t get much done. I spent the whole time thinking about the promise I had made to Francis. Had I gone mad? Had he hypnotised me? I couldn’t believe what I’d done. How on earth was I going to get out of it? And if I did manage to get out of my promise - and, of course, I had to get out of it - what would Ed and Catherine think of me? What, in particular, would Catherine think of me?
I decided I would go up to Caerlyon early that evening and see Francis. With luck, he would be on his own. I would just have to look him in the eye and lie to him. I would make up some story about why the company couldn’t be sold - something about bankers, or contracts. He would never know any different. Francis’s knowledge of business was slender. He would listen, he would try not to show his dejection, but I felt sure he would acknowledge to himself that there never really had been any chance that I would be able to fall in with his ideas.
As I sat at my desk, my phone rang. I picked up, knowing who it would be even before I answered it.
‘Are you busy?’ asked Catherine.
‘I’m never busy,’ I told her.
‘I must see you. We need to talk.’
‘Fine. When did you have in mind?’
There was a pause and then she said, with a sheepish note in her voice, ‘I’m downstairs, parked outside your office.’
I told her to wait, pulled on my jacket, called across the office to my secretary Mary that I had to go out for a couple of hours, and ran down the stairs.
As soon as I came out of the entrance to the office, Catherine gestured to me to climb into her car. The moment I was inside we shot away from the kerb and swerved into the traffic. Catherine drove fast, but well.
I asked, ‘Where are we going?’
‘There’s a place I go sometimes. It’s by the seaside, at the mouth of the Tyne. My parents used to take me to lunch near there when I was little, and then make me walk on the beach with my nanny for half an hour. They thought the sea air might do me good.’
‘I’m sure they were right.’
Little more was said while we were in the car. It was not until we had parked and walked down the front street of Tynemouth, and on to the grassy bank that looks down over the ruined priory and the giant breakwaters that protect the estuary from the bitter surf of the North Sea, that Catherine finally spoke.
‘I’m sorry about what happened the other day.’ She had stopped, and had turned about to face me. Behind her the river was like a sheet of glass. There was not a breath of wind. A thin mist was rising from the water, shrouding the wharves and the cranes upriver, turning them into vague shapes of uncertain meaning.
‘What did happen?’
‘We - don’t embarrass me. You know what happened. I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a moment when I forgot myself. You were being so kind and good about Francis. I couldn’t help it.’
I thought about my own resolve to tell Francis that very evening that I would have to go back on my promise, and said nothing for a moment.
Catherine started to speak again. For some reason she appeared to be on the verge of tears. Her face looked white and strained. The confident, amusing person I thought I knew she was had disappeared for the time being. ‘The thing is, Wilberforce . . . The thing is, I’m going to marry Ed. I’ve always known that. He’s always known that. My parents dote on Ed. All my friends think I should marry Ed. My mother longs for the day when her daughter will be Ed’s wife, with a title and an estate.’