When the Siren Calls (11 page)

Sophia’s eyes pierced her like arrows, and her mouth curled in cynical mirth. “Such properties rarely come on the market; families hand them down through the generations.” Isobel nodded in silence at the dismissive reply and they walked in black silence to the car park. “I hope today has been some value,” said Sophia offering an extended hand before continuing, “it was a pity about the weather.” She gave a limp shake of Isobel’s hand, closed her umbrella, and lowered herself into the car. “I think maybe you have a problem with the tyre,” she said with a barely concealed smile. And, without waiting for a reply or a request for assistance, she let out the clutch and pulled away, leaving Peter and Isobel to stare at the flat wheel, their tired and angry faces reflected in the endless purple puddles that licked their feet like flames.Twelve

Jay switched on his phone as the plane descended, ignoring Lucy’s scowl of disapproval. He found a text and email from Greg Johnson to say that he had been called in to a late meeting with TMI. He cursed the company for yet further dithering, but could do nothing but wait.

Eamon greeted Jay as he invariably did, with a smile and, “Hi, boss.” Eamon rarely referred to Jay by name, preferring comedy to protocol. “Everything go ok on the flight? No problem with Andy?”

“I handled it,” said Jay, not sure that he had.

“It seems there’s no rest for the wicked, even up there in the skies close to the man himself. And no safe haven for the innocent either,” said Eamon, referring to Andy, and dropping into his thickest Dublin accent. “You are surely like the Devil himself; you are there forever behind every man’s shoulder and his Holiness the Pope himself could not resist your temptations.”

“You had better get me his number then, because we need every sale we can get. At least if things are half as bad as you are telling me.”

Eamon relieved Jay of his carry-on trolley case, like the obedient servant he was, before Jay continued. “There’s a change of plan. I need you to run me to the Tulip, something’s come up and I have meetings arranged there this evening.”

“But what about the team in Capadelli? They are all expecting you. And Gina has arranged a bit of a welcome party, for the messiah’s return.”

“And look what happened to him,” said Jay. “Let’s leave the partying till the work is done.”

As they approached the revolving doors of the Tulip hotel, Jay’s phone rang and Greg’s name appeared on the screen. “You go ahead and get us some drinks, I just need to get this,” said Jay, his heart pounding. Greg was Jay’s deal controller on the TMI bid. From Greg’s tone, instinct born from experience told him it was not the news he wanted.

“The steering committee has made the decision,” said Greg without drama, “and they good as told me the deal is ours.”

“But,” said Jay, half knowing what was coming.

“It has to be signed off in New York, by Rick Epstein himself. Until then, no white smoke. So we just need to stay calm and wait. No need to worry though, Epstein is just going to rubber stamp it.”

Jay was not a man to leave his fate to chance. He’d been on the wrong end of mercurial decision-making before. He paced around the car park thinking, his phone pressed to his ear. Finally he spoke. “I can’t take that risk; we need to get to Epstein.”

“I wish,” said Greg. “Ask me to get in to see Elvis; that might be easier. And we don’t want to piss off the local procurement guys.”

“Fuck the procurement guys, the decision is now out of their hands,” said Jay, unable to contain his frustration.

“Cool it,” said Greg, “we need to keep calm bodies and clear heads. The deal is ours.”

Jay didn’t want to end the conversation on a disagreement. “Sorry, Greg, you’re right. How about you take the guys for a few beers, they’re on me. Leave me to worry about Epstein.”

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and made his way to where Eamon was sitting with the drinks. As he took his seat, a familiar figure walked through the revolving doors. Deep in animated conversation with a fellow flight attendant, Lucy strode across the lobby amidst the rest of the Anglo Airways flight crew. She passed him with only a cursory glance in his direction, the ring around his finger commanding discretion.

“Everything ok, boss?” asked Eamon, furrowing his own brow in empathy. The look of unease on Jay’s face was a combination of his frustration with TMI and his still simmering anger with Lucy for putting him where he was. He watched her derriere disappear into the lift, cursing himself for his own weakness.

Eamon slapped his case full of papers down on the table with vigour, fully prepared to brief Jay on progress at Castello di Capadelli during his three-month absence. “Mind if I get a refill?” said Eamon, not waiting for an answer as Jay rifled through the papers.

“Start with the good news,” said Jay as he slid the pile back over the table in exchange for a drink, holding back just one sheet of paper.

“That won’t take long to go through, boss,” replied Eamon with a further creasing of his brow. “Membership sales have been going gangbusters since you left, no connection, of course,” he added with a self-satisfied chuckle. “I’ve now sold more memberships than we have room for.”

Jay cut his mirth short as his eyebrows shot up into his hairline.

“Hold on, Eamon. We only have three hundred memberships to sell, no more and no less, even the Italians know that much.”

“Technically, yes,” Eamon replied, drawing out the vowels into a wheedling drawl, “but the punters want to stay in the apartments, not the Villa, so it’s no problem going over the limit.”

Jay sunk his head into his hands. “But it’s not just a question of space, Eamon!” he exclaimed. “It’s a question of legality. We have a Trust, lawyers involved and so on…” Jay’s words trailed away. He knew he could not expect a chancer like Eamon to get his mind around the complexity which he had deliberately created so that only he could connect all the moving parts.

“Sorry, boss, but I thought maintaining cash flow was the priority, even if it means breaking a rule or two? We do whatever it takes to get the job done, isn’t that what you told me?”

Jay looked around and hushed him with his hand.

“Things have changed. We still need to get the job done, but we also need to remember who pays the bills, and what they want.” His voice was low and pointed, his eyes silently asking for discretion.

“You mean Andy?” asked Eamon leaning forwards. “When did we start worrying about how he wants things done?”

“Andy is a church-goer; he has his principles. Up until now he has been a passive investor, so we haven’t needed to worry about how he wants things done,” Jay replied, “but now he wants to get involved in day— ”

“But we are selling timeshares here, boss, not lessons in Bible reading,” interrupted Eamon in an uncharacteristic display of authority. “If my hands are tied behind my back, then the selling is going to suffer. Now how does that help Andy?”

Jay feared that having his hands tied behind his back was what Andy might soon be worrying about; he rubbed his brow in thought while Eamon continued with his black reality. “We can’t undo what’s been done, boss, and a sheep and a lamb come to mind. So do I keep selling memberships or not?”

Jay nodded, his forehead crumpling into wrinkles as he weighed up the future in his mind. “Keep selling. I’ll make sure we are covered.” By which Jay meant he would make sure at the board meeting that it was not only his fingerprints on the gun Eamon was firing in all directions. “Anything else I need to know?” he inquired, making a show of looking at his watch.

“Just that trouble with the owners is definitely coming, there’s rebellion in the air.”

Jay took a long, calm draught of his gin as he took his time to think.

“Well, that’s nothing new. Leave me to work out how we fix that. I’ve already got a few ideas. For the time being, keep feeding them a diet of good news. Negativity doesn’t help us, and if those poor sods only realised it, it doesn’t help them either.”

“With respect, boss, it’s not you who’s been ducking and diving these last months, dodging the flak. We can’t string ‘em along much longer. The Barkers are on the warpath, they’re trying to organise the owners into some sort of action group.”

Jay let out a derisive laugh. “You are kidding me, aren’t you? Geoff Barker would be out of his depth in a car park puddle, and his wife’s organisational skills don’t stretch beyond running the tombola at her church fete. Anything else?”

“I spoke to Davide yesterday and he said he needs another cash injection.”

Jay blew out through his lips, an image of Andy’s face with smoke coming out the ears in his mind’s eye. “How much of an injection?”

“Two hundred grand...and this month.”

Jay kept the look of a man being told the time of day. “No problem, Eamon, that’s already sorted.” He could see the look of incredulity on Eamon’s face.

“But I thought—”

This time Jay cut him short. “I’ve told you before, Einstein, your job is selling, not thinking. Now how about another refill, and give me five minutes to look at Davide’s figures.” Eamon got up from the chair, his face far from sharing the confidence of his master.

Jay ran his expert eye down the columns of numbers. Cash injection or not, it was hard refuting the figures; anything he did now would only lessen the speed of his demise. Eamon dallied at the bar before returning, expecting to find Jay chastened by the merciless clarity of Davide’s spreadsheet.

“Well, given all the doom and gloom this is a much better picture than I expected,” he said to the returning Eamon. “The important thing now is that we look forward, not back. We just need to stay confident, stay focused, and do our job well over the next few days. Apartment sales could just be the silver bullet that saves all our hides, if you and the boys work your magic that is.” He pushed a sheet across the table. “Get a couple of the guys to hit the phones in the morning. Call everyone on this list that has put down a deposit, and offer them a discount if they complete before the end of the month. Ok?”

“Offer a discount to punters already committed?” Again, incredulity was woven in every word.

“There you go again, doing the thinking. We need every penny we can get this month,” said Jay, finally sharing the plight they were both in, “or there won’t be a next month.”

He glanced at his watch; Lucy was now half an hour late and he did not want Eamon around when she arrived.

“Leave the papers and I will go through them this evening. You’ve done good work here, Eamon. Any problems we’ve got are in spite of your efforts, not because of them.” As Jay rose, signalling the meeting was over, Eamon remained seated.

“It’s great to be appreciated, boss. It surely is,” he said. “But as you’ve raised the subject of miracles, can I expect to see my last six months’ commission this week, or will it be next? Last time we met I think you said I’d have it this month for sure.”

“I expect to have some good news on that, but I can’t say more till after the board meeting.”

But this answer did not seem to satisfy Eamon. “That’s fine by me, but I’m not the only one waiting on commission. I think you might get a lot of problems if the best I can tell the lads is that the cheque is in the post.”

Jay bridled at the implied threat in Eamon’s message, but did not show it. His sidekick had picked his moment well.

“Eamon, my good man, I’ve always seen you right, and that’s not about to change.” He pulled a wad of notes in a money clip from his pocket and peeled off ten fifty-pound notes. “Sterling be ok? I’m short on Euros.”

Eamon nodded and tucked the notes into his pocket.

“That’s just between you and me, a personal thank you. It won’t be coming off your commission. You have a good time tonight with the boys, and let’s see you bright eyed tomorrow morning and fired up to get these sales over the line.”

“You can rely on me, boss. If it can be done, it will be done,” he said, signalling the no holds barred philosophy with which he went about his work. Jay nodded the nod of a man who chose to look the other way at the sight of blood. Eamon gathered up the papers, sank the last of his gin, and all but skipped off, as if the money had miraculously unburdened him.

Jay looked at his watch for the umpteenth time. Still no sign of Lucy. “What in fuck’s name is she up to now,” he whispered as he flipped open the laptop to compose an email to Greg.Thirteen

While Jay sat plotting with Eamon, three floors above him Lucy was similarly occupied. She sat cross-legged on a hotel bed looking up in admiration at the tall, hard-faced woman with the loud voice striding up and down the room. Tessa was a fellow flight attendant and newly appointed best friend; a battle-axe of a woman whose assertive views on the art of seduction had been absorbing Lucy’s attention for the last five minutes. Even Jay’s presence in the hotel bar was pushed to the back of her mind as Tessa praised her execution of their plan on the plane that afternoon and her subsequent reinvention as a woman in charge. Tessa expounded her views on this latter point with vigour, justifying every statement with a simple motto: “Men are bastards,” a conviction that tainted every observation and each piece of advice.

“All they are interested in is getting into your knickers,” she explained. “And your Jay looks to me the worst type of bastard. A smooth talking son of a bitch who uses money and good looks to turn an innocent girl’s head.” Her voice grew more ferocious as she fell headlong into her element, made huge and terrifying by her cynical derision. “Stringing you along, keeping your hopes up that he’ll leave that skinny American wife of his, just so he can get what he can’t get at home, and without even paying for it.” She surfaced for breath then thundered on, worsening everything with an acutely graphic imagination. “How many other Lucys has he got out there? For all you know he’s living the life of a fucking Pharaoh, shagging some olive-skinned tart right now in the next room.”