When the Siren Calls (39 page)

Andy studied the documents for a long time, but finally signed as Peter silently hovered.

“So tomorrow then,” said Peter cheerfully, “and I will have a definite answer for you in five days. How does that sound?”

Isobel almost ran to keep pace with Peter as they left the airport, desperate to convey her admiration at how well he handled Andy, how he’d reduced a wily businessman to rubble before him.

“It was all so fast, Peter,” she said, full of excitement as they pulled out of the car park. “I don’t think Andy even knew what hit him.”

“Preparation, speed, and surprise. It’s the only way to do it,” said Peter, his professional manner betrayed by the spark of triumph in his eyes.

“Yes, but I mean, you hardly gave him time to think, and he didn’t even realise he was being railroaded into letting the accountants in tomorrow.”

“Oh, I think he did. But as soon as he pushed me on timescales, I knew I had him.”

“Do you think he really believed that you were as keen as you said?”

“That’s what he wants to believe, that I’m his golden goose,” said Peter, with a derisory, almost pitying, laugh.

Isobel raised the corners of her mouth but her stomach started to churn when the implications of his victory became clear. She was now expected to be in the lion’s den the very next day. There could be no hiding away now.

“So the show’s on the road,” said Peter. “Sorry to spring tomorrow on you, but you are ok with going to Capadelli, aren’t you?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” said Isobel quickly, worry rapidly rising up inside her. Peter glanced at her and ignored the question.

“It’s a great opportunity for you to be nosing around.”

Isobel half-nodded before pausing and turning it into a shake, belatedly realising she had no idea what was going on.

“What are the accountants actually going to be doing?”

“It’s going to be a drains up review. The whole lot, so we see what’s in the sewer.”

“But I thought you’d already got most of what you needed?” she asked tentatively, worried she was being sent back for Peter to feed his ego, or perhaps even for his revenge.

“A lot of it, yes, but there will be gaps, intentional gaps. We need access to their computers.”

“But will…will Brooke agree?” She cringed at the loudness of her voice in the confines of the car, too afraid of it being quiet.

“Brooke doesn’t have a say, Skinner is in charge now,” said Peter confidently.

Isobel wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know, he’s still the boss around Capadelli,” she said, turning her face to look at the passing countryside, wanting to avoid his gaze.

“Not for long, if I have my way. And get this; I’m using the outfit Brooke used to work for, BB&T — that will be poetic justice. They are the best in the business, so we get the true financial position. And I’ve also got their legal people involved. Scams are one thing, but if there has been any criminality in the way things have been done, we need to know about it before Brooke has disappeared into his bolt hole.”

“Do you really think it’s that serious, that Brooke is a crook?” Isobel didn’t want to believe it, but Peter’s authority was almost omnipotent.

“I think it’s a possibility, but that would be for others to decide. But it’s a fine line between a scam and a crime, and Brooke will know where that line is, and think he is just the right side of it. Well, maybe he is and maybe he isn’t.”

“But Brooke will want to know what’s going on, if you are bringing people in, he’s going to want to obstruct things, isn’t he?” She didn’t want to press Peter further but fear gripped her judgement in a vice.

“We need to ensure the accountants get to the documents before Brooke gets to the shredder. So that’s why you need to be with the accountants as early as you can.”

“But won’t Jay be there?” she insisted, flinching at her stupidity.

“How the hell would I know?” snapped Peter, as if the name touched a nerve. “But maybe you can think of something to make sure he’s not.”

Isobel tried to keep a poker face. She had no difficulty thinking of something to keep Jay away, but she was determined to avoid it at all costs.

As she stared at Peter, his eyes on the road, it occurred to her that they had been together for over an hour and she hadn’t seen the infernal phone to his ear.

“You haven’t forgotten your mobile, have you, darling?”

Peter reached into his pocket with one hand as he held the wheel with the other.

“It’s been switched off.”

Peter and Isobel had not even reached the car park before Andy called Jay, all but jumping up and down in the lounge to contain his ecstasy.

“I’ve got some good news at last,” he said with delight, not even waiting for Jay to speak.

“The cancer is in remission?” asked Jay.

“If my only problem was cancer, I’d be smiling. You sitting down?”

“I am now,” said Jay, as he hit the golf ball down the 18th fairway at Castelafi Golf course. “What’s the scoop?”

“Peter Roberts has bought your proposal.” He announced the news syllable-by-syllable, eking out his pleasure piece by piece.

“Now you are joking?” Jay’s voice resonated from the earpiece, its shock hanging almost visibly in the air.

“I kid you not. I just came out of meeting with him, he’s eager as a virgin in an Amsterdam whorehouse.” Andy was only driven to crudity when his emotions reached points of extremity. Jay felt almost fond of him as he replied.

“An apt metaphor perhaps.”

“Anyway,” continued Andy, “guess who we have to thank?”

“Err, give me a second to think, the man that wrote the prospectus maybe?”

“Invented it more like,” shot back Andy cheerfully. “No, seems like the lovely Isobel is driving it. She’s fallen in love with the place, you could almost say she, how shall I put this, she can’t get enough of it…” He left the innuendo hanging there, but Jay seemed oblivious to it.

“So you’ve agreed money?”

“We’ve talked money, and he didn’t even flinch when I told him how much the site alone was worth. So, seeing as I’d give the place away if I could, I reckon a deal can be struck.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Andy; deals like this aren’t done in a heartbeat.”

“Which is the other thing I need to tell you about. His bankers are involved. They want to kick over the stones around Capadelli, and they want to start tomorrow. So I need some adult supervision on site, other than the ridiculous Irishman. You need to be there, that ok?” The only emotion in Andy’s voice was derision for Eamon; he could see no reason why Jay wouldn’t drop everything and save them both.

Jay envisaged his plans for tomorrow, they primarily involved Isobel and a blindfold, and he had no plans to change them and babysit accountants.

“I’ll make sure it’s covered off.”

“I don’t have anything to worry about on this, do I, Jay?”

“The books are cleaner than a dentist’s teeth. At least the books they’ll see.”

“Good. I don’t need to tell you how much we need this.”

“Sure, Andy, I get it,” said Jay, hitting the off button as he rooted around for his lost ball in the rough.Forty-four

Peter’s footsteps echoed with a sort of hallowed menace as he paced the marble foyer of BB&T, the company he had enlisted to find out exactly what was happening at Castello di Capadelli. He was due to meet with Toby Brougham, a senior partner, and the rest of his team in mere moments — only a forbidding oak door stood between him and the truth. As his name was called and the door swung open his heart lifted with the prospect of retribution and, as he walked in to see a formidable semi-circle of experts, waiting to deliver their verdicts on the ill-fated venture, he felt all-powerful again.

At the centre sat Toby, crisp and polished in his black suit. He had the appearance of wisdom; he was silver haired, and every feature on his face was outlined by a series of faint wrinkles, extending outwards like ripples on water. A thick-rimmed pair of spectacles rested majestically on his nose and when he looked down to read his notes — intertwining his long fingers in meditative thought — they slid down to the end, giving every impression of condescending severity. A lesser man would have been cowed in his presence but Peter was clad in the iron armour of his business persona and had been in the game long enough to recognise Toby as a softly spoken philosopher beneath a granite shell.

Toby gave Peter a curt nod before he began, his voice ringing out emotionless and authoritative.

“We have completed our initial review of the company, though we must stress that we do not yet know everything, and that further work is needed.”

“Of course,” said Peter; the necessity of further investigation was a phrase he had used with clients a thousand times.

“The financial situation, Mr. Roberts, is critical.” Toby looked down gravely to the figures at his fingertips, his glasses sliding ominously downwards. “The company is, we believe, insolvent. I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news.” He paused to let the message sink in, his studied countenance inviting some form of reaction from Peter, whose face was serious but otherwise blank, a studied mask to hide his satisfaction from the room.

“So, there’s no possibility of them turning the situation around?”

“No possibility at all as we see it,” said Toby, his mouth a straight, thin, and unchangeable line. “They owe twenty million Euros to creditors alone.”

“So they’re in a bit of a fix then?” asked Peter, controlling a twitch of laughter with iron will. Toby narrowed his eyes and looked hard at Peter, focusing his gaze through the lenses like beams of light.

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Roberts. I’m sorry we can’t be more encouraging with this opportunity.”

Peter nodded, his face set in disappointment. “You say that millions are owed to creditors, is there any possibility this is a case of fraud?”

Toby looked to his right and motioned for a young woman with a pinstriped trouser suit and apricot lips to speak. She rose from her seat and adjusted her glasses, her voice loud but pleasant.

“Certainly the case has many of the characteristics of what most people might consider a fraud, but it is a complex area.”

Peter nodded impatiently, hastening her on with an almost imperceptible cough.

“What we do believe,” she continued, “is that Mr. Brooke, unknown to Mr. Skinner, has used the venture to divert funds to his own companies, principally through commissions and expenses.”

“So that is fraud then?”

The smart young woman removed her designer glasses for dramatic effect. “That’s potentially a valid conclusion. But there’s nothing that he’s done that is, strictly speaking, illegal.”

Toby broke in to offer his words of wisdom. “What I can say is that we have seen cases like this before. Often you will hear plausible sounding explanations for what has been done. So then it becomes a matter of who you believe, really.”

Peter nodded, his chin set hard, and stood up to leave. “Toby, your guys have done excellent work, thank you.”

“But we have other matters to discuss,” he said, anxious perhaps to keep the many meters in the room ticking, while also rising to meet Peter’s eyes.

“As I can imagine. But I can read faster than even you guys can talk, so I’ll settle for the report.”

The older man nodded with the faintest semblance of a smile, and the respectful bearing of a man who knows he has met his equal, and led Peter out of the conference room and to his office. It was like walking into open air; the room was situated on a corner and both outer walls were made of glass. The Thames ran beneath, docile and green, straddled by the imposing London Bridge, which sat to the left of the window like office art.

“This is the dossier you asked for, Peter,” said Toby, now opting for the familiar address, as he passed across a sealed red envelope with ‘secret’ marked in black letters across its surface. “I’m afraid it doesn’t make for pleasant reading. I say that with particular regret because, as you know, Mr. Brooke — or Brookes as he was then — qualified with us and worked here in this building. Many people here still remember him, which might tell you something also.”

“So I heard,” said Peter, leaning forwards in interest. The wrinkles around Toby’s mouth contracted in response, scoring deep into his face like scars.

“It is a long story, Peter, and I’d rather not bore you with it.”

“I’m curious. How about the short version?”

Toby leant back in his chair and stared out the window, as if seeking the past in the murky waters below. “Ah,” he sighed, “what might have been. Julian was very gifted and very popular — he had a generosity of spirit that drew people to him. But he was unorthodox in his methods. A maverick you might say. Some of the old guard disliked that; they looked at Julian and saw the future, and felt threatened by it. His maverick methods, you see, brought in a lot of business. He was, as we say, a rainmaker. Someone destined for the top.”

“So they ganged up and got rid of him?”

The lines grew deeper around the old man’s mouth, closing up into terrible blackness. “Not exactly. Julian’s unconventional approach extended to his personal expenses. Maybe we should leave it at that?”