22

Pixie scrutinised her monitors all morning; secretly distracted, edgy; trying to maintain her trained composure. Her nerves flickered and shunted along with the figures across her multiple screens.

The idea of visiting Sep’s daughter proved difficult to achieve. She felt intimidated by the usual hustling atmosphere; as if colleagues knew she was back in touch with Pitt.

Septimus Winchurch himself kept secluded in his office suite for much of the morning, which was not typical. She could picture him in conference with managers and shareholders around the world, picking at the details of the takeover again; or the potential evidence. She saw him in efforts to manage the crisis of Pitt’s shocking reappearance; as well as to calculate consequences and limit damage. Most likely he glimpsed his own potential financial end game and wanted to freeze Clive in his tracks.

Later the boss resumed his active habits and looked apparently buoyant. Sep dashed across the room, conferring with staff around their work stations, gripping reports (harmless ones) as was his alarming custom. Following the successful issue last year, which had protected the firm’s viability, he was freshly enthused by work; the markets were stabilised, liquidity restored. Somehow the year’s ugly confrontations with Pitt, and the nasty side-effects on his private life, hadn’t interfered with a renewed hunger for professional life. He hadn’t lost his appetite for money. The whole point was to make millions in profit, as a pub wishes to sell beer.

Pixie kept a wary eye on him, but it was difficult to find a moment to approach. Wouldn’t any leading questions arouse the boss’ suspicion? What was her motive for visiting Emmy in hospital now, after weeks had passed? It was common knowledge that Pitt had surfaced again, threatening collateral damage. The man’s character had been assassinated, multiple times, yet he came back for more; he was a topic of contempt, ridicule and even fear. Rumours and gossip would start up about her too, Pixie Wright, the head and shoulders girl, even though there was little to go on. Her colleagues would misconstrue the little information they possessed about Pitt and she together, like an unfounded profits warning.

However, it was Sep himself who approached and requested to speak to her confidentially. He came out of his suite and placed himself shiftily at her desk: “Can I ask for a chat with you Miss Wright?” he said. He maintained his paternal smile for everybody, but his eyes dashed around the floor. Sep felt other eyes on him and was concerned about the impression, nothing went unnoticed.

In a shy but peremptory way he gestured her towards his sanctum. Once she’d gathered her bag, a cardigan and even her coat - as if stalling -she followed his portly form and looked about anxiously herself. She told herself not to worry, arguing that it wasn’t such a big deal to be invited to the boss’ office? She had to consult with him regularly, like everybody else, as this was his style.

Once she turned up at his office, past a high security PA, Sep invited her to sit in front of him. The visitors’ couch offered any half recumbent guest impressive, satanic vistas across the city, directly over the boss’ shoulder. This put the visitor at a nervous disadvantage, because at this angle Septimus was in partial darkness and silhouette. Such apparent luxury and generosity disadvantaged rivals. Indeed this position had views right across the square mile below, stretching towards Wren’s monument, that lofty marker to a re-born London. The impression was that the whole area was largely owned by Sir Septimus and his peers or cronies, yet this was as illusory as a British owned chocolate bar.

“Forgive me for calling you away,” he began. “How do the markets look today?” he asked, making small talk. Then a change of tack: “I fear that your sighting of that dreadful Yorkshire man continues to plague my mind. You did, Pixie, didn’t you, inform our detectives about everything you learnt that day. You gave them all the information you have about that arrogant chap, when they interviewed you again?”

Septimus rested his emollient, eager brown eyes on her. This zeal reflected in the glass table top, as his diminutive stature produced a low posture in a plump leather swing chair. There was a pair of half-moon spectacles on a pile of paperwork, but he only wore them to read or study. His glance was equal to hers only because of the seating. He resembled a pampered schoolboy with premature ageing, with a wavy silver quiff; in possession of brilliant and tragic talents.

“I informed the team of everything I know,” she assured him. “I didn’t withhold anything in my knowledge. I was open with them about all available facts. Why should I be secretive? A man like that can mean nothing to me.”

The financier leaned short sharp elbows on the expansive glass top. He thought carefully, then compressed his soft skinned, wrinkled face and smiled paternally at the young woman. “Certainly that’s good sense. There’s no-one who wouldn’t strangle Pitt now, to stop him. He can have few hiding places left, I imagine. Nobody is willing to hide that deviant scoundrel, unless they are entirely ignorant of the whole affair.”

“Why are you continually obsessing about him?” Pixie remarked.

There was an ironical twinkle as he absorbed her idea. “He’s still at large, isn’t he? He remains an unpredictable danger.”

“Didn’t you say that he has nowhere to hide?” She feigned naïve ambiguity.

“We need to draw a line under this affair,” he stated. He couldn’t avoid a readjustment of his seating position, whenever he raised his tongued brogues from the floor. “We’ve been complacent.”

“Then what have you got to be afraid of?” she replied lightly.

“I want to ensure you aren’t omitting something...that you don’t think is important... but which may be... in helping us to locate and eliminate... his potential influence,” Winchurch argued. Wide lips raised into a dry smile, to reveal blocked teeth for a moment. His large clasped hands knocked the table top in punctuation.

“There are no conscious gaps in my account,” Pixie insisted. She kept her knees primly crossed and gazed at him with a sweetly neutral expression. She had perfected this with Madame Briest in Geneva, whenever she had slipped out illegally to meet local friends in the old town; including her forbidden lover.

“You’re not feeling under any form of pressure are you Miss Wright?”

“Nothing but the tension of sitting in my boss’ office,” she replied.

“Hah, indeed.” Sep relaxed his shoulders and laughed reassuringly. “You sometimes have such a charming way of responding,” he said. “But you’ll tell me if you feel any danger from Pitt himself?” he pressed. “We shan’t let him get at you!”

“Not from Pitt. Absolutely not,” she said. “I told your private detectives everything I knew last Friday.”

This alerted the shrewd Winchurch and suspicion rippled over his brow. His head was large for his body with a forehead shaped like an anvil. “Who could have imagined Pitt turning up here again last week? Apparently he may have been sneaking about the City for weeks...or months. Where on earth did he disappear to? After he evaded us? Do you have any ideas?”

“I’ve no idea where he might have been,” Pixie replied.

“Do you imagine the scoundrel was doing consultancy work for a rival of ours?” he considered.

The cunning, penetrating eyes settled on her confidingly again, above that violent ripple of curls; the ears pushing through, quite large and fleshy, but trim as pound signs. His gaze was forced on her by his lack of height; there was just a fat knot of silk tie between his chin and the glass top. Yet he had trained himself to look dominantly upwards, rather than to incline backwards, as could be the world view for many shorter men.

“Did you ever expect to see Pitt again? What a nasty surprise for you.”

“No. I don’t suppose that I did,” she admitted.

“You thought he was already dead?” he pressed, as if shocked.

“I thought that, most likely, you would have him arrested. I expected to see a charge, a court appearance and conviction. If we ever saw him again, it would literally be in prison... a secure unit.”

“Patience, my dear. Are you saying you’d actually visit him in prison?” he replied.

“But if I was convinced by circumstances, then I would have no motive to see Clive again,” she explained. She tried not to be distracted by the outside vistas, which led her eye as far as the Shard.

“Are you certain he didn’t betray any clues? About his current activities? Or concerning his present whereabouts?” Sep toyed with an arm of his spectacles.

“Only that he disappeared along the street,” she said.

“Thanks for the directions, Miss Wright,” he commented. “We first lost him after that atrocity against my family, you understand. Then on Friday he reveals himself, for no apparent reason. He escaped again in the middle of treatment, and then showed right outside this building,” he fumed. “We thought we had him safely under lock and key.”

A ring of curiosity rippled her tone. “Is that so?”

“Our colleagues at ZNT lost him somewhere on Friday evening apparently. Yes indeed. Try to rack your brains, Miss Wright. What could he be up to? Was there something about his appearance? His look? Any single clue may be vital,” Sep told her.

“Clive seemed unaware of taking any risk. He appeared disorientated... or oblivious to past happenings. Literally like an innocent man.”

But Pixie took the new information that ZNT agents were trying to find Clive.

“Miss Wright, fanciful speculations are of little value,” he objected.

Pixie’s eyes narrowed against her will. “Can you dismiss these ideas, after he was beaten to within an inch of his life?”

“What should you care? How do you know?” Sep wondered. “Do you imagine that sanctimonious traitor deserves even an inch of his life?”

Pixie fought to stifle a reaction. “Blows to the head may have affected his judgement, not to mention his behaviour. How can you be sure he was in control of himself?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him to deny everything,” Sep remarked, shuffling. “He is smart enough to offer us some elaborate plot...to justify himself.”

“Even the judge and jury would listen to his side of the story,” Pixie said.

“Pitt destroyed the life of a beautiful young girl in the process. My daughter, I mean... that’s who we are talking about,” he added bitterly. “Emmy had her whole life in front of her. She’s missed all her exams this year. He is guilty of the terrible offence we accuse him of... this outrage against my family. You should know better, if you want to let him get away with it. Not even in his own twisted mind.”

The financier’s cheeks and eyes puffed with rising blood, as he see-sawed on his padded chair.

“That’s hardly likely, you know, given all the evidence against him,” Pixie commented.

“Quite so. He’s had many chances to face up to his own actions. He has to be confronted with the consequences. But you don’t sound as certain as you once did Miss Wright, about the evil nature of this rogue... this pit trash hooligan.”

“Why should I condemn him, if it could affect my own work?” she wondered.

He studied her intently. “Mm, well, Pitt was Lucifer in the ZNT deal. You understand the subversive role he took. Our partners are concerned to stall his wrecking actions. If we’d listened to him, then you and even I would be living under Waterloo Bridge by now. You’d be selling that magazine for the homeless. By that I mean all the junior staff at this firm. You’d be applying to a housing association in south London, wouldn’t you Pixie, for a roof over your head. You’d be turning down the drug dealers on the landings and street corners.”

“That would be most unlikely,” she informed him.

“Do you really imagine so?” he challenged. “Where else do you hope to sustain your present life? Which business is going to pay you as much as this, Miss Wright, never mind your property and shares portfolios? Are you intending to go off and do some secretarial work for the NHS?” he challenged.

“I’m aware of my present conditions...and remunerations,” she assured him. “Do we follow this profession entirely for ourselves, Sir Septimus? Clive was adamant that the City has a crucial role... that the financial system shouldn’t be bankrolled by criminals, oligarchs and former communists,” Pixie stated evenly.

Sep gave a startled and appalled chuckle. “That’s his world view? Then where does the value come from? What does Pitt know about the higher echelon of finance? What right does that self-righteous prig have to sit on judgement of a risk taking industry?” he fumed. “Only the loonies and the losers describe this place as a casino,” he insisted. “Doesn’t stop them drawing on their pension funds, or other investments and stakes,” he retorted.

“Are you asking us to lose any ethics, Sir Septimus?” she replied.

He fixed her sternly through his wiry bristling eyebrows. “What would you expect from the money markets? From the global trading of bonds, currencies and commodities? The markets are the province of saints and do-gooders?” Sep wondered. “When did you lose your mental grip on current market conditions, young lady?” he argued, tossing his spectacles back down.

“Clive thought you had lost the plot, in regard to the ZNT deal. He said you had got into bed with those fund managers. In Clive’s view the firm couldn’t justify being exposed to such huge risks, as they pushed us into illegality,” Pixie reminded him.

“You consider that Pitt wanted to save the world?” he jeered.

“Not exactly the world,” she replied. “But everybody here at the firm, including yourself...and even your family.”

The financier looked away an instant, to enjoy a bitter, sniggering soliloquy. “We help bankroll UK PLC. That isn’t like your grandmother’s tea party, I can assure you. You want to play fair, do you; you want to obey all the rules and regulations? The world has changed, the global economy has shifted. You have to deal with the post-crash world and the creatures it has created. It isn’t a comfortable place, half the time, but we have to manage the change and, let’s be frank, take advantage.”

“But Clive raised serious issues about governance at ZNT... relating to the divestiture at BIP. Clive made a strong case against brokering an unsolicited acquisition. He had evidence of insider trading and fraudulent transactions. Why did you attempt to erase his documentation?” Pixie coolly challenged.

“Do you want to transfer City revenues overseas? Lose competiveness abroad? Consolidate the European markets in Frankfurt? We already have to contend with stupid politicians at home and abroad,” he pointed out. “We’re already locked in an absurd square dance with the Revenue and the Exchequer, without playing social worker to a traitor like Pitt,” he complained. “Didn’t we offer Clive and his family our international relocation package? Extremely generous terms, including tax and immigration support. Was he prepared to take me up on that?”

“For Clive these were principles. We’re literally struggling to keep control of our own economy... to manage UK business and industry, to the interest of its people. That would be his argument, if you asked. Otherwise we may literally lose our political and social freedoms, along the way. Do you want to service these tyrants, Sir Septimus?”

“Tyrants? How are you going to bankroll your liberties? How are you going to maintain our global position? Remain competitive? Retain a first world standard?” the banker argued.

“There surely has to be a sense of due process,” she said.

“Pitt breached the trust I placed in him. He would have destroyed this company, for his brass farthing principles. I should have left him with his father in that dusty building society. My family has been in the City for over three hundred years. I know more about sustaining this company and UK plc. This sex criminal was obsessed with destroying my reputation... and I’m determined to take him down, Pixie, before he sets himself up for another pot shot. What the hell is he doing back on the streets, anyway?” He worked up a melodramatic fury.

“Clive understood the risks you were taking with ZNT. He was literally attempting to give you the information,” she replied. “He had good reasons to suspect the motives of that fund and he was, you know, trying to save your reputation. He wished to warn you about unnecessary risks.”

“How can you be so deluded about this nasty mill boy? This prig, who was motivated by an irrational personal grudge,” Winchurch insisted, easing his tall, stiff shirt collar.

“Clive faced personal dangers...to blow the whistle on the flotation. He took on huge risk. Why should he do that? You’ve gambled all on ZNT. In the short term he was prepared to break rules. You know, to hack your systems, to consolidate in the long term. Clive was desperate to change the culture at this firm,” Pixie argued.

The financier was not buying it. “Why listen to this malevolent rogue? I was fully vindicated when he destroyed the virtue of my daughter,” he said, angrily.

Pixie’s serene expression showed faults, like hairs in face cream. “Did you study his evidence or, you know, take his views seriously...even before that crime?” she wondered.

Sep had a suspicious, stung look. “I didn’t need to study his arguments to understand them. But it is a hypothetical conundrum, isn’t it? The world has shifted and we must shift too! Are you certain Pitt hasn’t been in contact? He hasn’t threatened you?”

“Absolutely not, I can assure you.”

“Perhaps he has persuaded you about his case and, who can say, won back your confidence?” he asked tenaciously. He leaned across and studied her with a penetrating sheen to his ruthless, hound dog eyes.

“It’s hard to keep a cool head, but I am capable of making my own judgements,” Pixie said. She reinforced her detached persona.

“Any idea what he did with that stolen data? He stole very sensitive information from us, don’t you know? He had no authority to look at that. Did you forget that? You’ve nothing to share about our missing files, do you? Didn’t you get any insight from Pitt? Has this memory gone to nothing? Or is everything stored beyond our reach?” Sep persisted. He rolled around a paperweight - consciously or not - which contained the image of his wife as a young woman.

“I have to apologise, because I’m also at a loss,” she told him. “Clive probably takes all your secrets with him,” Pixie argued.

The banker scrutinised her as if scrolling through her HR file. “So he didn’t pass anything over to you, for safe keeping? He didn’t put you under any pressure like that, to aid and abet?”

“I’m not so easily susceptible to pressure,” Pixie assured him.

“Hmm, well, such a man will go to remarkable extremes. You have not been taken in by him like that Miss Wright, have you?” he pressed.

The questioning was disturbingly direct, but her composure was expensively well trained. Her old school in Geneva was down the Strasse from ZNT’s elegant, if discreet headquarters. “I was merely horrified to see him again, and I rushed away from him,” she reported.

The financier’s gaze twinkled. “That’s a completely understandable reaction. The sight of him alone must be terrifying to any woman. He’s a menace to the opposite sex. But it would have been profitable, in retrospect, if you had tried to speak to him...to get some clues about his intentions...his likely movements.”

“It was a natural reaction,” she said. “But I didn’t lose my head.”

“No, good for you... you must have been frightened,” Sep agreed, reconsidering. “I can only think he was taunting us, because Esmeralda’s ordeal was not made public. I refused to offer her to public entertainment in the gutter press. But the faster Pitt runs, the quicker we shall play catch up,” Winchurch predicted. “Our partners already warned me and I have a top investigative firm involved. We have every confidence in their detective work. Pitt doesn’t understand what he’s up against now. We’re going to take him out soon. This has gone far beyond a grudge match,” he suggested.

Sir Septimus took advantage of his springy chair to relieve tension.

This interview terminated, Pixie returned to her desk. It was a struggle to recompose herself or see any point in her work. Then she was conscious of getting nowhere in her desire to help Clive. She found the courage to call through to her boss and say there was something else on her mind. Her boss was also finding it difficult to concentrate on any other matter and suggested she came back.

“How may I help you? What’s concerning you?” Septimus ventured, as she was admitted.

“Excuse me, sir, but I forgot to ask you. What’s Emma’s condition these days?” Pixie enquired. “Can I ask how your daughter is recovering?”

“Slowly,” Sep replied. “Much the same. Why do you ask?”

“Do you mean that she is still traumatised? Not able to speak very well...not willing to mix with others?” Pixie asked.

“She has made some improvement,” he added, struggling for a layman’s account. “Thanks for asking.”

“That’s all right, Sep. I’m concerned about her. I was present that day. I was the most reliable witness.”

“The doctors are doing their best. She isn’t sleeping very well...she still has those bad ideas. I don’t know when she can go to university, or meet with her school friends again.”

“I would like to visit her. Perhaps it would help. I need your permission and we’d have to arrange a suitable time, if you are in favour.”

Pixie was running hot and cold, but she sustained a shiny exterior. The hint of blush on her cheeks looked charming, flattering to her boss, rather than a betraying sign of fear, in recognition of her dissembling tricks.

“You would really like to pay her a call, would you?” Sep’s features lightened.

“It plays on my mind, that I haven’t visited her in hospital yet.”

She felt her breathing constrict, convinced her true interest was transparent.

“That’s a touching thought Pixie. I appreciate your offer. You may be the perfect lady to chat to her. You have always been an example to her.”

“Is she a patient at one of the new BIP hospitals?” she wondered.

“She’s a guest at the Sir Septimus Winchurch ZNT Research Hospital, no less,” he stated proudly.

“Quite a name,” she agreed, playing him.

“As it has been, rather flatteringly, re-named,” he said. His warm eyes glazed with tenderness and he offered a charming smile. “I have to spend our profits on something. I can’t dole out big bonuses every quarter to you guys,” Sep added. “You get rewarded for closing a deal here, not closing the company. One does like to do some good works. My colleagues and I are determined to use our wealth to help the less fortunate in society. My family has always been involved in charity and philanthropic activity. So don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, Miss Wright. I believe we are mending broken lives. You may remember those little infants from Bethnal Green coming to see our offices and learn what we bankers get up to,” he recalled warmly.

“Are there official visiting hours at your hospital?” Pixie pressed.

“Not exactly, as it were, but I’m visiting this afternoon, if you’d care to accompany me,” Sep offered.

“I would like that very much,” Pixie told him, finding a smile.

“You’re really very welcome, young lady,” he told her, delighted, puffing out his broad chest. “This is a private research hospital, of course, so there are not open wards there, as such. But I’m sure you can visit my daughter, and get a little tour of the place. The executives of this company tell me that much of their work is cutting edge.”

“If you don’t need me around the office today,” Pixie replied.

“Don’t worry about that.” Sep found such dedication amusing. “What a blessing you are Pixie. As many of our chaps say, you are the “head and shoulders” girl. What would I do without you? You’re one of the best traders in town. If only our Esmeralda had taken after you from the beginning,” he said, regretfully.

“Is she going to be okay with a visitor?”

“Come and join me this afternoon. Leave work alone for a few hours. We’re comparatively quiet this quarter. We’ve had our big success, so why not enjoy the glow? Perhaps it isn’t too late for my daughter either.”

“If you are sure about that,” Pixie said. She didn’t have another plan, but she did have second thoughts.

“Excellent. That’s all settled then. I’ll have them bring round my car...and I’ll call for you,” he smiled.

Pitt and she had intended to go to the hospital together. But that could be risky and dangerous to pull off. Pixie realised that her improvised ruse to get access had become more likely. Clive was sometimes over confident and too bold, just like his old self.

Clive would never gain access to the hospital himself, she thought. It was much better and safer this way. To a degree she preferred to speak to Emmy alone. The girl was more likely to open up to her, as a sympathetic female. Then she could get closer to the truth and test Clive’s real character.