19

Mike Cullen didn’t much care for general agency meetings. Assembling every Lombard consultant in one, cavernous chamber might do wonders for the ego, but it played havoc with time-sheets and disrupted the servicing of clients. Which is why he resorted to meetings of this kind only when he considered it absolutely necessary.

Now he looked out across the massed ranks of Lombard consultants gathering in Reception. It was just a few minutes before eight-thirty a.m. on Friday, 31 October. Kate Taylor’s recent revelations had left him with absolutely no alternative. Having considered matters at length, he’d realised that he had to act decisively. The announcement he was about to make was one he’d been considering for some months now. It was the timing of it that he’d decided to bring forward abruptly.

After checking his watch, he held up his hand for silence. He didn’t have long to wait. The intensity of anticipation was almost palpable.

‘Thank you all for making the necessary arrangements to be here,’ he began. ‘I know it hasn’t been easy for some of you. I have an announcement to make which, although brief, is nonetheless critical to all of us who work at Lombard.’

His expression was serious as he glanced across his dark-suited, private army.

‘During the past few days I have had important discussions with Kate Taylor; discussions which continued again last night. During the course of them, we talked through a number of issues which have concerned me for some time, and which affect the future of this agency.’

The silence in reception was electric, all those present hanging on his every word.

‘As many of you are aware,’ he said now, ‘I have always taken the view that PR is a young person’s business. I’ve never seen myself running Lombard ad nauseam. There comes a time when one needs to make room for those who are younger, hungrier, and more able than oneself. However, this process has to be carefully managed, to ensure a strengthening, rather than weakening, in market position. Succession planning is vital. So’, he turned now to where Kate Taylor was standing on a step next to him, ‘I am delighted to announce that Kate Taylor has been appointed Deputy Chief Executive Officer of Lombard with immediate effect.’

One of Kate’s team began the applause, which quickly became a thunderous wave, echoing round the cavernous marble hallway. Kate was as popular with her colleagues as she was respected by the market. The logic of the announcement was self-evident; by installing her as his deputy, Cullen was preparing for the future. As always, he had caught his colleagues by surprise. But few would find fault with the decision.

Joining in the applause, there was only one Lombard consultant who found the announcement utterly bewildering. Chris had come downstairs expecting a very different kind of announcement. Pleased though he was for Kate, he couldn’t help wondering: What about Starwear and Jacob Strauss? What about the evidence that their biggest client was a crook? None of this made any sense.

‘The logistics make it a bit difficult for us all to celebrate the news together,’ Cullen continued once the applause had abated, ‘but during the course of the morning, a case of champagne will be delivered to each one of you to enjoy over the weekend.’

To the applause was added much whooping and cheering.

‘Thank you.’ Cullen signalled he’d finished. ‘That’s all for now.’

Chris struggled through the crowded room towards Kate, but by the time he’d reached the front, she had already left with Cullen and a group of other Lombard directors. Making his way up the stairs to the first floor, he strode past the jangling telephones of the Pit towards where Kate’s secretary was taking a message. Kate had been trying to get hold of him since yesterday evening, her secretary told him, hand over the mouthpiece.

She’d wanted to see him before this morning’s announcement. But she’d be tied up in a management meeting until twelve o’clock, then she had a lunch engagement, after which she was going straight on to a two-thirty at London Wall. She’d be back around five.

Chris booked in to see her, the moment she got back. Then he returned to his office, emotions churning. Mike Cullen’s announcement – together with the promised case of champagne and the fact that it was a Friday – had put everyone in an upbeat mood. On the way out of the Pit, and up in the lift, Chris had to act as pleased as everyone else. But he couldn’t help wondering what in hell was going on. This was all just inexplicable.

He spent the day restlessly going through project work, trying to get started on things but never able to settle down. Tonight he was seeing Judith. He’d been looking forward to it all week. He’d hoped – naively, it now seemed – that when he saw her he’d have found a way out of this, for both of them. When he’d given the Ultra-Sports and Trimnasium accounts to Kate, he hadn’t thought everything through. But he had anticipated some effect, other than Kate getting a promotion. He had imagined that Mike Cullen would do something about Starwear in general, and Elliott North in particular. But how had Mike reacted? What had he said? Right now, there was no way of knowing. Suddenly, it was as though the accumulated stress of the past few weeks descended on his shoulders; he began to feel heavy with weariness.

‘Congratulations!’ he said to Kate, stepping inside her office just after five.

‘Thanks,’ she said, smiling briefly. ‘Coffee?’

He nodded.

She collected up her handbag. ‘Let’s go round the corner. Will you need your coat?’

‘I’ll be fine.’

They made their way downstairs and out of the building. It was another grey afternoon, and above them the clouds were leaden.

‘I’ve been trying to get to see you,’ she began as soon as they were outside.

‘What did Mike say about the accounts?’

‘He was furious.’ She glanced across at his anxious expression. ‘They were the last straw for him. Don’t, for God’s sake, tell anyone, but he’s going to resign Starwear.’

Large drops of rain began spattering on the pavement around them.

‘I thought that’s what this morning was going to be about.’

She shook her head. ‘Not till after the annual results are posted. It’s only a week away. Starwear’s biggest profits ever. He wants to go out on an up.’

She retrieved a compact umbrella from her handbag, which opened out at the press of a button. The rain was pelting down now.

‘A week seems an awfully long time,’ he said, as she raised the umbrella over them both.

They walked briskly and close together, crammed under the small umbrella. He didn’t know what to say next. How could he begin to explain everything that was going on? Then, glancing up at him sharply, she said, ‘Tell me, what do you know about Merlin de Vere?’

He didn’t hide his surprise. ‘Only that it may not all be what it seemed.’ He decided this was no time to be coy. ‘There are some who think he was murdered because he knew too much.’

‘And would those some include Judith Laing?’

There was no need for him to reply. The alarm in his eyes said it all.

‘Elliott North knows the two of you are involved—’ she began to explain.

‘Were involved,’ he protested, ‘ten years ago. At university. I’ve seen her twice in the last year.’

‘Well, he’s convinced otherwise,’ Kate told him.

The rain was hammering down so hard now that she turned into a doorway where they stood under a protective arch.

‘Look,’ she said to him gravely, ‘there’s something you should know. Judith has been doing an investigative job on Starwear. When Nathan was in charge, that wouldn’t have been an issue, but I can’t say the same for Jacob. The guy’s obviously a crook. He’s got a lot to hide. And Elliott North’s job is to make sure it all stays hidden.’

He was following her every word intently.

‘I’ve been doing some asking around about Merlin for myself,’ she continued. ‘It may be that he also got hold of these accounts.’

‘Are you saying North gave the orders?’

‘I’m saying that, seeing how he’s acted over other things, it wouldn’t surprise me.’

It came as no relief to have his suspicions confirmed; no relief to know that he had on his tail the guy who’d arranged for Merlin de Vere to be found, ass-up in a garbage can.

‘That’s not the worst of it, I’m afraid.’ She glanced about them briefly, before looking back up at him. ‘You should also know you’re being watched.’

‘Who by?’ It was the question he’d been desperate to have answered.

‘North has d’Andrea tapping your phone conversations. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s got some private dick tracking you after office hours.’

‘But why?’

‘Because he thinks you’re intimate with Judith Laing. He sees her as a threat.’ Her face was filled with concern. ‘I assume you haven’t given Judith the same information you gave me.’

He shook his head. ‘Didn’t have to,’ his own expression was weary, ‘Judith was the one who told me about Jacob Strauss. I didn’t believe her, so I had it double-checked. You’re right about Merlin de Vere. He’d found out the same stuff.’

‘Jesus!’

For a while they stood, staring out at where the rain pummelled the pavement, before Kate turned to him and said, ‘Chris, please be careful. Until we get shot of the Starwear account you’re in very serious danger.’

They held each other’s eyes for a while until he asked her, ‘What should I do?’

She shook her head. ‘Nothing. Just watch yourself. Don’t do anything to arouse suspicion.’

He couldn’t help reflecting on the irony of her advice; the same advice he’d given Judith; the advice he’d been living by ever since discovering he was being followed.

‘But whatever else you do,’ Kate was grave, ‘don’t have anything to do with Judith Laing.’

He’d carefully planned his route to see Judith. Instead of going home by car, as he nearly always did, he left the building among a group of other Lombard consultants who were making their way to a nearby pub for a Friday evening drink. He reckoned that whoever was trailing him would be expecting to drive. And sure enough, no sooner had the Lombard gang set off along the pavement than he caught sight of a figure in a dark coat emerging from a car parked conveniently close to the Lombard basement exit.

He didn’t follow the gang to the pub; instead, as they passed the nearby Underground station, he darted down the stairs, making his way briskly among the rush-hour crowds, through the barriers, on to the escalator, and along a corridor to the Central Line. It was impossible to tell how far his pursuer was behind him. At that time of night the place was bedlam. Passing a newspaper stall, he thrust some coins in the vendor’s hand and grabbed an Evening Standard. It came in useful once he’d got on to the platform and edged his way right along it, to a strategic spot amongst the crowd.

Shielding himself among a group of large brokers wearing loud ties, he opened the paper and buried himself in its business pages. As he waited for the first train, he kept a sharp eye on movement down the platform. Of course, he didn’t know what the guy looked like. But, moments after taking cover, he spotted a figure bursting through the platform entrance, hurriedly glancing up and down the packed crowds in each direction. In just an instant Chris took in a dark coat and swarthy features, a close crew cut and heavy eyebrows. Behind his newspaper, he had no idea if his pursuer would home in on him, though it was less than twenty seconds before a blast of acrid air heralded the arrival of the next train.

Heading west on the Central Line at rush hour on a Friday meant jostling and shoving your way into a carriage already way past capacity – or quite possibly having to wait for the next train, or the one after that. But waiting wasn’t an option. Chris crammed himself into a doorway so bulging with bodies he was hanging outside the carriage – which was when he caught a glimpse of the other. Same carriage. One door along. Following his every move.

When the doors slid shut, Chris had to cram his way into the train and the pin-striped forest of disgruntled commuters. Pressed to the side of the carriage, neck bent against the door, there was no evading his pursuer just a few yards away. At the next station, when a large exodus of passengers was replaced by a frenetic inward surge, he positioned himself behind a group, so that he was at least out of direct view. This would all be about timing, he knew. Timing and bluff.

When he got to Chancery Lane he moved further into the carriage, all the while following his pursuer out of the corner of his eye. The dark figure was matching his every step, and now moved deeper into the carriage too – which was precisely Chris’s intention. At the next station, Holborn, he made his break, moving stealthily back to the door behind the jostling passengers – just as it was sliding shut. He jammed it open with his elbow, wrestling with all his strength to keep it open just long enough to jump. Then he was out of the carriage and walking down the platform. The train was grinding away, his pursuer trapped on board.

So far, so good. Though it wasn’t over – not by a long shot. Now he made his way to the Piccadilly Line, which would take him to South Kensington, the nearest station to the Oyster Bar. Crushed on to yet another overcrowded platform, he glanced again at the newspaper and this time his attention was suddenly seized by a photograph. Front page. It was of Dale Nesbitt. ‘Police Search for Missing St Stephen’s Boy’, blazed the headline. He quickly read the three-paragraph article. Dale Nesbitt had been reported missing two days before. He’d disappeared during the middle of the day, and when last seen was wearing his school uniform. None of the staff or pupils had any idea where he’d gone and he had no living relatives. Police were appealing to members of the public to come forward if they could help.

The article went on to link Dale’s disappearance with that of another St Stephen’s boy eighteen months earlier. He’d been missing for three weeks before his body was found in the undergrowth near Virginia Water railway station in Surrey. He had died of asphyxiation, and a coroner’s report indicated that sexual assault had taken place.

Chris forgot he was on a packed platform during Friday’s rush hour. For a few minutes he stood there lost in thought, heart pounding and mouth dry. He remembered standing in the deserted porch at St Stephen’s, Dale frozen to the spot, terror on his face and a puddle at his feet. In the distance was the priest with his black robes and white face. Chris could hardly believe he was living with such evil.

He’d chosen the Oyster Bar, in the Bibendum building, because he knew Judith would be arriving by tube, and there was only one street she could use to get there from the Underground. A long, straight road, ideal for observation. By the time she emerged from South Kensington station, just before eight, his plans were set. Concealed in the entrance to a block of flats, he watched as she started out towards Fulham Road. He wasn’t scrutinising her so much as the fellow passengers making their way down the pavement behind her. His actions were less a precaution than a confirmation of what he half suspected. And after a minute or so, when she crossed the road, his fears were confirmed. Ten yards behind her, a dark-suited man crossed the road too, his eyes fixed on her.

Things moved quickly after that. Arriving at the Oyster Bar, Judith glanced about for Chris, before sitting at an empty table. A waitress came to take her order, and asked Judith her name before handing her the note Chris had left. Moments later, Judith emerged from the side entrance of the bar, where a taxi was waiting, door open, with Chris sitting in the back seat.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Just get in. Quickly.’ Then, as she climbed up, ‘I came alone. You didn’t.’

‘What d’you mean?’

The cab had already pulled away and was heading round the corner past the main entrance to the Oyster Bar. Chris seized Judith by the shoulder and pulled her down as he ducked to window level.

‘There’s someone on your tail. I watched him follow you from the tube. Just a couple of moments ago he was standing right there,’ he jerked a thumb in the direction of the Bibendum building.

As they sat up again, he tried to fathom the look in her eyes. He couldn’t avoid seeing that she still doubted his motives.

‘And while we’re on the painful subject, it might be an idea to have your flat swept for bugs. They found twenty-five listening devices in my house.’

She was shaking her head, the edge to her expression only heightened by this latest revelation.

‘Look, Judith …’ he knew he had to win her over, ‘I don’t blame you for being suspicious of me. But, for God’s sake, d’you think I’d be putting myself on the line if I wasn’t serious?’

‘Last time we met—’

‘I know. I didn’t believe a word you said.’ He glanced up at the open window to the driver’s cabin before leaning over to slide it shut. ‘But, like I told you on the phone,’ he lowered his voice, ‘a lot has happened in a very short while. They’ve connected the two of us. They’re convinced we’re working up a story that’ll blast Strauss out of the sky. That’s why they’ve got both of us monitored twenty-four hours a day.’

She was chewing her lip, which he took as a good sign. Maybe he was getting through to her.

‘Plus, after this all started, I checked out the stuff you told me about Strauss. I found it’s true.’

‘What stuff?’

‘Ultra-Sports. Trimnasium.’

‘Oh that!’ She was dismissive. ‘Ancient history.’

‘You mean there’s more?’

Instead of a reply, she just rolled her eyes; a response which suddenly irritated him. ‘I think I have a right to know what’s going on.’

‘I might say the same thing,’ her tone was caustic. ‘I had my flat trashed two weeks ago. Now you tell me the place is crawling with bugs and there’s some creep on my tail.’

They glared at each other across the back seat. Then, after a pause, while she looked out of the window at the shops slipping past them, she turned to him. ‘I’ll do a deal with you,’ she said. ‘You tell me exactly who’s following us. And I tell you why.’

It was only a moment’s thought before he nodded. ‘Shoot.’

Moments later they were climbing out of the cab and walking down a street in the direction of the river. Speaking quickly, Judith told him about her investigations, starting with the discrepancy between the Forbes forecasts and the outputs shown in Starwear’s Annual Reports. How Quantum Change had bombed out when it was first implemented. The rumours of a threatened takeover, with shadowy offshore companies taking up positions. And Jacob Strauss going into hiding until the turnaround, at which point he had emerged to take the credit.

But it was when she started on the child slavery story that he followed her with mounting incredulity. Of course he knew about past rumours, but as she told him about all the first-hand evidence she’d assembled, he realised that Strauss’s American crimes and misdemeanours were paltry by comparison. Child slavery put him in an altogether different league. This was corporate apocalypse.

‘No wonder they’re so paranoid about us,’ he exclaimed in a low whisper, after she’d finished.

‘Just like they were paranoid about Merlin de Vere?’

He looked at her seriously. ‘Why haven’t you run the story?’

‘I plan to. Early next week. The piece that’s missing is where you come in.’

He raised his eyebrows.

‘You know what happened to William van Aardt and Merlin de Vere—’

‘The past few days I haven’t been able to think of much else.’

‘Then who are these people? Who trashed my flat? Who’s on our tails? Who’s Jacob Strauss’s minder?’

They walked on a few paces, curving round a bend in the street which narrowed to a one-way lane leading to mews entrances. It wasn’t so well lit, and there was nobody else walking the cobbled pavements. In a low voice he said to her, ‘Have you ever heard of a guy called Elliott North?’

Her expression was blank. ‘Mr Fixit?’

Chris nodded. ‘Jacob Strauss’s minder.’ He told her how North had been recruited by Strauss in New York, when he was Managing Director of International Division. He went on to detail the tensions that had accompanied his arrival at Lombard – North’s controlling behaviour, his sitting in on journalist briefings, his attempt to bribe Jim Ritchie. Then there was his use of Bruno d’Andrea for monitoring and Solly Kuczynski whose activities, Chris was certain, went way beyond digging up dirt on the personal lives of Starwear competitors.

It was the first time Chris had told anyone about this. Next to him, Judith was following him intently, his revelations making sense, for the first time, of why it was that Merlin had been such a key player – why she had had her flat searched. Jacob Strauss’s minder knew, better than anyone, about the power of the media. He understood exactly how the system worked and how to exploit it. His choice of targets; his timing; it all added up now. Of course he had to be in public relations.

After Chris had finished, they walked on awhile in the semi-darkness, the sound of traffic receding with each minute. Then she asked him, ‘So. What next?’

He glanced over at her. ‘Obviously, you have to get the story out.’ Then, shaking his head, ‘It’ll be the most sensational corporate scam in years. If I were you, I’d file it and high-tail out of town.’

‘That seems all very easy.’

‘What does?’

‘Giving the story to Carter, going to Wales for the week, and when I get back it’s hey, ho, back to normal.’

He flashed her a look of irritation. ‘Do you have a better idea?’

She shrugged, ‘Anyway, what are you going to do?’

It was a question he never got to answer because, in that same moment, they both became aware of footsteps in the distance behind them – careful, self-conscious footsteps that made them both suspicious. Judith glanced over at him with a look of recrimination.

‘Do we run?’ she whispered urgently.

‘Too late. If it’s anyone, we’ve already been seen. I reckon we turn around. That way we’ll know.’

‘But—’

He was already turning. She had no choice but to follow suit. Then they were looking back up the dim-lit corridor to where, ahead of them, a figure had paused, motionless in the shadows. As they made their way towards him, he seemed frozen for a few seconds, before turning suddenly fugitive, racing up the cobbled pavement towards the distant lights of Fulham Road.

When Judith turned to face Chris, her eyes were filled with anger.