––––––––
‘No one runs a business like this anymore, Mr Pitt.’
A man from a bank bearing ill news did not need to be faceless and grey, did not need to meet all sorts of perceptions of how a banking executive would look. However, McKendrick Arnold from The Bank, was sitting across the kitchen table from Pitt in his grey suit, with his name the wrong way round and his face the colour of his trousers, sucking the life out of the room, the day, and out of Pitt.
It took a lot to make Pitt disinterested in owning a vineyard; and Arnold had achieved it in less than five minutes.
‘I think we can all accept,’ said Arnold, as if there were more than two of them in the room, ‘that Mr Hardyman was a great finagler of figures. He has been propping your company on stilts built from the most tenuous of accounting practices for too long. That, and he was a friend of my superior at the bank; not something of which I particularly approved. That kind of arrangement is one of the reasons the country now finds itself in its current state.’
McKendrick lifted his eyes from some paperwork and engaged Pitt. Pitt returned the stare, his eyes having shut down.
He could walk away right now, could not cope with talk of money and business and accounts. That was why Hardyman had been there. The brick wall separating Pitt from the business concerns.
‘I take it,’ said Arnold dryly, ‘that you are not friends with anyone at the bank, Mr Pitt?’
Pitt held his gaze but ignored the question. Arnold looked into the dead eyes for as long as he could, then shook his head to break the moment. Pressed on, to get past the undeniable fact that Pitt intimidated him.
‘You owe the bank a lot of money, Mr Pitt, and an examination of your books and the running of your vineyard gives a clear indication that you are going to be unable to reverse this situation without taking further steps to expand the earnings potential of your concern. Now, we both know that this is not possible with regard to wine production. As far as I can tell, the past four summers you have handled the crop and harvest with extreme efficiency and productivity.’
As he talked, he had been looking at the accounts, but with the compliment he broke off to give Pitt some sort of look of positive appraisal. Pitt’s expression of loathing sent Arnold’s eyes back to the dry figures in front of him.
‘The very nature of your success at your core business, coupled with the fact that you are so clearly unable on the back of this to make a going concern of your enterprise, leads us to the conclusion that you require to expand the money-making side of the business in order to survive.’
Another quick glance, a look even more quickly dismissed this time.
‘With this in mind,’ said Arnold, ‘I’ve drawn up a list of suggestions on how you might go about turning the vineyard into a profitable business model.’
‘That didn’t take you very long,’ said Pitt.
‘I’ve had it in hand for some time, Mr Pitt. However, as we’ve already established that Mr Hardyman carried undue influence over the workings of the bank, I need not tell you why I have not previously brought this to your attention. There is also, however, a precipitous opportunity which has presented itself in the last couple of days, involving television, which I have added to the list.’
Pitt did not touch the file. Arnold put his index finger on it and pushed it an inch closer to him. Pitt stared at the finger, as if pouring acid onto it. Arnold left it there for a second, and then quickly withdrew before it got burned.
‘I’ll leave it with you, Mr Pitt.’
Arnold looked at the clock above the door through to the sitting room.
‘It’s Wednesday afternoon, Mr Pitt,’ said Arnold, mundanely, and Pitt wondered if he would further explain what country there were in and who was in government. ‘I’ll need an answer on the way forward by Monday. And I don’t think I need to tell you the effect it will have if you choose to do nothing.’
Arnold leaned forward, gave the report another small push towards Pitt – as if attempting to underline his authority over the matter – placed the remaining papers back in his briefcase and stood up.
*
‘They’re coming tomorrow. Can’t put them off any longer.’
Five minutes, forty-three seconds later. Pitt was in the same position. This time Jenkins was sitting across the table, in the same seat that Arnold had inhabited.
‘How many are coming?’
DEFRA were on to them, having found a time in their diaries to come to investigate the large area of land where birds did not go, and where birds that strayed, ended up dead. Pitt had no experience of them, and did not know whether they would arrive mob-handed to tear the place apart in search of truth, or whether a one man band would arrive to gauge the situation, ask a few questions and make a judgement on the level of resources required.
‘They’re government,’ said Jenkins, mirroring Pitt’s thought, ‘so they probably don’t have enough staff to change the toilet paper. I reckon they’ll send down a couple of guys to check us out, and then, if they think there’s any need, or, more to the point, if they think the press are going to get wind of it and start creating a stink, they’ll come down here with eight hundred men in white suits.’
Jenkins looked ruefully at Pitt and almost managed a smile.
‘In which case,’ said Jenkins, drawing a finger across his throat, ‘we’re fucked.’
Pitt had never uttered a profanity in his life, and did not appreciate his men swearing either. Jenkins nodded an apology as soon as he’d said it.
‘We may be anyway,’ said Pitt, and slowly he pushed the report, which had lain untouched in front of him for over six minutes now, towards Jenkins. ‘Take a look at that, let me know what it says.’
Jenkins started to open it, and then picked up on the feeling that Pitt did not want it touched anywhere near him. So he lifted it and stood up.
‘I’ll, eh... take a look, let you know.’
Pitt nodded, Jenkins pushed his chair back and walked quickly from the room.
Pitt stared at the empty chair. Outside the sun shone brightly and insects hovered in the air. No birds were singing.
*
Later that night, as he sat at dinner with Daisy, silence continued across the table. He could tell that Daisy was edgy and annoyed, had something to say. A few years previously she would probably have felt able to raise whatever was bothering her. However, they had descended into such a miserable state of non-communication, and Pitt’s mood was so black and un-engaging, that she kept it to herself, and they ate in colourless stillness as the sun disappeared behind the trees.
Later, Pitt went to the cellar; Daisy drank gin and tonic and watched television.