Deadly Business (25 page)

I turned the telly off as the end credits ran. ‘You want first shot in the bathroom?’ Liam asked.

‘No,’ I replied. ‘You go ahead. I’ve got one thing left to do.’

I’d put my phone to sleep during dinner, so I wakened it and checked to see if I’d missed any calls or texts. I hadn’t so I used it to call the landline number in St Martí, and punched in a code to interrogate my voicemail there.

I had two messages. The first was from Miles, my brother-in-law.

‘Hi, Primavera,’ he began. There’s virtually no Australian left in his accent; today it’s nearly all Californian. ‘I just had a call from your father, telling me about Susie. That’ll be bad news for Tom even more than for you, but I guess you parted on good terms, since David said she’s made you chairman of her company. If there’s any help I can give you, or any advice on your new role, you just have to pick up the phone. Say hi to our nephew, from us and his cousin.’ I thought he was done, but he carried on. ‘By the way, I spoke to an old acquaintance of yours a while back, Liam Matthews. He’s at a bit of a crossroads in his life. His partner left him for somebody else a while back, and he’s been on a bit of a downer ever since. He told me he was going travelling, and it struck me that you two might be good for each other, so, I hope you don’t mind, I took a big chance and suggested he looked you up. Don’t be surprised if he does.’

Miles’s offer made me feel good, although I’d always been confident that he’d be there for me if needed. So did the second part of his message.

The other call was much more disturbing. It was from Oz’s father, Grandpa Mac, and he was far from cool and composed.

‘Primavera,’ he barked. ‘I’ve just heard about Susie. I didn’t even know she was ill. You think somebody would have told me since she’s the mother of two of my grandchildren. But maybe not, since she and I were never the best of friends after the way she split you and Oz up. Anyway, what’s this about her having married again? Did you know about it? And how does it affect Janet and wee Jonathan? I’ve called Monaco, of course. I spoke to Janet … Hardly recognised her. God, she’s grown up … and I asked to speak to this man Culshaw, but Audrey said he wouldn’t take my call. Then I remembered the guy. He came to see me last year, to interview me for a book he claimed to be writing based on Oz’s life. I didn’t take to him, so I didn’t tell him much. I’ve heard neither hide nor hair of him since, or of the book, and now he shows up married to Susie and claiming to be my grandchildren’s guardian! What the fuck’s going on, Primavera? Call me as soon as you get this, please.’

Mac is normally a placid guy, as laid-back as Oz was until Jan died and everything started to change. But when he goes off on one, he goes, and you see the side of him that Ellie’s inherited. I’d decided that it was too late to phone him back and that I’d do it in the morning, when I realised that my suite-mate was standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the jamb, barefoot and shirtless but still in his jeans.

‘Everything okay?’ he asked.

‘Just hold that pose,’ I ordered.

I took a photograph with my phone and sent it straight to Miles, with a message that read, ‘At a crossroads, did U say? Gone travelling? We’ll see about that.’

And then I took him to bed, and gave him good cause to stay put for a while.

I’d hoped to sleep until seven thirty, giving me time to be completely ready for the meeting but my sister knocked that on the head by calling my mobile at six forty-five. My ringtone is Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Born to Run’. But I’m usually awake when it goes off.

I woke and sat bolt upright within a couple of seconds, and for a few more I was very disorientated. Christ, there was a man lying beside me and we were both naked! Then everything fell into place, and I snatched the phone from the bedside table much too late to prevent Liam from stirring.

I swiped the screen to take the call, rolling out of bed as I did so. ‘Do you know what fucking time it is, Dawn?’ I mumbled.

‘Quarter to ten here,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘You’re lucky I didn’t call you straight away, after you sent Miles that photo. What have you been up to? Or were you still up to it? Did I
interruptus
the
coitus
?’ Those are the only two Latin words that ever stuck in Dawn’s head. The rest passed all the way through, largely unimpeded.

‘No, you did not,’ I told her, firmly.

‘Prove it, then. Put me on video. Ever since you and Oz caught Miles and me on the job in your flat I’ve been waiting for a chance to get even.’

‘Bugger off!’

‘How did it happen?’ she laughed. ‘Did he drug you? I thought you were off men forever.’

‘So did I, but I’m glad to say I was wrong. Now go away. I have some serious business to do this morning. We’re in Glasgow and I have to chair a board meeting later.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Her tone changed completely. ‘Tragic about Susie.’ ‘Tragic’ is another Dawnism, but for once it was accurate. ‘Call me later and we can have a longer chat.’

‘I will do,’ I promised. ‘In six or seven hours.’ I ended the call, leaving her to do the sum on her fingers. (Actually my sister isn’t that dumb; that’s just a game we’ve played since she was a kid.)

I put the phone down and got back into bed. ‘Does that happen every morning in your life?’ Liam asked.

I slid up against him, and my eyes widened. ‘No,’ I replied, ‘but I hope that does in yours.’

By the time we’d done something about it, I was on the schedule I’d set for myself. I showered and did all the other morning stuff, then dug my laptop from its bag and logged on to the hotel’s wireless network. Audrey had promised to send me a briefing for the meeting, most importantly the minutes of the last two … they were usually held quarterly … and the latest set of management accounts, that Susie received on a monthly basis.

Once I’d downloaded them, I called Tom. He was awake and I could hear
Daybreak
in the background. His interest in the female presenter seems to be growing; it’s a toss-up between her and the witch in Merlin as to who’s his top girl. A sign of the times. I asked him to join us for room service breakfast at eight thirty, then called to order it. With all that done, I began to study Audrey’s documents.

The minutes didn’t tell me anything that I didn’t know in broad terms already. As Tom’s guardian I had oversight of the equity in the company that he’d inherited from Oz, and so I received all the company’s shareholder communications, and was aware of its business. The Gantry Group was split into divisions: property management, leisure and development. It owned a large portfolio of economic rent housing, commercial offices, retail parks and a chain of pubs and boutique hotels; they made up the first two divisions. The development side held its construction interests, in private housing for owner-occupation, factories and commercial buildings.

Given that knowledge, what was in the minutes was mostly old news, apart from one reference to a projected golf course-cum-country club down in Ayrshire: that, I hadn’t heard of. (Yes, I know, ‘they’ say you shouldn’t end a sentence with a preposition, but I have news for ‘them’: language evolves.)

No, it was the management accounts that would give me a detailed insight into how the group was actually running, and how sound its trading position really was. I scanned through them; the information was detailed and it showed that while the group was sound, across the board, it was no more recession-proof than any other company. The rental houses were fine, but there were a number of voids … empty units … in the office and retail holdings that were pulling down the profits of those sectors. The pubs and hotels were washing their face, but their profit contribution was way below what it should have been, given the value of the assets.

Still, given the economic situation, those two divisions were okay, yet the company’s bottom line wasn’t. I’d brought the last annual report with me; I dug it out and compared the last year-end figures with the accounts I had on my computer screen, then did some simple calculations in my head. A healthy profit had been reported for the previous year, but I was looking at a future projection of break-even at best, and a chunky loss at worst. The company’s year-end was September; just about the time when Susie’s illness was diagnosed. She’d been more affected by it than she’d admitted in our conversations, but there was more to it than that. Someone beneath her in the group’s hierarchy hadn’t been doing his job. I went back into the management accounts and spotted the devil in the detail at once. Construction of private housing and commercial stock had stopped; there were a few high-value houses left unsold but they weren’t suicidal. No, it was that damn golf course that was the money pit. Over the previous six months, twenty million pounds had been transferred to the subsidiary company that was executing the venue. Without that, the business would have been far healthier, and obviously its indebtedness would have been that much smaller.

Liam came out of the bedroom as I was looking at the figures. ‘Do me a favour, lover,’ I asked him. ‘Give Tom a call and ask him to get along here now, if he’s ready, and to bring his iPad with him.’

‘Sure.’ He noted what I was doing. ‘Trouble at mill?’

‘I hope not.’

Rather than call, he walked along the corridor, and returned a couple of minutes later, with my son, who was dressed more like himself, in pirate pants and a T-shirt that he’d blagged from a friend of ours in the village, who combines running a restaurant with a music career. Monoceros, his alter ego, might not have been a household name in Glasgow, but my son was doing his bit to change that. I was pleased that he seemed completely relaxed in Liam’s company, and that they were chatting like a couple of old mates.

‘When we get back to St Martí, Mum,’ he said, ‘Liam and I are going to do yoga on the beach in the morning. You can come too, if you like.’

‘Maybe I’ll just watch,’ I replied. Liam and I had been too busy with other things to discuss what was going to happen when we did return home. I was taking nothing for granted. Our three days and one night together had been great, but I was making no assumptions … of either of us.

‘What do you want me to do with this?’ Tom asked, holding up his tablet.

‘Can you log on to the BBC website and find out what the Gantry Group share price is doing?’

‘Sure, but I can log on to the Stock Exchange as well. That would be quicker. Susie Mum showed me how last time I was in Monaco.’

‘Then do it, please,’ I asked. It was something I should have done the day before; I’d been asleep at the wheel … or maybe the previous day’s events had simply overwhelmed me a little.

He nodded and set to work, with a certainty in every step he took and every page he called up. ‘The share price fell by twenty-eight per cent yesterday,’ he announced, after only a couple of minutes, ‘and it’s fallen by another twelve per cent this morning.’

I looked at Liam. ‘A forty per cent drop,’ I exclaimed. ‘On the basis of what I’ve been looking at here it’s been overvalued lately, but by nothing like that much. That needs investigating.’ I picked up the annual report and looked through the list of the company’s professional advisers: auditors, solicitors, stockbrokers, all blue chip, and last of all, financial public relations, a consultancy called Groynes deVelt.

There were contact details for each one; I called the PR people, knowing that if they were any good at all they’d be open during stock exchange hours and beyond. They were; I was answered almost instantly, by an androgynous voice, youngish and pronouncing the firm’s name very carefully in a voice that made me wonder if Mick Jagger had sent one of his many kids out on work experience.

‘My name is Primavera Blackstone,’ I told him/her. ‘I’m the new chair of the Gantry Group PLC and I’d like to speak to the person who handles our affairs.’

‘Mmmm, let me see, mmm, that would be Cressida Oldham. I’ll see if she’s available.’

As I waited, patiently, there was a knock at the door. Tom opened it and admitted the room service waiter with breakfast for three on a tray, thanked him and bunged him a couple of coins that I hoped were sterling and not euro.

‘Mrs Blackstone,’ a decidedly female voice boomed into my ear. ‘Cress Oldham here. Look, I hope you don’t mind, but since we don’t know each other would you mind answering a standard verification question?’

‘Depends what it is.’

‘Your mother’s maiden name?’

I told her and she relaxed. ‘How can I help you?’

‘You can give me some insight into the company’s share price. It’s heading groundwards like a skydiver in lead boots. What the hell’s going on?’

‘Well …’ she began, giving the impression that she was struggling to come up with a good answer, ‘… Ms Gantry was a strong and prominent company chair, highly regarded by the City. It’s quite natural that the share price should have fallen as a reaction to her death. I have to say it might have been wiser to prepare the market for it.’

‘As in Susie releasing a statement,’ I retorted, ‘that her street-smart twelve-year-old daughter might have read, announcing that she was terminally ill? That sort of preparation?’

‘Well,’ she conceded, ‘maybe not.’

‘In any event, Ms Oldham,’ I continued, ‘forty per cent is a hell of a strong reaction.’

‘Yes, but … Can I be blunt?’

‘As blunt as you like. The way I see it, advice only comes in two categories, good and bad. Sugar-coating always leads to the latter, so don’t do that with me.’