Michael Ridpath - Final Venture

'I'm sorry, Simon,' Lisa said, touching my hand. 'I wish there was something I could do.'

'You've let me blow all our savings. There's not much more than that you can do.'

Lisa seemed to hesitate.

'What is it?' I asked.

'I saw Dad today,' she said. 'For lunch.'

I felt a mild burst of irritation at this. It was another example of my wife and my father-in-law conspiring to see each other behind my back. 'You didn't tell me.'

'No. I wanted to ask him whether he could lend us some money. For Helen.'

I was shocked. My heart beat faster. 'What did he say?'

Lisa bit her lip. 'No.'

I winced. 'You shouldn't have asked him, Lisa. It was nice of you to try, but this is my family's problem. It has nothing to do with him. As he seems to realize,' I added bitterly.

'It wasn't that,' said Lisa. 'He doesn't approve of medical litigation. He thinks it's screwing up this country's medical system. I remember how Pop used to go on about it.' I had heard a lot about Pop, Lisa's grandfather, a doctor of forthright opinions. 'Dad just doesn't want to support it.'

'But Matthew's life was screwed up by some incompetent doctor!' I protested. 'Someone's going to have to pay for that for the rest of the boy's life, and I don't see why it should only be Helen.'

Lisa sighed. 'That's what I told him. But you know what Dad's like when he says no.'

I did. Frank was a kind, generous man. But years in venture capital had taught him to say no firmly and finally, without leaving any trace of doubt that no money would be forthcoming.

I would never have gone to Frank myself. I knew that I had no right to ask Frank for money, and he had no reason to give it. It was good of Lisa to try. But now Frank had said no, I couldn't help thinking of him as heartless.

'I said I'd go up and see him on Sunday at Marsh House,' Lisa said hesitantly. 'By myself.'

'Lisa!'

'Sorry, Simon I had to. He asked me before I'd had a chance to ask him about the money. I had to say yes then, and I couldn't very well back out afterwards.'

I shook my head. 'Look, I can't stop you seeing him every now and then,' I said. 'But we don't get enough time to see each other as it is. I mean, you'll be working on Saturday, won't you?'

Lisa nodded. 'Probably.'

'Well, then. It's as though he's trying to edge me out somehow.'

'Oh, Simon, don't be ridiculous.'

'I'm not being ridiculous.'

'We always used to see a lot of each other. I love him. He's my father. Why shouldn't I see him?' Lisa's voice was rising.

'I think it's unhealthy.'

'Unhealthy? Jesus! And after I went begging to him for money!'

'I didn't ask you to,' I muttered.

Lisa glared at me, put down her wine, and stood up. 'Good night, Simon,' she said, and marched from the room.

I sat there, in the half-light, feeling stupid. I let ten minutes pass before I went into the bedroom. Lisa was already in bed with the light off, and her body almost entirely submerged by the covers, her back to the middle of the bed.

I took off my clothes and crawled into bed behind her. 'Lisa.'

No response.

'Lisa? Lisa, I'm sorry. I've had a bad few days. We both have.' I kissed her softly under her left ear. She stiffened. 'It was really good of you to try to get the money for Helen. Of course you should go to see your father on Sunday.'

I kissed her again, in the same place.

Suddenly, her body relaxed, and she rolled over to take me in her arms.

It took three days before Craig would see me again. He still had enough cash to last a month or so, but he would need to buy and lease some expensive equipment if he was to come up with a prototype.

He seemed in a better mood. Following Lisa's idea, we drew up a list of customers, and began to work on a presentation for them. He also called some of the newer, smaller and more desperate-for-deals venture firms to try to elicit some interest.

It was seven o'clock on Friday evening, and I was preparing to leave.

'We'll get there,' I said.

Craig allowed himself a smile. 'Yeah, I guess we will.' I looked at him closely. 'Have you got an idea you haven't been telling me?'

'Have a good one, Simon,' said Craig, grinning widely. Wondering what on earth he could be up to, I left for home.

I had hardly seen Frank at all since our awkward discussion earlier in the week. We used to like and respect each other, but not any more. I was worried about the steady deterioration of our relationship, and I wanted to do something about it. So, with Lisa's encouragement, I decided to have another try. I left Lisa in her lab where she usually spent her Saturdays, liberated my Morgan from its expensive lodgings in the Brimmer Street Garage, and headed north, to Marsh House.

Woodbridge was a small town about twenty miles outside Boston. It had been a thriving port in the seventeenth century, but as the ships became bigger and the river became smaller, trade moved elsewhere and the town remained, a frozen relic of early colonial prosperity. Marsh House was four miles to the south of the town, nestled in the expanse of salt-marshes that filled many of the bays along this coastline.

It was quiet there, isolated, and very beautiful. The house had been bought by Frank's father, and Frank had spent much of his childhood pottering around in the creeks in sailing boats. He still came here almost every weekend to escape the bustle of Boston.

I turned off the road to Shanks Beach, and drove down a dirt track to the house, almost colliding with a small old lady in a huge station-wagon as she pulled out of her driveway without looking. She gave me an icy look. I waved and smiled, which only deepened her frown, and drove on down the bumpy track, wincing as a stone clanged against the bottom of the Morgan.

I parked beside an old dinghy, pulled up on to a patch of grass next to the small white wooden house, with its freshly painted green shutters. Frank's Mercedes was there. I rapped on the door.

Frank answered, dressed in a checked shirt and jeans. He wasn't pleased to see me.

'What are you doing here?'

'I wondered if you could spare me a few minutes?'

'You could have called first. You should always call first before you come and see me here.'

This took me aback. True, Lisa always called before she visited her father, but I hadn't wanted to give him the chance to refuse to see me.

'Sorry,' I said. 'Can I come in?'

Frank grunted, and led me in to the living room. The furnishing in the house was old, basic but comfortable. It was warm, wood was burning in the iron stove. Frank sat in 'his chair', a beaten-up old rocker, and I sat in a wicker sofa with faded cushions. Through the windows and the porch stretched the marsh, brown at this time of year, with streaks of gold, green, orange and grey. A wooden walkway made its unsteady way down to a creek a quarter of a mile into the marsh.

'What do you want?'

Frank looked tired, as though he hadn't slept the night before. His eyes were dark and strained, and he fidgeted as he sat rocking backwards and forwards rapidly. I began to regret coming. He didn't look in the mood for a reconciliation.

'I was bothered by the Monday morning meeting last week. I wanted to talk to you about it.'

'I thought we'd been through all that at the office.'

'I know, but because it touches on a personal matter, I wanted to see you outside Revere.'

He watched me impatiently.

I ploughed on. 'Well, I just wanted to say that you have nothing to fear about Lisa.' My throat tightened. 'I love her very much, and I would never do anything to hurt her.'

This was hard for me to say. Not because I didn't mean it, but because it was not the sort of thing that had ever been said in my family as I was growing up. But I felt it was important Frank should know it and believe it.