Michael Ridpath - Final Venture

'Good. Friday?'

'Fine.'

'OK. Thanks for your help, Simon,' she said, and I was gone.

As I returned to my desk, I wondered what Diane was up to, what she wanted. Her reputation suggested she was used to conducting inter-office affairs. She certainly seemed to know how to handle them professionally. But what about me? Was she just in it for the sex? Was she looking for a toy-boy? Did she get a kick from snagging married men?

But despite her reputation, I had difficulty thinking of her as that cynical. We genuinely liked each other. There was an undeniable physical attraction between us. For my part, I didn't know whether it had always lurked there unacknowledged, or whether it had only developed after Lisa's departure. I wondered how Diane would take me pulling back. Perhaps it would harm my chances of making partner in the new regime? Well, if it did, that was just tough. It would serve me right. I had been wrong to go as far as I had with her, and I wouldn't do it again.

I wasn't looking forward to Friday.

I faced the work in front of me, and closed my eyes. How could I have let things go so far? Sure, we hadn't had sex, but we had come very close. How could I have jeopardized even further a marriage that I was fighting so hard to save? Even if Lisa never found out, I would always know. It would be something lurking between us, threatening to flare up at any time.

No. I would never, ever let anything like that happen again.

'What's up, Simon?'

It was Daniel, looking at me with extreme curiosity. 'Don't ask,' I replied. I glanced over to John's empty desk. There was a lot I needed to talk to him about. 'Where's John?'

'Out at National Quilt all day,' Daniel answered. 'He left a number.'

'That's OK,' I said. 'It will wait.'

I checked my e-mails. There was one from Connie saying I was invited to Gil's club for a drink at seven that evening. My first thought was panic. Gil had somehow found out about me and Diane. But it was extremely unlikely that Gil would choose that venue for a dressing down. I had never been invited to Gil's club before, and I didn't think the other two associates had either, although I knew Frank had been a number of times. I wondered what it was he wanted to talk to me about.

The Devonshire Club was almost empty. It was still early, only seven o'clock, and I was tucking into a beer and a huge array of crisps and nuts, dishes of which had been perched on the small table in front of me. The bar was small and cosy, red and leather. A comprehensive collection of obscure single malts guarded the entrance. The atmosphere was similar to a London club, a carefully contrived balance that made members feel at home, and guests feel slightly awkward. The club reeked of class, social exclusion, and, because this was America, not Britain, money.

Three men in suits and striped ties came and sat at the table next to me. Two sported beards the like of which you hardly see these days, full bushy affairs. If the men were born in the early nineteen fifties, their beards were at least sixty years older.

Gil arrived exactly ten minutes late. He shook my hand, sat down and caught the waiter's eye for a martini.

'Thanks for coming, Simon,' he said. 'How are you holding up?'

'OK, I suppose.'

'I'm sorry about Lisa being let go. How is she taking it?'

'Not well, I'm afraid. She's gone to California.'

Gil's weary brow furrowed in sympathy. 'Oh, I am sorry. But it really would have been inappropriate if Art had intervened to keep her on. I'm sure you understand.'

I didn't answer. Gil wouldn't want to hear my opinion that it was more likely Art had already intervened to get her fired. He thought personal enmity between Revere people just didn't exist. When faced with it, he always looked decisively the other way.

The martini came. 'Simon, I wanted to talk to you about the future of the partnership.'

'Oh, yes?'

'Yes. You may have heard, I'm planning to pull back from my involvement in Revere.'

'I had guessed that.'

Gil smiled. 'It's a small place. Word gets around. Now, obviously I want to leave the firm in as good shape as I can.'

'Of course.'

'But with my departure there arises the question of succession.'

This was getting interesting. 'I see.'

'My intentions would have been for Art to take over from me. Now Frank has passed away, Art is the most senior partner, and he was responsible for the firm's most successful investment.'

I nodded.

'But Art hasn't been well recently. I'm not sure whether he will be up to the job. Which leaves two choices.'

He paused to sip his martini. Two? I thought there was only one. Surely he couldn't mean Ravi? True, he was an able investor, but he seemed much more interested in being left to get on with his own deals than in taking responsibility for the whole firm.

'Diane, or…' Gil went on,'find a senior venture capitalist from outside to take over from me.'

That was an eventuality Diane hadn't considered, I thought, or at least not one she had discussed with me.

'I can't ask you to take sides, Simon. In fact I'm asking you to do the opposite. I don't want Revere to blow apart once I leave, so I'd like you to give me your word that you will continue to work under whomever succeeds me. You're a good man, Simon. The firm needs you.'

He watched me for a reaction. It was difficult. I had as good as promised Diane I would pledge my support to her if asked. Now that I was being asked, what could I say?

'Can't you stay on a bit until all this becomes clearer?' I asked.

'In theory I could. But my kidneys are in a bad way. I'll be on dialysis soon, my doctors tell me.'

'Oh, no! How soon?'

'That they won't reveal.' He snorted. 'I think they're scared if they get it wrong I'll sue. It could be six months or it could be six years. Whatever it is, I want to enjoy my last few years of mobility. So does my wife. So I need to sort out Revere now'

'I can see that.'

'So, will you promise to stay no matter who becomes Managing Partner? At least until he, or she, settles in?'

I owed Gil. I didn't really owe Diane. 'Yes, Gil, I will,' I said.

He gave a tired smile. 'Thank you.'

I went straight from the Devonshire to John's apartment. He lived in the South End, in an apartment in a three-storey row house next door to a gallery and a real estate agency. Many gays lived in this neighbourhood, but then so did many straight professionals.

He was surprised to see me, but let me in. He had changed out of his work clothes into jeans and a loose cotton shirt, which hung outside his trousers. I had only been inside his apartment once before. It was nicely if minimally decorated. A wooden floor, a glass table, some attractive modern lamps and bowls. Science fiction posters proclaimed books or films I had never heard of, let alone seen. A large picture of a bullfighter adorned one wall. There was a giant TV, and several shelves full of videos. I couldn't help checking the room for signs of John's sexual orientation, but I wasn't an expert at the code. It all depended how you looked at it, I supposed.

We sat down. He offered me a beer, which I accepted, and then opened one himself.

'What a shit day,' he said.

'Don't you like Lowell?'

'I swear I'm going to torch that place if I have to go there again. Why can't we let companies die quickly? We're planning to file Chapter Eleven to protect us from our creditors. My view is we should just give the bank the keys to the factory. Then they can give away a free Ninja Turtle comforter to every kid who opens up a new bank account.' He took a swig of his beer. 'So. What are you doing here?'

'I wanted to ask you about something that might be a little… awkward.'

John stiffened. 'What?'

'I've been to see a photographer.'