Майкл Ридпат - Fatal Error

‘Hassled,’ he said. ‘Severely hassled. I’ve never been to one of these before. I thought it would be a good place to look for deals, but I can barely fight them off. Here, let’s get a drink.’

We left the gents and grabbed a couple of glasses of wine. Within thirty seconds they’d spotted the red badge and were circling. Henry glowered at them. ‘Do you mind?’ he growled. ‘This is a confidential conversation here.’

‘So you’re a venture capitalist, now?’ I said.

‘Yes. Orchestra Ventures. I’ve been doing it for three years now. Left soon after you. It’s quite jolly. Crazy days, though. And you? I see you’ve gone over to the ranks of lunatic entrepreneurs.’

‘A soccer website,’ I said. ‘It’s called ninetyminutes.com.’ A hunted look appeared in Henry’s eyes. I made a quick decision. I didn’t want to spook my only venture-capitalist friend. ‘Don’t worry, we don’t need any money at the moment. I’m just here to “network”, whatever that means.’

‘Thank God,’ said Henry, relaxing.

We talked for several more minutes. He told me he was married and had two small children. They were just about to buy a cottage in Gloucestershire. I told him Gurney Kroheim was miserable and I was well off out of it. We exchanged news about mutual acquaintances and then he couldn’t fend off the green badges any longer. Just as he was being dragged away, he thrust his card into my hand. ‘Look, if you do need any money, give me a call.’

‘Will do, Henry. Good to see you.’

I fingered his card, smiling to myself, and fetched another glass of wine.

After half an hour or so, a Chinese-American in a checked shirt and neat chinos climbed up on to a table and gave a gung-ho speech about how we were in the middle of something big. The most significant technological change to hit the world in the millennium. Right here. Right now. Tomorrow’s movers and shakers were here in this very room. Then the scrum continued as the crowd moved and shook.

I circled, looking for that rarest of species, an unattended red badge. I couldn’t see one, but I did see another face I thought I recognized. I moved closer.

She looked about thirty-five and she was wearing a blue suit with her hair scraped severely back. Downward-sloping lines edged her mouth, but her lips wore a familiar pout.

‘Mel?’

She turned to me and blinked for a second before she placed me. ‘David!’ She smiled and proffered her cheek for a kiss. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I’m working for a start-up. An internet company. Soccer website.’

‘You’re not? Not you? The chartered accountant!’

‘I am,’ I said, grinning. ‘With Guy.’

‘No! I don’t believe it.’

‘It’s true. And it’s going well. Although we need some investors pretty badly.’

‘Doesn’t everyone?’ said Mel, surveying the crowd. ‘I’m amazed you’re working with Guy. You know, after what happened in Mull and everything.’

‘That was seven years ago.’

‘Yes, but still.’

‘He’s changed.’

‘Oh, yeah?’ Mel looked doubtful.

‘He has. Have you seen him recently?’

‘Not since then. In fact, I’ve more or less forgotten about him.’

‘Probably not a bad thing,’ I said. ‘Anyway, what are you up to? Still a lawyer?’

‘Yes. The only people wearing suits here are lawyers. Still at Howles Marriott. It’s going quite well, actually. I’m not a partner yet, but perhaps soon.’

‘I never had you pegged as a corporate lawyer.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t have imagined you as a dot-commer. It’s a miracle I recognized you with that hairstyle.’

‘You haven’t changed much,’ I said. It was a lie. Mel had aged more than seven years, but that’s not the kind of thing you say to an acquaintance. It was the kind of thing I would tell Guy, though.

‘Rubbish,’ she said. ‘I’ve even got the odd grey hair now.’

It was true, she had. I remembered her hair as it used to be when she was eighteen, dark, with a streak of blonde. Now the streaks were grey.

‘Have you seen Ingrid?’ I asked.

‘No. Not since then,’ she replied, the enthusiasm leaving her voice.

‘Oh.’

We were silent. Both of us remembering.

Mel breathed in and sighed. She still had a fine chest, I couldn’t help noticing. Something else to tell Guy.

‘Have you any clients here?’ I asked.

‘Two or three.’

‘Can they pay their bills?’

Mel grinned. ‘So far. I’m betting the Internet will be the next hot market for lawyers. I’ve got about half a dozen internet clients at the moment. I reckon at least one of them will make it. And that could mean lots of legal work in the future.’

‘Sounds like a good strategy,’ I said. We sipped our wine. ‘Um. I wonder...’

‘Yes?’

‘This may sound a bit cheeky. But would you mind having a quick look at our shareholders’ agreement? The firm who drew it up are entertainment lawyers Guy knows from his acting days. I’m not sure it’s quite right.’

‘No problem,’ said Mel. ‘Fax it to me tomorrow. I’ll tell you what I think. And no charge. Here’s my card.’ She handed me one.

I gave her mine. ‘One of Qwickprint’s finest,’ I said. ‘It’s funny I bumped into you. You’re the second person here tonight I know.’

‘That’s not so strange,’ said Mel. ‘Everyone our age is doing this now. There are probably two or three more people you know here you just haven’t spotted. As the man said just now, this is the place to be.’

‘He did say that, didn’t he?’

Mel stood on her toes in an effort to see over the heads. ‘Oops. Just spotted one of my clients. Speak to you tomorrow.’ With that she disappeared into the throng.

I tried to work the crowd again, but I didn’t get very far. Half an hour and only one venture capitalist’s card later I decided to call it quits.

I emerged into the cool night air feeling low. There were an awful lot of people doing the same kind of thing as Ninetyminutes, and all of them seemed pushier than me. I had read about the internet revolution in the press, but I had never seen it, felt it. And it didn’t feel right. The cautious Gurney Kroheim banker in me didn’t like it. There were a couple of people with good ideas, such as an articulate blonde woman I had spoken to who had started a company that sold cheap last-minute tickets. But most of it was rubbish. And the rubbish was getting funded.

For the last few weeks I had felt like a true entrepreneur, on the cutting edge of a new wave of technology. Now I just felt like a chartered accountant with delusions. Unlike the Chinese guy who had made the speech, I feared I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

July 1987, Côte D’Azur, France

Guy stared uncomprehendingly at his father standing in the doorway of our bedroom. ‘Dead? Dominique’s dead?’

‘That’s what I said.’

‘How?’

Tony sighed and rubbed his eyes. ‘A drug overdose.’

‘Drug... Jesus!’

‘The police are here. They want to talk to everyone. You’d better get up.’

We staggered out of bed and I struggled to gain some control of the random thoughts colliding around my brain. Dead? Suicide? Police? Drugs? Dominique? Me? Sex? Investigation? Guy? Tony?

As I followed Guy into the garden illuminated by the first chilly fingers of dawn I had a horrible feeling that everything was going to come out. Everything.

We crossed the garden and I looked up at Dominique’s bedroom and the balcony where we had made love the previous afternoon. There were lights, shadows moving around, the intermittent flash of a photographer. There was the murmur of footsteps, voices, instructions, and the sound of a vehicle sweeping into the front courtyard.