Майкл Ридпат - Fatal Error

And then, the following Tuesday, I got a call from Henry.

‘Henry, how are you?’ I said. Unlike Guy I didn’t hold Orchestra’s lack of support against him personally. I believed him when he said he had fought for us against his partners. Plus I still liked the guy.

‘I have something to say to you,’ he said, his voice cold, colder than I had ever heard it.

‘Yes?’

‘One. Orchestra Ventures is prepared to invest a further ten million pounds into Ninetyminutes. Terms to be discussed.’

‘That’s wonderful news,’ I said, a little hesitantly. His tone wasn’t that of someone bearing wonderful news.

He ignored me. ‘Two. As from today, responsibility for the investment in ninetyminutes.com within Orchestra has been passed to Clare Douglas. She will be in touch with you shortly. I will resign from your board and she will take my place.’

‘Don’t we get any say in this?’ I asked. ‘We’ll miss you.’

‘No,’ said Henry. ‘And three. I and my family are taking a two-week holiday, beginning tomorrow.’

‘Oh.’ Wishing him a good trip didn’t seem to be what he wanted to hear. Why he wanted to tell me at all was a mystery. ‘Why the change of heart?’

‘You don’t know?’ said Henry, his voice bitter.

‘No,’ I said, my suspicions rising. ‘No, I don’t.’

Henry sighed. ‘I hoped as much. Just ask your partner. He’ll tell you. Now, if you want to know anything else, talk to Clare.’

I put the phone down. Was this good news? It should have been very good news. It just didn’t feel like it, that was all.

I looked across my desk to where Guy was checking the latest news stories on the site. ‘That was Henry.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Orchestra want to put in ten million quid.’

Guy sat up in his chair, his face suddenly alight. ‘You’re kidding?’

‘I’m not. But he’s resigning from the board. Clare Douglas is taking over.’

‘I don’t care who we’ve got on the bloody board as long as we’ve got ten million in the bank.’ He let out a whoop. ‘Hey, guys, we’re back in business.’

They all crowded round. Guy told them the news. As they filtered back to their desks he noticed my expression. ‘What’s up? Upset that you don’t get to cut any more costs?’

‘I don’t know. It doesn’t smell right. Henry seemed very cold. Eager to get off the phone. And why has he passed us on to Clare Douglas?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Guy. ‘He’s your friend.’

‘He wouldn’t tell me why he’s changed his mind. He said you’d know.’

‘He changed his mind because he’s finally realized what a great business this is,’ said Guy. ‘Not before time, either.’

‘It’s almost as though someone has been putting pressure on him. Or Orchestra. Do you know anything about that?’

‘No, Davo, I have no idea what you’re talking about. How could I put any pressure on Orchestra? Cheer up. We’ve got the cash. We’re motoring again.’

But as Guy left his desk to revive the troops, I called Henry back. ‘Henry, I don’t understand. Something’s going on here.’

Henry sighed down the line. ‘Did you talk to Guy?’

‘Yes. He said he didn’t know anything. He told me not to worry about it.’

‘He’s probably right.’

‘Do you want to have a quiet drink somewhere? Just the two of us, so you can tell me what’s going on.’

‘Listen to Guy. There is nothing going on. And I don’t want a drink with you or anyone else from Ninetyminutes. I’m going on holiday tomorrow morning and I hope I will have nothing to do with any of you when I get back.’

We took our foot off the brake and pressed down on the accelerator. Hard. I had some misgivings about this: what if we couldn’t get an IPO away in the summer? Then we’d be out of cash again. I voiced these to Guy. His answer was predictable. If we didn’t move fast, we wouldn’t get to where we wanted to go. If that meant we had to take risks, so be it. I knew he was right.

In an internet start-up, you are always looking ahead. Things are going so fast that there isn’t time to look back, consider past mistakes, regret missed opportunities. If you make a mistake you correct it as best you can and move on to the next thing. This was especially true of Ninetyminutes.

But I couldn’t help thinking. Thinking how handy it was for us that Tony Jourdan had died exactly when he had. How fortunate we were that Henry had suddenly changed his mind about investing in us. And for that matter, how lucky we were that our biggest rival had mysteriously been struck by a computer virus.

Once again, it was all too convenient.

Someone was going to great lengths to make sure Ninetyminutes survived. There was one obvious candidate. Owen.

True, it was difficult to see how he could possibly have killed Tony. But even after he had left Ninetyminutes I could imagine him still doing all he could to ensure its survival, if not for his own still substantial equity stake, then for his brother.

Henry might not want to talk to me, but I was going to talk to him.

I knew he was on holiday, so I rang his secretary asking for his address, saying I had some urgent documents to courier to him. She was having none of it, insisting that I should send the documents to her for forwarding. It was clear he had told her not to divulge anything.

When I had met Henry at First Tuesday he had told me he was in the process of buying a house in Gloucestershire. Chances were that was where he had gone. But how to find the address?

I called Fiona Hartington, a woman we had both trained with, who was still working for our old firm of accountants. She and Henry had moved in the same social circle. As I had suspected, they still did. I explained that I was going through Gloucestershire myself that weekend and I thought I might drop by. Did she by any chance have the address?

She did.

Henry’s house was on the far side of the Severn, towards Ledbury. It was a dilapidated place on the edge of a quiet village. I drove past slowly and saw a Land Rover Discovery parked outside. Just the kind of car Henry would need to navigate his children through the wilds of South London. I turned around a few yards further along the narrow lane and drove back into the small driveway, feeling like a trespasser. I noticed there was a dent in the back of the Land Rover.

A fair-haired two-year-old boy appeared from nowhere, turned and ran round the side of the house screaming ‘Daddy!’ A moment later I saw Henry in old checked shirt and jeans. He was sweaty and grimy: he had obviously been working in the garden. He didn’t look pleased to see me.

‘Hello, Henry,’ I said optimistically.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing here?’

‘I want to talk to you.’

‘Well, I don’t want to talk to you, so bugger off.’ He looked nervously over his shoulder to where his child had disappeared to. I guessed he didn’t want to explain my presence to his wife.

‘Walk, Henry?’

‘No. I said, bugger off.’

‘Henry. I’ve driven a hundred and fifty miles to see you. I’m not just going to turn round and go back. Talk to me and I’ll go.’

‘I’ve done what you asked.’

‘I haven’t asked you to do anything,’ I said. ‘You know that. Someone has. I want to know who it is and what they asked you to do.’

Henry looked at me, glanced over his shoulder and said, ‘OK. But let’s make it quick.’

He led me out on to the lane and after a few yards we crossed a stile into a field.

‘Someone has scared the hell out of you,’ I said. ‘Who is it?’

Henry walked in silence for a moment, considering his response. We were making our way diagonally across a field grazed by sheep towards the brow of a low hill. It was mildly strenuous and in the spring sunshine I quickly warmed up. Apart from intermittent birdsong and Henry’s heavy breathing as we climbed the hill, there was silence.