Майкл Ридпат - Fatal Error

A few minutes’ work on the Internet gave me the names and numbers of the major British law firms with offices in Paris. I picked up the phone and worked my way through the list. I was only on number three, Coward Turner, when the switchboard operator recognized Anne Glazier’s name. I tensed as I was put through, but the line was answered by her English-speaking secretary. Ms Glazier was away from the office for a few days, and wouldn’t be back until the following week.

So I returned to the numbers.

Guy arrived back in the office late afternoon. He smelled of alcohol.

‘How did it go?’ I asked.

‘Good,’ said Guy. ‘Torsten will do it.’

‘Really? How much?’

‘Five million, I think.’

‘You think?’

‘Yeah. I’ve still got to pin him down on details. But he said he’d do it.’

‘Pounds or marks?’

‘Pounds, of course.’

I eyed Guy suspiciously. ‘When did he say he’d do it?’

‘Last night. We went out. It was a good night.’

‘Was he drunk when he said it?’

‘Well, maybe.’

‘Had he asked his father?’

‘Not yet. But he will. He says he’s going to stand up to his father this time.’

‘And he said this at what time, precisely?’

‘What is this?’

‘What time of night did Torsten say he would stand up to his father?’

‘About midnight.’

‘That’s worth nothing,’ I said. ‘Last time he said he’d do it, the Internet was booming. If he couldn’t come through then, what makes you think his father will let him invest now?’

‘Trust me,’ said Guy, his voice slurring. ‘He’s a mate.’

‘Have you been drinking?’

‘Jesus! I had some champagne on the flight. To celebrate. And I might just go out and have some more. Want to come?’

I ignored the sarcasm. ‘No. I really need to go over some figures with you. I think we can survive into next year. Provided we cut right back immediately.’

Reluctantly, Guy looked at my numbers. It took him a couple of minutes to figure out what I was proposing; it was clear his mind was far from razor sharp. Then he pushed the papers to one side.

‘This is crap,’ he said.

‘We have no choice.’

‘Yes we do. Torsten.’

‘Oh, come on. We can’t leave the company in Torsten’s hands again. We did that once before and look what happened.’

Guy was about to answer me, and then he stopped. He looked down at my figures. When he did speak, it was quietly.

‘Ninetyminutes means everything to me,’ he said.

‘I know. It means a lot to all of us.’

Guy stared at me with his piercing blue eyes. ‘I’m not talking a lot. I’m talking everything. You know me as well as anyone, Davo. Anyone apart from my brother, maybe. You saw me when I was pissing about pretending to be an actor. I told you about LA, how I cracked up. You knew my father. You know what I felt about him; still feel about him. I have spent most of my life this close to falling apart.’ He held up his thumb and index finger to show how close.

‘But this last year I’ve felt I’ve been back on track. I’ve built something that’s good. Better than good, remarkable. Something that will be worth tens of millions of pounds. Something that thousands of people use each day. A team that works together. Something unique.’ He was spitting out the words. ‘And now you want to destroy it all.’ He shook his head. ‘If Ninetyminutes goes, I go.’

I knew that Guy had been feeling the tension over the last few months, but this was the first time I had seen him facing it since that evening in the Jerusalem Tavern after Henry had turned us down. Since then he had been in denial, looking the other way from bad news, losing his temper, drinking, taking solace in Mel, or Michelle, or God knows who. But now he was facing it again, he didn’t like what he saw.

‘That’s just it,’ I said. ‘We have to save Ninetyminutes. Cutting back is the only way of doing that.’

Guy slammed his palm down on his desk. ‘You don’t bloody get it, do you? I’m not talking about the survival of Ninetyminutes as a legal entity. I’m talking about the idea. The big idea. Your plan would kill that stone dead. We’d never get to the number-one site slot. We’d be lucky to show a profit to investors on their money. We’d grind to a long slow death. As soon as we implement that,’ he waved my figures in the air, ‘Ninetyminutes is over. And I think I’m over too.’

I knew what Guy was getting at. But he needed a dose of realism and the only place it would come from was me.

‘There is no other choice.’

‘There is. Come on, Davo. We’ve done so much together. But now’s when I really need your support. This is the culmination of all that hard work, all the good times and the bad times. You can destroy Ninetyminutes. Or you can help me save it. But if you try to destroy it you should know I’ll do everything in my power to stop you.’

We stared at each other. He was calling it all in. Our thirteen years of friendship. For most of that time I had never been sure whether I was a true friend of his at all. Now, he was saying, it was up to me to decide.

He was tempting me. But one of the reasons I had gone into Ninetyminutes was to prove that I was more than a bag-carrying yes-man. That I was capable of making up my own mind, taking my own decisions. I could succumb to Guy’s force of character, or I could tell him what had to be done.

I took a deep breath. ‘I insist that we undertake these cost reductions immediately.’

Guy looked at me hard, the disappointment and anger written clearly all over his face. ‘Insist?’

‘Yes. Insist.’

He drew a breath. ‘OK. Well, I’m the Chief Executive. And I say no.’

‘If you refuse, I’ll talk to Silverman,’ I said. ‘And Clare Douglas.’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘I’m just telling you what’s going to happen.’

‘Well, I’m having dinner with Silverman and Clare this evening. I’ll put forward your point of view.’

I started. ‘Dinner? You didn’t tell me about that.’

‘I thought you said you didn’t want to be involved in putting pressure on Orchestra?’

‘Yes. But you’re going to be talking about much more than that, aren’t you?’

‘Possibly.’

‘I want to be there.’

‘You’re not invited.’

I glared at Guy. He glared back.

‘I’ll tell you all about it in the morning,’ he said. ‘I’m going now. I think there’s something to celebrate and I’m going off to celebrate it. You’d better stay here and take inventory of the paperclips. I’m sure Amy uses far too many.’ With that he left the office. And he didn’t come back.

I waited anxiously for him the next morning. He didn’t roll up till ten. He looked dreadful — he hadn’t shaved and his eyes were puffy and unfocused. Guy could cope with a heavy night pretty well. This must have been a very heavy night. I was sure he hadn’t done that much damage with Clare and Derek Silverman: he must have carried on long after they had disappeared home.

‘How was dinner?’

‘Clare won’t budge,’ Guy said as he switched on his computer. ‘But they were pleased to hear about Torsten.’

‘Has he contacted you?’

‘Not yet. Give him time.’

‘Huh.’ I picked up the papers I had been working on. ‘I want to talk to you some more about the cost reductions.’

Guy strained to focus his eyes on me. ‘Oh, yes. I want to talk to you about that too.’

‘I’ve done some more figures, and—’

‘Forget the figures. Let’s talk principles. Are you still determined to cut the foreign offices and the journalists and the retailing?’

‘Yes.’