Майкл Ридпат - Fatal Error

‘That’s true.’

‘But the world’s changed. It turns out the Internet is a lousy way to make money. People expect it to be free. People expect to buy goods over the Internet more cheaply than in the shops. Advertisers want tangible results and don’t have bottomless budgets for an unproven medium. There’s just not that much money in it. So Ninetyminutes is worth virtually nothing. That’s what Guy doesn’t understand.’

‘So what are you saying?’

‘I’m saying we did succeed in what we set out to do. It just didn’t make us the millions we thought it would. I suppose if we’d been really smart we’d have realized that at the time. What you’ve done is realize it now. But I think we should be proud of all we’ve achieved. All of us: you, me, Guy, Amy, Gaz, everybody. It’s not really our fault the numbers don’t stack up.’

I saw what she meant. Looked at her way, it hadn’t been a waste of time. It hadn’t been a disaster at all.

Ingrid picked up her glass. ‘To Ninetyminutes.’

‘To Ninetyminutes.’

We both drank.

‘What are you going to do now?’ Ingrid asked.

‘I don’t know. I’ve got my savings in Ninetyminutes, So has my father. I really don’t want to see it all pissed away.’

‘It’s not just the money that worries you, is it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean Guy.’

‘You’re right. It is Guy.’ I tried to explain. ‘When Guy showed me his vision for Ninetyminutes he was showing me not just a good job or a good investment, but a new life. A life that I had always wanted but had been too scared to go for. He talked about creating something new and exciting, taking risks, breaking the rules, building the new economy. He inspired me. He made me believe I could become a new person. And then... and then he let me down.’

‘But we just said it wasn’t his fault that Ninetyminutes is going under.’

‘It’s not that. In fact, if Guy and I had led Ninetyminutes to a glorious end together, it wouldn’t have been so bad. Sure, I’d have lost some money, and it would have been a disaster for my father, but I would have felt I’d achieved something. Become a better person, a different person. As it is...’

‘As it is, what? I don’t understand.’

I looked at Ingrid. My promises to Guy meant nothing any more. ‘There’s some stuff about Guy you don’t know.’

I told her all about Owen and Dominique and Abdulatif and Guy’s efforts to cover everything up. And I told her that I still didn’t know whether Guy had murdered Tony.

She listened closely, at first with disbelief, then amazement, then anxiety.

‘So you see I have no idea who Guy is,’ I said at the end. ‘I know he’s a liar. I know his brother kills people. But I don’t know whether Guy kills people too. I don’t know whether the only reason Ninetyminutes has lasted this long is because Guy killed his father.’

Ingrid sipped her wine thoughtfully. ‘You might be right about Owen, but Guy?’

‘I know. That’s what I thought. But he’s an actor. A good one. And when he’s in a tight spot over his brother or Ninetyminutes, who knows what he might do?’

‘God.’ Ingrid shook her head. ‘I can’t believe it.’

‘I need to know. About Guy. What kind of person he is. Whether what I’ve been doing for the last year means anything.’

‘So what do we do? We can’t just walk away.’

‘You can,’ I said. ‘In fact, I’d recommend it.’

‘I’m not going to,’ Ingrid said. ‘We’ll sort this out together.’

My emotions had been in turmoil for weeks: hope, despair, anger, frustration. For weeks I had been at war with these feelings, trying to control them, trying to control Ninetyminutes. I had fought this war alone. I had thought I had lost, but now Ingrid was with me perhaps I could win after all. We gave each other comfort, strength and, in an as yet undefined way, hope.

We went out to a small Italian restaurant round the corner for dinner. We drank more wine. We discussed what we could do to rescue Ninetyminutes and find out about Guy once and for all. But as the evening wore on we talked about other things, about each other and about life outside Ninetyminutes.

As we left the restaurant, Ingrid linked her arm in mine. ‘Do you mind if I come back with you?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’d like that. I’d like that very much.’

I awoke to the sensation of a hand stroking my thigh. It was six thirty. Ingrid was lying next to me in my bed, and I didn’t have a job to go to.

I rolled over. The sunshine poured in through my bedroom’s puny curtains, painting stripes of pale gold on to Ingrid’s skin. She was definitely one of those women who looked better the morning after.

‘Good morning,’ she said, with a languid smile.

‘Good morning.’

Her hand moved upwards.

Half an hour later I went through to the kitchen to make some coffee. By this time I would usually be in the shower. But not today.

‘Are you going straight in to Ninetyminutes?’ I asked, carrying two mugs back to the bedroom.

‘There’s no hurry. Guy’s always late these days. And besides, I quite like it here.’ She took her mug and sat up in bed. She tasted the coffee and pulled a face. ‘Yuk! That’s disgusting. If I’m going to come here again, you’re going to have to get some decent coffee.’

‘What do you mean? It is decent coffee.’

‘It’s crap. I’m Brazilian. I know.’

‘I knew I should have made tea,’ I muttered.

Despite her grumbling, Ingrid took another sip. ‘What are you going to do today?’

What was I going to do? It was tempting to spend my first day of freedom from Ninetyminutes in bed with Ingrid. But I couldn’t.

‘Go and see Derek Silverman for starters. And then Clare. I must make them realize Guy has got it all wrong. Then I’ll see if I can get hold of Anne Glazier again. She should be back in her office today.’

‘I’ll come with you to see Silverman,’ said Ingrid. ‘Once I’ve told Guy I’m quitting.’

‘Thanks. I could use the support.’

‘It’s going to be frustrating, though, isn’t it?’ Ingrid said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Sitting on our hands watching Ninetyminutes go down the tubes.’

‘Well, I hope we’ll be able to do something to stop it. But they’ll find it hard without you.’

‘Gaz will manage.’

‘I’m not so sure.’ Gaz would be able to keep the content coming, but without Ingrid the whole editorial and publishing process would soon unravel. Especially if it was necessary to cut back and reorganize. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t resign.’

‘What do you mean? I told you why I want to quit.’

‘Yes. And all that makes sense. Believe me, I value the support. But I think you’ll be more use still working at Ninetyminutes. Things will be bad enough as it is without you leaving. And it will be useful to know what’s going on at the company. If we are going to save Ninetyminutes, we should do it together. Me on the outside and you on the inside.’

‘You don’t expect me to go along with Guy?’

‘Absolutely. For the time being. Until we get Silverman and Orchestra to see our point of view.’

Ingrid sipped her coffee. ‘Maybe I should stay,’ she said. Then she frowned.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘That means I have to go to work now.’

‘I’m afraid it does.’

She put her coffee down and leaned over to kiss me.

‘Well, perhaps not quite yet,’ I said.

After Ingrid had left, I had a shower, put on a suit and went to see Derek Silverman at his town house in Chelsea. He showed me into a study at the back with a view over a perfect herbaceous border, blooming powerfully in the sunshine. He was very civil and offered me a cup of coffee. I told him that in my opinion Ninetyminutes had no choice but to retrench and Guy had been mistaken to fire me. Silverman was polite, he listened and he seemed to understand my point of view. But he was firm.