Джеффри Арчер - To Cut a Long Story Short

He returned to the first page of the McKinsey report, and realised he would have to make an early appointment to see the Chief Administrator. He knew it would be no more than going through the motions, but at least he would have done his duty by his colleagues.

He dialled an internal number, and Godfrey Tudor-Jones’s secretary picked up the phone.

‘The Chief Administrator’s office,’ said Pamela, sounding as if she had a cold.

‘It’s Roger. I need to see Godfrey fairly urgently. It’s about the McKinsey report.’

‘He has appointments most of the day,’ said Pamela, ‘but I could fit you in at 4.15 for fifteen minutes.’

‘Then I’ll be with you at 4.15.’

Pamela replaced the phone and made a note in her boss’s diary.

‘Who was that?’ asked Godfrey.

‘Roger Parker. He says he has a problem and needs to see you urgently. I fitted him in at 4.15.’

He doesn’t know what a problem is, thought Godfrey, continuing to sift through his letters to see if any had ‘Confidential’ written on them. None had, so he crossed the room and handed them all back to Pamela.

She took them without a word passing between them. Nothing had been the same since that weekend in Manchester. He should never have broken the golden rule about sleeping with your secretary. If it hadn’t rained for three days, or if he’d been able to get a ticket for the United match, or if her skirt hadn’t been quite so short, it might never have happened. If, if, if. And it wasn’t as if the earth had moved, or he’d had it more than once. What a wonderful start to the week to be told she was pregnant.

As if he didn’t have enough problems at the moment, the bank was having a poor year, so his bonus was likely to be about half what he’d budgeted for. Worse, he had already spent the money long before it had been credited to his account.

He looked up at Pamela. All she’d said after her initial outburst was that she hadn’t made up her mind whether or not to have the baby. That was all he needed right now, what with two sons at Tonbridge and a daughter who couldn’t make up her mind if she wanted a piano or a pony, and didn’t understand why she couldn’t have both, not to mention a wife who had become a shopaholic. He couldn’t remember when his bank balance had last been in credit. He looked up at Pamela again, as she left his office. A private abortion wouldn’t come cheap either, but it would be a damn sight cheaper than the alternative.

It would all have been so different if he had taken over as Chief Executive. He’d been on the shortlist, and at least three members of the board had made it clear that they supported his application. But the board in its wisdom had offered the position to an outsider. He had reached the last three, and for the first time he understood what it must feel like to win an Olympic silver medal when you’re the clear favourite. Damn it, he was just as well qualified for the job as Phillip Alexander, and he had the added advantage of having worked for the bank for the past twelve years. There had been hints of a place on the board as compensation, but that would bite the dust the moment they found out about Pamela.

And what was the first recommendation Alexander had put before the board? That the bank should invest heavily in Russia, with the cataclysmic result that seventy people would now be losing their jobs and everyone’s bonus was having to be readjusted. What made it worse was that Alexander was now trying to shift the blame for his decision onto the Chairman.

Once again, Godfrey’s thoughts returned to Pamela. Perhaps he should take her out to lunch and try to convince her that an abortion would be the wisest course of action. He was about to pick up the phone and suggest the idea to her when it rang.

It was Pamela. ‘Miss Franklyn just called. Could you pop up and see Mr Alexander in his office?’ This was a ploy Alexander used regularly, to ensure you never forgot his position. Half the time, whatever needed to be discussed could easily have been dealt with over the phone. The man had a bloody power-complex.

On the way up to Alexander’s office, Godfrey remembered that his wife had wanted to invite him to dinner, so she could meet the man who had robbed her of a new car.

‘He won’t want to come,’ Godfrey had tried to explain. ‘You see, he’s a very private person.’

‘No harm in asking,’ she had insisted. But Godfrey had turned out to be right: ‘Phillip Alexander thanks Mrs Tudor-Jones for her kind invitation to dinner, but regrets that due to...’

Godfrey tried to concentrate on why Alexander wanted to see him. He couldn’t possibly know about Pamela — not that it was any of his business in the first place. Especially if the rumours about his own sexual preferences were to be believed. Had he been made aware that Godfrey was well in excess of the bank’s overdraft limit? Or was he going to try to drag him onside over the Russian fiasco? Godfrey could feel the palms of his hands sweating as he knocked on the door.

‘Come in,’ said a deep voice.

Godfrey entered to be greeted by the Chief Executive’s secretary, Miss Franklyn, who had joined him from Morgans. She didn’t speak, just nodded in the direction of her boss’s office.

He knocked for a second time, and when he heard ‘Come,’ he entered the Chief Executive’s office. Alexander looked up from his desk.

‘Have you read the McKinsey report?’ he asked. No ‘Good morning, Godfrey.’ No ‘Did you have a pleasant weekend?’ Just ‘Have you read the McKinsey report?’

‘Yes, I have,’ replied Godfrey, who hadn’t done much more than speed-read through it, checking the paragraph headings and then studying in more detail the sections that would directly affect him. On top of everything else, he didn’t need to be one of those who were about to be made redundant.

‘The bottom line is that we can make savings of three million a year. It will mean having to sack up to seventy of the staff, and halving most of the bonuses. I need you to give me a written assessment on how we go about it, which departments can afford to shed staff, and which personnel we would risk losing if we halved their bonuses. Can you have that ready for me in time for tomorrow’s board meeting?’

The bastard’s about to pass the buck again, thought Godfrey. And he doesn’t seem to care if he passes it up or down, as long as he survives. Wants to present the board with a fait accompli , on the back of my recommendations. No way.

‘Have you got anything on at the moment that might be described as priority?’

‘No, nothing that can’t wait,’ Godfrey replied. He didn’t think he’d mention his problem with Pamela, or the fact that his wife would be livid if he failed to turn up for the school play that evening, in which their younger son was playing an angel. Frankly, it wouldn’t have mattered if he were playing Jesus. Godfrey would still have to be up all night preparing his report for the board.

‘Good. I suggest we meet up again at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, so you can brief me on how we should go about implementing the report.’ Alexander lowered his head and returned his attention to the papers on his desk — a sign that the meeting was over.

Phillip Alexander looked up once he heard the door close. Lucky man, he thought, not to have any real problems. He was up to his eyes in them. The most important thing now was to make sure he continued to distance himself from the Chairman’s disastrous decision to invest so heavily in Russia. He had backed the move at a board meeting the previous year, and the Chairman had made sure that his support had been minuted. But the moment he found out what was happening over at the Bank of America and Barclays, he had put an immediate stop on the bank’s second instalment — as he continually reminded the board.