Unnatural Justice

Thirty.

I filled Susie in on most of my conversation, but I didn't tell her about Aidan Keane's rumoured new employer. That information I kept for Phil Culshaw, when I phoned to ask him if he could take over as acting managing director with immediate effect. Susie had agreed that they could manage without a formal han dover and that if there was anything on which he needed her advice he could either call her or drive out to the estate.

He and I discussed Aidan Keane, then we linked in a three-way conference call to Des Lancaster. The poor old project manager had been enjoying a quiet day in his garden till we ruined it for him.

"Are you sure about this?" he exclaimed when I told him about his departed lieutenant.

"It came from a journalist, but I don't think he'd have volunteered it if he wasn't pretty sure of his sources. I gave him some straight answers; I think it was his way of thanking me."

"I can see it now," said Des, slowly. "Aidan acted as a negotiator sometimes; he closed the deal with Cornwell, and that was why Sir Graeme asked him some heavy questions, but he had nothing to do with Perry or Ravens, so he was stood down as a suspect. But when I think about it, he was in a position to keep the three sales files well apart, to cut down the chances of any connection being made." He sighed. "On top of that there's his writing."

"What do you mean?" asked Phil.

"There's a master lay-out of the project on a wall of the sales office; every time a sale's made, the buyer's name's supposed to be written on that particular plot. Aidan was responsible for making sure it was kept up to date. The trouble is, his blooming handwriting is very close to being illegible. For example, on the board, "Ravens" looked more like "Rawlings" and "Corawell" and "Perry" looked like they were spelt with an "a" rather than with an "e". Oh dear." Lancaster sighed again, even more deeply. "Sir Graeme will have me this time, when he hears this."

"No he won't," I told him. "Fisher's had a week to look at that board himself, and ask questions about it. You're in the clear, Des."

"I don't know, Oz. The truth is, I'm almost at the end of my rope with this job. I think I may well chuck it anyway."

"I'll tell you what," said Phil. "How would you feel if…" He floated the idea of the job swap with Brian Shaw that Susie had discussed with me.

"Do you think Brian would go for that?" Des exclaimed, not quite managing to disguise his eagerness.

"I wasn't planning on asking him," said the acting managing director, dryly.

We were better prepared for the breaking of the Sunday Herald story than we had been a week earlier. Our QC had given us a plan that covered every contingency, including the one that had developed, and a copy had been given to Alison Goodchild, for her to use as a briefing book.

It said that the company would act in the best interests of all its shareholders, and reserved the right to take any action it considered appropriate. Effectively that meant reserving the option of cancelling the three sales and taking the chance that the threat of court action was a bluff, knowing at the same time that if it wasn't, the likelihood was that we were in for a kicking.

What I was not prepared for was the verbal kicking I received from Sir Graeme Fisher once the story had appeared in print.

"What the hell do you think you're up to, boy?" he shouted at me, as I sat at the breakfast table with a slice of toast in one hand and the phone in the other. "You're not a director of this company and you don't speak for this company. What's this nonsense you're quoted as saying? "My wife is the Gantry Group?" You're making it look a damned laughing stock, and you're making me look a laughing stock."

I kept my face straight through his tirade, because Susie was sitting across the table and I didn't want her to get wind of what was happening.

"You don't need any help there," I told him, smiling.

His tone went up a notch or two, attaining incandescence. "You impertinent young "Shareholder is the word you're after, I think."

"Then listen, shareholder. If your wife is stepping down as managing director, for whatever reason, the first body that has to be told is the Stock Exchange, not the Sunday bloody Herald. You've broken a fundamental rule, son, but it's me who's going to have to apologise for it. Do you know what I'm thinking now? I'm thinking that it might be in the best interests of the company, by which I mean all the shareholders, if rather than allow your wife to go on maternity leave, I suspend her formally from duty because of the way she's handled this crisis. Allowing you to speak to the press is reasonable evidence, as I see it, of a serious lack of judgement on her part, justifying such an action on mine. I propose to take independent legal advice… not your pal McPhillips… and if he agrees that I have a right to do that, I will'

I wasn't sure whether Susie sensed what was happening or not, but she chose that moment to slip off her stool at the breakfast bar, gather Janet up in her arms, and leave the room.

The change in my tone of voice must have surprised Fisher, just a little. "Now listen to me, you old bastard," I hissed. "Get your ego in check and remember your place. If you don't assure me right now that what you've just said was all bluff and bullshit there will be a special board meeting before this day is out. I will attend that meeting as my wife's proxy and the only item on the agenda will be your resignation as chairman."

"On what grounds?"

"On the grounds that I don't fucking like you. If you think I'm not serious, just try me out. Now I'll tell you two things. One, if you ever call me "boy" or "son" again, your age won't stop me slapping you silly. Two, if you ever threaten my wife again, nothing will protect you. Now this is what you're going to do. You'll instruct our brokers to make a statement to the Stock Exchange that Phil Culshaw has taken over as acting chief executive of the group during Susie's absence on maternity leave, but that she will be available to him for consultation and advice. That'll impress the analysts. What you've just proposed would scare the crap out of them, and the bankers and every independent shareholder."

I had to pause for breath; that's how angry I was. "You've got five seconds," I continued, 'to let me hear you say "Yes", or I call Greg as company secretary and have him call that meeting. And don't waste one of those seconds thinking I'm bluffing. One, two…"

Fisher said, "Yes," on the count of four, although it came across as if he was choking.

"Sensible," I said. "By the way, what do you think of Aidan Keane as the mole?"

"He's a hot-head, but I'm certain it wasn't him."

"Wrong." I hung up on the Knight of the Realm.

"Was he indeed?"

I looked over my shoulder; Susie was standing in the doorway.

"How much of that did you hear?"

"I came in on "I don't fucking like you". I've been wanting to say that to him since the first day he took the chair. He's got to go."

I shook my head. "No, not now he's got the message. It would be a bad move at this point. You have to show unity. The share price will take a big enough thumping tomorrow as it is."