CHAPTER TWENTYONE:
CREATION
Colin
wakes on Monday morning, and feels Dorothy breathing gently at his side, and it
is a revelation. He is in a new world, and not dreaming, and his waking mind glows
with memories of the previous evening, and a
glorious progression taken up again on their return from eating, through
a series of increasingly somnolent unions, until they were both sleeping, and
then resumed in a half-waking break some time before dawn, when Dorothy had
scratched softly at his back, and they had come together, to slide united back
into slumber.
He
lies quietly, reluctant to move, though his watch tells him that it will soon
be time to get up, and thinks of RichQuick and Glotech, and making his way in
the world. But Queensway is merely a few minutes away, and he has time to lie
and reflect on his good fortune, and stretch himself lazily, and his movement
wakes Dorothy, and they make love again, and it is perfection.
Afterwards they shower and dress, smiling at each other whenever their
eyes meet, and set out to hunt for breakfast, and share coffee and croissants
at a French cafe in Queensway, and he walks with Dorothy to the Bat Group
building entrance, so that she will know where to find him if need be, and they
kiss again, regardless of passers-by.
They
also linger for a moment. Colin is already focussing on Glotech, and the
feature he has to write. But he is a little worried that Dorothy may find
London boring on her own, with little to fill her time.
However she rejects his anxiety with a most adult assurance. "I
shall go shopping, and start hunting for somewhere for us to live properly, and
ring mum to tell her I'm okay." Her chin is set, and determined. She is
not to be treated as a little girl anymore.
Talk
of phone calls makes Colin twitchy. Jane may call, and he is already planning
to hide behind Wendy. "Don't tell her where you are." He remembers
the black document case with its banknotes and packets and bags. "And make
sure you send that case back."
Dorothy lowers her eyes in brief acknowledgement, though she rebels at
being ordered to return the case. The money is bad money, and Weiss is a bad man, and it is better kept out of his
reach, particularly as she and Colin will need funds to set up home together.
Likewise the drugs, which must be very valuable, though she is not sure how an
amateur could convert them safely into cash. Perhaps she could hold on to them
for a few days, and then use them to ransom Prince. However she knows that she
must keep this sort of thinking to herself. Men are funny creatures where
decisions are concerned: they think they know all the answers, and like showing
off, and bossing girls around, even when girls know best, and girls sometimes
have to tread carefully, and be clever in secret.
Colin
is so full of plans that he has already accepted her acquiescence. "I must
go." He kisses her again quickly, and is about to hasten into the building
when he sees green jealousy spreading across the faces of a couple of passing
Bat Group men. The sight fills him with pride, and he decides to parade his
prowess. "Why don't you come in and collect me at half-past five?"
Dorothy also notices the men's jealousy, and is mightily flattered. She decides
that perhaps she will spend some of Weiss' money - just a few bob that she can
pay back later - on clothes as a treat, and store the rest in the building
society account she has built on an early morning paper round. She is now a
woman, and she must look good for Colin, and look good for her own morale. She
also decides to entrust Weiss' case to the nice boy on the hotel reception
desk, for storage in the hotel safe. Drugs are valuable and dangerous
commodities, and she must keep the case safe from thieving hands.
Colin
takes the lift up to RichQuick's offices feeling like a king. Wendy is already
tucked in behind her desk, with just a hint of knee on display, and she smiles
brightly in welcome.
"I've just put the kettle on." Her voice is warm with the
respect clever secretaries reserve for rising stars: a messenger has just been
and gone, leaving an important package from Glotech, and the Home Office has
been on the phone, offering an interview with the new Home Secretary for
midweek. "Tim's coming in late - he's flying back from Geneva with Nat
later this morning, so you're in charge."
She
dimples, and for a moment Colin wonders whether being in charge confers special
Twister-type privileges. But he quickly pushes the idea out of his mind: Dorothy
is better looking than Wendy, he has a challenging day ahead, and he can see
work waiting on his desk.
The
Glotech transcript is beautiful: nice wide margins, double spacing, just right
for rapid editing, and Baptiste has added a second large envelope, marked
'confidential' in a bold rounded hand.
Colin
waits for Wendy to undulate off to the RichQuick cafetiere - and it is plain
that she is swaying her hips in a really most provocative manner - before
tearing the envelope open quickly, though he suspects that it is really a
little early for a second wad of banknotes. But sadly Baptiste has sent nothing
but a brief handwritten note and a sheet of handwritten figures, and he barely
glances at them, one eye already noting Wendy's scrawled Home Office note.
Then
he looks at Baptiste's note again. The note is written on an anonymously
expensive sheet of dove grey handwriting paper, bereft of address, logo,
greeting or signature, with no identification at all. But it tweaks Colin's
intuition: 'Just a note to tell you how much we enjoyed your visit: the chief
was particularly impressed. He thought you might care to speculate on the
enclosed, providing you make it very clear that they are your own guesswork'.
The
figures spell out a detailed two year sales and profit projection. Colin scans them quickly, and is baffled for
a moment, because they make Glotech's prospects look very much better than his
own projections. He studies them again, combing through them carefully, and
suddenly realises in an electric flash of excitement that Baptiste has added in
a totally new South East Asia division.
Wendy
is hovering, holding up the phone, but he waves it away. "Say I'm in a
meeting." He is now taut with excitement, scanning the Glotech transcript
for clues, blind and deaf to all else as he reaches a section dealing with
Glotech's future aims and ambitions.
The
transcript faithfully follows his interview. But then, at the end, a two page
note has been added, outlining a deal to buy in a dynamic conglomerate based in
Singapore, and it is a revelation, and a scoop, and a market coup, and may very
well prove the crowning of Colin Vast, and he is exhilarated.
His
mind races into overdrive, and he starts to punch a snappy intro into his word
processor, mentally shaping Glotech into three thousand hard-selling words, and
he can almost hear Karim giggling. But now Wendy is waving her phone again, and
this time she is not to be gainsaid.
"It's somebody called Mark Tyler." Her voice is insistent.
"He's already called twice, and he says it's important."
Colin
skids to a halt. Wendy is pushing the telephone at him, but her presence fills
him with panic. He must be alone, and private. He gestures fiercely, wondering
desperately how much space he can clear by being in charge, and it is a
miracle, for suddenly Wendy has gone, and he has the RichQuick office all to
himself.
Tyler's voice is a crackle of sound. "Sorry, I'm outside in the
street, I don't want to share any good news with flapping ears." He sounds
anxious, almost tense. "What's the word?"
"Brilliant, absolutely brilliant." Colin can barely contain
himself. "They gave me a page of numbers."
"Numbers?" Tyler's edginess is plain.
"A detailed projection for next year, with the people in Singapore
built in as part of the group."
The
telephone makes a tiny gulping sound. "Agreed bid?"
"Totally." Colin scrabbles for Baptiste's sheet of figures and
reels off a string of key numbers. "Singapore looks like becoming a couple
of new divisions." He scrabbles again, flailing around in the Glotech
transcript. "I'm going to lead on it."
The
line is silent for a moment, crackling nervously to itself, and then emits a
high-pitched squeak, as though somebody has just leaped excitedly into the air
and crowed a new dawn. Then another silence, as though complex issues are being
weighed.
"I'm going to call a chum who deals in Far Eastern issues."
Tyler crackles back to life. But now his voice is hard with a trader's
sharpness. "We'll tiptoe into Singapore and Sydney, maybe waft gently
through Tokyo and Wall Street, and quietly fill our boots with the Sultan's
options."
Colin
has a feeling that the market is moving ahead of him. "What about Glotech?
What about here?"
"Oh, sod here." The telephone becomes magisterially
dismissive. "We want the target, not the buyer. We'll go where the action
is, and pile into the prey before the vultures."
"And me?" Now it is Colin's turn to feel tense. He has a
sudden sense of having sold all his secrets without setting a price.
The
telephone crackles thoughtfully to itself for a moment. "Give us a copy of
your piece, talk your boss into running a trailer in next weekend's Sunday
Times, and we'll cut you in for a couple of points on the margin."
Colin
is lost.
"Two percent of the uplift, maybe two and a half if we can get
things really moving." Tyler sounds impatient to be away. "I'll see
if I can mobilise fifty grand - that should leverage the best part of a
million. With luck we'll double, maybe even treble, our money, and you'll be a
rich man."
The
phone clicks, and he is gone. But his words are a trigger, a magic stimulant,
and Colin whirls into action. Glotech quickly takes shape in his mind, and
words flow effortlessly through his fingertips onto the screen of his
wordprocessor, spinning possible oriental expansion plans into a glittering
word picture projecting accelerating Glotech growth and prosperity, plus a
truly magic promise for Glotech shareholders, and Colin knows that he is
shaping a gem.
Wendy
ferries up regular cups of strong black coffee as he writes, and smiles at him
indulgently, the Home Office sets an interview for Wednesday afternoon, and
promises to send a courier with every possible press cutting relating to the
winsome new Home Secretary, and Twister tiptoes in cautiously, pausing only to
pat Colin benignly on his shoulder as he pounds away at his keyboard, and time
flies.
Lunchtime comes and goes, but he has no hunger, and Twister - showing
great concern - sends out for sandwiches. Teatime comes, and he starts to slow,
coming up on the home stretch, and suddenly he is patting his closing
assessment into place, and three thousand words are safely in the bag, and it
is a memorable achievement, and Colin pushes his swivel chair back, and takes a
deep, deep breath, and fills with pride, and slowly buries his head in his
hands, for he feels as though he has been wrung out and hung up to dry, and he
is totally exhausted.
Twister is already waiting, and spirits Colin's text away into his
office. Pages rustle, punctuated by a flurry of enthusiastic exclamations, and
RichQuick's editor hurries out again, waving the pages at Wendy.
"Quick - fax this to Geneva, and send a copy down to Nat." He
is beaming from ear to ear.
Colin
stretches, and yawns. "What do you think?"
"Brilliant, dear boy, absolutely brilliant." Twister can
barely restrain his joy, and Colin shrinks into his chair, fearful for a moment
that he may be targeted for a close editorial embrace. "You've done us proud,
dear boy, you really have."
He
grasps Colin's hand and pumps for all the world as though drawing water. He has
every reason to be jubilant, having just spent a weekend helping Nat Batten sew
up a neat little deal to sell Bat Group to the Sultan for shares in the
Sultan's holding company; shares that will now swap painlessly into Glotech
paper on a sharp value climb.
It is
a wondrous vision, and for a moment Twister's joy is so overwhelming that he is
tempted to cut Colin in for a slice. But he quickly dismisses this foolishness
as a passing weakness, for he is sure Colin will waste no time in linking up
with Karim as soon as the Sultan's man arrives in London, and he is not daft
enough to give what may well soon be taken. He casts around in his mind for an
alternative, and beams with a most avuncular benevolence.
"Dinner, dear boy. We must dine together." He mentally homes
in on Maroush, an expensively smart Lebanese restaurant off the Edgware road,
where the food is most spicy, and the bellydancers are tantalising enough to
tempt stern Arab shiekhs from their desert fastnesses. "We'll hit the
town, and paint it red."
He
gestures expansively, and sweeps Wendy in as he speaks, mindful that he must also rebuild his credit with
his secretary before Karim returns - for he retains pained memories of lunch at
the Belvedere, and watching Wendy drive off in a stretched limousine, and
strongly suspects that Karim may envisage fresh poaching. He will play the good
boss, pack Colin off home nice and early, fill Wendy with champers, and collect
in style - even if he has to send her home to Lewisham in an expensive early
morning minicab.
The
telephone in his office starts to ring, momentarily breaking his train of
thought, and he frowns. It is time to move, to mobilise Colin and Wendy, and
translate plans into action. The interruption is a pain.
Colin
is also frowning. Glotech has taken everything out of him, and now he just
wants to find somewhere cosy, and candlelit, to scan a tasty menu, and hold hands
with Dorothy, and go early to bed. He definitely does not want Twister for
dinner.
But
now Twister has his ear to the telephone and is smiling again. He looks up at
Colin.
"Reception says a girl is waiting for you downstairs. She's coming
up." His benevolence is wholly paternal - he has met Jane and Sarah once,
and does not think much of Colin's daughter. But now she may be about to deal
him a trump hand, for she must have come to escort her father home, and he will
have Wendy all to himself.
Colin
opens his mouth, and then shuts it tight. Twister and Wendy are in for a
surprise, and he would not spoil it for all the world.
The
door at the end of the floor opens, and Nat Batten appears. He is smiling, in a
most unaccustomed way, and seems to be bowing and scraping as he makes way for
a companion.
Dorothy follows him. She has been shopping, and treated herself to a
shampoo and trim, just a snip and a snap, because the salon was expensive, but
her fair hair is shining, and flowing sleekly onto her shoulders, and she knows
that she looks good. She is also wearing a new pale green linen suit that she
has bought for confronting estate agents, after twice being treated as a silly
little girl, and has invested in new shoes to set off the suit, and a smart
dark green silk blouse, and she now looks a real woman, and she has admired
herself in no end of shop windows whilst strolling down Queensway - and been
admired no end into the bargain.
Colin
beams proprietorially as Twister and Wendy stand agape.
"Dorothy, this is my boss, Tim, and Wendy, our secretary."
Wendy's lips tighten a fraction. But Twister is lost for words.
"Dorothy?" He stares, and Dorothy dimples modestly, and looks
down at the carpet.
"Dorothy
and I are setting up home together."
Three
pairs of eyes fix on Colin. Wendy has gone a very pale shade of green, paler
even than Dorothy's linen suit, while Twister and Batten patently cannot
believe their eyes or ears.
Colin
ignores them. He wonders for a moment where Dorothy has found the money for her
new outfit, but it is not time to quibble. Tyler's money will help pay back
anything Weiss loses, and it is a moment to treasure. He smiles, and holds out
his hand, and Dorothy moves to stand at his side, and he is filled with a joy
that knows no bounds.