wants to discover the truth. ‘Friends fall out,’ he says. ‘It happens. Then again, men your age, in your positions, they don’t duff each other up in the street just for fun.’ He drops his head to one side. ‘Why?’ he asks, and the blood pounds in my ears. ‘Mr Carlton?’
‘Daniel thought I was having an affair with Celia.’
‘Celia Stewart?’
Yes, I tell him, Daniel’s wife.
‘Was it true?’
‘No.’
‘He accused you, then you hit him.’
‘We scuffled.’
‘Your secretary saw him fall.’
‘He took a swing and I grabbed him. We wrestled a bit. He wasn’t hurt.’
‘Were you?’
I hold up my wrist. ‘Broke my watch.’
He asks why he's only hearing about this now.
‘Because it isn’t important,’ I say.
He stands and takes a turn around the office, pausing by the window. ‘You and Stewart were friends a long time. Back to Eton.’ When I incline my head, he says, ‘You might help me.’
‘If I could.’
His look immediately darkens, and I know at once that I have made a mistake.
‘I hope you don’t think this investigation can be deflected, Mr Carlton, because I won’t let that happen.’ He goes to the door. ‘I’ll call on Mrs Stewart. If you contact her before I do, I’ll regard that as an obstruction of my inquiries. Thanks for your time.’
The truth — the simple truth — is all that he wants. But the simple truth is the one thing I can't give him.
I pick up the phone and dial Hugh Morgan.
8
----
B efore lunch there’s a gathering of the corporate finance team in Vance’s office. The atmosphere is cheerful, almost partylike, everyone discussing different angles on the bid. When Henry walks in with Peter Fanshawe, our broker on the bid, young Haywood claps theatrically and cries, ‘Bravo.’ Fanshawe takes a bow. The backslapping done, I draw Henry aside.
‘How much have we got?’
He gestures back to Fanshawe. ‘They’re still doing the numbers. Looks like we’re over forty per cent, thereabouts.’ As Vance hoped. From here on in, Parnells will find it extremely difficult to shake us loose. ‘Dried up a bit after ten,’ Henry says.
‘Last bid you saw?’
‘177.’
‘Last trade?’
‘Same. Just hanging round there.’
Vance, overhearing, leans across. ‘Maybe the arbitrageurs might stay out of it for a change.’
Henry tells him to keep right on dreaming.
I touch Vance’s arm and we step out into the corridor. Behind us Henry regales the others with a Dealing Room story that would turn the Equal Opportunities people apoplectic if they heard.
‘What do you think?’ I ask Vance as we walk down the passage. ‘Forty per cent enough?’
‘Could be worse. You’ve still got lunch with Brian McKinnon today?'
Brian McKinnon, the manager of an investment fund that is one of Carltons’ major shareholders: they own a large parcel of Parnells too. Over lunch, I will try to convince McKinnon that 180 is a worthwhile bid.
I confirm with Vance that lunch is still on. We stop by the coffee machine and he leans against the wall and stifles a yawn.At last the sleeplessness is getting to him, he is human after all.
'This Inspector Ryan’s getting on my pip,’ he says.
‘Humour him, Stephen.’
He rubs his eyes. ‘I keep thinking about Daniel. I was checking my diary just now. Daniel and Celia were meant to be coming round for dinner tonight.’
‘At your place?’
He sees my surprise. ‘Burying the hatchet,’ he explains. After their last big argument I told him to do just that. Apparently he intended to try. ‘But now?’ He shrugs. ‘You know what I mean?’
I know exactly what he means. Mortality weighs heavy on us both.
‘Just like that,’ he says. ‘How old was he, forty?’
‘Thirty-nine.’
‘Jesus, his boys too.’ Vance shakes his head. He asks if I’ve spoken to Celia.
‘She’s all right.’
‘That Ryan, the Inspector.’ Vance lifts his head. ‘Did he say anything to you about Daniel and
‘Daniel thought I was having an affair with Celia.’
‘Celia Stewart?’
Yes, I tell him, Daniel’s wife.
‘Was it true?’
‘No.’
‘He accused you, then you hit him.’
‘We scuffled.’
‘Your secretary saw him fall.’
‘He took a swing and I grabbed him. We wrestled a bit. He wasn’t hurt.’
‘Were you?’
I hold up my wrist. ‘Broke my watch.’
He asks why he's only hearing about this now.
‘Because it isn’t important,’ I say.
He stands and takes a turn around the office, pausing by the window. ‘You and Stewart were friends a long time. Back to Eton.’ When I incline my head, he says, ‘You might help me.’
‘If I could.’
His look immediately darkens, and I know at once that I have made a mistake.
‘I hope you don’t think this investigation can be deflected, Mr Carlton, because I won’t let that happen.’ He goes to the door. ‘I’ll call on Mrs Stewart. If you contact her before I do, I’ll regard that as an obstruction of my inquiries. Thanks for your time.’
The truth — the simple truth — is all that he wants. But the simple truth is the one thing I can't give him.
I pick up the phone and dial Hugh Morgan.
8
----
B efore lunch there’s a gathering of the corporate finance team in Vance’s office. The atmosphere is cheerful, almost partylike, everyone discussing different angles on the bid. When Henry walks in with Peter Fanshawe, our broker on the bid, young Haywood claps theatrically and cries, ‘Bravo.’ Fanshawe takes a bow. The backslapping done, I draw Henry aside.
‘How much have we got?’
He gestures back to Fanshawe. ‘They’re still doing the numbers. Looks like we’re over forty per cent, thereabouts.’ As Vance hoped. From here on in, Parnells will find it extremely difficult to shake us loose. ‘Dried up a bit after ten,’ Henry says.
‘Last bid you saw?’
‘177.’
‘Last trade?’
‘Same. Just hanging round there.’
Vance, overhearing, leans across. ‘Maybe the arbitrageurs might stay out of it for a change.’
Henry tells him to keep right on dreaming.
I touch Vance’s arm and we step out into the corridor. Behind us Henry regales the others with a Dealing Room story that would turn the Equal Opportunities people apoplectic if they heard.
‘What do you think?’ I ask Vance as we walk down the passage. ‘Forty per cent enough?’
‘Could be worse. You’ve still got lunch with Brian McKinnon today?'
Brian McKinnon, the manager of an investment fund that is one of Carltons’ major shareholders: they own a large parcel of Parnells too. Over lunch, I will try to convince McKinnon that 180 is a worthwhile bid.
I confirm with Vance that lunch is still on. We stop by the coffee machine and he leans against the wall and stifles a yawn.At last the sleeplessness is getting to him, he is human after all.
'This Inspector Ryan’s getting on my pip,’ he says.
‘Humour him, Stephen.’
He rubs his eyes. ‘I keep thinking about Daniel. I was checking my diary just now. Daniel and Celia were meant to be coming round for dinner tonight.’
‘At your place?’
He sees my surprise. ‘Burying the hatchet,’ he explains. After their last big argument I told him to do just that. Apparently he intended to try. ‘But now?’ He shrugs. ‘You know what I mean?’
I know exactly what he means. Mortality weighs heavy on us both.
‘Just like that,’ he says. ‘How old was he, forty?’
‘Thirty-nine.’
‘Jesus, his boys too.’ Vance shakes his head. He asks if I’ve spoken to Celia.
‘She’s all right.’
‘That Ryan, the Inspector.’ Vance lifts his head. ‘Did he say anything to you about Daniel and
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