Special Relationship (12 page)

"What's his problem?" said Nick. "We made him 13% this year. If he wants to chat tell him to go on Twitter."

Lauren looked awkward. "He is one of our biggest contributors in fees," she said.

"The 13% was after the fees," said Nick.

"I think we need to keep him happy."

"The 13% should keep him happy."

Lauren had never seen Nick like this. Normally a stickler for detail, he looked uninterested, sluggish and not much bothered whether Wyatt made a good return or went bankrupt.

Her boss, with less than total sincerity Lauren thought, thanked the investment people for their performance. "Well done, guys, you
outperformed the Dow, the S&P and property," he said.

It was only when Wallis, the fraud man spoke, that he looked more attentive. He reported that there had been a couple of attacks on the company's computer system but nothing out of the usual and nothing they couldn't handle.

"Is it totally impossible that anyone could hack into our system and fuck us up?" Nick asked.

"Well, on all known technology, yes. But there are east European and Asians working hard on changing that. Not just us but with every big company in the western world," Wallis replied.

"Obviously we are doing everything to ensure we stay a step ahead of them."

"So there is no chance a one-man show, say in London, could break in and cause us grief, even if he has fairly high level clearance?"

"One man couldn't do it by himself whatever clearance he has got. It would take a big team working round the clock. Even you, sir, would find it hard to switch funds without us knowing about it."

"Interesting," said Nick. "I haven't got a clue how it all works but since we have never had anyone hack our system, let alone steal clients' money, I do have confidence in what you guys do."

"Thanks, you should have, sir."

"OK, everyone, I think that's about it. Apparently there is a meeting tomorrow morning - my PA not realising it was a Saturday - so if any of you are present I will see you then and if not before I go."

The employees left the office, whispering among themselves once outside that their boss didn't seem "right".

"Well, that wasn't very productive, was it?" Katherine said to Nick.

"What did you expect? Investments are well ahead of the benchmarks, security is tight and Jack Wyatt is an arse. We knew that before we came," he said.

Katherine knew that something was bothering him and she thought she knew what it was. She was just waiting for the right time to mention the subject. That subject being, she was sure, one Alex Anderson.

"Have you got a hotel or are you staying at mine?" Nick asked her.

"I'm in the Library."

The Library on Madison Avenue was the hotel for which the description 'boutique' must have been invented. The floors were designated under a library system, that helps readers find books easily, called the Dewey Decimal Classification. So the hotel's seventh floor was arts, the eight floor literature and the ninth floor history. Each of the rooms had their own theme, subgenres of the floor category. The eleventh floor was the Philosophy floor and room six was love. The eighth floor was Literature and room one on that floor was Erotic Literature.

"And what room are you in this time?" Nick asked.

"I think I'm in Medicine but perhaps I should have asked for Psychology," she said.

"Meaning?" he asked.

"Nick, you were on autopilot for that meeting. Whatever is going on in your mind, you need to get on with running the business."

He
looked at her.

"They have a 'Money' room at the Library, don't they?"

"Yes, they do."

"Well, if they gave me that one I would ask to be moved to another floor."

"Oh brilliant," said Katherine. "The head honcho of a company whose sole aim is to make money is bored of making money. I'd better put more in my savings account.

"But for now I'm meeting a friend for some serious shopping, New York style.

"And I'll call you later for dinner arrangements," she said as she picked up two of her bags and left the office.

Nick called
Tavis. "How's the Big Apple?" he answered.

"It's great, very big buildings and lots of people running around. Makes a change from very old buildings and lots of people running around."

More small talk followed before Nick broached the subject of "the Anderson contract".

"Well, you were only in Great Britain this morning, Nicholas, so unsurprisingly there is little to report.

"But Miss Anderson and I are going for drinks on Monday and I have some questions to pose, the answers to which might illuminate her dark, mysterious past."

"I want you to lay off," Nick said.

"So you are happy having someone who is not who she says she is having access to your computer systems and, my dear man, probably access to you, and all your ludicrous riches? That's if I'm reading things correctly."

Nick explained that he had spoken to Jimmy Wallis that morning and that unless Alex Anderson was being supported by teams of the Russian mafia there was no hope of her doing anything to put numbers - also known as money - from the
Hensen accounts into whatever account Tavis was imagining.

"She is not interested in material things, as I told you before I came over here."

"This being the girl you have known less than a week and who you have met twice?"

"Look, just forget the questions, take her for drinks and tell her that you have spoken to me and that I'll meet up with her again after I get back.

"But definitely no questions."

"If that's what you want," said
Tavis before explaining he was about to catch a flight to Scotland to watch his football team, Edinburgh-based Hibernian play Glasgow's Celtic the next day. "Bag O' Shite" was Tavis's description of the opposing team.

Nick didn't want to talk football. He just wanted
Tavis to promise that on Monday he wouldn't grill Alex about her past.

Tavis
agreed again. And Nick knew he would be true to his word.

Alex also had the
Tavis meeting on her mind. What she hadn't thought about until now was that he was meant to be calling on Sunday and she had planned on keeping the business switch – including her main mobile - firmly in the 'off' position until first thing on Monday.

Kerry's probably right, she thought. The worry that
Tavis would just want to quiz her on her past tempted her to text him and make an excuse.

In her mind she worked on the message to send. "
Tavis something has come up, can't make Monday. Really sorry, but hopefully meet up soon."

To actually send it would mean switching her main phone on, or revealing her second phone's number – at least without
spending an hour trying to work how to block her id. So she decided to wait.

She went to the fridge and got out a cone-shaped ice cream with "natural forest fruits" from the freezer. In the main fridge compartment she looked at a half-drunk bottle of New Zealand sauvignon
blanc but resisted the temptation and grabbed some more fizzy water instead.

She climbed back into bed but instead of continuing with Annie Hall on her iPad she looked through her 'photos' folder. Tears ran down her cheeks as she saw the little girl patting the donkey at the zoo, building a sand castle on the beach and coming down the helter skelter at the funfair with her beautiful love-of-life laugh.

Nick was in his apartment a couple of blocks from the office, looking at his phone. He wondered why Alex hadn't even
acknowledged the text he'd sent earlier.

There were plenty of messages, including one from Katherine informing him that she had booked Bianca, an inexpensive Italian in the Village that was so inexpensive they didn't take reservations, nor even credit cards. But Katherine never worried about the small print. She seemed to know everyone and anyone who would help her run round the rules.

Good choice, thought Nick, who would have despaired at the prospect of some fancy top-end restaurant. He failed to respond to the missed calls from investors and employees, didn't check what was happening on Wall Street or back in London, and also resisted the temptation to call Alex.

At the top of the spiral staircase in the apartment was his American minder, Elroy Williams, who was busy playing Super Street Fighter on Nintendo.

"Elroy, I'm going out," he called.

"I'll come with you, boss."

"No need, mate. Only going a block or two."

"I'll follow discreetly, you won't know I'm there."

"If you must."

On leaving the apartment block, Nick quickly hailed a yellow cab. "Central Park, please."

"Hey buddy, Central Park takes up a lot of Manhattan. Any chance you can be a bit more descriptive?"

First cabbie in New York to use the word '
descriptive', thought Nick. "By the reservoir," he replied.

As the cab was pulling away he turned behind to see Elroy, looking very pissed off.

And they hadn't gone a mile when his number flashed on his phone.

"How's it going, mate?"

"Hey boss, you know you are not meant to wander around without me. If someone holds you hostage and threatens to slit your throat unless they get a hundred mill, you know who's in trouble?"

"Me?" Nick suggested.

"Nope, it's me sir. You get your throat slit and I'll never work in this business again."

Nick laughed. "Elroy, listen, I promise to review your salary and maybe we ca
n do something to take into account the risks you take trying to look after such a wayward boss?"

"I'd appreciate it sir and I'd also appreciate it if you didn't keep running off. Or we'll all end up in the newspapers."

"Elroy, I'll catch you later. You will always be a legend whether I end up getting my throat slit or not."

"You're trouble, sir,"

"I know, Elroy, I know...that's why we get on."

"Be glad when you are back on that small island," Elroy retorted before hanging up.

On the small island itself, in Bayswater, Lady Ashton was talking to her husband about the invitations for their "Farewell to Britain" ball. It had become an annual event at which they said goodbye to their friends and family while they escaped the British winter for the warmer climate of their villa on the Canary Islands.

"We'll invite the Walpole's, not that they'll come, the Granville's, the Lambton's and the Chichester's. And the
Hensen people, of course, Nick, Tavis and Katherine."

"Oh and that American girl, Alexander," the Lord rumbled.

"Alexan
dra
!"

"Don't be a pedant, my dear. Whatever her name, she's certainly a good-looking girl, and very pleasant as well," replied the Lord. "And what about that lady Nick used to be with, what's her name, Olivia somebody, used to work for him?"

"Olivia Hartley," replied Lady Ashton. "I'm not sure she and Nick get on now and I think he has eyes for the American girl."

"Bit premature...they only met at the races," said the Lord, peering at his wife from behind the Daily Telegraph.

"True, but I had a conversation with Tavis and he said that Nick was quite taken when he first saw her photo sometime earlier. Meeting her just confirmed his, err, intentions."

"Bit sudden though, don't you think?"

"Conventions from the days when we courted are long gone, Henry. Now people fall in love using the world wide web and what they call 'social networks' without even meeting each other. You can fall in love in minutes now, so I'm told. Not like in our day. We courted for two years before you even kissed me."

"Didn't want to risk rejection," the Lord chuckled.

"I don't think Alexandra will have to wait two years."

"If I were Nicholas, I wouldn't wait two years either," the Lord guffawed, hiding behind his newspaper as Lady Eleanor threw a piece of scone at him.

The Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir in Central Park was huge, getting on for three times the size of London's equivalent, the Serpentine. Nick sat on a bench and looked across the water to the spectacular city skyline beyond. He looked too at his phone but there was still no message from Alex.

There was one from Katherine: "Elroy says you have ditched him again. Where are you?"

He wasn't bothered to reply. He thought about his life and his relationship with Claire and what might have happened but for their baby's death eight years earlier.

Nick wondered what Claire was doing now and whether she was happy and whether she missed him or even
thought of him at all. Since their split, he had been in several relationships with footballer-wives-type women, and they'd all been brief. His 'fling' with Olivia Hartley was about the longest but even that was only four months.