I
Kirkpatrick Films’ Head Office, Covent Garden, London
Rebecca Kirkpatrick was doing her best to concentrate on what Titch Osmond, her Chief Financial Officer, was telling her, but it was hard, what with Nicola’s scribbled note in her lap. She glanced surreptitiously down at it yet again.
Pierre Demullin (???) called. From Madagascar (!?!). Will call back later.
All those exclamation and question marks; they’d got beneath her skin. She was constantly getting calls from all over the world, and it was hardly a secret that her mother had been Malagasy, if only because of her own mix of Polynesian, African and European looks. So what about this particular message had made all those exclamation marks necessary? She breathed in deep, trying to maintain her calm. It wasn’t that surprising that Pierre should call. He was her childhood neighbour and her father’s closest friend, as well as her sister Emilia’s lover and the father of her infant son Michel. Yet Rebecca hadn’t spoken to him in eleven years, and the truth was she couldn’t imagine what would have prompted him to call her, not out of the blue like this.
‘Your mind’s not on it,’ said Titch. ‘Shall we do this later?’
Rebecca smiled with artificial brightness. It wasn’t as if there was anything she could do before Pierre rang back, after all. ‘It’s fine,’ she assured him. ‘You were telling me about our cash-flow.’
‘Yes,’ said Titch, flipping on through his ring-binder. ‘We need another sixty-seven to see us through to July.’
‘Sixty-seven?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘Is that all?’
He gave a wry laugh. ‘Sixty-seven’s not nothing, you know.’
‘Can’t we borrow?’ She glanced down at Nicola’s note again. It wasn’t quite true that she couldn’t imagine why Pierre might call. That was the thing that was unnerving her. He’d certainly be the person to contact her in an emergency if neither Adam nor Emilia could get to a phone.
‘You think I haven’t tried?’ frowned Titch, as though she’d cast a slur upon his character. ‘No one will lend us any more.’
‘Why not? We’re profitable, aren’t we?’
‘On paper, yes.’ He looked up and momentarily caught her eye before hurriedly looking away again, his cheeks flaming. A couple of months before, out at a working dinner, he’d seized her hand in both of his and declared undying love. She’d put it down at the time to alcohol and the recent break-up of his marriage, but little moments like this made her wonder if it wasn’t more serious than that. She devoutly hoped not. She was deeply fond of Titch, and valued him highly, yet she felt nothing remotely romantic for him. He bowed his head and turned another leaf in his ring-binder. ‘But we have no assets to speak of,’ he continued, ‘and we keep hitting these cash-flow problems, and those two together are like a big flashing red light to the banks.’
‘So what do you recommend?’ The question was, what kind of emergency would keep both Adam and Emilia from the phone?
‘Well,’ said Titch. ‘We have three main avenues. I’m talking as the company here, you understand. The first thing we can do is, we can go after the people who owe us money.’
‘You mean me, I suppose?’
He twisted his pen around in his hands. ‘Mostly, yes.’
‘How much is it now?’
‘Two hundred and eighty. A little over. And our loan arrangement did specify repayment within-’
‘And the second option?’ If anything had happened to Emilia, her father would have been the one to call. If anything had happened to her father, it would be Emilia. She closed her eyes for a moment, not willing to pursue her logic further.
‘We’ve been expanding really quickly lately. Taking on staff. But most of our projects are costing us a lot more than they’re bringing in.’
‘You want me to fire people?’
‘You asked me to outline our options. That’s one of them.’
‘What else?’
‘This is a fine business you’re building, Rebecca,’ said Titch. ‘We’ve already had unsolicited approaches from several companies. They’d pay top dollar.’
‘No,’ she bridled. ‘This is my company.’
‘Please, Rebecca. At least think about it. You’re a great presenter. I mean, a great presenter. But you’re not a businesswoman. You’re not here often enough, for one thing. You’re always off filming. And your heart’s not in it, not really, not if you’re honest with yourself.’
‘I won’t take orders.’
‘No one would give you orders,’ laughed Titch ruefully. ‘They wouldn’t dare, frankly. If you left, there’d hardly be a company any more.’
He was stroking her ego, she knew, yet it worked all the same. ‘There must be some alternative,’ she said. ‘Can’t we ride it out until America comes in?’
‘There’s no guarantee America will come in,’ Titch told her. ‘And, anyway, we won’t know for weeks at least; and we won’t see any real revenue for months after that. In the meantime we have our salaries and rent to pay, our suppliers to-’
A double rap on the door. Nicola poked in her head, smiled brightly. ‘You said to let you know when that Frenchman called back,’ she said.
Rebecca’s mouth went dry and her heart started thumping hard. ‘Pierre?’
‘He’s on hold right now.’
‘Okay. Put him through.’
‘Will do.’
‘You couldn’t give me a moment, please,’ Rebecca asked Titch. ‘I really have to take this.’
‘Of course.’ He rose to his feet. ‘We’ll finish this later.’
She nodded and took a deep breath, wiped her palms upon her trousers. On her desk, her phone began to ring.
II
The Maritsa lurched into another wave valley, sending the anchor swinging back across the open hatch like a wrecking ball. Knox crouched down and waved to the two conservators in the hold to get clear. Another wave passed beneath them. The Maritsa rolled harder; the anchor gained momentum. Klaus put out both hands in an effort to stop it, but it simply pushed him backwards until he tripped over a davit and fell on to his backside. It should have been funny, but no one was laughing. Something this heavy could do untold damage. It swung towards Lucia; she dithered about which way to evade it for so long that Knox had to push her clear, sending her sprawling across the deck.
The crane operator glanced overboard, clearly thinking of dumping the anchor back at sea; but there was a team of divers still underwater, and it would put them at fearful risk. Knox waited for the anchor to reach the end of its next swing, grabbed hold of its end and hauled himself up, then began using his weight to work against the roll of the boat, like a child slowing a playground swing. Miles saw what he was doing and clambered up too, and together they calmed the anchor enough for the crane operator to lower it safely through the open hatch. The moment it passed beneath deck level, they leapt free, allowing the other crew to close the hatch, cutting down the anchor’s room to swing, its ability to cause damage. They heard it thump hard into the hold floor then roll briefly until it found its angle of repose. They opened the hatch back up. The conservators were already on either side of the anchor, releasing it from its straps. Ricky had somehow got down there already, shouting out his usual orders for Maddow’s camera. Knox looked around. No one appeared badly hurt, though Lucia was still on her backside, looking a little pale. ‘Sorry about that,’ said Knox, helping her up.
‘Christ!’ she muttered. ‘The size of that thing! I’d have been jam.’ She brushed herself down, gave him a dry
