Final Venture

Michael Ridpath Final Venture

© 2000

for Nicholas

Acknowledgements

Writing this novel involved talking to a great many people, most of whom were busy and yet were very generous with their time. I should like to thank in particular Toby Wyles, Anne Glover, Chris Murphy, Jonathan Cape, Paul Haycock, Hamish Hale and Lionel Wilson in London, and in Boston, Steve Willis, Chris Gabrieli, Christopher Spray, Sabin Willett and Rob and Pam Irwin.

1

I should have told her the night before, when I came home very late smelling of wine. Or that Friday morning, early, as I fought a thick head to crawl out of bed and into work for eight o'clock.

But I hadn't. If I had, she might, she just might, have stayed.

It didn't seem a big deal, then. Not to me, not to her. I was cooking supper when she came home from the lab. Shepherd's pie and baked beans. You can't get shepherd's pie in America unless you make it yourself. I needed the English comfort food to absorb the remains of the previous night's alcohol. Lisa would understand. She would eat hers good-humouredly, and we would have an alfalfa salad tomorrow.

'Simon?' she shouted as the door slammed.

'Yeah!'

I heard her steps make their way through the living room of our small apartment, and felt her arms slide round my waist. I turned and kissed her. It was supposed to be a quick peck on the lips, but it became something more. I broke away and turned back to the beans, which were beginning to bubble.

'Shepherd's pie?' she asked.

'Yep.'

'I never will get used to this sophisticated European food. Was it a rough night last night?'

'You could say that.' I stirred the beans.

'I need a glass of wine. Want one?'

'No thanks.' I watched her pour one. 'Oh, all right, I'll have some.'

She poured mine and brought it over to me. She was wearing a black V-necked sweater and leggings. There was nothing under the sweater, I knew; no shirt, no bra. I knew her body so well, small, pert, lithe, yet I couldn't get enough of it. In the six months we had been married, we had been all over each other all the time. Things just didn't get done around the apartment.

'I spoke to Dad today,' she said, a wicked smile on her face.

'Oh yes?' Dad was Lisa's father, Frank Cook, a partner at Revere, the venture-capital firm I worked for. I had him to thank for my job there, and then for introducing me to his daughter.

'Yes. He says he bumped into you last night. You seemed to be having an enjoyable evening. And there was I thinking you were slaving away at cash-flow statements or whatever it is you tell me you do at your office.'

I felt a rush of panic. Lisa saw it, but the amused smile remained on her face. 'He saw me?' I gulped. 'I mean, I didn't see him.'

'He was at the far side of the restaurant, apparently. You must have been too wrapped up in your date. He said it looked like you were having a good time.'

'It wasn't a date. It was Diane Zarrilli. We were both working late on one of her deals, and then she suggested we go out for a drink. We passed a restaurant, they had a table, and so we got something to eat as well.'

'That's not what you told me.'

'Isn't it?'

'Uh uh. You said you went out for a drink with some people from work.'

It was true, I had mumbled that to Lisa's back as I had crawled into bed after midnight.

'You got me,' I said.

'Dad seems to think I should be careful of this Diane woman.'

'She's nice. She's good fun. You haven't met her properly yet. You'd like her.'

'She's very attractive.'

'I suppose so,' I murmured. It was undeniable. Diane was very attractive.

'You lied to me, Simon Ayot,' Lisa said.

'It wasn't exactly a lie.'

'Yes it was.' She moved closer to me, pushing me back towards the cooker. I could hear the beans bubbling away behind me. I raised my arms. 'It was exactly a lie.' Her hand shot out and grabbed my balls. She squeezed gently.

'Ow!' I squawked. It seemed the right thing to say in the circumstances.

She walked backwards, pulling me out of the kitchen and towards the bedroom. She giggled, her brown eyes flashing up at me. We tumbled on to the bed.

Ten minutes later, the smell of burning beans drifted into the bedroom over the mess of clothes, sweat and bare skin.

2

'No.'

Gil Appleby, Revere's Managing Partner, and my boss, folded his arms across his chest, daring me to protest.

No? It couldn't be no. I couldn't let it be no.

While I had worked on many deals in my two years at the firm, this was only the second that had my name on it. My first, a PC home-leasing company, had been a lucky success in a record time. My second, Net Cop, was going to be a failure just as quickly.

I had promised Craig the money only a few days before. When we had initially invested in Net Cop six months previously, we had committed to provide more funds when the company needed them. Craig needed them now. Without our cash, his company would go bust.

I had given my word.

It shouldn't have been an issue. A regular item on the agenda of the Monday morning meeting of the partnership. This was where new investment opportunities were discussed, and any problems in Revere's investment portfolio dealt with. Net Cop wasn't supposed to be a problem. It was supposed to be an