“My father died this morning,” Andy said. His voice was close to choking.
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Richard said.
“Accident, my arse!”
Richard kept his voice neutral. “I don’t understand.”
“Listen, you.” Andy took a pace toward them, his finger raised. “Twenty years he worked that land. He kept the faith and taught it to all of us. God rewarded our labors with enough fruit and crops to feed ourselves. It’s our home! We won’t give it up.”
“With all respect to your father, God didn’t give you that land. The PSP did. They stole it from a family who were farming it a lot longer than twenty years, and didn’t pay a penny in compensation. What kind of justice is that?”
“It’s ours!” Andy was close to tears. “I’ve spent my life there.”
Richard nearly said,Time to move on, then, but kept his sarcasm in check. It wouldn’t do to get involved in a public fracas with some half-wit farm boy. Besides, the oaf was built like a combine harvester-solid power in a huge squat body. They stared at each other for a moment, then Andy hurried inside, rubbing the crucifix stitched to the front of his dungarees.
“Filing their counter claim, no doubt,” Jodie said. “They’ll appeal for post-acquisition compensation, you know. It’s what I’d do in their situation.”
“Fat lot of good that’ll do them. I have full title.”
“You’ll have to let me see the plans for this leisure complex sometime. It must be quite something.”
“It’s a work of art. Most aesthetic.”
“You mean, profitable.”
He laughed. “What else?”
Alan O’Hagen had booked a table at the back of the Lord Nelson, where they were afforded some privacy. Richard enjoyed the small restaurant; it had tasteful antique decor, efficient service, and an excellent seafood menu. His ex-wife had always badgered him to take her, but he never had the money in those days. Now she was no longer a burden to him with her absurd middle-class a-fair-day’s-work for-a-fair-day’s-pay ethic. Nothing worthwhile in this world came fair. The young waitress gave him a respectful smile as he came in. Success was the most succulent dish.
O’Hagen was waiting for him. Richard ordered a bottle of Australian Chardonnay from the wine list, almost the most expensive available. It was unusual for a client to buy him a meal, especially at this stage, and it made him wonder what kind of proposal O’Hagen was going to make.
“I want to take Zone 35,” O’Hagen said. “However, I may have one small problem which I was wondering if you could help me with.”
“Go on,” Richard said. This was the part he enjoyed the most-the part, different every time, which had to be settled to make it all fall into place.
“The industrial unit will cost about half a million New Sterling to build and equip,” O’Hagen said.
“Firedrake is a viable concern, but I’m not going to get the capital backing from a bank to build a whole warehouse and mailing outfit from scratch. Not with that to offer as collateral on the deal.”
“Firedrake can’t be your only concern, surely?”
“It’s not. But the kind of imports I’ve been dealing with in the past don’t lend themselves to close examination. Besides, there’s none of that money left.”
“I see.”
O’Hagen leaned over the table. “Look, the thing is this. At the moment Fire-drake has a turnover of about 70,000 New Sterling per year. And that’s just with one poxy site and not much advertising. Once my distribution arm is up and running I can expand the product range and the advertising. That’ll start to generate enough income to pay off the kind of loan I’ll need to get it started. I’mthis close.”
“I can see that, but…”
“Every business faces this point in the early years. It’s a credibility gap, nothing more. I need the banks to take a favorable look at the proposal, that’s all. England’s economy is in a high boom stage right now, and it’s going to last for a decade at least with this new giga-conductor Event Horizon has delivered.
There’s so much potential for expansion here, you know that. The banks are desperate for an excuse to invest in our companies.”
“But have you got any kind of collateral you can offer the bank? Something concrete? Like you say, they’re fairly flexible.”
“I have one proposition. It’s for you.” He leaned in closer. “Become my partner in Firedrake. I’ll sell you half of the shares.”
“What?”
“It’s simple. With your involvement, the bank is bound to approve the loan application. You’re an established businessman; your development company is a success. With that kind of finance behind Firedrake, it couldn’t fail.”
“I’m sorry. It’s my job to sell you part of the precinct, not the other way round. I’m not a buyer, Mr.
O’Hagen.”
“I’m not asking you to buy. I’m even prepared to pay you.”
Richard carefully poured himself some more Chardonnay. “I don’t follow.”
“Look, what we’re talking about here is credibility, right? I want financial credibility, and that’s what I’ll pay you for. You take a half share in Firedrake. It’s not worth anything, there are only two shares, and they’re valued at a pound each. I told you, it’s a virtual company. Memory space on a mainframe, that’s all. But if you combine its turnover with your company’s involvement, we’ve got a valid application for an expansion loan. And you get another commercial unit built on the precinct, out of which you make a tidy profit. Nor will you be liable for Firedrake if-God forbid-it goes down the tube. The distribution operation will be a subsidiary which I own. There’s no risk in it for you.”
Richard hesitated. The idea almost made sense, and some of the arrangements he’d made on other deals were a lot less orthodox. “If I take a share in Firedrake, the banks will see what you’re doing. That would help your credibility, and it would ruin mine.”
“Yes. But if you’d taken that half share two years ago they’d be impressed. It would show that you’d been a part of a promising business for a decent period, and were now confident enough in it to expand.”
“Hmm.” Richard sat back and looked into that impassive face. O’Hagen was earnest, but certainly not pleading. “You mentioned payment. What kind of incentive would I have received to loan you my good name for the past two years?”
“I have a painting. It’s a McCarthy, worth quite a bit. Not enough to trade in as collateral for a warehouse unit, you understand. But I could loan you that until Firedrake was earning enough to pay you back.”
“How much is a bit?”
“Find the right collector, you should be able to get 20,000 for it.”
Richard weighed it up. Twenty thousand for using his name and reputation to lever a loan from a bank for a deal in which he would profit. And costing one tiny blemish in record-keeping, a one-pound share and two years. To massage that kind of data you didn’t even need to be an accountant…let alone a creative one. “I’d want to see Firedrake’s accounts before I go any further,” he said cautiously.
For the first time, there was a display of emotion on Alan O’Hagen’s face as his lips moved into a small smile. “Come to my office tomorrow. My accountant will go over them with you.”
Thistlemore Wood was a district on Peterborough’s western sprawl, part of the industrial expansion which had turned the city into a commercial powerhouse in the post-Warning years. To south was an old park, now hosting an estate of hemispherical apartment blocks, silvery crescents rising up out of the grassland. The road Richard eased the Merc along was lined by closely planted maeosopis trees, their long branches curving into an arboreal arch above him. He had to slow on the edge of Thistlemore because a converter crew was at work on the road. Smoke was venting out of their big remoulder vehicle as it chewed up the cinder flecks the track was made from. An endless sheet of smooth thermo-hardened cellulose was extruded from its rear, a dark protective coating which sealed the raw earth away from pounding tires and searing sunlight. The crew diverted Richard around the vehicle, keeping him off the freshly laid surface. A couple of rickshaws came the other way, their riders clamping cloths over their noses as the smoke gushed around them.