Trembling, he emptied himself into her. His orgasm was violent and short, so private that he made no sound.
For several minutes they clung together, both surprised, then he pushed himself away.
John’s idea of feminine beauty had always centred on Catherine’s large, enveloping form. Mona was slim, with high breasts and a hard belly and buttocks. Her sex was tight, wet and warm.
She lay with her eyes closed, hardly breathing, still wearing her hat. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I always cry when I come.’
* * *
John spoke with Mona on the telephone several times a week, but had not seen her since their Christmas interlude. She never phoned him, but sounded pleased when he got in touch. She explained that her house in Kingston had finally been sold and she was trying to find a flat. If she did not find one, she would have to move in with her parents‑in‑law.
At the end of February she still had not found a flat she could afford. The house had been heavily mortgaged.
John asked an estate agent to find a property centrally that he could rent. They came up with a maisonette on Prince Albert Road, St Johns Wood.
He met Mona outside St John’s Wood tube station after she had finished work one night and suggested they should walk to the flat, so she could have a look and then make up her mind.
‘There’s no way I can afford a place in this area,’ she said as they walked along.
‘The friend who owns it won’t be back in England for three months. He’d like someone to occupy it while he’s not there. It’s yours for free, if you want it.’
She cocked her head at him. ‘What does your friend do?’
‘He buys toys for me in the Philippines,’ John lied glibly, ‘and sells to the United States, where he is at the moment.’
The flat was spectacular, with an amazing view over Regents Park and the Zoo. Mona could not hide her delight.
‘But his things are still here! I’ll have to put my furniture in store.’
‘No, you don’t. All you need to say is, ‘John, I like the flat’. Within two days it’ll be empty and your own belongings moved in.’
‘It sounds too good to be true.’ She glanced at him and said seriously, ‘I hardly know you. We’ve only met twice.’
‘Does that matter? I don’t have any ulterior motive, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ll never visit this place unless you specifically invite me. I don’t have any keys.’
‘Then I say yes. Thank you, John.’
‘Good. That’s settled. I wonder if there’s such a thing as a drink here to celebrate?’
They found two cans of beer in the fridge and a couple of glasses.
‘There’s another way we could celebrate,’ Mona murmured.
John grinned. ‘I thought any advances on my side would be rebuffed? You mustn’t feel like a kept woman.’
‘Haven’t you heard about a woman’s prerogative? Lead me to the bedroom.’
Two days later, Mona was installed in the flat. She was a part of his life Catherine need never know about.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
_________________________
Horserod, Denmark, Tuesday, 1st February 1972
WANTED – SALES ASSISTANT FOR STATIONERY COMPANY
Erick read twice the words written on the back of a dog‑eared business card stuck on the prison noticeboard, and decided to apply for the job.
He had come to the time in his sentence when prisoners were encouraged to find paid work as part of their rehabilitation programme. Usually this consisted of helping the elderly, cleaning churches, labouring in local parks or working as shelf‑fillers in supermarkets.
The company was situated on the third floor of a building in Vesterbrogade in the centre of Copenhagen. One office was used by the owner, an elderly man called Carlsen, another by Karen Knudsen, a small, well‑rounded blonde in her thirties. The third room functioned as a reception of sorts and was stacked with boxes, an old typewriter, a coffee machine and photocopier. All the offices were in need of a coat of paint. Even the artificial flowers looked tired.
Both Carlsen and Karen greeted Erick in a friendly manner. He had been told that Horserod inmates had been employed there for the last twenty years. From the postcards on the wall in the reception, Erick gathered that many still kept in touch.
For the first few months he happily made coffee, did the photocopying, answered the telephone, typed letters and checked stock lists. He soon got to know the workings of the little company and got on well with Karen, who took all the daily decisions. She was single, a quiet, well‑dressed woman with long hair always neatly combed back into a ponytail. She was not forthcoming about herself, and kept rather aloof. He wondered if she too had been recruited from prison but had never asked, finding her strangely intimidating.
‘I have to go into hospital for two weeks so you and Karen must manage by yourselves,’ Carlsen said to him one day. ‘I should inform the prison but as you are doing so well, I won’t bother.’
On the day before his employer was due to return, Erick completed a report on how he felt the company could be improved. He knew Carlsen would not be interested, but it was Erick’s way of thanking him for the chance to work.
In his last week at work, he went into Carlsen’s office.
‘It’s been a great experience, working here,’ he said, ‘and you’ve helped me more than you can ever know.’
‘I’m very glad. I wish you could stay.’
Is anyone else coming to take my place?’
Carlsen shook his head. ‘I haven’t advertised the job. To be frank, Erick, my health isn’t good. I’m thinking of calling it a day.’
‘Then would you consider selling the company to me?’ Erick took the opportunity that was offered without hesitation. ‘I can only offer you two hundred thousand kroner for it.’
Carlsen was surprised. ‘Have you got that sort of money?’
‘I’ll come back tomorrow with a proposal for payment. But I’ve been thinking about the inventory, those pens you can’t get rid of. There are over five hundred thousand of them just sitting there. Can I go and have a look at them?’
Carlsen smiled at his enthusiasm and handed him the key to the garage. When Erick got there he found the pens packed in damp boxes. He put a handful into his pocket. He had the germ of a plan in his head but would not say anything about it
The next day he put forward his proposal to Carlsen. Erick offered to pay twenty thousand kroner after his release, knowing he could borrow this from his father‑in‑law, followed by nine similar monthly payments. If he were to fail in his obligation, even by one late instalment, the company would revert back to Carlsen.
‘It’s a very generous offer,’ he said. ‘But I would prefer a lower price backed up by a bank guarantee.’
‘You know I can’t go to a bank. I’m asking you to take my word,’ Erick said seriously.
Carlsen thought about it for an hour, then agreed to the deal after Erick had guaranteed that Karen Knudsen would continue to be employed for five years.
‘Why are you so concerned about Karen? She’s a good worker, she could get a job anywhere.’
‘Because,’ smiled Carlsen, ‘this way I will have someone I can trust who will tell me how things are going. And because, even though as you say she is excellent at her job, she would have great difficulty finding another. She was released from prison two years ago and will be under licence the rest of her life.’
Erick raised his eyebrows. ‘What did she do?’
That’s for Karen to tell you, if she ever wants to. Just take it from me. No other employer would take her on.’
‘But you expect me to?’
‘Exactly. She can be tough and is very loyal. You could have no finer assistant, believe me. Do we have a deal or shall we forget about it all?’
Erick looked Carlsen into his eyes and hesitated.
‘We have a deal.’
r /> * * *
‘How do you fancy being Marketing Director?’ Erick asked his friend Magnus that evening.
Magnus Lergaard, a fresh‑faced and athletic thirty year old, had owned a company that sold camping equipment. When he got into financial difficulties and was given forty‑eight hours in which to satisfy the bailiff, he swapped some cheques between his bank and Giro accounts, to make things look better, before drawing out all the money. For months thereafter he continued juggling cheques to keep the hole covered for the bank to see.
He had been sentenced to three years for fraud. When he was sent to Horserod from remand at Vestre Faengsel, Officer Rasmussen had told him to contact Erick who had been taken aback at first that the old guard should think he would have anything in common with a small‑time crook. But Magnus had turned out to be a pleasant, undemanding companion. They worked in the carpentry shop together, and shared nightly games of baccarat.
Now his friend laughed at Erick’s grandiose suggestion Marketing Director of what exactly?’
‘The stationery company, I’ve just bought it.’
Magnus gasped at him. ‘You’re joking? No, you’re not. Where the hell did you get the money from?’
‘I’ll borrow the down payment from my father‑in‑law. That means you’ll have to shift a few hundred thousand pens within the first three weeks or I can’t meet the next monthly payment.’
‘Pens?’ Magnus looked at the sample Erick handed him. ‘Looks all right to me.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘No one else thinks so.’
Magnus looked more closely at the pens and tried one out, wondering what he had let himself in for.
‘I think we should print companies’ names and logos on them so customers buying other articles from us get a couple of hundred pens free. They can use them as advertising gifts. Hopefully that’ll move a lot of our other articles.’ Erick looked at the puzzled Magnus and continued, ‘ or sell them direct. You must come up with a detailed plan within twenty‑four hours. If you crack that problem, and I succeed in paying the full price over the next months, you’ll get twenty‑five per cent of the business.’
‘I see. You want me as a partner, without me paying anything for the privilege?’
‘Don’t get too enthusiastic.’ Erick smiled. ‘And don’t forget, I’ve landed up in here for doing much the same thing – buying a company without having the proper financial back up.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Magnus said, ‘you’ve got advantages you didn’t have before. You and I have more motivation and determination than the rest of them put together – and we can’t afford to have any scruples. We have to succeed.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
_________________________
Copenhagen, Denmark, 1975
Karen Knudsen now worked as Erick’s personal assistant.
She had changed her hairstyle and started wearing un‑rimmed reading glasses at work. She and Erick were now on cautiously friendly terms and Karen gave him a certain grudging respect for the turnaround he had wrought in the company’s fortunes. The company had expanded quickly over the last eighteen months. It now employed a staff of twenty and had moved to bigger premises, selling all forms of promotional gifts such as calendars, pens, T‑shirts, football shirts and diaries, each printed with the name of the customer.
One evening, after he had finished a late meeting with a customer, Karen came into his office carrying two glasses. Erick was sitting at his desk. Without being asked she sat down in an easy chair opposite, holding her glass in both hands.
‘I’ve been waiting for the right moment,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I want to tell you what happened to me, even though you have never asked.’
‘Only if you want to.’
‘I have to.’ She took a deep breath and began. ‘I was happily married, or so I thought. I had just become pregnant. One day I came home from work and my husband had taken all his things and gone, just left a note saying he had fallen in love with someone else. After a week I found out from his work where he lived. I rang the doorbell and a young woman opened the door. I told her who I was. She had no idea he was married.
‘She and I agreed that when he came back that evening, I would be there instead of her. She would leave a letter telling him she wanted him out right away. It was then up to me if I wanted to take him back. I still thought I loved him.’ She stopped and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘Don’t go on if it distresses you,’ Erick said, rising to his feet.
Karen went on as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘When I opened the door, he started shouting the most terrible things. How cold, calculating and cynical I was. That he found it repulsive making love to me. That he never wanted to see our child...’ She swallowed and continued in a steady voice, ‘He went on like that for about five minutes. The whole building could hear. I had to make him stop. Somehow we’d got into the kitchen. I picked up the bread knife and stabbed him in the throat. I remember him gasping for air and his blood all over me...’
Erick moved closer to her. She was upset but did not cry. For some reason this impressed him. ‘What happened to the child?’
‘My son was born in prison. I had him adopted when he was one year old. The worst day in my life. I have no idea where he is.’
He took her cold hand in his. ‘And you have never met anyone else?’
She raised her proud face to his. ‘Who would trust me? A murderer. I don’t want closeness with any human being. What happened was my fault. My husband was right about my shortcomings and I hate myself for what happened. I’ve learned that it’s best for me to live alone. For me there is nothing appealing in having a man huffing and puffing on top of me. And before you ask, I am not attracted to women either.’
‘Surely...’ Erick began, nonplussed.
‘I’m now simply unable to handle a normal relationship.’ And with that she looked away from him, a flush creeping over her face.
* * *
Erick and Magnus, with their English supplier, were sitting outside the Langline Pavillionen, a restaurant at the entrance to the harbour in Copenhagen. It was a sunny day in June.
After lunch, the Englishman casually said, ‘Have you ever considered selling your company?’
‘No,’ Erick said. ‘Why? Are you interested?’
‘We could be. You’ve built up an important market for us in Scandinavia. We want to protect it. We could offer you around two hundred thousand pounds, without even looking at your books.’
‘That’s worth considering.’ Erick kept his voice even, knowing that Magnus was just as surprised as he was. ‘We’ll think about it, and get back to you.’
‘So what do you think?’ he said to Magnus when they were back in the office. ‘A very good opening offer. A nest egg for both of us. We could retire quite comfortably, or start something new and a bit more exciting.’
‘Why should we?’ Magnus was more cautious. ‘We’ve only just started. Why don’t we keep expanding? Why go to all the trouble of starting up again?’
But Erick had already decided to sell. He saw it as a first step towards reestablishing himself after the GIANT scandal. But he did not want to force his friend to do something against his will.
Magnus came into his office that evening with his own plan. ‘Instead of selling out to the English company, you could sell your shares to me. I’ll offer the same price, one million five hundred thousand kroner, for your seventy five percent. You must give me time to pay, but I’ll add on interest.’
Erick had not expected Magnus to give that sort of commitment but he trusted him and accepted the offer on the spot, with one proviso: ‘You have to keep Karen on until I find out what I am going to do next.’ Magnus nodded. ‘Now, what about a beer to celebrate the deal?’
The first monthly payment from Magnus arrived on the agreed date. Erick did not ask where it came from, but guessed that Magnus had made an arrangement with his bank.
The third payment from Magnu
s was two weeks overdue. Erick phoned him to see if there was a problem. Magnus sounded a bit evasive, which made Erick uneasy, but promised to come over right away.
He arrived looking dishevelled, unlike the unruffled, urbane Magnus Erick was used to.
‘You know Scandinavian Advertising Gifts? Our competitor? I bought it a month ago,’ Magnus began.
‘I’m impressed.’
‘It’s in a terrible state. After a few weeks I realised that more funds were needed. The projections on which I’d decided to buy were overestimated. I’ve had to borrow from the bank giving my house as security, with personal guarantees. Now I can’t raise the money for next month’s wages, I have writs coming in from suppliers and I’m behind with rent and rates.
Erick tried to keep calm. Magnus still owed him over one million two hundred thousand kroner. He could be left with nothing.
When Magnus had gone, Erick walked for hours along the beach. He simply could not let Andrea down all over again.
In his mind he went through what had gone wrong. Magnus had told him that funds were still in Scandinavian Advertising Gifts, but either tied up in stock that did not sell or outstanding invoices that customers did not pay. How could he realise that cash?
He sat on the sea wall, staring out at the horizon. He had to do something. But what? The company’s assets did not belong to them. The share majority did, but that was a different matter. To extract the assets of a company before paying its creditors was an illegal act. Everyone knew that. But he had to do it. It was the only way out.
He felt, sitting on the hard stone wall, that once again his goal was in sight only for the prospect of success to be snatched away. Unless..... unless...
His choice was clear. Face the huge loss, disappoint Andrea and possibly lose her and the children, ruin again his reputation this time forever. – Or knowingly commit a serious fraud.
In a strange way it cheered him up, knowing he had no choice.
He called Magnus from a payphone. ‘Get hold of two large lorries for tonight and about half a dozen trustworthy people. Take them to all the warehouses of SAG as quickly as possible. Load all the stock into the lorries and move it to our warehouse in Copenhagen. Rent more space somewhere if you have to.’
‘There’s far more than we can move overnight,’ Magnus objected. ‘We’ll have to do about two or three runs. What’s the plan?’