They made polite conversation until the food arrived. After they had eaten in silence for a while, John sat back, wiped his mouth on a napkin, and said, ‘I represent the biggest shareholder in Higginson Investments – the Zurich Bank of Industry and Commerce.’
Erick had never heard of it. He kept his expression blank, his gaze steady.
‘I’ll be perfectly frank with you,’ his host went on. ‘I don’t fully understand how your company works. It looks to me as if you’re buying defunct companies and somehow making money out of them. I’m not as smart as Philip. Please enlighten me?’
Although Erick was in no doubt that this man was in fact far more resourceful than the vague and rather ineffectual young Higginson, he explained in detail what Mirage Consulting was doing, where it operated, its links with Scandinavia and how the funds from Higginson’s were used to buy up even bigger companies.
‘I am impressed,’ his host said when Erick had finished speaking. ‘It’s a unique concept, as far as I can see, and a worthwhile service to the business community. I must congratulate you. You’ve certainly created a different type of operation which must have enormous potential.’
‘Thank you. The owners of the companies we take over certainly appreciate our services.’
John Forbes leaned slightly forward over the table as the waiter cleared away their plates.
‘I arranged this meeting, that I could ask if there is anything with which I can personally assist you regarding further finance,’ he said softly.
Erick hesitated. He was, of course, pleased that this man was offering him another source of finance, but he now had a niggling suspicion that this lunch was not solely about Mirage Consulting.
‘I’m very pleased with the service Mirage has received from Philip Higginson,’ he said guardedly. ‘I think we are doing all right at the moment.’
‘Let’s say you wanted to expand this business, though, say to the rest of Europe or the States, how much capital would you need?’ Forbes asked. ‘Within a couple of years?’
‘A million pounds as a long‑term investment,’ Erick answered promptly.
‘I see. Have you considered expanding further?’
‘We’re starting a small sales office in Dublin shortly.’
John Forbes smiled. ‘Well, that’s a start.’
By this time they had finished lunch and were drinking thick dark espresso. Erick felt that the meeting was going well from his point of view. Although he still had these doubts about Forbes’s agenda, he found he liked the other man. John had a charismatic personality, though whether he was pussycat or puma, Erick could not decide. That easy charm could well disguise a ruthless nature.
For his part, John too was satisfied with what he had seen of Erick so far. He liked the air of bluff openness, the guileless blue eyes that belied a mind that was sharp and unusually retentive. Erick’s near total recall of facts and figures had been impressive. Yes, John decided, Elgberg fulfilled his every requirement in a new business partner except for one thing: he had the air of a busy successful man, one who was his own boss and had already made a comfortable fortune for himself. Maybe he was too successful to suit John’s purposes?
John wondered what Erick’s wife would be like.
Time to rattle his cage a little, John decided. The report on Erick’s company had revealed that the Elgbergs were living in some style in a five‑bedroom house in Colonne Road in Wimbledon village. Back in Denmark, apparently, they still owned a luxurious contemporary villa in an exclusive suburb of Copenhagen, which they had rented out, as well as a summer place on the coast where Elgberg had moored his Danish build Bandholm yacht. It was all very comfortable but was it quite enough for a highly ambitious, demonstrably unscrupulous man?
‘We have a place in Dorset, not far from Dorchester,’ said John casually as he settled the bill. ‘I wonder, would you and your wife care to come down for lunch this Saturday? Bring your children. They’ll be company for my boy, Michael. Turn up around eleven and let’s make a day of it. Just an informal get together. We’re very laid back.’
* * *
When the Elgbergs turned off the Dorchester road and down a sweeping tree‑lined carriage drive that seemed to go on forever, Erick stopped the car to check the map John Forbes had drawn for him in the restaurant. Surely they’d made a mistake? But no, this had to be the right place.
Andrea, who resented having to accompany Erick on this business outing when she’d wanted to watch Bjorn Borg play Jimmy Connors in the final of the men’s singles at Wimbledon, shifted restlessly in her seat as Cerne House at last came into view
‘Hey, it’s a castle!’ called Christian from the back seat.
‘No, it’s not,’ said his sister crossly. ‘It’s a witch’s house like Hansel and Gretel. See those chimney pots? They’re made of sugar.’
Glowing with a golden light on this sunny July day, mullioned windows thrown open to the warmth and ancient chimneys etched against a clear blue sky, Cerne looked every inch the perfect house. Just as John wanted.
Erick and the children were enchanted. Andrea started to feel seriously outclassed in her red and white striped T‑shirt dress and Dr Scholl sandals.
‘We’re not dressed for this,’ she snapped. ‘It will be so embarrassing!’
She was partly mollified when a slightly harassed‑looking woman stepped out through the open front door and greeted them.
‘Hello there, you must be Erick and Andrea? I’m Catherine Forbes,’ she said, offering them her hand. ‘Welcome to Cerne. Do please excuse me – we’re a lad down this morning and I’ve had to help out at the stables.’
Which would account for the strong smell of horse emanating from her worn breeches and short‑sleeved Aertex blouse, Andrea thought. And if she ever had thighs that size – which God forbid – the last thing she’d ever choose to wear would be jodhpurs, let alone stained ones.
Catherine greeted the children with a smile that transformed her round, rather pale face.
‘I’m so glad you could come,’ she told them. ‘Michael will be thrilled to have some company. Did you bring bathing costumes? Never mind,’ when they shook their heads, bemused. I’m sure we have some spares in the pavillion... Ah, John, there you are. Why don’t you give everyone a drink while I go and make myself presentable?’
A dark, fine‑featured man came around the side of the house with a boy of about eleven in tow. He frowned slightly at his wife’s dishevelled appearance before stepping forward to shake hands warmly with Erick and Andrea.
‘We’ll be on the terrace, darling,’ he told his wife. ‘Take your time. Michael, why don’t you show Christian and Lisette your tree house?’
As the children raced into the garden, he led the guests into the house. Erick noticed the date 1635 carved into the keystone above the front door. In the dark panelled hall, Catherine excused herself and clumped away up the bare polished oak stairs. Their host ushered them through a dark tapestry‑hung drawing room and into a beautiful light‑filled Regency style morning room which must have been a later addition. Round eyed, Andrea just had time to take in the hand‑painted Chinese wallpaper and startling collection of porcelain in two bow‑fronted walnut display cabinets. A pair of floor‑length windows stood open to the stone‑flagged terrace shaded by a rose‑covered pergola. At the far end two girls flitted about setting a table, looking like magpies in their black and white uniforms.
John led the way to a wrought iron table and chairs where glasses and an ice bucket invitingly beaded with moisture stood waiting. He poured them out glasses of chilled Moselle and they sat sipping the wine, staring out on to a wide expanse of rolled and manicured turf. Herbaceous borders lined a long mellow brick wall from behind which, they could hear the shrieks and splashes of their children already in the pool with Michael.
Catherine appeared at last, breathless and apologetic, in a Liberty print pinafore dress and high‑necked white blouse which looked uncomfortably tight under the armpi
ts. She sipped distractedly at her glass before saying to John, ‘Have the children had a drink? I’ll just go and...’
‘I sent Maggie out to check. You worry too much,’ he told her.
But she was restless and couldn’t settle, offering after a few minutes to show them round the stables. Erick and Andrea politely accepted though they would in fact have been quite happy to sit all afternoon in the rose‑scented shade. Instead they followed her out into the dazzling light and heat and dutifully surveyed the neatly swept yard and the rows of half‑doors each surmounted by a glossy, enquiring head.
‘This is where I’m based,’ Catherine said, striding towards a converted cottage next to the stable block. They followed her inside to find that all the interior walls had been taken down and the building knocked through into one large vaulted room with bare floor boards beneath and heavy beams overhead. Saddles, bridles and other equipment hung from heavy stands and pegs upon the walls. There was also a board listing all the horses’ names with details of the meetings where they were due to race. Another wall was lined with shelves on which stood silver‑framed photographs and impressive trophies.
‘Goodness! Did you win all those?’ asked Andrea, impressed.
Catherine was looking much more confident and relaxed in these surroundings. ‘Not personally,’ she laughed. They belong to the yard. We generally have half a dozen or so runners a month – not bad for a small set up like this.’
Eric noticed the new colour and animation come into her pale face. At first he had taken her for a plain and rather lumpen woman but there was more to her, he could see that now.
‘It must be very exciting,’ he said encouragingly.
She nodded and gave a sideways glance at her husband who was studying the forthcoming fixtures. ‘Sometimes I feel I know more about horses than I do humans.’
‘Nothing much is happening this weekend,’ commented John.
‘But we’re at Sandown two days next week,’ she told him and suddenly turned to Andrea. ‘Perhaps you’d like to join us there.’
John nodded approvingly when she accepted but told his wife, ‘I hope you’re not including me in this?’
She heaved a sigh. ‘As you can probably see, my husband prefers to stay away from the courses. He watches on television, though, and allows Michael to place bets on his account.’ She shook her head reprovingly. ‘I hate to think what he’ll be like when he grows up, with a father like that.’
It was said as a joke but in the bare shadowed room her word rang hollowly.
‘It’s important to learn to calculate risk,’ John murmured,
rubbed his hands together. ‘Well, I don’t know about all of you but I’m ravenous and I can smell Doris’s roast from here. Shall we round up the children and go in?’
Sitting at the long table on the terrace, laid with Georgian silver and glasses with elegant hollow stems, they ate traditional roast beef and all the trimmings, the animal taken from their own stock apparently. John and Erick saw off a couple of bottles of claret; Catherine too sank her fair share, Andrea noticed with surprise. She herself, already feeling pleasantly somnolent from the food and the heat, preferred to stick to lemonade.
Afterwards John led Erick away to the other end of the terrace and the children went on the grass playing a desultory game of I Spy. Andrea and Catherine dragged loungers out into the sunshine and sat sunning their legs.
‘How long have you lived here?’ asked Andrea.
‘All my life. This used to be my parent’s estate. John came here with his mother when he was about five.’
‘I think it’s the most lovely and peaceful place I have ever seen. If I lived here, I don’t think I could bear to leave it – even for one day,’ Andrea enthused.
Catherine looked gratified. They seldom had new visitors as John preferred a solitary life and usually excused himself when Catherine invited the few friends they shared, apart from Arthur and Diana whose company he enjoyed.
‘It’s rather special, isn’t it? I have to stay overnight when there’s a meeting up north, but I must confess I simply couldn’t bear to travel as much as John does.’
Andrea nodded sympathetically, wondering what useful information she might be able to glean about the enigmatic John Forbes.
‘What does your husband do for a living?’ she asked inconsequentially though in fact Erick had already told her that John was a high‑flying financier representing a Swiss bank.
Catherine said, ‘He imports toys, mainly,’ then hesitated for a moment. ‘To be honest I’ve no idea what else he does though I know he has other business interests too.’
Andrea sensed that the other woman, despite her obvious wealth and privileged lifestyle, was lonely and shy. From the self‑conscious way in which she had refused pudding and constantly tugged her dress over the plump knees she was sensitive about her weight too. Andrea had been quite ready to dislike her, sure that she would be as standoffish and coldly confident as any stereotypical upper‑class Englishwoman. Now she found herself sympathising with this diffident vulnerable woman and wondering what sort of man exactly this new associate of her husband’s was.
Andrea had the distinct impression that nobody really knew the mysterious Mr Forbes, especially not his wife. They’d been married over ten years and Catherine didn’t even know what he did for a living.
* * *
On the terrace, the two men were drinking whisky from tall glasses with loads of ice and soda water.
The conversation had taken a surprising turn.
‘I know all about the GIANT scandal,’ John said. ‘Please, don’t be embarrassed about your spell in jail. I myself served a sentence thirteen years ago.’
This bold statement took Erick completely off guard. ‘What happened?’
‘They accused me of stealing a van,’ answered John. ‘I had to plead guilty. It was getting very complicated.’
‘Why did you tell me?’ Erick asked. ‘You could have used your knowledge about me to your own advantage.’
‘That would have been shortsighted.’ John stared out over the gardens, then shook himself and said in a businesslike voice, ‘I would like to invest personally in Mirage Consulting Ltd, if you agree. What I have in mind is that an associate company of mine becomes a shareholder, to the tune of one million pounds.’
‘A million!’ Erick could not believe his ears.
‘That’s the amount you mentioned, if I remember rightly.’
‘Yes, but – just like that?’
John shrugged. ‘It’s only money.’
Erick laughed nervously. He had never come across anyone like John Forbes. Although outwardly calm and relaxed, he obviously knew exactly what he was doing. He had thought out every detail like a grand chess master, anticipating his opponent’s every move.
‘There’s another matter I feel I must tell you about,’ Erick said slowly, ‘as you’ve been so frank with me. You’ve probably seen from Mirage’s balance sheet that we make a very good profit now. The risk is that if we ever strike a snag at an unfortunate time, we could have operations in the pipeline that is not legally covered. It hasn’t happened yet, but if it does the company could technically be charged with fraud.’
‘So what you do is not entirely legal?’
‘There’s a short period,’ said Erick, choosing his words with care, ‘where things might be dubious. Sometimes only a day, other times perhaps a week.’
‘I’m glad you told me.’ John looked suddenly alert and energetic.
‘So you still want to invest that million?’
‘Perhaps more than that. One day.’
Erick sat up straighter and stared at John. ‘You must be a seriously wealthy man.’
‘I suppose I am. And I hope to be even more so fairly soon.’ John was silent for a few seconds, then said, ‘Will thirty per cent share capital be fair? Say I pay fifty thousand for the shares to you personally and the million on a five‑year loan at normal bank interest?’
> Erick smiled. ‘I think that’s very fair.’
John held out his hand, which Erick shook firmly. ‘You’ve got yourself a partner. I’ll get two bankers’ drafts to you during next week for those amounts.’ He poured two celebratory scotches into their glasses. ‘Let me say that I’m impressed by your determination in completely rebuilding your life after such a setback. Many try, most fail.’
‘You managed it.’
John laughed. ‘My incarceration was only a little hiccup. Actually, it happened to someone else. I’ll tell you the whole story one day. How did you think I made the bulk of my modest fortune?’
‘I assumed you’d invested a small sum in a high risk venture, which came up trumps.’
John smiled. ‘That’s not too far from the truth. Though I doubt you’d have called it a wise investment.’
‘What was it?’
‘Hemp. That’s the business I’ve been in for years.’
Erick frowned. ‘Isn’t it used in the drugs industry? Cannabis? That kind of thing?’
‘That’s right. We import raw Moroccan hemp in bales and sell it on..’
‘Why are you telling me so openly? You didn’t need to explain.’
‘I also have other companies.’ John took up a croquet ball lying on the terrace next to his chair, weighing it in his hand as if he was going to throw it out on the grass. ‘But now I want to finish with everything that could be regarded as a criminal. I’m seeking a change. A culmination.’
‘You could be the person who makes it happen.’
Erick said carefully, ‘If it involves drugs, it’s something I won’t want to be involved in.’
‘This idea has nothing to do with drugs,’ his host said seriously.
‘Then go on.’
‘The first step is to invest in publicly quoted companies which are influential in the financial and political sectors. This must be done slowly and very discreetly. When the time is right, one company will buy into the others, amalgamating them into one group, or group of groups.’
Erick nodded. ‘I understand the concept,’ he said, ‘but that will cost a fortune. Probably more than any private individual can put his hands on.’
‘You’re underestimating me. I’m talking about doing this over a period of about ten years, during which time funds will continue to flow in from my other companies. Dividends will be accruing on the shares we hold which will be reinvested in other shares. The companies we control will buy the shares on our recommendation. These shares can then be used as security for bank loans, so even more shares can be purchased. I have contacts with people all over the world who can back me. I also control the Zurich Bank of Industry and Commerce, Higginson Investments Limited and a finance house called Auto‑Trade‑Factors.’