Before leaving the office he made a phone call and booked a private Falcon jet to take him to Montpellier Airport.
* * *
On the afternoon of the 25th March, John took a taxi from Montpellier Airport to the farm. As he jolted along the track he noticed the lavender fields were turning a fragile green. When he drew closer he saw Cecilia’s washing hanging on a line in the yard, which had been newly paved with red bricks.
A dog began to bark. John had forgotten about the new dog. A strong looking, brown animal with a distinctive ridge of fur on its back running from head to tail stood in the middle of the yard looking ferocious. John remained still for a moment, then went straight towards the dog, looking it in the eyes. He patted it on the head, turned round and walked towards the front door. The dog followed him meekly.
As he did so, Cecilia came out, a towel wrapped around her hair. She stood completely still, then ran towards John. She took his face in her hands and kissed him several times.
‘I have missed you,’ she said between kisses. ‘It was such a long time. But you are back. Why is there no luggage?’
‘Give me a chance,’ he said smiling. ‘I’m just passing by. I’ll tell you what I’m doing when we can get inside the house. I need a long, cool Pernod. What’s the dog’s name?’
‘I call him Winston,’ she said.
‘What kind of dog is it?’ John asked.
‘It’s a Rhodesian Ridgeback. They use them in Africa to hunt lions. Winston looks scary but is au coeur tendre.’
The outside of the house had been painted in the only colour allowed in the area, a light pink. Bougainvillaeas now grew along its walls and over the outside terrace area. Central heating and air conditioning had been installed inside.
‘You’ve looked after the place so well,’ John said gratefully, walking through the house and opening all the doors. The whole place was more cosy. Now it would be easier for Catherine to settle in, he thought.
‘You must see the kitchen. It is the nicest in all of France,’ Cecilia proclaimed proudly.
He admired the kitchen while she poured him an iced drink. ‘Yes, it’s a beautiful room. Very French. And you’ve done all this on the money I gave you?’
‘I still have some left. Shall I show you? Also my bank account I have not touched and it has grown, as I paid the harvest money into it.’
‘Good. As I said, I’m here just for a short visit. I must go back to London tonight.’
‘Not tonight. Tomorrow morning, early. I will drive you.’ She hesitated, then said slowly, ‘My husband died a year ago. He got into a fight. He had drunk too much, as usual. Perhaps it was God’s will.’ She picked up John’s hand and held it against her face. ‘You can’t imagine how I have missed you, mon cher. My mind and body has had such pain, thinking about you.’
‘Wait,’ said John. He clasped her hand and held it away from him. ‘My real name is John Forbes. I have tell you.’
‘I did not even know your real name?’ Cecilia clearly had difficulty assimilating this at first. Then she seemed to disregard it.
‘My wife and Michael will be moving here soon,’ he continued. ‘I know it might be too much to ask, but I hope you will stay on?’
‘So no more amour with my new man?’
‘Unfortunately, no.’
She turned away. ‘We are two lonely people, a man and a woman, God brought together on this lavender farm.’ She turned to face him again and smiled sadly. ‘But you have been away for such a long time. Encore une fois? En souvenir d’amour?’
They walked to his bedroom. She closed the door and the shutters. John pulled her towards him. She kissed his throat, then unbuttoned and removed his shirt. Her hands ran over his chest, before she slid slowly to her knees and held him tight against her.
He had often thought about her, but only at this moment was he aware how much he had missed being with her. Time stood still. They did not move for an eternity and then, as if in dream where everything happens in slow motion, she loosened her hold on him. Her hands touched his legs, moved up and fondled him shyly. She opened his trousers and held him in both her hands. Then she moved and took him deep in her mouth, saying something in French, until she felt him growing.
He pulled her up and led her towards the bed. He undressed her slowly, remembering her supple, strong body. He touched the triangle of hair between her legs which she had cut very short and she pressed herself in a curve against his hand. She moaned. Slowly he brought her close to climax using his fingers, then decided not to stop. He continued until she came with a long, low moan which did not seem to end.
He rolled her over on her stomach, pushed her hair above her head and lazily kissed her neck. Slowly he scratched her shoulder‑blades, continuing down the back of her ribcage. He licked her spine to the small of her back. She squealed and giggled. He sat up, looking at her and continued stroking her buttocks.
‘Don’t keep looking at me,’ she mumbled, without making any attempt to move.
‘Pourquoi?,’ he said ignoring her.
He bent forward and gently kissed her thighs and calves. Taking hold of her ankles he spread and bent her legs, pressing her up on her knees, so that she was leaning on her elbows, her head buried in the pillow.
His hand touched her very lightly between her buttocks. When he heard a deep sigh, he eased himself inside her and began moving very slowly.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
_________________________
The Cave, Mallorca, Tuesday, 2nd April 1985
John phoned Erick from the plane and asked for Sam to pick him up at Palma airport. Erick was waiting in stead and took him to the Cave.
John was impressed, and congratulated Andrea on her good taste. Within a few hours the Elgbergs felt that an old and much loved member of the family had returned. They lunched outdoors and then went on board L’Aquasition where John met Captain Pedro.
‘How long are you staying?’ Erick asked, after they had inspected the yacht.
‘Till midday tomorrow.’
‘We’ve not much time, then. Let’s go back to the house and I’ll show you what goes on here.’
John smiled. ‘Don’t make it too technical.’
* * *
‘You know Karen is in charge of our daily operations,’ Erick said, while John greeted her in her large office with its spectacular sea view. ‘Several times a day we register the share quotations for the companies we have gained control over and those we hold as investments, so we can monitor any unusual developments. The information is entered on computer and at the end of business for that day, we have an exact picture, both of our loans and our commitments.’ He handed John the report from the previous day.
‘Can I take this with me?’ John put the report on the desk without opening it.
‘Of course. At the back there are two pages where you will see a list of all the investments. The next pages are lists of shares we have deposited with banks as security for loans, agreed loans but not taken up, the various shareholdings, deposit boxes, bank accounts etcetera. Basically it tells us what we have or can have available in cash within twenty‑four hours. The last page shows what our whole enterprise is worth at any specified time.’
‘Who else has access to this information?’
‘There exists only one hard copy,’ Karen replied. ‘Everything on computer is protected by a code to which only Erick and I have access. If the computer has not been used for twenty‑four hours, it will automatically self‑destruct the programme.’
John looked out of the window. The sea was calm, the water dark blue against the brilliant white hull of L’Acquisition. It hurt his eyes, looking at it. Without turning round, he said in a low voice, ‘I’d like to say, Karen, how pleased I am that you are part of our organisation. If there’s anything I can do for you personally, tell Erick to get in touch with me. I regard you as one of our most important members.’
She looked embarrassed but please
d. A becoming blush passed over her normally inscrutable face. ‘Thank you.’
John and Erick entered the next room, where eight people were working at computer screens.
‘Here we are looking at companies which might be of interest,’ Erick explained. ‘At any one time we can monitor up to twelve different companies on several stock exchanges. Besides the share prices, we can now evaluate each individual shareholder’s portfolio – who is selling and, as far as possible, who is buying. The purpose of this exercise is to be aware of the strength of the shares and to discover whom to approach if we want to buy. We daily update directors’ and boardroom members’ names, with a detailed profile of each. Also we register all loans taken up by a company. Any buying is then carried out by Karen.’
Nodding to the computer operators, John followed Erick into his office. ‘Tell me which companies we now control?’ he said when the door was closed.
‘At the moment Crown Bicycle, Lina Publishing and Silverdale, William Webster’s company in the States,’ Erick said, ‘plus the ones you know about, such as Auto‑Trade, which now indirectly owns at least twenty small companies in the secondhand car business. We intend to sell these on to one of our target companies one day. Then of course there are Mirage Consultancy, Higginson Investments, Thomas Wren & Partners and Hamlet Accountancy.’
‘So what’s in the pipeline?’
Erick sat back in his chair and steeped his fingers. ‘You’ve heard of Randolph Purcell?’
‘The media magnate? Of course.’
‘He’s not a happy man, I can tell you. In debt up to his ears and beyond. I don’t think any bank will lend to him now. Purcell Industries is one of our target companies.’
‘How did you get to know about this?’
‘Purcell sold us some shares in Lina Publishing. His finance director got in touch with Higginson’s. Philip told him Higginson’s couldn’t help personally, it’s way out of their league, but promised to see if any other investment houses were interested.’
‘Are these private problems or company ones?’
‘That’s what we have to find out. Hamlet Accountancy is ploughing through everything they can get hold of to do with Purcell and his companies. We’ll know if the whole thing is viable within a few days.’
John nodded slowly, a smile spreading over his face. He looked up at Erick. ‘Excellent,’ he murmured. ‘It’s finally starting to come together,’
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
_________________________
The Cave, Mallorca, April 1985
It was no use having information about Purcell Industries and its subsidiaries, Erick thought, if Randolph Purcell did not get in touch again. He had asked Graham Rose to deliver a letter by hand to Purcell referring to his conversation with Higginson Investment, saying that Hamlet International Accountancy had contacts with wealthy foreign investors. If Purcell were interested in obtaining finance, whatever the amount, would he contact Graham personally to arrange a confidential meeting.
A few days later Purcell’s finance director telephoned.
‘Tell him,’ Erick instructed Graham, ‘that due to the size of Purcell Industries, it will be necessary for Mr Purcell personally to contact a Mr Erick Elgberg direct.’
Randolph Purcell telephoned three times. Erick told Karen to say that he was unavailable, hoping to make Purcell so desperate he would be more forthcoming about his problems. Purcell was astute. He would already know that the organisation Erick Elgberg represented offered financial solutions which came from dubious sources and with a high price tag. For him to have to come to them could only mean he had no other options.
Erick told Karen, who filtered all his calls, to put Purcell straight through the next time he phoned. There was no doubt he was at the end of his tether.
She opened the door to Erick’s office. ‘It’s Purcell. He nearly bit my head off. Something’s obviously upset him.’
‘Put him through.’ Erick let the phone ring two or three times, then picked up the receiver.
‘Can we meet?’ Purcell sounded harassed and bullish. ‘Can you be in London tomorrow? It’ll be worth your while.’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Purcell. If you want a meeting, you must come to me,’ Erick said smoothly.
‘Very well.’
Erick smiled. Purcell was not a man who would normally accept such terms. He waited. After a long silence at the other end of the line the tycoon went on, ‘My private bankers, the American Bank in London, are holding four hundred and forty million of my own shares in Purcell Industries as security for a loan of around two hundred million. I took out this loan a year ago and now the bank won’t play ball.’
‘Why not?’
‘The share price has fallen to an unrealistic level because of the present press vendetta against me.’
‘But that’s no reason why the bank should act against you,’ Erick said. ‘Is there another reason?’
‘Yes,’ snapped Purcell.
Erick let him stew for a moment, then said, ‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘Buy all the shares,’ Purcell said immediately, ‘and sell them back to me in a year’s time for an agreed price.’
Erick sighed. ‘Why don’t you just try another bank?’
Purcell barked impatiently. ‘You must be aware, Elgberg, that I’ve already tried that. I’ll see you early tomorrow.’ The receiver crashed down at the other end, leaving Erick sitting back in his chair, surprised, wondering.
He told Karen to update all their information on Purcell Industries and, using their various companies and banks, to buy a substantial number of shares. ‘Also find me the name and telephone number of the manager of the American Bank in London.’
On receipt of this information, he phoned George von Fritzenberg and asked him to contact the bank manager and find out if the rumour were true. Did the American Bank want to sell a substantial number of shares in Purcell Industries PLC?
After an hour von Fritzenberg called back. ‘They certainly want to sell, either in one large or many small lots. If they can’t, they’ll unload them on the Stock Exchange. The market would know that this quantity could only come from Purcell himself which would send the price tumbling down and could trigger off an offer for the whole Purcell group. The manager also said that the bank was under an obligation to Mr Purcell not to sell for another forty‑eight hours.’
* * *
Randolph Purcell arrived in his own jet. Sam drove him from the airport to the Cave in the Alfa Romeo. When they stepped out of the lift into the strong sunshine, Erick was already sitting under a square white parasol before a table laid for breakfast.
‘Mr Purcell, glad to meet you at last!’ He offered his hand to the large, florid man who was already sweating in the hot sun. Or perhaps it wasn’t the sun, Erick thought. Randolph Purcell had an unmistakably hunted look.
‘Mr Elgberg.’ Purcell sat down heavily and the chair groaned audibly. ‘It was good of you to see me at such short notice. Time becomes even more important when you are up against it.’
Erick smiled. It must have cost the other man a lot to admit that. ‘Let me pour you a cup of coffee,’ he said, ‘and we’ll find out if there’s anything I can do for you. Explain why the American Bank is in such a hurry to sell your shares. Be completely honest, please. Your visit will be a waste of time if you aren’t.’
Purcell helped himself to a roll. ‘Okay. I’ll play with open hands, Mr Elgberg, which is something I try not to do. I know time is running out and you could be my last chance. I’ve never been in such a corner before.’
Erick studied Purcell, thinking of GIANT UDCM. How easy it was to get boxed into a corner, without any possibility of getting out, and see everyone turn against you.
‘A year ago,’ Purcell said, buttering his roll, ‘I took out a loan on Purcell’s African mining shares for £100 million. This was arranged through an African bank. Nothing much wrong with that, except that the funds were use
d to stabilise Purcell PLC’s share prices. As I could always sell the Purcell shares bought when the price went up again, I didn’t have any sleepless nights about it.’
‘I take it that’s not the whole story?’
‘No, the Purcell share prices kept falling so I built up a considerable loss.’
‘So you established another loan?’ Erick asked in an attempt to speed up the explanation.
‘In London, with the American Bank, I arranged a £220 million overdraft, giving my own Purcell PLC shares, the new shares I had bought over the last year, and the African mining shares, as security.’
‘And you paid out the African bank?’ Erick asked.
‘That was the intention, but I ended up continuing both arrangements by using the mining shares as collateral in both banks. At first I intended to rectify, but as the share prices kept falling and the bank only asked for me to sign an agreement, I asked a trusted friend at the mining company to cover when the American Bank checked the share register. The shares are owned by Purcell PLC, not by me personally.’
Erick did not have to ask any more. It was obvious that Purcell had bribed someone in the African Mining Company to forge the share register. This had been easy to do then and because of Purcell’s good name, the bank had obviously not asked for having the share certificate. Now he could not afford to redo the transaction, it would certainly be regarded as a major fraud.
‘I think we both need a whisky,’ he suggested. ‘And perhaps a swim before the drinks come? If you have no bathing trunks, I’m sure we can find some to fit.’
After ordering the drinks, he led Purcell upstairs to change. Erick knew he looked well in trunks, and would again have the other man at a disadvantage. Purcell’s paunch spilled over his borrowed garment and his legs were like two pale, hairless poles.
‘I hope I haven’t shocked you too much,’ he gasped, after they had been swimming two or three lengths of the pool. He hung on to the side while Erick floated leisurely on his back.
‘Nothing shocks me. How did the Americans find out?’
‘The African bank was sold a month ago to a Spanish bank. Unknown to me, the American Bank is a shareholder of this bank in Madrid. When they computerised the African bank’s securities and compared it routinely to the two others banks, it became obvious.’