40
By the time the negotiations had been completed and the contracts signed, Sebastian was both exhilarated and exhausted. The French are never the easiest people to do business with, he considered, not least because they pretend they can’t speak English whenever they don’t want to reply to an awkward question.
When he got back to his hotel, all he wanted was a light supper, a hot shower and an early night, as he was booked on the first flight out of Charles De Gaulle in the morning. He was studying the room-service menu when the phone rang.
“Concierge desk, sir. We wondered if you would like to take advantage of our massage service?”
“No, thank you.”
“We offer this service to all our premium guests, sir, and there is no extra charge.”
“All right, you’ve convinced me. Send him up.”
“Actually, it’s a woman, sir. She’s Chinese and an excellent masseuse, but I’m afraid her English is a little limited.”
Seb got undressed, put on a hotel dressing gown and waited. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. He opened it, to be greeted by a woman in a white tracksuit, carrying a folded massage table in one hand and a small suitcase in the other.
“Mai Ling,” she said, and bowed low.
“Please come in,” said Seb, but she did not respond. He watched as she set up the massage table in the middle of the room before disappearing into the bathroom and returning a few moments later with two large towels. She then opened her hold all and extracted several bottles of oils and creams.
She bowed again, and indicated that Seb should lie facedown on the table. He took off his dressing gown, feeling a little self-conscious clad only in his boxer shorts, and climbed onto the table.
After a couple of minutes of pummeling, she located an old squash injury in his left calf, and moments later, a recent torn muscle in his shoulder. She dug deep, and Seb soon relaxed, feeling he was in the hands of a professional.
Mai Ling was working on his neck when the phone rang. Seb knew it would be the chairman wanting to find out how the French deal had gone. He was just about to reluctantly climb off the table and answer the call but, before he could move, Mai Ling had picked up the receiver and placed it by his ear. He heard a voice say, “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but there’s a Mr. Bishara on the line.”
“Please put him through.”
“How did it go?” were the chairman’s first words.
“We agreed on a coupon of 3.8 percent per annum,” said Seb as Mai Ling dug deeper into his shoulder blade and found the exact spot. “But only on condition that the French franc doesn’t fall below its current rate against the pound of 9.42.”
“Well done, Seb, because if I remember correctly, you would have settled at 3.4 percent and even allowed the franc to be devalued by a further 10 percent.”
“That’s right, but after a bit of negotiating and several bottles of rather good wine, they came around. I’ve got the contract in French and English.”
“When can we expect you back?”
“I’ll be on the first flight to Heathrow tomorrow morning, so I should be in the office before midday.”
“Could you drop in and see me as soon as you’re back? There’s something I need to discuss with you rather urgently.”
“Yes, of course, chairman.”
“On a lighter note, I’ve had a charming letter from Samantha to say how pleased she was with the outcome of the trial.”
“How did she find out about that?” asked Seb.
“You evidently told Jessica.”
“Yes, Jessie now calls me two or three times a week, always reverse charges, of course.”
“She’s also spoken to me a couple of times.”
“Jessie’s been calling you reverse charges?”
“Only when she can’t get hold of you.”
“I’ll kill her.”
“No, no,” said Hakim. “Don’t do that. She makes a pleasant change from most of my callers, although heaven help the man who marries her.”
“No one will ever be good enough.”
“And Samantha? Are you good enough for her?”
“Of course not, but I haven’t given up hope because Jessie tells me they’re going to Rome in the summer, when they hope to see all nineteen Caravaggios.”
“I assume you’ve booked your holiday at the same time?”
“You’re worse than Jessie. It wouldn’t surprise me if you two were in league together.”
“I’ll see you around twelve tomorrow,” said Hakim, before the phone went dead.
Mai Ling returned the phone to the little table in the corner of the room before starting to work on Seb’s neck. But he couldn’t help wondering why the chairman wanted to see him the moment he got back, and why he wasn’t willing to discuss the matter over the phone.
A little buzz on Mai Ling’s clock indicated that his hour was up. Seb was so relaxed he’d almost fallen asleep. He climbed off the table, went into the bedroom and extracted a ten-franc note from his wallet. By the time he returned, the massage table had been folded up, the bottles of oils returned to their case and the towels deposited in the laundry basket.
He handed Mai Ling her tip, and she bowed low before quickly leaving the room. Seb sat down next to the phone, but it was some time before he picked it up.
“How can I help you, Mr. Clifton?”
“I’d like to place a call to the States.”
41
“Any idea why the chairman wants to see me so urgently?”
“No, Mr. Clifton,” replied Rachel. “But I can tell you that Barry Hammond is in there with him.”
“Right. Send the English copy of the contract down to accounts and remind them that the first payment is due on quarter day, in francs.”
“And the French copy?”
“File it along with the others in the gathering-dust cabinet. I’ll catch up with you as soon as I’ve seen the chairman.”
Sebastian left his office, walked quickly down the corridor and knocked on the chairman’s door. He entered to find Hakim deep in conversation with Barry Hammond and someone he thought he recognized.
“Welcome back, Seb. You know Barry Hammond of course, and I think you’ve recently met his colleague, Mai Ling.”
Sebastian stared at the woman seated next to Barry, but it took him a moment to realize who she was. She rose and shook hands with Seb, no longer deferential, no longer shy.
“How nice to see you again, Mr. Clifton.”
Seb decided to sit down in the nearest chair before his legs gave way.
“Congratulations on your triumph, Seb,” said Hakim, “and the agreement you extracted from the French. Bravo. Just remind me of the details. No, why don’t you remind me, Mai Ling?”
“Repayments of 3.8 percent per annum as long as the exchange rate remains at 9.42 francs to the pound.”
Seb put his head in his hands, not sure whether to laugh or cry.
“And may I add, Mr. Clifton, how nice I think it is that your daughter Jessica calls you from the States, twice, sometimes three times a week, and you always allow her to reverse the charges.”
Hakim and Barry burst out laughing. Seb could feel his cheeks burning.
“No harm done,” said Hakim. “Barry, why don’t you explain to Seb why we put him through this charade?”
“Although we’re now fairly certain it was either Adrian Sloane or Desmond Mellor, possibly the two of them working together, who were responsible for having the drugs planted in Mr. Bishara’s bag, we’re no nearer to being able to prove it. Sloane, as you probably know, has a flat in Kensington, while Mellor’s main residence is in Gloucester, though he also has a pied-à-terre above his office in Bristol. And we recently found out that whenever he comes to London he always books into the same room at the same hotel. The Swan in St. James’s.”