Page 108 of The Impossible Fortune
Joanna is buying a telecoms company in Brazil, while Paul marks essays.
She is on a Zoom call with a series of lawyers, business analysts, accountants. It has, thus far, lasted for three and a half hours, because buying telecoms companies in Brazil is never as easy as you think it’s going to be. She has muted herself, mainly because anything she has to say will make the meeting longer than it already is, but also so a room full of Brazilian lawyers can’t hear Paul loudly complaining about AI as he reads identical essay after identical essay.
Joanna steals a glance at her husband. How well does she really know him? She should just tell him about the call from the solicitor, shouldn’t she? Why won’t she? Scared she’ll see something in his eyes? A big lie, not a little lie?
The Brazilian woman, currently full screen, is saying, ‘The multiples don’t work for us. You’re applying European multiples to a much more elastic market, and the offer fails to take that into account …’
Joanna’s current offer is three hundred million. The Brazilians want five hundred million; they will, Joanna knows, settle at somewhere around three hundred and seventy million, but she will have to sit through several more hours of this before they do.
As has become her habit on long Zoom calls, Joannaalso has the CCTV from The Compound open on her screen. Any movement catches her eye, but, as with the telecoms negotiations, there is rarely anything moving, just leaves blowing in the wind.
But if you have two boring things to do, why not do them both at once? What is she looking for? At first it was just something, anything, that might help explain Holly’s death. Now she feels a creeping terror that Paul’s face will appear.
As a man in a beanie hat starts talking about synergy, and Paul mutters something about Émile Durkheim, Joanna gives the CCTV her full attention. It’s a thankless task, even on fast forward. She doesn’t know what she’s looking for, and, worse than that, she doesn’t know when she should be looking for it.
Paul gently shakes an essay in her direction. ‘Best mark in the class, and she didn’t even bother to show up to the lecture. What does that say about my lectures?’
Joanna laughs, and looks back at the CCTV. Didn’t even bother to show up. That makes her think about Holly, and her annoyance that she couldn’t even show up for an old friend’s wedding. Petty jealousies are all well and good, welcome even, in Joanna’s view, but come on. They dated, sure, but people move on and, besides, Nick Silver was there too. She should have shown her face.
Joanna keeps fast forwarding, as, for a brief second, the face of a cat fills the Zoom screen. Might it be worth taking a look at the CCTV footage from the day of their wedding? Holly’s excuse was that she was working that day. Perhaps she was working at The Compound?
It’s a long shot, but it beats scrolling at random.
62
Ron shakes Bill Benson by the hand. ‘Nice place you’ve got down here,’ says Ron as they enter the vault.
Bill nods. ‘Decorated it myself. You want to open the safe?’
Ron nods in anticipation. ‘What happens if we’ve got the code wrong?’
Bill shrugs. ‘Mayhem. Whole place shuts down. Only happened once before. We had to sit tight until Nick and Holly both came down to override the system.’
‘Well, they’re not going to do that this time,’ says Connie.
‘No,’ agrees Bill. ‘So maybe don’t get the code wrong.’
Ron looks at the piece of paper in his hand. The code, written neatly by Ibrahim. Holly’s numbers first – 416617 – and then Nick’s – 217495. The first one worked out by Elizabeth, the second by Kendrick and his new love interest.
Of course the next question is: in which order do you put the codes? Nick’s code, then Holly’s code? Or Holly’s code, then Nick’s code? A lot rested on that decision. It was Ibrahim – clever fella, that one – who remembered Holly at dinner saying, ‘Always Holly and Nick.’
Holly and Nick. Always in that order. Well played, Ibrahim.
The digits on the safe have a slight greenish glow in the dim light.
Ron looks at the number 4 button. Holly, then Nick. Easy. He realizes he’s singing to himself. The West Ham anthem, ‘I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles’. It always calms him. He used to sing it to Jason in his cot. He reaches the lineFortune’s always hiding … I’ve looked everywhere, stops, and shakes his head.
Ron’s been having a little trouble lately. Nothing to worry about, he’s sure, but Pauline’s been on at him to see the doctor. It started with his shoelaces. He found he was fumbling at the knots, his fingers not quite doing what they were told. He’d laughed it off, but last time he went shoe shopping, he’d bought slip-ons, and now that’s all he wears. No one’s noticed. Or, worse, everyone’s noticed and kept quiet. For Joanna’s wedding he knew he wouldn’t get away with slip-ons, and Pauline had tied his laces for him, like a child.
He was holding his pints in both hands now too, like you used to see the old boys do in the East End. His grip didn’t seem to be there any more.
It was probably nothing. But everything was nothing until it was something.
‘Come on, Ron,’ says Connie. ‘You want me to do it?’
‘I’m perfectly capable,’ says Ron.
He’s not though. The numbers are close together. He can feel his fingers trembling in his pocket, and he knows it’s neither nerves nor the cold. Ron needs this safe open. For once in his life, this is no time for bravado. He turns to Connie.
