MBA Page 9

  Her friend Seth Carter came through on the hands-free. ‘Just checking that you haven’t chickened out on tomorrow afternoon?’

  Connie and some other MSc students had planned a Sunday afternoon celebration picnic by the college lake – a multiple celebration of the end of the course, for which they had to be back in college, plus Seth’s new job and (subject to chickening out) a warm-up for Connie’s big birthday in July. Seth was making the opposite move to Connie’s, from the NHS into the private sector, and had offered to buy the champagne.

  ‘I see no chickens, but what about the weather?’

  Typically, Seth had it nailed. ‘Forecast checked half an hour ago. No problems at all. Leave your woollies at home – wear something off-the-shoulder and a little bit see-through. Sexy sunset guaranteed.’

  ‘For whom?’

  The noise of the car swallowed the first part of Seth’s answer. ‘Sounds like you’re doing seventy in the old banger. Or taking the call inside a washing machine.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Going to Guildford – something the governors asked me to do.’

  ‘Oh, congratulations on becoming a governor! I heard the news.’

  ‘Something tells me I’ll know better tomorrow if congratulations is the right word.’

  ---

  Vanish had picked an upmarket tea lounge off the high street, in a hotel with halogen lighting and 14th-century stonework. Connie assumed he had chosen it because it was quiet and he didn’t want her to know where he was staying; judging by the price of a sandwich lunch with hand-picked organic salad from the garden, he wasn’t staying here. She would have to foot the bill and reclaim it from the college. With luck both she and the college would get something for their investment.

  Richard Vanish was in his thirties, with receding curly hair and freckles – much younger than she had expected. Twenty minutes into the conversation it was the years of personnel experience of which Dorothy Lines had spoken which saved Connie from snatching out of Vanish’s hands the spectacles with which he kept fiddling. Connie realised that she would have to play the conversation long, so she spliced gentle questions about Vanish’s background together with talking up the caring side of her HR responsibilities, and her innocence in becoming a governor.

  As a personnel professional, Connie’s questions were only apparently gentle. The more she dug, the less impressive she found Vanish’s career. From university he had passed on taking an MBA and gone straight into academic administration somewhere even sleepier than pre-Gyro Hampton.

  In the end the only intentionality she could ascribe to his career was divine retribution; God might reasonably be enraged at any higher education system for graduating such an ineffectual human being. Vanish had gained a pass degree in mediaeval history (perhaps that was why he had chosen the hotel) without picking up any knowledge of or passion for anything, including himself.

  The pallor and banality of the conversation became interesting – ‘Richard, another pot of tea? Let’s be daring, I quite fancy those mini-bloomers with pork crackling’ – when Connie began to puzzle how this misfit had ever become the dean’s right-hand man. Vanish had started in the role two years earlier – in other words, after Gyro had arrived. However in the first year he had been off for six months thanks to a virus playing hell with his digestive system. Much of the time he had been bed-ridden, receiving nutrients intravenously.

  Connie guessed that Gyro’s plan had been to take a short-term hit for a long-term gain: accept an inadequate internal candidate into the role, pick a particularly inadequate one so he blows out very quickly and thereby overcome opposition to hiring a hot-shot on a lot more money from outside – someone like Ben. However, illness had been the joker in the pack. Employment and potentially disability legislation would have made firing Vanish a minefield.

  ‘You’re helping me build a very clear picture, Richard. Of the new dean. Of your job. Of tensions.’ Vanish had backed up some of the concerns which Frank had articulated at the shopping centre. Unquestionably Gyro had brought in big donations beyond the college’s dreams, which had paid for modernising the bedrooms, building the tower and endowing new academic appointments like the Bakhtin professorship. But as the college gained more bells and whistles, its running costs had shot upwards.

  ‘Clearly one of the tensions is that Hampton needs to be famous enough to jack up its fees, especially for MBAs, pretty quickly if it isn’t going to run out of money. That needs to happen within the next year or 18 months. It’s a race against time. Am I correct?’ Vanish nodded. ‘But the governors are aware of that. Naturally the tension affected you, but it was not your responsibility.’ Vanish nodded again.

  Connie came to the crux of the matter. ‘So there’s something I’m missing completely on timing. You ask to leave your job suddenly, over the end of the May holiday weekend. When I called you this morning, you said next Saturday will be too late. What am I missing?’

  The taking of a decision marched across Vanish’s face. ‘A loan for two million pounds which the governors know nothing about. It’s due at the end of June. One-point-two million pounds was borrowed but it’s a PIK loan, if you know what that means.’

  Connie shook her head. Vanish was clearly scared, but at the same time calm and lucid.

  ‘Payment in kind,’ he explained. ‘You don’t make any interest payments, so you pay a ton of interest, because it all rolls up and adds on like billy-oh.’

  ‘The corporate version of the kind of loan you or I might get from a loan shark.’

  ‘If we knew the kind of loan sharks who knee-cap you if you haven’t got the money on the day.’

  Connie ran her hand through her hair. ‘But we haven’t borrowed the money from crooks, have we?’

  ‘No. From First Improvident.’

  ‘But that’s one of Britain’s biggest banks! In which case nothing makes sense. You say the governors don’t know, but money doesn’t move from banks to colleges without armfuls of paperwork: a resolution from the governors, auditors making sure the loan is on the balance sheet.’

  ‘Normally, yes. But in this case one of the directors of First Improvident is the dean.’

  ‘That’s worse – he’d have to declare his position to the bank. The bank’s a public company, it would have to report the loan in its accounts. The rules on this stuff are a mile high.’

  ‘Which in this case haven’t been followed.’

  No … or could it be? Connie nodded slowly. ‘I’m beginning to get you. Somebody in the bank had to help Gyro, or at least be paid to turn a blind eye. And if two million doesn’t get paid within two weeks, the college is looking not just at bankruptcy but a fraud investigation.’

  ‘Gyro didn’t realise how much I’d found out – I guess I looked too dumb to worry about. But I realised I had to get out – fast. Before the police were over everything.’

  ‘But there’s nothing on paper?’

  ‘Nothing in the college’s papers. Gyro has some private papers.’

  ‘And you didn’t talk to the bank.’

  ‘I didn’t dare. But our manager, Roger Sling, has been getting really antsy. He sees our accounts so he knows the only way we could come up with two million pounds by the end of June is if the dean magics up some money in Hong Kong.’

  ‘Frank was asking why he’d gone so many times in the last few months. This would explain it.’

  ‘Or he’s lining up a job for himself and will leave the college holding a baby it didn’t know it had.’

  Connie asked for the bill. Perhaps she had better claim the expense back right away if she didn’t want to end up paying for lunch after all. Actually, what was she saying? Things might be much worse than that. If what Vanish said was correct, all the governors would be in the press and fired for incompetence, if not prosecuted for fraud. There might be no college to award her degree in September. How could any of this be? How
much had Dorothy Lines really known when they had their little talk? And why had she ever allowed herself to become a governor in the first place?

  For heaven’s sake get a grip, Connie told herself. Richard Vanish – you’ve never met him before. He hasn’t produced a shred of evidence. If he had been so concerned at the time, why had he no photocopies of these alleged private papers? Because they were fantasies, imaginings intended to cushion his private humiliation at failure and being unemployed. The reason Vanish couldn’t do a day more after the May weekend holiday was because the tower opening was coming down on him like a train and all his shortcomings were about to be exposed. He said his illness was physical, but she only had his word for that.

  ‘Richard, I appreciate how difficult this has been for you. Really. If I were you, I would have been sorely tempted not to return the college’s call.’ Vanish nodded.

  ‘I promise you I’ll be making inquiries. Urgently. I’m sorry if that sounds weak.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound weak at all,’ Vanish demurred. ‘I haven’t given you any evidence, have I?’

  ‘Not unless you were willing to say what you’ve said to the police.’ Connie’s stomach clenched, not knowing what answer she hoped he would give.

  The rabbit in the headlights with whom she had started lunch returned. ‘No. Absolutely not,’ he replied. Connie’s stomach told her that was the answer for which she had been desperate.

  ‘Of course.’ Connie’s HR training re-asserted itself: take charge, close the discussion professionally. ‘We’ve covered a lot, but just take a minute to think if there’s anything we’ve missed?’

  Vanish paused. ‘I don’t think so. I mean, there was one thing, a file Greg Martin gave me on Frank Jones, about a month ago. But it was silly.’

  ‘Greg Martin?’

  ‘The dean’s driver. Yes, I know. All I could think was that the dean wanted Dr Jones pushed out because he was asking too many good questions. I thought Greg might be doing what the dean wanted. Anyway, the file was all rubbish. But take a look yourself if you want. It’s buried underneath some papers in the bottom drawer of my desk at Hampton.’

  ---

  The weather brightened steadily through the afternoon but Connie’s thoughts were churning too much for her to make the call during her drive home. Instead she drove to her local high street for a cappuccino and to browse a newspaper, but the choice by mid-afternoon was limited to topless or smug.

  Smug proved to be a mistake. The Times carried the Queen’s birthday honours, and a photograph caught her eye: Alexander Hector Lyapunov Bakhtin, by Her Majesty’s decree created Lord Bakhtin of Wembley, for services to industry. Connie was speechless. When she had recovered her voice she was home, where the college switchboard put her through to Ben.

  ‘I need to let off steam,’ she warned.

  ‘I’m standing behind the yellow line,’ Ben assured her. Still, the shock wave which followed took him by surprise, like a high-speed train blasting through a country station.

  ‘Just what is the problem with men? Tell me that. I mean, bastards or wimps, why is that the only choice we’ve got? Did somebody break into the factory where you get made and vandalise the settings? I can’t believe it – Lord fucking Bakhtin. The dickhead!’

  Ben ducked. ‘Come on, you’re spoiled for choice – bastards, wimps or dickheads. Is that stuff about Bakhtin in the news today?’

  ‘The Queen’s birthday, isn’t it? Her official one. Lord Bakhtin of Wembley. So he’s a footballer, is he?’

  ‘No, though he owns a club. Or did he sell it? Anyway, Wembley was where he lived when he first came to England. I researched it for a speech once. Well, don’t be surprised: once he became a big cheese he started doing all those sorts of things – hanging round politicians, sitting on boards, giving money away. Including to Hampton, of course. There’s another thing I’ll have to do on Monday – send him Gyro’s congratulations.’

  ‘Don’t make me sick. Speeches and that – is that what your job was when you worked for him? Or did you get involved in running his individual businesses?’

  ‘Oh, definitely speeches. Like Monday night. And a bit of group strategy, meaning whether to buy or sell particular businesses. Once Bakhtin owned a business he was pretty hands-off.’

  ‘As long as the profits came in.’

  ‘You’ve got it. Remember the yapping dogs?’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t stuff my business. Relieved, really.’

  Ben switched the subject. ‘Look, tell me about Vanish – how was your meeting?’

  So Connie poured that out. Ben whistled when he heard about the loan and then mused, ‘So, even if he was ill for six months, even if he’s right about the loan, that’s still eighteen months when he didn’t do anything about it? That’s pretty feeble, although now I’ve seen what a mess he was making of the tower …’

  ‘Exactly. That’s what I meant by wimps and bastards. Why did Vanish have to be such a wimp?’

  ‘Did he ever ask Gyro directly?’

  Connie thought back to the conversation and sandwiches. ‘No, he didn’t. He was too frightened. I thought about it a lot on the drive home. His manner changed so much when he was talking about the loan, as if he knew his stuff for once. But you’re confirming that Vanish was pretty useless, so the reason he knew his stuff probably was that he had invented it. He suckered me into not postponing the meeting so he got someone to buy him lunch and listen to his crazy ideas for 90 minutes. Sure, we still need to ask some questions – I’ve got no choice now I’m a governor – but that’s how it looks to me.’

  ‘And I’m in the perfect spot to ask questions. We can do our homework before Gyro gets back – who knows, he might bring two million with him. The bank manager wants a meeting anyway, and Frank’s taking me to dinner tonight. Frank’s got to be a good guy to talk to. His questions about the dean seem pretty on the ball, and we know he’s as straight as anything.’

  ‘I like the sound of that.’ Sometimes a problem shared did feel like a problem halved. For Connie, this was one of those times. ‘Could we talk some more tomorrow afternoon?’

  ‘At the college?’

  ‘A few of the health MSc’s will be around towards the end of the afternoon. We have our last classes from Monday to Wednesday. If the weather’s nice, we’re planning a picnic by the lake.’

  ‘That’s perfect. It’s a date.’

  SATURDAY 16 JUNE (DAY & EVENING)

  The 10am meeting didn’t need umbrellas; the flying saucer overhead easily sheltered them from the icy cricket balls being hurled downwards from the heavens. However, the percussion of ice against glass was deafening. Ben’s heart stopped when a sheet of hail tumbled off the outer auditorium wall. The fragments looked like glass.

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Being a good project manager, Tom had cultivated the gift of rapidly reading his client’s nerves and then calming them. ‘It makes a hell of a racket but she’ll sleep through this like a baby. The glass isn’t quite bullet-proof but it’s damn close.’

  Tom had a stranger with him, but his expression told the story.

  ‘Good news?’ Ben guessed.

  ‘Ninety percent. We’ve sorted the pressure equalisation between the riser cylinders. In fact we could take a ride up now, but we’ll wait till six o’clock. I’m having a back-up of the equalisation fix installed in case the first system fails.’

  Ben gave a thumbs up. This really was good news. ‘The ten percent?’

  ‘The announcements. Trickier than we thought. That’s why Rakesh is here from Bangalore.’

  ‘Welcome to the English summer.’

  The newcomer grinned. ‘Actually I’m from Yorkshire, just doing a two-year rotation in Bangalore. Pleased to meet you, Mr Stillman.’ They shook hands and exchanged cards. Rakesh Pradhan was assistant chief engineer of Proximity Communications.

  ‘What’s t
he situation right now?’

  Rakesh exhibited a purposeful command of the situation. ‘We’ve had a change in the last six hours. Before, we had reversal – the announcement said opening when the doors were closing and vice versa, now it’s random, or apparently random. So sometimes it says opening when the doors are opening, and sometimes not. What we have done over the last forty-eight hours is eliminate totally the hardware faults. That’s positive because it means that pure brainpower can crack the situation. As of midnight last night we have the whole set-up connected to Bangalore, where we have a dozen specialists on the case.

  ‘I know these guys, Mr Stillman, some of them are so bright it scares me shitless, if you will excuse me for using that word. They are on this 24/7 because this is like a riddle or crossword puzzle to them. The wives and kids of these guys are not going to see them until they’ve cracked it. So fundamentally, this is now a dead problem. It just may not be quite dead by six o’clock this evening, and for this Proximity Communications and I deeply apologise.’

  ‘Rakesh, I appreciate that. Keep me updated. And if the worst comes to the worst, can we just switch the announcements off for the opening day?’

  Tom nodded. ‘Exactly.’ The relief on his face that Ben had arrived in the nick of time was unmistakable. For nearly three weeks there had been no-one in the college who could grasp what was needed to get the tower opened at all, let alone on time. Admittedly, no-one had been an improvement on the person before …

  The good news meant that Ben did not need to be lashed to Gyro’s desk all day. He popped back into the office briefly, to send Gyro a progress report. Since it was a Saturday morning he was surprised to find the infamous cleaner hoovering Gyro’s carpet – all he got in return for effusive greetings was the smile of a tricoteuse. There were no incriminating emails on the desk, just architect’s drawings of the lift.

  Of the phone messages – including two more from Roger Sling – there was only one that he needed to return right away. As expected, Casey Pinnacle was proving to be one of the most irritating of the VIPAs, as Ben had started to call them – Very Important Pains in the Arse. Impossible to pin down as to whether he was definitely coming to Hampton on Thursday, or whether he might be in Baluchistan or perhaps just showing up for the dinner, Casey kept peppering the college with irrelevant questions, as if he had confused it with Wikipedia.