‘How many cards did you get?’
‘Only three.’
‘Three! That’s pathetic. You’ve got to hustle, Davo. You can’t get trampled by the herd.’
‘I did come across one VC I knew from my accounting days. I talked to him for a bit.’
‘Did he like the idea?’
‘I didn’t ask him. It didn’t seem appropriate.’
‘Didn’t seem appropriate! Why do you think you were there? Why do you think he was there?’ Guy shook his head. ‘I knew I should have gone myself,’ he muttered.
I felt a flash of anger, but bit my tongue and put my head down. I was angry because I knew Guy was right. I felt guilty and inadequate. I was not good at this. Guy had hired me to help him raise money. He relied on me. I didn’t want to let him down, especially at this early stage.
Guy and I worked on in angry silence. Of course, Owen was working in silence too, but there was nothing new in that. The tension crowded in on us in the small flat, hovering over the dining table we all shared as a desk.
Determined to make up for the previous evening’s failure, I sent our plan to the three venture capitalists I had met, including Henry. I took some time over his covering letter. I toyed with elaborate excuses as to why I had suddenly discovered a need for funding the day after I had told him I didn’t have one, before settling on the truth, which sounded better anyway. He just hadn’t looked as if he wanted to hear yet another elevator pitch.
I looked up the British Venture Capital Association website, found three more likely names and sent the plan off to each of them.
Now all I could do was wait and see.
‘Coffee?’ asked Guy, after an hour or so of silence.
‘Please,’ I said.
He returned a couple of minutes later with a mug. ‘I’m sorry I jumped on you like that,’ he said. ‘I know you tried your best.’ He smiled a smile that said ‘friends again?’ and was impossible to resist.
‘No, you’re right. You probably should have gone. You’d have done better than me.’
‘Next time.’ He sipped his coffee. I was pleased that the tension had eased a little. We just didn’t have the room for it.
‘Bet you can’t guess who else I saw last night?’ I said.
‘Who?’
‘Mel.’
‘Mel Dean?’
‘That’s the only Mel I know.’
‘Well, well,’ Guy said. ‘There’s a memory. What does she look like? Has she changed much?’
‘She’s aged a bit.’
‘Don’t they all? What about those lovely breasts?’
‘They’re in great shape.’
‘That’s good to know. They always were fine specimens.’
‘She’s still a lawyer,’ I said. ‘Apparently she does a lot of work with internet start-ups. I’ve just faxed her our shareholders’ agreement. Remember I was unhappy with it?’
‘You faxed it to Mel?’
‘She said she’d take a quick look and come back to me.’
‘Waste of time.’
‘We’ll see,’ I said, feeling the irritation rising again and successfully controlling it.
It wasn’t a waste of time. Mel called back late that afternoon, ‘You were right,’ she said. ‘I think there are some real problems with that document. It would do fine for a small business with only a couple of shareholders. But for something that’s going to grow into a venture-funded company, it’s a disaster.’
‘Oh. You mean it’s not scalable,’ I said, remembering some Owenspeak.
She laughed. ‘Precisely,’ she said. ‘I see you’ve learned the lingo.’
‘Some of it. Is it something we can change later on, when we get a bit more money?’
‘You could, but it would be messy. Much better to start off with a proper structure.’
‘Could you draw up a better one?’
‘Certainly. I’d have to see the other company documents. And I’d probably have to charge you.’
‘What do you think about working with Guy?’ I asked as quietly as I could.
There was silence for quite a time. In the end she spoke. ‘You are,’ she said.
‘That’s true.’
‘And are you happy with it?’
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘OK. If it’s good enough for you, it’s good enough for me.’
‘All right. Let me talk to him. I’ll call you back in a couple of minutes.’
‘Now that’s what I call a short decision time,’ Mel said.
I hung up and turned to Guy.
‘I heard most of that,’ he said.
‘Our shareholders’ agreement stinks.’
‘Says Mel?’
‘Says Mel.’
‘Do you believe her?’
‘Yes.’
‘What do you think we should do?’
‘I think we should get rid of the other lot and hire her.’
Guy snorted. ‘But it’s Mel, for God’s sake! She’s an airhead. Everybody knows that.’
‘She was pretty bright at school, I seem to remember. She just acted like an airhead.’
‘Well, she fooled me.’
‘Obviously.’
Guy sighed. ‘Are you sure about this?’
I nodded.
We were a team. Shareholders’ agreements were more my thing than his thing. Suddenly it was very important to me that he showed he understood that.
He paused. Thought. Then smiled.
‘Call her.’
Guy finally pinned Torsten down. He flew to Hamburg for a late-afternoon meeting that would slip into a night out. All part of the plan.
I met him at City Airport the next morning. I spotted him coming through Arrivals. He looked tired after the previous evening’s excesses, but he was grinning.
‘He said yes?’
‘Not quite, but close enough.’
‘What do you mean “not quite”? Did he say yes or didn’t he?’
‘Calm down, Davo. Everything’s cool. He likes the deal. He likes it a lot. But he’d be investing money from the family trusts. And that means his father has to agree.’
‘How likely is that?’
‘Torsten says he’ll have no trouble.’
‘I hope Torsten is right. How much are we talking about?’
‘Five million Deutschmarks.’
‘That’ll do.’ Five million marks was just under two million quid. Not quite as much as we had hoped for, but enough to get us going. ‘That’ll do very well.’
Guy’s smile broadened. ‘Shall we see if we can get a bottle of champagne somewhere in this airport?’
Now it looked like the money was on the way, Guy was anxious to gear up. I wasn’t so sure. I remembered Torsten from school. He was flaky then and he was probably flaky now. But Guy’s view was that that was a risk we would have to take. And if Torsten didn’t come through we might still have some luck with the half-dozen venture capitalists who now had our business plan.
Guy persuaded me. I knew I had to change my whole attitude to risk. At this stage in Ninetyminutes’ life, we had to take risks, not avoid them.
We started recruiting. We wanted a head of merchandising to set up the on-line retailing. Owen and Gaz each needed help. We were also looking for an office to put everyone in. There wasn’t room for Gaz in the flat in Wapping, so he was working from Hemel Hempstead and communicating with us by e-mail. This was asking for trouble, especially once our team grew bigger. So the office search began.
Mel came through with a new shareholders’ agreement and some amendments to our articles of association. She decided to deliver them in person to the flat in Wapping. I was surprised when I opened the door for her to see that she had dyed her hair blonde. She also wasn’t quite as severely dressed as she had been when I had bumped into her at First Tuesday.
‘Very nice,’ I said, wondering whether the new look was for Guy’s benefit.