We had gone through a lot over the last few months, Guy and I. We had worked long hours, evenings, nights, weekends. We had achieved so much. Getting the site on-line in such a short space of time had been a miracle. Scrabbling together the funding. Recruiting a team of totally committed individuals. I had had a lot of fun. And I had learned a lot about myself and about Guy during that time. I didn’t want it to end.
‘We have to fight him, Guy. We’ve worked too hard for too long for it all to finish like this. What about all your plans for covering the major European leagues? What about the e-commerce? What about the ten million quid Orchestra Ventures have put on the table? Yesterday you were more fired up about this than anyone.’
‘I know. Yesterday I was acting as if Ninetyminutes was my company. I was ignoring my father, ignoring the meeting today, pretending they didn’t exist. But I was deluding myself. They do exist. I can’t hide from the reality.’
‘We’ve faced obstacles like this before and you’ve never quit. You’ve always found a way over them or under them or through them. If it was just me, I’d have given up long ago, you know that.’
Guy smiled.
‘I’ve learned a lot from you,’ I went on. ‘I’ve learned to believe in you. Don’t tell me I was wrong.’
Guy shrugged. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Is it because it’s your father? If it was anyone else you wouldn’t just roll over.’
‘I’m not just rolling over!’ Guy snapped. Then he got a grip of himself. ‘No, you’re right. It is because it’s my father. I know him. He’s determined to turn Ninetyminutes into my failure and his success. And he has all the cards. As usual.’
‘Don’t give up.’
‘I’m sorry, Davo. I already have.’
I looked at him. He meant it.
We sat in silence. I could feel the edifice that we had all worked so hard to create over the last few months crumbling around me, as though Tony Jourdan had removed a vital keystone that kept the whole thing up. It was so bloody unfair!
‘We have to tell them back there,’ I said.
‘You do it. I can’t face them. Go on ahead. I’ll stay here.’
So I left him, shrouded in his own darkness.
2
There was no sign of Guy in the office the next day, Tuesday. I called his flat in Wapping with no reply. My contact at Orchestra Ventures rang me three times but each time I avoided talking to him.
I was drumming my fingers on my desk, wondering what to do next, when Ingrid joined me. Ingrid Da Cunha had known Guy almost as long as I had, but she had been with Ninetyminutes for only two months. She had joined as publisher of the website, and she had been the final ingredient that had made the team work together. I liked her. And I respected her opinion.
‘So, we’re going into the glamour business, are we?’ she said.
‘You are. Not me.’
‘You should stick around. Chartered Accountant of the Month. Mr October. We could really use you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Of course, with my ancestry this should be the perfect job for me. Copacabana babe. Swedish au pair. I could do it all.’
I couldn’t help smiling. Ingrid had big pale-blue eyes, a wide friendly smile and thick chestnut-brown hair. But I had seen her in a bathing suit, and although she didn’t look bad, she was hardly page-three material.
She caught me. ‘What are you laughing at? Sure, my bum’s too big. And my thighs. But I could get cosmetic surgery on the company now. It’s just a question of moving things around a bit. Tony will pay for it. I’m sure my father could fix me up with a surgeon in Rio. You wouldn’t recognize me.’
‘What about growth hormones?’
‘What do you mean? I’m five foot two. Five foot five in the right pair of shoes.’ She punched me on the arm.
‘Ow!’ When Ingrid hit, she hit hard. ‘Don’t get too excited. I think all Ninetyminutes will be doing is providing the links to some seedy little studio in Los Angeles. You’ll have to keep focusing your talents on the football.’
‘Arbroath nil, Hamilton Academicals nil,’ Ingrid said, in an appalling imitation of the results announcer on Grandstand. Ingrid had an accent like none I had ever heard before, although she probably spoke like every other woman in the world with a Swedish mother, a Brazilian father and a British education. Her tone became serious. ‘I just wanted to say that you don’t deserve this.’
‘None of us do.’
‘Tony isn’t going to give in, is he?’
‘I don’t know. I doubt it somehow. But it has to be right to try to get him to change his mind. We can’t give up without a fight.’
‘No, we can’t. But if it does all fall apart, you should be proud of what you’ve achieved. Guy would never have got this far without you. He has his own problems with his father to sort out. You were caught in the middle. It wasn’t your fault.’
She was right. I knew she was right. And it was exactly what I needed to hear at that moment.
‘I’ve been talking to the others,’ she said, ‘and nobody wants to hang around here if you and Guy leave.’
‘There’s no need for that. You’ve all put money in. If you stick around you’ll still be able to make something of the site.’
‘But if we leave, Tony’s screwed, isn’t he?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Think about it. No technical support, no writers, just a bunch of computers, some crappy old desks and a website that will be out of date within a week.’
I thought about it. She had a point.
I looked around me at the bodies beavering away. ‘Will they really do that?’
Ingrid nodded. ‘Yep. I think we should tell Tony, don’t you?’
I smiled. Tony was a stubborn bastard, but it was worth a try. Well worth a try. I picked up the phone and called him at his flat in Knightsbridge to ask for a meeting. He was quite businesslike. He agreed to see Ingrid and me at nine o’clock the following evening.
Owen Jourdan strolled in at about midday, clutching a big cup of coffee. I was surprised to see him: if his brother had gone AWOL then I thought he would have too. Owen and Guy had an odd relationship that I had learned to understand over the years. In the normal course of things they hardly spoke to each other, but if one of them got into trouble the other was there for him. Always.
Owen stalked over to his computer and turned it on, ignoring everyone around him as usual. I went over to his desk, pulled up a chair and sat down. He didn’t say anything, but stared at his computer screen powering up, and sipped his coffee.
Although Owen was Guy’s younger brother, he looked nothing like him. It was as though some freak hormonal imbalance had stimulated the growth of some parts of his body while ignoring others. He was well over six feet tall and must have weighed close to seventeen stone. He was bulky without being fat, with an oversized head that gave the impression of immense stupidity. His tiny eyes were deeply set beneath full eyebrows. His mop of short white-dyed hair was uncombed and he looked as if he had just crawled out of bed. He was wearing what he always wore, long shorts and a ninetyminutes.com baseball cap. It was September and the weather was getting cooler. Owen would soon have to get himself a new pair of trousers.
‘How’s Guy?’ I asked.
‘Pissed,’ he answered.
‘By pissed, do you mean pissed off, or pissed drunk?’
‘Probably both.’ His voice was high, almost squeaky. Guy and Owen’s mother was American and they had both spent a fair bit of time living there, but Owen’s accent was much more pronounced than his brother’s.