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I saw them together on the pavement. They were waiting for a taxi too. They were very close together. It looked as if Guy had his arm round Ingrid’s waist. I could hear Ingrid’s laugh ringing up the side-street towards me.

I stopped still and watched them. They didn’t see me. Suddenly I felt cold. The comfortable glow of internet success left me.

I turned on my heel and walked all the way home.

I slept little that night. The next morning I asked Ingrid to join me for a coffee. She agreed, and we headed for the place round the corner.

‘I wonder how many of those people last night will actually get funding,’ she said as we stepped out into the street.

‘Not many, I hope,’ I replied uncharitably.

‘I met a guy from QXL, you know, the auction site?’

I grunted. Ingrid went on.

‘It’s an amazing story. They floated in October with a market cap of two hundred and fifty million, and now they’re worth nearly two billion. Can you believe that? I knew they were doing well, but I didn’t realize it was that well. And all from selling knick-knacks over the Internet.’

I grunted again. We entered the coffee shop and ordered.

‘OK, out with it,’ she said as we sat down with our cappuccinos. ‘Something’s bugging you and you want to talk to me about it. By the look of you, it’s bugging you pretty badly.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing really.’

‘Come on. What is it?’

I looked her straight in the eye. ‘Are you sleeping with Guy?’

Ingrid appeared genuinely shocked. She put her cup down. ‘Am I what?’

‘You heard me.’

‘No. No, I’m not.’

‘It’s just, I saw you last night.’

‘And I saw you,’ she said defiantly.

‘I mean I saw the two of you. Together. Getting a taxi. Together.’

‘So what? I got in one and then he got in another.’

‘Oh, I see,’ I said.

‘Don’t you believe me?’ It was a challenge. Ingrid did not like having her honour questioned.

‘Yes. Yes, of course I do. It’s just, he had his arm around you. You were together. I’ve seen Guy with women. I know what happens.’

‘I said we went home in different taxis.’ She was getting angry now.

‘OK, OK.’ I held up my hands to calm her down. ‘It’s got nothing to do with me, anyway.’

‘Too right,’ muttered Ingrid. She swallowed the rest of her coffee and checked her watch. ‘Well, if that’s all it was, we ought to get back to work.’

Our IPO approached. Lastminute.com shares were priced at three hundred and eighty pence. On the first day of trading, desperate investors bid the price up to five hundred and fifty. That meant lastminute was worth over eight hundred million pounds.

I spoke to Bloomfield Weiss. They said they felt a valuation of two hundred million for Ninetyminutes was definitely achievable now, maybe even two hundred and fifty if the stock market’s exuberance continued. We’d get a better idea when the roadshow started the following week.

Then Derek Silverman called Guy. He had just received a phone call from Jay Madden, the head of Champion Starsat Sports. Madden wanted to meet Guy the next day. He had a suggestion he wanted him to listen to.

That could mean only one thing.

We met at the Savoy for breakfast. Guy insisted on bringing me along, for which I was grateful. Jay Madden was a forty-year-old South African with an American accent and business manner. He began by discussing Chelsea’s performance in the Premier League. A good move. He wanted to show us that although he was South African he knew his English football. He then slid into a quick description of Champion Starsat’s sports strategy. Basically, they wanted to own it, especially football. They were a long way towards this as far as TV was concerned, but nowhere when it came to the Internet. This didn’t bother Jay: he was sure he had plenty of time. He could either start his own site, or buy one. He liked ours.

I could feel my pulse quickening. This was real. This was going to be big money.

‘How much?’ asked Guy simply, biting into a croissant.

‘A hundred and fifty million pounds,’ said Jay.

‘Cash or stock?’

‘Stock. With a lock-up. We want to keep you people around.’

‘Not enough,’ said Guy immediately. ‘We can get two hundred and fifty million at the float next month.’

‘I’m not nickel and diming you this morning,’ Jay said. ‘We can do that next week. But what do you think about the idea in principle?’

Guy munched his croissant. Then he took another bite. This was a big decision. It might take him a whole croissant to get through this one.

‘No,’ he said.

No?

‘No? Just like that?’ Madden looked unhappy.

‘Ninetyminutes is doing well as it is. There is a role for an independent soccer website to dominate Europe. That’s going to be us. And the stock market will put a value on that. A value much higher than a hundred and fifty million pounds.’

‘But we can give you everything you need,’ said Madden. ‘Cash for expansion, plenty of outlets for promotion, contact with the clubs and the football associations.’

‘Oh, I know you’ll do well,’ said Guy. ‘And I’m not looking forward to having you as a competitor. But working for Champion Starsat isn’t why I started Ninetyminutes. It’s not why any of us work there. And it’s not why people come to our site.’

‘Are you sure this isn’t just about money?’ Madden asked.

‘Quite sure,’ said Guy.

Madden tucked into his sausage. ‘You’re not going to like us competing with you.’

‘I know,’ said Guy, staring steadily at Madden. Letting him know he wasn’t scared of him.

‘We could make you very rich.’

‘I intend to be very rich anyway,’ said Guy. He poured himself some more coffee. ‘Do you think Arsenal will catch United in the League?’

The board was waiting for us back at Ninetyminutes: Derek Silverman, Henry Broughton-Jones and Ingrid. Guy explained to the others Jay Madden’s proposal.

‘Wow,’ said Henry.

‘You were just trying to get the price up, right?’ I said.

‘No,’ said Guy. ‘I meant what I said. I think we should stay independent.’

‘But a hundred and fifty million!’ I said. ‘That’s got to be worth taking now.’

‘It’s in Champion Starsat stock, remember,’ said Silverman.

‘Better that than Ninetyminutes stock, quite frankly.’

‘The whole ethos of everything we do is based on independence,’ said Guy. ‘Our relationships with the clubs, our internet partners, our editorial policy. It’s how we’re going to succeed. Of course Champion Starsat will have a good site that a lot of people will want to see. So will the BBC. But ours will be better.’

‘But with their cash we can make our site better,’ I said.

‘Davo, don’t go all chartered accountant on me.’

‘That’s not fair.’

‘I want to make Ninetyminutes the number-one site in Europe. We’re almost there. And Henry,’ he looked pointedly at the venture capitalist, ‘when we are, we’ll be worth a lot more than a hundred and fifty million quid.’

‘That was just their first shot,’ I said. ‘They’ll go higher.’

‘So will the stock market. Tell him what value Bloomfield Weiss thought we might get, Davo.’

‘Two hundred million,’ I said grudgingly. ‘Perhaps two fifty.’

‘And it will go up after that,’ said Guy with total confidence. ‘Hang on in there, Henry, and I’ll make you some real money.’

‘A hundred and fifty million quid is real money,’ I said. I was being outmanoeuvred and I disliked it. I still couldn’t believe that Ninetyminutes could be worth anything like twenty million pounds, let alone two hundred, despite all the hype. Guy was right, and that annoyed me: I was a chartered accountant. The numbers didn’t add up. This was a great opportunity to get out while the going was good.