‘We were never that bad, were we, Clare?’ I asked her as we made our way back to the small office we shared.
Clare laughed. ‘Not quite. But those guys were geniuses compared to some of the bozos we used to get in here a year ago.’
The dot-com bubble may have burst, but the venture capitalists lived on. They now counted me as one of their number. I enjoyed the job: finally I had found something that played to my analytical strengths and allowed me to take the occasional risk. Orchestra Ventures was doing well, partly owing to one of Henry’s deals, a chain of coffee shops that had been bought by a multinational for tens of millions. So Henry was still a partner; it is amazing what venture capitalists will forgive someone who makes them money.
I sat at my desk and stared at my computer, remembering our own pitch to Orchestra. I called up the web browser and typed in www.ninetyminutes.com. The familiar bubble design appeared, although one of the bubbles now bore the words Number One Soccer Site in Europe. I smiled. With Champion Starsat’s funding, Gaz’s writing and Ingrid’s editorial skills, Ninetyminutes had wiped the floor with the opposition. Sure, retailing had been closed down, and there were prominent links to Champion Starsat services all over the site, but none the less Guy would have been pleased. I was glad Madden had succeeded in persuading Ingrid to stay on. I still saw a lot of her. I was glad of that, too.
The legal machinery was grinding on towards Mel’s trial. I wasn’t planning to attend, but I assumed I would be called as a witness, something I was not looking forward to. Mel had spent most of her adult life feeling guilty. I hoped she would plead guilty now.
Guy was lying next to his father and brother in the village churchyard, but it seemed to me that he had finally broken free of both of them. All his thirty-two years he had been at war with himself to prove that he could make something of his life. And he had: I was staring at it. For the hundredth time since his death I felt a wave of sadness wash over me.
Then I heard his voice whispering in my ear: ‘Get on with it, Davo!’
I smiled to myself. With a couple of clicks of my mouse I left the Ninetyminutes website. And got on with it.
Author’s Note
None of the characters in this book represent real people. The explosion of new internet companies over the last few years has made it virtually impossible to find a company name that is both plausible and hasn’t been used before somewhere, some time. Although a few real companies have been given peripheral roles in the book, Ninetyminutes, Goaldigger, Babyloves, Lastrest, Sick As A Parrot, Orchestra Ventures, Bloomfield Weiss, Howles Marriott, Coward Turner, Leipziger Gurney Kroheim, Champion Starsat and Midland Mercia TV are all fictional.
A great many people have helped with the writing of this book. In particular, I would like to thank Will Muirhead of Sportev, Sheona Southern and her colleagues at Teamtalk, Eldar Tuvey of Mailround, Anne Glover and her colleagues at Amadeus, Toby Wyles, Peter Morris, Tim Botterill, Troels Henriksen, Saul Cambridge, Douglas Marston, Jonathan Cape, Richard Horwood, Simon Petherick, my agent, Carole Blake and my editors, Beverley Cousins and Tom Weldon.
This book is dedicated to Hugh Paton, a skilful and safe pilot. I miss him.
Michael Ridpath
London
September 2002