Heads You Win Read online

  “Yes. I wrote down his exact words.” Harbottle turned a page of his yellow pad. “I am confident that anyone who could escape from the KGB in a crate with only half a dozen bottles of vodka for his passage and go on to win the Silver Star, will surely be able to overcome the bank’s current problems.”

  “How does he know about that?” said Alex.

  “You clearly haven’t had the time to read today’s Boston Globe. It’s published a glowing profile of you in the business section. It makes you sound like a cross between Abraham Lincoln and James Bond.”

  Alex laughed for the first time that day.

  “But be warned. Ackroyd is every bit as ruthless and resourceful as Blofeld, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he fed his cat on live goldfish.”

  “I can’t believe that you’re…”

  “Ah, I confess to being an admirer of Mr. Fleming. I’ve read all his books, although I’ve never seen any of the films.”

  The lawyer removed his glasses, placed the file back in his Gladstone bag, and folded his arms; a sign that he was about to say something off the record.

  “Dare I ask how Mr. Rosenthal’s trip to Nice worked out?”

  “It could hardly have gone better,” said Alex. “With the exception of one painting, the entire Lowell Collection will soon be safely stored in a secure vault, to which only I and the bank’s head of security know the code, and which cannot be opened unless both of us are present, with our keys.”

  “That is indeed good news,” said Harbottle. “But you did say, with one exception?”

  “And even that is now in my possession,” said Alex, as he handed over Mrs. Ackroyd’s letter. Once the lawyer had read it, Alex passed across a small painting to Mr. Harbottle.

  “A Blue Jackie by Warhol,” said Harbottle. “I must say, this restores one’s faith in one’s fellow man.”

  “Or even woman,” said Alex with a grin.

  “But how did Mrs. Ackroyd get her hands on the painting?” asked Harbottle.

  “She says Ackroyd gave it to her as part of their divorce settlement.”

  “And how did he get hold of it?”

  “Evelyn Lowell-Halliday, would be my bet,” said Alex. “A reward for services rendered, no doubt.”

  “Which gives me an idea,” said Harbottle. He paused for a moment before saying, “But if I’m to pull it off, I’ll need to borrow Jackie for a few days.”

  “Of course,” said Alex, well aware that there would be no point in asking him why.

  Harbottle wrapped up the painting, and placed it carefully in his Gladstone bag. “I’ve wasted enough of your time, chairman,” he said as he rose from his seat, “so I’ll be on my way.”

  Alex was unable to resist a smile as he accompanied Mr. Harbottle to the door. But once again, the old gentleman took him by surprise.

  “Now we know each other a little better, I think you should call me Harbottle.”

  * * *

  It wasn’t difficult for Alex to work out why Jake Coleman and Doug Ackroyd were never going to be able to work together. Coleman was so clearly an honest, decent, straightforward man, who believed the team was far more important than any individual. Whereas Ackroyd …

  The two of them met for lunch at Elena 3, as Alex was confident that was the one place in Boston Ackroyd and his cronies would never patronize.

  “Why did you leave Lowell’s?” asked Alex, once they’d both ordered a Congressman special.

  “I didn’t leave the bank,” said Jake, “I was fired.”

  “Can I ask why?”

  “I felt someone had to inform the chairman that his sister’s gambling habit had got out of control, and that if she was allowed to go on borrowing indiscriminately, the bank would surely go bust.”

  “How did Ackroyd respond?” said Alex as two sizzling pizzas were placed in front of them.

  “Told me to mind my own business if I knew what was good for me.”

  “And you clearly didn’t.”

  “No. I warned Ackroyd that if he didn’t inform the chairman of what was going on behind his back, then I would. Which was as good as signing my own death warrant, because I was fired the next day.”

  “And did you tell Lawrence the truth?”

  “I wrote to him immediately,” said Jake, “even set up an appointment to see him. But he asked if it could wait until after the election, and as that was only a few weeks away, I readily agreed.”

  “And you haven’t been able to find a suitable position since?”

  “No. At least not at the same level I had at Lowell’s. Ackroyd made sure of that.”

  “I’m surprised he still has that sort of influence in banking circles.”

  “He has enemies, that’s for sure, but whenever I applied for a job, the first person they’d contact was the CEO of the last bank I’d worked for.”

  Alex could almost hear Ackroyd whispering confidentially: Between you and me, the man can’t be trusted. The one word in banking that would have closed every door.

  “So, if I were to offer you a job, would you consider coming back?”

  “No. At least not while Ackroyd is still on the board. I don’t need to be sacked twice.”

  “But if Ackroyd were to resign?”

  “Wild horses won’t move him while he still has a majority on the board, and while Evelyn owns fifty percent of the stock, what’s the point?”

  “You may well be right,” said Alex, “because I can’t pretend that my own position is all that secure. And even if that were to change, I still can’t guarantee the bank will survive. However, I am convinced that if you were to climb back on board, we’d have a lot better chance.”

  “What makes you so confident of that, when you don’t even know me?”

  “But I do know Bob Underwood, and Pamela Robbins, and if those two are willing to vouch for you, that’s good enough for me.”

  “That is indeed a compliment. So if you are able to get rid of Ackroyd and his cronies, I will be happy to continue in my old job as the bank’s financial officer.”

  “That wasn’t what I had in mind,” said Alex. Jake looked disappointed. “I was rather hoping you’d be willing to take over Ackroyd’s position, and return to Lowell’s as the chief executive.”

  * * *

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” said Alex, looking around the table to see only one unoccupied chair. “I will ask Mr. Fowler to read the minutes of the last meeting.”

  The company secretary rose from his place and opened the minute book. “The board met on March eighteenth,” he began, “and among the matters discussed…”

  Alex’s mind drifted back to the hastily called meeting held in Harbottle’s office the previous evening that had lasted until the early hours of the morning. They had both come to the reluctant conclusion that the numbers were stacked against him, well aware that Evelyn was in Boston. He glanced at the empty chair. But if Evelyn didn’t turn up, he might still be in with a chance.

  By the time Alex had arrived home, Anna was fast asleep. He decided not to wake her and burden her with his news. He placed a hand on his future son or daughter, a little mound of would-be-life keen to get out and join the world. He climbed into bed, desperate for sleep, but his mind didn’t rest, even for a moment, like a convicted murderer the night before being strapped into the electric chair.

  He snapped back into the real world when Fowler said, “That concludes the minutes of the last meeting. Are there any questions?”

  Still no sign of Evelyn.

  There were no questions, not least because everyone around that table knew only too well what the first item on the agenda was.

  “Item number one is the selection of a new chairman,” said Alex as the door opened and Evelyn burst into the room. Alex cursed as he looked at the woman who’d so captivated him when they’d first met. He could see why men fell so completely under her spell, if only for a short time. Jardine and Ackroyd both rose to greet her, and she took the empty place between