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Authors: Quintin Jardine
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ma’am,” I muttered into my lager.
“Don’t take it to heart; we didn’t really interest each other so we didn’t try very hard. That’s the truth of it.”
I thought about it; she was probably right.
“Anyway,” she went on, “I gave myself a makeover. I started with my teeth, then my hair, and then my wardrobe. I chucked my job, too. Remember I worked in the Scottish Office Information Department?”
“Yes.”
“Well I left, and got myself a job as an accounts manager with a public relations company. I did very well there and was promoted after a couple of years. I also got myself a fiance. He worked for a rival firm, so we didn’t announce our engagement, in case our respective bosses didn’t like the idea, but we couldn’t keep it secret forever. Neither of us was fired when it became public knowledge, but our client lists were scrutinised to make sure there was no conflict. I was taken off one account as a result, and I wasn’t allowed on new business pitches in case I wound up competing with David.
“It wasn’t an ideal situation for either of us, so we did the obvious thing. We both quit and set up on our own.”
As she told me her tale, I sensed something else that was new about her; she seemed to be brittle inside, in a way she never had been before. The old Alison might have been quiet, serious and ultimately boring, but she had never been nervous, or anything approaching highly strung; yet that was coming across the table in waves.
“So how did it go?” I asked, as she paused for refreshments.
“Very well,” she replied. “We called ourselves Goodchild Capperauld .. .” She picked up on my frown at once. “His cousin,” she said, forestalling my question.
“Does the name help in business?”
“It does until the prospects see the letterhead and realise it isn’t him.”
“Still.. .”
“No, it doesn’t work that way. He and Ewan don’t get on; David’s younger by about ten years, so they weren’t close as children. Then something happened between them, when David was at university, and they haven’t spoken since.”
“Let me guess, it involved a girl.”
“Naturally. She was a student too; David was going out with her and he took her to Ewan’s younger sister’s wedding. Big mistake!”
“It’s worked out okay for you, though.” I glanced at her left hand, as she picked up her glass again. There were no rings; curious. “Are you Mrs. Capperauld now?”
“I was going to be,” she answered. “We were going to get married last year, but we had so much business that we postponed it. We took on three new clients and set up a lobbying division, to help people put their cases to the Scottish Executive.”
“First things first, eh.”
“It’s not like that,” she said, defensively. “We love each other.”
“Lucky you. And you get your priorities right too.”
“We think so.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you. Now, before you eat the rest of that vodka, and the glass as well, do you want to tell me what this is about? You’re in love, I’ve got a new baby, we could have said all this over the phone, but you wanted to meet me. Why?”
For a moment the old Alison seemed to creep out from behind the teeth, the hair and the make-up. “I want to ask for a favour,” she murmured. I shrugged my shoulders. She gathered her confidence around her, sat up in her chair, and went on.
“I have a client who runs an office equipment business. His name is James Torrent.” I recognised it from vans I had seen around town, in Edinburgh and Glasgow. “He supplies everything other than stationery; furniture, fittings, computers, photocopiers, the lot.
“It’s a really big company; Mr. Torrent plans to go public in a year, but first he’s moving into new corporate headquarters on the outskirts of Edinburgh, near the airport. He’s a very
“Don’t take it to heart; we didn’t really interest each other so we didn’t try very hard. That’s the truth of it.”
I thought about it; she was probably right.
“Anyway,” she went on, “I gave myself a makeover. I started with my teeth, then my hair, and then my wardrobe. I chucked my job, too. Remember I worked in the Scottish Office Information Department?”
“Yes.”
“Well I left, and got myself a job as an accounts manager with a public relations company. I did very well there and was promoted after a couple of years. I also got myself a fiance. He worked for a rival firm, so we didn’t announce our engagement, in case our respective bosses didn’t like the idea, but we couldn’t keep it secret forever. Neither of us was fired when it became public knowledge, but our client lists were scrutinised to make sure there was no conflict. I was taken off one account as a result, and I wasn’t allowed on new business pitches in case I wound up competing with David.
“It wasn’t an ideal situation for either of us, so we did the obvious thing. We both quit and set up on our own.”
As she told me her tale, I sensed something else that was new about her; she seemed to be brittle inside, in a way she never had been before. The old Alison might have been quiet, serious and ultimately boring, but she had never been nervous, or anything approaching highly strung; yet that was coming across the table in waves.
“So how did it go?” I asked, as she paused for refreshments.
“Very well,” she replied. “We called ourselves Goodchild Capperauld .. .” She picked up on my frown at once. “His cousin,” she said, forestalling my question.
“Does the name help in business?”
“It does until the prospects see the letterhead and realise it isn’t him.”
“Still.. .”
“No, it doesn’t work that way. He and Ewan don’t get on; David’s younger by about ten years, so they weren’t close as children. Then something happened between them, when David was at university, and they haven’t spoken since.”
“Let me guess, it involved a girl.”
“Naturally. She was a student too; David was going out with her and he took her to Ewan’s younger sister’s wedding. Big mistake!”
“It’s worked out okay for you, though.” I glanced at her left hand, as she picked up her glass again. There were no rings; curious. “Are you Mrs. Capperauld now?”
“I was going to be,” she answered. “We were going to get married last year, but we had so much business that we postponed it. We took on three new clients and set up a lobbying division, to help people put their cases to the Scottish Executive.”
“First things first, eh.”
“It’s not like that,” she said, defensively. “We love each other.”
“Lucky you. And you get your priorities right too.”
“We think so.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you. Now, before you eat the rest of that vodka, and the glass as well, do you want to tell me what this is about? You’re in love, I’ve got a new baby, we could have said all this over the phone, but you wanted to meet me. Why?”
For a moment the old Alison seemed to creep out from behind the teeth, the hair and the make-up. “I want to ask for a favour,” she murmured. I shrugged my shoulders. She gathered her confidence around her, sat up in her chair, and went on.
“I have a client who runs an office equipment business. His name is James Torrent.” I recognised it from vans I had seen around town, in Edinburgh and Glasgow. “He supplies everything other than stationery; furniture, fittings, computers, photocopiers, the lot.
“It’s a really big company; Mr. Torrent plans to go public in a year, but first he’s moving into new corporate headquarters on the outskirts of Edinburgh, near the airport. He’s a very
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