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Authors: Reginald Hill
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answered, ‘You know what a private equity company is?’
She nodded and he went on, ‘That’s what Woodcutter was to start with. We identified businesses that needed restructuring because of poor management and organization which often made them vulnerable to take-over as well. When we took charge, we restructured by identifying the healthy profit-making elements and getting rid of the rest. And eventually we’d move on, leaving behind a leaner, healthier, much more viable business.’
‘So, a sort of social service?’ she said, smiling.
‘No need to take the piss,’ he said shortly. ‘The aim of business is to make profits and that’s what Woodcutter did very successfully and completely legitimately.’
She said, ‘And you called yourselves Woodcutter Enterprises because you saw your job as pruning away deadwood from potentially healthy business growth?’
He smiled, not the attractive face-lightening smile she had already remarked upon but a teeth-baring grimace that reminded her that his nickname was Wolf.
‘That’s it, you’re right, as usual. And eventually as time went by with some of our more striking successes we retained a long-term interest, so anyone saying we were in for a quick buck then off without a backward glance ought to check the history.’
Interesting, she thought. His indignation at accusation of business malpractice seems at least as fervent as in relation to the sexual charges.
She said, ‘I think the relevant government department has done all the checking necessary, don’t you?’
For a moment she thought she might have provoked him into another outburst, but he controlled himself and said quietly, ‘So where are we now, Dr Ozigbo? I’ve done what you asked and started putting things down on paper. I’ve told you how things happened, the way they happened. I thought someone in your job would have an open mind, but it seems to me you’ve made as many prejudgments as the rest of them!’
The reaction didn’t surprise her. The written word gave fantasy a physical existence and, to start with, the act of writing things down nearly always reinforced denial.
‘This isn’t about me, it’s about you,’ she said gently. ‘I said it was very interesting, and I really meant that. But you said it was just the first instalment. Perhaps we’d better wait till I’ve had the whole oeuvre before I venture any further comment. How does that sound, Wilfred? May I call you Wilfred? Or do you prefer Wilf? Or Wolf? That was your nickname, wasn’t it?’
She had never moved beyond the formality of Mr Hadda. To use any other form of address when she was getting no or very little response would have sounded painfully patronizing. But she needed to do something to mark this small advance in their relationship.
He said, ‘ Wolf . Yes, I used to get Wolf. Press made a lot of that, I recall. I was named after my dad. Wilfred. He got Fred. And I got Wilf till . . . But that’s old history. Call me what you like. But what about you? I’m tired of saying Doctor. Sounds a bit clinical, doesn’t it? And you want to be my friend, don’t you? So let me see . . . Your name’s Alva, isn’t it? Where does that come from?’
‘It’s Swedish. My mother’s Swedish. It means elf or something.’
The genuine non-lupine smile again. That made three times. It was good he doled it out so sparingly. Forewarned was forearmed.
‘Wolf and elf, not a million miles apart,’ he said. ‘You call me Wolf, I’ll call you Elf, OK?’
Elf . This had been her father’s pet name for her since childhood. No one else ever used it. She wished she hadn’t mentioned the meaning, but thought she’d hidden her reaction till Hadda said, ‘Sure you’re OK with that? I can call you madam, if you prefer.’
‘No, Elf will be fine,’ she said.
‘Great. And elves perform magic, don’t they?’
He reached into his tunic and pulled out another exercise book.
‘So let’s see you perform yours, Elf,’
She nodded and he went on, ‘That’s what Woodcutter was to start with. We identified businesses that needed restructuring because of poor management and organization which often made them vulnerable to take-over as well. When we took charge, we restructured by identifying the healthy profit-making elements and getting rid of the rest. And eventually we’d move on, leaving behind a leaner, healthier, much more viable business.’
‘So, a sort of social service?’ she said, smiling.
‘No need to take the piss,’ he said shortly. ‘The aim of business is to make profits and that’s what Woodcutter did very successfully and completely legitimately.’
She said, ‘And you called yourselves Woodcutter Enterprises because you saw your job as pruning away deadwood from potentially healthy business growth?’
He smiled, not the attractive face-lightening smile she had already remarked upon but a teeth-baring grimace that reminded her that his nickname was Wolf.
‘That’s it, you’re right, as usual. And eventually as time went by with some of our more striking successes we retained a long-term interest, so anyone saying we were in for a quick buck then off without a backward glance ought to check the history.’
Interesting, she thought. His indignation at accusation of business malpractice seems at least as fervent as in relation to the sexual charges.
She said, ‘I think the relevant government department has done all the checking necessary, don’t you?’
For a moment she thought she might have provoked him into another outburst, but he controlled himself and said quietly, ‘So where are we now, Dr Ozigbo? I’ve done what you asked and started putting things down on paper. I’ve told you how things happened, the way they happened. I thought someone in your job would have an open mind, but it seems to me you’ve made as many prejudgments as the rest of them!’
The reaction didn’t surprise her. The written word gave fantasy a physical existence and, to start with, the act of writing things down nearly always reinforced denial.
‘This isn’t about me, it’s about you,’ she said gently. ‘I said it was very interesting, and I really meant that. But you said it was just the first instalment. Perhaps we’d better wait till I’ve had the whole oeuvre before I venture any further comment. How does that sound, Wilfred? May I call you Wilfred? Or do you prefer Wilf? Or Wolf? That was your nickname, wasn’t it?’
She had never moved beyond the formality of Mr Hadda. To use any other form of address when she was getting no or very little response would have sounded painfully patronizing. But she needed to do something to mark this small advance in their relationship.
He said, ‘ Wolf . Yes, I used to get Wolf. Press made a lot of that, I recall. I was named after my dad. Wilfred. He got Fred. And I got Wilf till . . . But that’s old history. Call me what you like. But what about you? I’m tired of saying Doctor. Sounds a bit clinical, doesn’t it? And you want to be my friend, don’t you? So let me see . . . Your name’s Alva, isn’t it? Where does that come from?’
‘It’s Swedish. My mother’s Swedish. It means elf or something.’
The genuine non-lupine smile again. That made three times. It was good he doled it out so sparingly. Forewarned was forearmed.
‘Wolf and elf, not a million miles apart,’ he said. ‘You call me Wolf, I’ll call you Elf, OK?’
Elf . This had been her father’s pet name for her since childhood. No one else ever used it. She wished she hadn’t mentioned the meaning, but thought she’d hidden her reaction till Hadda said, ‘Sure you’re OK with that? I can call you madam, if you prefer.’
‘No, Elf will be fine,’ she said.
‘Great. And elves perform magic, don’t they?’
He reached into his tunic and pulled out another exercise book.
‘So let’s see you perform yours, Elf,’
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