make further inroads into the von Garten companies.
Sir William arrived at exactly nine for his breakfast meeting. He had been so busy making calls he had not noticed that one shoelace was undone and in danger of tripping him up as he marched through the Connaught Hotel reception into the dining room. William sat down at a table with a pristine pink cloth and a single rose in a tubular silver vase. He tossed aside the menu and ordered grapefruit, coffee, wholemeal toast and kippers. He always had the kippers at the Connaught: they were perfect, not too smoked, and grilled with just a dab of butter.Just thinking about his breakfast, his mouth watered and he’d eaten two rounds of toast before his guest sauntered into the dining room.
Baron von Garten was accompanied by a shrewish little man wearing rimless glasses and carrying a soft leather briefcase. William waited, tetchily drumming his fingers on the table, but the Baron made no apology either for being half an hour late or for the previous cancelled meetings. His companion introduced himself as Herr Eric Kramer, the Baron’s lawyer.
The elegant Baron said only a few words and left his lawyer to do most of the talking. Kramer explained that the Baron’s family had to be a hundred per cent certain that, if they did agree to the sale, their name would not be connected to any of the factory’s future products. He gave a blow-by-blow account of the Baron’s ancestral history, emphasized how well connected the family still was, and declared that a transaction would be withdrawn at any whisper of scandal. He wanted a confidentiality agreement signed to ensure that any dealings would never be made public.
William was pretty sure that the Baron’s Board of Directors had not been asked to approve the deal, so that when the business was sold to William it would be too late for anyone to do anything about it. He guessed that the Baron, for all his family connections, was hurting for cash.
‘How much?’ he asked softly, and both men leaned forward as if afraid to be overheard.
William shook his head. ‘Gentlemen, that is a preposterous asking price,’ he said, and withdrew from his own briefcase a detailed document about the property: its location, its present dilapidated condition. It emphasized that William was buying the shell of the old factory to tear down and rebuild; his major interest in the purchase was its location. He wished to turn it into a computer works, offering four hundred jobs, and bringing a team of experts to train the employees to his standards. He showed them a brochure about a similar factory up and running in Paris. As they glanced over it he signalled for the bill.
The deal was concluded quickly. William would arrange a banker’s draft to pay a percentage of the fourteen million dollars he had agreed – exactly half the amount they had asked for. They would receive this as soon as all the documents were signed and the surveyors had completed their inspections.
Throughout the entire transaction the Baron had remained aloof, treating William with contempt. It was as if this business deal was beneath him. Perhaps it was no wonder that – if the rumours were well founded – he had got himself into dire financial difficulty.
William had to wait only a moment outside for his Rolls – Arthur was heading towards him immediately. The Baron walked out of the hotel accompanied by a rather well-preserved blonde woman. He introduced his wife frostily, and the Baroness smiled vacantly in William’s direction as the doorman hailed a passing taxi. The taxi drew up at the same time as William’s gleaming car, but he was already speaking into his mobile so they had no further interaction. Not that William desired any: his mind was already on his next appointment with his bankers.
After lunch Andrew Maynard joined him for coffee. He seemed relaxed and confident, his face slightly flushed, although this was noticeable only to William, who knew him well
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