London Calling - James Craig [71]
The Merrion Club was back in session – sort of. This morning, however, expensive booze and obnoxious behaviour were off the menu. The club’s surviving members had dialled in to a conference call to discuss the unfortunate situation that they now found themselves in. While Edgar and his aide sat in a private room in Pakenham’s Gentlemen’s Club in central London, Xavier was busy campaigning somewhere in Surrey. Christian Holyrod was also out on the election campaign, while the other two – Sebastian Lloyd and Harry Allen – were both abroad.
‘The woman who conducted the press conference yesterday,’ Murray replied, looking down at his papers again, ‘is a Superintendent Carole Simpson. She is the inspector’s boss.’
‘Simpson will doubtless be very helpful in all this,’ Holyrod remarked. ‘Her husband is Joshua Hunt, who runs McGowan Capital.’
Murray waited for some sign of recognition on Edgar’s face. When none was forthcoming, he whispered, ‘He’s a member of the Pack.’
‘Don’t use that expression,’ Edgar snapped, quickly hitting the mute button on the phone. The so-called ‘Wolf Pack’ was a group of City investors who had each given the party a donation of at least a million pounds at the beginning of the year, in anticipation of the upcoming campaign. The details of who had donated what had been duly disclosed, as part of Edgar’s much-hyped commitment to financial transparency. Sadly, the fact that a couple of Pack members had made more than three hundred million each by unpatriotically shorting sterling during the recent financial crisis had not gone down so well in the press. The row was still bubbling along. Edgar, who could be thin skinned on certain matters, needed the money, but hated the hassle. He now eyed Murray like he was a naughty schoolboy in line for a caning. ‘Even in private,’ he hissed, ‘we never call them that.’
‘Yes,’ said Murray quietly, looking down at his hands.
Edgar felt his anger fade. ‘Loose lips sink ships, and all that,’ he grinned.
‘Yes,’ said Murray again, wondering what the hell his boss was talking about.
Edgar sighed and tried again. ‘Don’t start using the language of the media, because that will only help them destroy us.’
‘Anyway,’ said Murray, trying to find his way back to the matter in hand, ‘it has to be convenient for us to have a connection with Superintendent Simpson through Mr Hunt. Although, I suppose that to her it might appear a potential conflict of interest.’
‘A mere coincidence,’ Carlton sniffed. ‘Anyway, it’s not like it’s actually her case, is it?’
‘No,’ Murray stood corrected. ‘It seems this guy Carlyle is in charge of the investigation.’
‘But she was the one made the running with the press?’
‘Yes,’ Murray nodded, ‘as far as we can tell.’
‘Edgar? Are you still there?’ It was Sebastian Lloyd, speaking from halfway up a mountain in Chile or Peru, or somewhere. Wherever it was, he was safe enough. ‘I’ve got to go in a minute.’
Edgar unmuted the phone. ‘Yes, sorry. Let’s wrap it up, then. Rest assured that we will deal with this problem at our end, and we will also make sure it’s dealt with as quickly and efficiently as possible.’
There was silence for a few seconds, and then Harry Allen spoke: ‘That’s fine, Edgar, but just remember that we’re all in this together and there is more to worry about here than just your bloody career.’
‘It’s being dealt with,’ intervened Xavier huffily.
For the first time, it crossed Edgar’s mind that some of his so-called chums might not even care to vote for him. He shook his head impatiently and leant over the phone. ‘Xavier is right. It is being dealt with. And you are absolutely right, we are all in this together. So we must deal with this quickly, efficiently and in the best interests of the Club and its members. Good to speak to you all this morning, gentlemen. If we need to arrange another of these calls, William Murray will let you know. But, meanwhile, don’t worry. You can consider the matter resolved.’ Without