Conflict of Interest

PROLOGUE

The businessman with the cheque for £5 million looked awkward. Despite being Chief Executive of the world’s largest sportswear manufacturer, and a revered business guru, Nathan Strauss had never been one for slick sound bites in front of rolling television cameras. Contrived gestures and pre-scripted lines just weren’t his style. In fact, there was something about Nathan Strauss’s very indifference to his public image that some people found deeply charismatic.

Not that the occupant of Suite 901 of the Dorchester Hotel was one of those. Instead, he watched the television news item on the Starwear donation with a familiar mix of compulsive curiosity and self-reproach. As the camera focused in on the two men sitting at the table, the Distress Line logo emblazoned behind them, phrases like ‘the unprecedented size of this donation’ and ‘considered by his peers to be a leading voice on corporate ethics’ sounded through the verbiage of the report. The story of how Nathan Strauss had created Starwear, now the world’s biggest brand after Coca-Cola, was briefly recounted. Previous donations made by the Strauss family to the arts, medical research and a variety of charitable causes were listed. All this time Nathan Strauss dabbed at his perspiring forehead with a white handkerchief, before adjusting the heavy horn-rims on his prominent beak.

Then the telephone rang. ‘Nat, it’s me.’

‘Madeleine,’ his tone was warm.

‘You’re on the box. BBC 1.’

‘Yeah. I’m watching.’ He fiddled with the remote control, turning down the volume.

‘I just wanted you to know the girls and I are so proud of you,’ she told him fondly, ‘but I’ll let you go now so you can follow it.’

‘Madeleine –’ he stopped her before she rang off, evidently in no great hurry to end their conversation, ‘you know, um … you know I’d do anything for you, don’t you?’

The pause at the other end was one of puzzlement. Her husband wasn’t usually given to sentimental expression. But, thought Madeleine, maybe his visit to Distress Line that afternoon had moved him to this uncharacteristic, but welcome tenderness.

‘Of course I know.’ Then, wondering how to respond, she said simply, ‘I love you, Nat.’

‘Love you, too.’

Replacing the receiver, Nathan Strauss watched himself as he moved to the lectern on which the single page of his speech awaited him. His public relations man, Mike Cullen, had offered to have the speech ghosted, but he had declined, wanting to write it himself; this speech was too important for PR. Now, the small group of Distress Line staff, volunteers, and news reporters watched him closely as he brushed back a stray forelock of his greying hair and leaned closer to the microphone.

‘Nearly all of us suffer from depression at some time in our lives,’ he began, ‘but there can be nothing worse than the appalling finality of a man who believes he has no alternative but to take his own life. “Why?” is the question we always ask afterwards – ‘he paused, before shaking his head, ‘but there is only ever one person who truly knows the answer.’

As always, it didn’t matter at all that his

speech lacked clever wordplay, or that his jacket was dishevelled and tie askew; he spoke from the heart and his conviction was compelling. In the semi-dark of his hotel room, Nathan Strauss followed the words of the speech he knew almost by heart to its conclusion: how he believed it was the duty of every company to give something back to society; the work done by Distress Line and the high value he placed on it. And his final line: ‘I believe we all have a responsibility to give choices to those who find themselves in despair.’

There was the applause and whir of flash-cubes as he handed over the cheque for £5 million to the Director of Distress Line. A TV news reporter wrapped up the item, saying how Distress Line would use the donation to improve counselling facilities throughout Europe. Then it was back to the newsroom and an item on Northern Ireland. Getting up from the armchair, Nathan walked over to a drinks cabinet, pouring himself a single malt with ice. Behind him, framing the open doors that led out to his ninth-floor balcony, gold damask curtains swayed in the early evening breeze.

Half an hour later, Park Lane was a chaos of wailing police sirens and the flashing lights of emergency-service vehicles. A gathering crowd was already pressing up against the hastily erected police cordon. Paparazzi were moving into position on the roofs of nearby cars and vans, adjusting their telephoto lenses for the most saleable picture of the night.

The alarm had been raised by a motor salesman from a nearby BMW branch who’d been walking along the pavement. The body had tumbled down only metres in front of him, and had bounced several times with such sickening force that the motor salesman hadn’t even bothered to stop, rushing instead into the hotel lobby to report the incident, before being overwhelmed by shock. Hotel security had been on the scene within seconds, laying a dark blanket over the shattered, bleeding body as their colleagues hurried up to Suite 901 where they found the half-finished glass of whisky.

When the police arrived on the scene a few minutes later, they identified the body as that of Nathan Strauss, husband of Madeleine and father of Sarah and Rebecca, Chief Executive of Starwear, a man whose personal net worth was estimated at £5.3 billion, and wearing the same suit he’d had on earlier in the day when presenting Distress Line with its largest ever donation. Police said an investigation into the cause of his death would be launched, but foul play was not suspected.