Conflict of Interest

To begin with he’d hoped that by his holding back, Judith would come to find a balance between campaigning, and the time she spent with him. But as their weekends together grew fewer and less easy, he began to realise that he’d misjudged: environmental issues had become too important to her to compromise. Instead of seeking balance, she sought instead complete immersion in her cause. When she told him, on their last weekend together, that she had started seeing Clive Slater, a Greenpeace activist who’d formed a protest group at Oxford, Chris had been devastated.

Now, as he headed towards Fulham, he thought about how, for the first time in years, he could let go completely of unwanted ties to the past. His new home had nothing to do with Judith. Unlike Islington, where there hadn’t been a corner of the place that didn’t hold some memory of Judith, the Fulham house offered a completely fresh start. There was no reason why Judith should ever set foot in the place.

Of course, seeing her wasn’t something he could completely avoid – they had Oxford friends in common and would find themselves at the same parties. He’d probably see her in a few weeks’ time at Bernie’s birthday bash. And, as always, he had strongly mixed feelings about the prospect. He couldn’t deny a decided frisson of excitement at the prospect of seeing her again. She still made his heart beat faster when she stepped into a room and, crazy though it seemed seven years after their break-up, he supposed that deep down he still held on to the enduring hope that maybe …

But on the other hand, what if she arrived with some ardent suitor in tow? What kind of a mood would she be in, and how would she act around him? There had been several times, in the past couple of years, late at night, and after a lot of alcohol had been consumed, when her behaviour had been very much less than loving towards him. In fact, at one New Year’s Eve party she’d raged at him, memorably, for being an ‘anally retentive pillock’.

Hostility, he’d reassured himself afterwards, was supposed to be better than indifference. But even so, he knew he had to find a way to let go. His feelings for Judith were still unresolved, and the best way to resolve them was to find someone else to take her place in his life. But who?

At the end of the Boardroom table, Elliott North doodled in the margin of his notepad while Kate Taylor discussed what she’d been doing on Starwear’s behalf in the previous week. The regular Starwear Traffic Meetings were a total pain in the ass as far as he was concerned. Maybe it was important for all the others at Lombard to make sure they didn’t tread on each other’s toes – ‘communications synergy’ was the phrase they used in front of clients. But when it came to his own operations, the less they knew about them, the better.

In New York, the agency he’d worked for had given him a completely free hand to do whatever needed doing to keep Jacob Strauss happy. Nobody questioned where he went, what he did or why he did it. But early on, Cullen had told him that approach wouldn’t wash at Lombard. Even though Starwear was by far and away the biggest PR client in the country, and Lombard’s prize account, people in London, said Cullen, expected accountability. Transparency. They wanted to be in the loop.

Which was why he would find himself sitting round a table and going along with the game, in the company of Kate Taylor, in charge of Starwear’s financial PR, Nicholas King from lobbying, Marilyn Rhodes, consumer affairs, and Tim Wylie, corporate. And of course, Mike Cullen in the Chair. His own remit had been labelled, after much deliberation, ‘Special Projects’. It was suitably vague and all-encompassing. It meant he could still get involved in anything he wanted. And he liked it, because as far as he could see, what he did was special; all the rest was mere housekeeping.

Now the Taylor woman was reporting back on the results of an Analyst Audit that had been carried out. All the initial impressions of Jacob Strauss were favourable, she was saying now. Little did she know, she had him to thank for that. Had de Vere been allowed to busy himself at J. P. Morgan for much longer he would have produced a report that torpedoed Starwear below the waterline; the damage would have been impossible to repair.

Next on was Nicholas King, who’d been trying to persuade MPs that the new Textile Bill, soon to be debated in parliament, needed an amendment. In the past, the Government had offered a range of financial incentives to foreign companies investing in Britain, incentives that gave them a financial advantage over their local competitors. The new Textile Bill was intended to level the playing field, removing the incentives to foreign-owned companies like Starwear. It would have a big impact on Starwear’s bottom line – and share price.

‘What we’re telling Members,’ King said now, ‘is that without an amendment protecting sportswear manufacturers, this Bill is bad for Britain, and bad for the industry. We need to encourage responsible management.’

He looked round the table over his half-moon spectacles, clearly relishing his role as the architect of Starwear’s parliamentary defence.

‘The Bill is bad for Britain because existing incentives have resulted in over £8 billion of investment in the past decade, and 30,000 jobs in the sportswear industry. Take the incentives away and companies like Starwear will simply relocate to other countries who are only too happy to provide financial inducements.

‘It’s bad for the industry because, contrary to popular belief, not all Starwear profits go in their shareholders’ trousers. Starwear spends an average of £40 million a year in Research and Development, creating products which their competitors instantly copy. Take away the R&D and stagnation hits not only Starwear, but the industry as a whole.’ He delivered a perverse smile.

‘What level of support are you getting for the arguments?’ asked Cullen.

Across the table, King’s smile froze over. ‘Well, Mike, we’re up against numbers. The Government’s got a Whip on this and want to be seen as champions of free competition.’

He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. ‘I’d say our chances are very much less than fifty-fifty.’

Cullen nodded seriously, making a note in the margin of his Agenda. ‘You’ll keep up the pressure?’

‘Rest assured, by the time the Bill is debated, there won’t be an MP who isn’t familiar with our line.’

‘Responsible management,’ muttered Elliott North.

King glanced over at him with an expression of mild surprise. ‘Indeed.’

Now Cullen turned to North with an enquiring glance. He was always last on. After a slug of black coffee he began. ‘Just one thing. Some new think-tank, GlobeWatch, is about to be launched. Claude Bonning, President of Family First, is assembling a high-powered council to run the operation. Their main thrust is to monitor the activities of global businesses in labour relations, with a close eye on the manufacturing activities in third-world countries.’

Around the table, the others were following him intently. Then Marilyn Rhodes asked, ‘Who’s behind it?’

‘Interesting you should ask.’ North shot her a glance. ‘Independent. I guess they’ll be out with the begging bowl soon, looking for sponsorship. And I’m proposing we make a healthy donation.’

‘Whose budget?’ Tim Wylie flinched.

Mike Cullen cut in before North could reply. ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ He continued calmly, ‘But we wouldn’t, obviously, put our existing obligations at risk.’

Now Mike glanced around the table. ‘Anything else?’ he queried.

After a moment’s silence, Wylie mentioned, ‘On my way down to this meeting, Monitoring Services handed me a note. A journalist has been calling all over the Starwear operation, here, the States, even Jaipur, with questions about the Quantum Change programme.’

Having returned to the margins of his notebook, North abruptly stopped doodling. ‘What’s his name?’ he demanded.

‘It’s a her, actually,’ said Wylie, ‘Judith Laing. Herald.’