Nothing Ventured

‘I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness, Sir Julian,’ he said. ‘I feel I already know your son because whenever Beth visits me, she talks of little else. Though I find it somewhat ironic that my daughter fell in love with a detective, as my experience of policemen hasn’t been particularly happy.’

‘I think you’ll find it was me who fell in love with her,’ said William, as the two men shook hands for the first time and took their seats around the table. ‘By the way, she sends her love, and is looking forward to seeing you on Saturday.’

‘Thank you,’ said Rainsford. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing her too.’

Up until that moment Sir Julian hadn’t spoken, although his eyes had never left the prisoner as he tried to make an assessment of the man, something he always did whenever he met a potential client for the first time. He knew from Rainsford’s charge sheet that he was fifty-three years old, almost six feet, and had a broken nose from his days as a college boxer. He suspected that Rainsford’s hair had turned grey since he’d been in prison. He looked fit, which suggested he spent his voluntary hour each afternoon in the gym rather than strolling around the yard smoking, and also that he avoided the usual prison diet of sausage, beans and chips. He was softly spoken, clearly well educated, and certainly didn’t look like a murderer. However, Sir Julian had learnt over the years that murderers come in all shapes and sizes, some with first class honours degrees, others who had left school at fourteen.

‘I have, Mr Rainsford—’ began Sir Julian.

‘Arthur, please.’

‘I have, Mr Rainsford, read the transcript of your trial most carefully, examined the evidence presented by the Crown, considered your testimony from the witness box, and gone over your confession word for word. However, as this is the first time any of us have met you, I would like to hear your side of the story. Forgive me if I occasionally interrupt to ask you to clarify a point or ask a question.’

‘Of course, Sir Julian. I was born in Epsom, where my father was a GP, and from an early age he hoped I would follow in his footsteps. I did well enough at school to be offered a place to study medicine at University College Hospital, which pleased my father. But it didn’t take me long to realize I wasn’t cut out to be a doctor. So, much to his disappointment, I hung up my short white coat in exchange for a long black gown and transferred to the LSE to study economics, which I enjoyed from the opening lecture.

‘After I’d graduated, I joined Barclays Bank as a trainee, but once again I quickly realized I wasn’t by nature a corporate animal. So in the evenings I returned to the LSE and took a business degree, which was how I finally discovered my natural vocation. With too many letters after my name and too little income, I joined a merchant bank in the City.’

‘Which one?’ asked Sir Julian.

‘Kleinwort Benson. I began life in their small business division, and spent the next three years helping the bank’s customers to expand their companies. Nothing gave me greater pleasure than to see them become larger businesses.

‘I had two close friends at the time, Hamish Galbraith, an old school chum, and Gary Kirkland, who I’d met at the LSE. Hamish joined John Lewis as a trainee manager after he left school. He had a natural flair with people, and the gift of getting the best out of them. Gary was far brighter than both of us, but spent most of his time as an undergraduate drinking and socializing. Frankly I was surprised he got a degree, let alone came out near the top of his year. He became an accountant in the City and enjoyed reading spreadsheets more than novels.

‘One Friday night when we’d all had a little too much to drink, Hamish suggested we should set up our own business. I spent the rest of the weekend wondering if he could be right. After all, I’d spent the past three years advising others on how to expand their companies, so perhaps I was ready to set up one myself. I prepared the same detailed proposal I would have expected from any prospective client, with myself as the

salesman, Hamish as the company’s office manager, and Gary as the accountant. I then presented my thoughts to my would-be partners.’

‘With what result?’ asked Sir Julian.

‘They both naturally wanted to know what the company would do. I told them we should open a boutique investment business and take advantage of my knowledge of and contacts in the field of medicine. Some exciting discoveries were being made in that area at the time, which offered promising investment opportunities.

‘It was another six months before the three of us had the courage to hand in our resignations, and I might not have done so even then if my boss at Kleinwort’s hadn’t encouraged me, and offered to put up the initial seed capital in exchange for fifty per cent of the company.’

Grace was busily taking notes; William wanted to ask several questions; while Sir Julian, sphinx-like, sat and listened impassively.

‘We set up RGK Ltd in 1961, and rented a couple of rooms in Marylebone, but could only afford one secretary between the three of us. I travelled around the country visiting doctors and hospitals, while also attending medical conferences. The company just about broke even during our first five years, but all that changed overnight when I invested some of our clients’ money in a small pharmaceutical company not long before it developed beta blockers. The following year we made a fourteen per cent profit for our backers, and suddenly we were flavour of the month, with potential investors as well as with researchers in need of capital.

‘We celebrated our tenth anniversary by buying back our fifty per cent shareholding from Kleinwort’s and renting another floor in Marylebone.’

William now had several questions he was desperate to ask, but one look at his sister reminded him that it would be unwise to go down that path.

‘Over the next few years, Beth was the only thing that was growing faster than the company. Despite the economic uncertainties of the seventies, we still felt confident about the future. However, I didn’t see the problem coming, even when it was staring me in the face. I knew Gary’s marriage was in trouble, and shouldn’t have been surprised when it ended in an expensive divorce. In the years that followed I saw so many women come and go that I couldn’t always remember their names. But I didn’t say anything, even when his behaviour in the office caused one of our young secretaries to resign, while another threatened to sue the company and we ended up having to settle out of court.

‘I was on the road five days a week drumming up business, so I didn’t realize the full extent of the problem until the night of the office Christmas party, when Gary got drunk and made a pass at my secretary, who was married. She resigned the following day, and the company gave her a generous settlement after she agreed to sign a non-disclosure agreement.

‘Hamish and I made it clear to Gary that if he stepped out of line again, he would have to resign. To be fair, we never had another complaint from that moment, and a couple of years later Gary announced that he was engaged to the love of his life, and was looking forward to getting married again, and finally settling down.

‘His fiancée, Bridget, was attractive and bright, and gave every impression of being devoted to him. But it turned out that she was only interested in his money, and it didn’t take her long to empty his bank account. She then broke off the engagement and went in search of her next victim, leaving Gary to pick up the pieces. Sadly, it wasn’t too long before the women in the office began once again to complain about his behaviour, even when he was sober. But when Beth told me after a leaving party that she now understood why he was known in the office as “wandering hands”, I finally lost my temper and accepted that he had to go.

‘I would have demanded his resignation the next day if I hadn’t had an appointment in Coventry with a potential investor that had been in my diary for the past month. I called Hamish to let him know what I had in mind, and we agreed I should wait until I got back the following day, when we would issue Gary a joint ultimatum. Resign or be sacked.

‘I had a fruitful meeting with my potential new client, and invited him to lunch afterwards. Over coffee, he mentioned the sum that he was considering investing in RGK, which was even more than I had anticipated.

‘But when I handed over my company credit card to pay for the meal, an embarrassed waiter returned a few minutes later and whispered that it had been declined. Not clever in front of a prospective investor. I paid with my personal card, but the damage had been done. I called my bank manager from the station and demanded an explanation. After all, the company had declared a profit of over a million pounds the previous year. He told me we’d exceeded our overdraft limit, and that he’d spoken to Mr Kirkland about the situation several times.

‘I immediately rang Gary and he denied that there was any problem. He suggested I drop by on my way home, and he would explain everything. As soon as I got off the train at Euston, I took a cab to the office.

‘As I was opening the front door, a short, heavily built man, whom I thought I recognized, brushed past me and ran out into the street. I went up to Gary’s office on the first floor and found him lying spreadeagled on the carpet.