Ghigau 2.

Lenny’s forty-five minute walk to work, down leafy avenues and across the park, was a pleasant one. It was already very warm and the morning air was sweet and syrupy. All every news outlet could talk about was the ‘heatwave’ and its 'unprecedented temperatures'. 

    During the COVID lockdowns, this was the part of the day he’d missed the most, the chance to stretch his legs. At university he had, for a while, been a serious athlete. There was a period when he had considered it as a career. The 1500 meters was his discipline and he'd competed at national level. In the end, he had not wanted it enough. He’d loved running but the pressure of competing at that level, the strict training and diet regime, the lack of any time to himself, had convinced him that a career as a runner wasn’t for him. Did he ever regret his decision? Not really; he was a pragmatist at heart and he was happy with his choices. He kept fit, was within a few pounds of his best weight and still ran at the local club track fairly regularly, but only for pleasure. 

    As he walked, he reflected that the decisions he had made he would make again under the same circumstances. Rather it was the events that had been foisted upon him, brutally and undeservedly, that he would change.

 

    Jake was already at the office when Lenny arrived. 

    “Morning, morning,” Jake greeted him heartily. He always full of energy and ideas in the morning but by four o’clock he’d be half-asleep. He was sweating already, dark patches showed under his arms, his shirt stretched across heavy arms and shoulders, he wasn’t quite fat, but heading that way. They had air-conditioning in their office to combat the greenhouse effect from the glass-fronted room, but it struggled to perform on really hot days. 

    “Morning Jake”. Lenny rested his bag on his desk and started to remove his laptop.    Their premises were compact but smart. There was a carpeted reception area, with blown-up images on the walls from successful campaigns they had produced, an arts and crafts desk and a mid-century danish sofa and clear perspex coffee table. The back office, and largest room, housed Mike, their junior strategist, Annabelle, who managed pay-per-click campaigns, and three graphic designers. Jake and Lenny shared an office/boardroom which fronted the street. Reception was managed by Liam, who also functioned as an assistant to both Lenny & Jake.

    “What time are they expected?” Lenny asked.

    “They’ve already called actually, running a little late so around ten-fifteen” said Jake.

    “Ok, great. That gives us time to look over these.” Lenny said. He drew a sheaf of papers from his bag and spread them out on the desk.

    “Coffee?” Jake was standing by the new espresso machine he’d insisted they buy on the basis that good coffee would win discerning clients over. “Latte? I’ve even got oat milk. Catherine’s idea.” He rolled his eyes.

    “Christ, I can’t imagine anything worse, if there’s no cow’s milk I’ll take it black.” Lenny made a face. Then, feeling he might have spoken too sharply, added, “Thank you though.”

    In many ways Jake and Lenny couldn’t have been more different and Lenny sometimes thought this was what made the partnership work. They had all met around the same time, Catherine, Nikki and Lenny at university and Jake a little later at Catherine’s first job in advertising sales. Technically Jake had been her boss when they started dating, although he was only a year older. It was Catherine who had introduced Lenny to Jake, and, a few years later, at Jake’s instigation,  Talbot & Booth was formed.  

    “So. What do you want me to focus on?” When it came to courting new clients Lenny deferred to Jake whose effusive, back-slapping manner worked like a charm on just about anybody, Lenny had learned over the years.

    Jake was brimming with enthusiasm, “Well, the thing about these guys is they’re small, for now, but they have backing, serious backing, and they want to be big. I think the best tack is we flatter their ambition. We point out how the sector is moribund, there is a lack of ideas, of innovation, and a young company like theirs is poised to sweep away the old guard”.

    “Is there an ‘old guard’ in the green sector? I mean the whole sector is young isn’t it?

    “Young to us, but that’s because we’re getting old mate!” Jake laughed.

    “Ok, so how old are they?” Lenny asked.

    Jake looked almost embarrassed. “I think the CEO, Justin,  is twenty-six”.

    “Christ almighty, I feel ancient”. Lenny slumped in his chair. “Twenty-six! What can they possibly know at twenty-six?”

    “Well, they know enough to have grown GREnergy in four years from a start-up to the point where they’re gearing up for an AIM listing next year.” Jake shrugged and inclined his head with a wry grin as if to say, ‘the world belongs to the young’.

    “Ok, well I have all the stuff you asked for and I’ve summarised it in Prezi.”

    “Let’s take a look then,” said Jake, pulling up a chair to watch the presentation, and they spent the next hour familiarising themselves with the research Lenny had put together.

    Before long the entrance buzzer sounded and a minute later Liam’s permanently smiling face appeared round the door, “They’re here,” he whispered.

    “Show ‘em in, show ‘em in!” boomed Jake.

 

    Justin Compton-Wise was just as Lenny had imagined him. Groomed to the point of prissiness with just a hint of fashionable stubble, an expensive blue three-piece suit cut in the muscle style, a pink shirt open at the neck with trousers a little too short and casual shoes. His hair was quaffed on top and shaven at the sides. He seemed completely unaffected by the warm weather and wouldn’t have looked out of place on an episode of Love Island. His tan was almost too much for the eyes.

    Jake shook Justin’s hand and gestured to a seat around the glass-topped boardroom table that they had spent a fifth of their start-up budget on. “Please—”

    Lenny stood, shook hands and smiled. “Lenny Talbot, nice to meet you Mr Compton-Wise.”     

    Justin’s grip was cool and firm, belying the manicured hands.  “Please, it’s Justin.” The voice was well moderated with a hint of East Midlands.

    “Justin.” Lenny nodded.

    “And this is Caroline Laurent, brand manager for GRE and also a five per cent stake holder.” Justin gestured to his companion, a small smartly dressed woman with a severe expression, who gave Lenny, and then Jake, a curt nod before they all sat. 

    Twenty minutes later, when the pitch was over, Jake asked Liam to provide coffee and then let the conversation die. This was a tactic of Jake’s. Knowing that if he stayed silent the client would eventually volunteer information or ask a question and that the first comment they made would reveal their deepest concern.

    “I like it, I like it very much.” Was Justin’s opening line. He looked across at Caroline Laurent who had hardly commented throughout the whole meeting and now silently nodded her agreement. She was using a sheaf of papers to fan air towards her face in an effort to keep cool. 

    Justin went on, “I think we may have to tweak the brand story a little but essentially it’s exactly how we want to move forward. And… he hesitated here, I have a confession. We’d pretty much decided to use you guys before we even got here.” He sat back, looking triumphant, as if he’d got one over on them somehow.

    Both Jake and Lenny looked stunned. Firstly it was unheard of to get a decision at the first pitch and secondly why would a client not negotiate fees?

    “O…kay,” Jake, for once, was nonplussed.

    “Can I ask why?” Lenny interjected.

    “Look,” Justin leaned forward again, hands face down on the table, making his suit sleeves ride up to reveal diamond studded cufflinks. “We have it on good authority from people who know and, I might add, people who are very important to our company and its future, that you guys are the best at what you do. We want to work with you.” He grinned. “I bet you’ve never had such an easy pitch.”

    Lenny felt something tug at his intuition. “So we were recommended?”

    “Kind of,” Justin agreed. 

    Lenny didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged and left it there. While he prepared two information packs for the client’s to take with them, Jake took Justin and Caroline — who hadn’t said more than two words during the whole meeting, was that not odd for a brand manager? — to one side and they exchanged some details about contracts and set a date for their next meeting before everyone shook hands once again and the two young entrepreneurs departed in a cloud of sandalwood after-shave and acidic perfume.

    “That was weird.” Lenny said.

    “I know. I mean great, obviously. But yes, a bit strange,” Jake agreed.

    Lenny frowned. “What do we know about their finances? Are they in profit yet? I don’t want to get too far down the road with a bunch of dreamers and then find we don’t get paid.”

    Jake shrugged. “All I know is that apparently they seeded with five mill and their A round raised another fifty. And a big investor took a twenty-percent equity earlier this year.”

    “We should check them out properly.” Lenny said emphatically. Nearly adding, ‘and there’s something else I want to talk to you about’. But it didn’t feel like the right moment.

    Jake pulled his laptop in front of him and began typing. After a little searching he began to read. “A million in issued capital. Four directors, one is a ‘Sir’. Same surname as Justin so we know how that goes. Last accounts show turnover as thirty-eight million, they made a small loss but you’d expect that with such rapid growth.”

    “Does it say who bought in to them?”

    “Umm, not here, but there is mention of a person with significant control so that’s probably the investor. And I don’t think we have to worry about them paying their bills.”

    “Why, who is it?”

    “Aidan Hulme,” said Jake.