The Righteous Spy

6 | Old Street, London – A Week Later

6

Old Street, London – A Week Later

‘I’m from London Finance,’ Petra said. ‘Here to interview Andrew Canadell.’

She stood in the all-white reception area while the man behind the desk, who looked as if he’d used pumice stone to shave, wrote out a visitor’s badge and slipped it into a plastic sleeve.

‘There you are, Miss, if you just take a seat, I’ll tell them you’re here.’

It hadn’t been hard getting the interview. Not when Petra had said that London Finance was doing a series about leading CEOs. The PR department had leapt at the opportunity to give Canadell a four-page spread in the independent journal.

Five minutes later Petra was shepherded to the twentieth floor and was sitting in Canadell’s office overlooking London. The room smelt of wood polish and subdued wealth. Across the desk, Canadell sat framed by a floor-to-ceiling window with the Shard in the background.

Petra glanced down at the list of questions she’d prepared for the CEO; there was nothing too extreme on the list. Nothing that might make Canadell baulk at what she was saying or end the interview.

‘Before you took over Gomax Pharmaceuticals you worked in the drinks industry,’ Petra said. ‘How do you feel your expertise has transferred?’

Canadell leaned back in his chair, his face was florid and his shirt collar was too small. In another life Petra could have seen him in a Hogarth etching with a wig askew. In this life he tugged a yellow patterned tie over his white shirt as if the strip of fabric would conceal his gut. On the left lapel of his suit Petra saw an enamel badge and noted the design of both tie and badge in her notes. The tie was a gift from someone he liked but who didn’t know him well; it was too bright and too cheap. The badge was more complex; Petra clicked her camera pen to support her notes.

‘Good question,’ Canadell said. ‘There are certainly transferable skills and indeed, these are both people businesses. I value...’

Petra nodded, smiling with demure respect and memorised the room. She divided it into sections and noted the artefacts and objects. Later on these would be analysed to consider what they might say about Canadell and the report she produced would be sent to his business competitors. Behind him, on a small side table there was the ubiquitous family portrait, with what looked like wife number two – or perhaps even three. There was also a portrait of a school-age child on the desk. From what Petra could see, the CEO’s wife was not quintessentially Anglo-Saxon; she had dark hair and high cheekbones. Perhaps Slavic; perhaps Native American. That might prove to be interesting, but so far, in this particular interview there were slim pickings. Not much to interest Canadell’s business competitor who had commissioned the report.

To the right of Canadell, on a wood-panelled wall there was a further display of photographs. They showed Canadell posing with various politicians across the political and historical spectrum. There were also pictures of him with the most accessible royal as well as a series at various sporting events. But, Petra noted, no horse racing so possibly no gambling.

Closer, Canadell’s colossus of a desk was clear; yet mighty though the desk might be, it was functional. Tidy. Precise. Two laptops were open and as he spoke, he kept glancing in their direction.

‘And I see you’re a Londoner and support the culture of the capital in many ways,’ Petra said.

‘Yes, yes, we recently initiated a programme to take young people to opera rehearsals. Although we may have missed it for this season.’

‘Why’s that?’ Petra said, smiling with great understanding.

‘Timing,’ he shifted in his seat, as if he was trying to get comfortable on the deep padded leather.

That was interesting. What was it about the question that made Canadell display an anxiety tell? Was it personal or professional?

‘Of course,’ Petra said. ‘These programmes have to be organised so far in advance. But you must be keen to continue, having done so much good with these initiatives.’

Canadell nodded, ‘We have. So many young people helped. So many young lives enhanced by the power of music. It makes me very proud.’

‘I can see that. Who is involved? Would I be able to speak to someone from the charity and get a quote? I think it’s something that people would find fascinating.’

In answer, Canadell pushed the desk so that his chair shifted back, ‘Of course,’ he said. Of course not, he meant.

Yes, there were inconsistencies about Canadell. He looked like a rugby player gone to seed. At a guess, Canadell was using the opera charity for either personal reasons or financial; in other words, the usual: s*x or money. Meanwhile, her part was coming to an end.

Petra uncrossed her legs, leaned forward and switched off the Zoom audio recorder. ‘Thank you for your time,’ she said. ‘I’m very grateful. I’ll send the copy to your PR department and will wait for your approval.’

Canadell nodded, but he wasn’t listening; he was looking at his laptop and frowning.

Petra stood up and walked around the desk to shake hands with Canadell. She was able to see the screen; it was a live update of the Hang Seng. ‘It’s been great to meet you,’ she said.

Glancing at her watch, she made a note of the time to feed into her report. The geeks back at the office might be able to work out what was disturbing Canadell. There couldn’t be that many options on the Hang Seng screen at that particular time. And her role was over; she’d write up both the article and the private report. The article would contain the superficial information about Canadell; the do-gooding CEO that would appear in London Finance. And her report, the one commissioned by Canadell’s business competitor that contained detailed thoughts and recommendations for further action, would go to her employers, the security company.