|  The meeting room was really just a space behind the photocopier separated off by a grey screen. Nick put two fingers between his tie knot and eased the pressure on his neck. His head ached but thank God he didn't have a hangover. The weekend in Geneva had been brilliant. The Class of '04 had never been huge drinkers but they had made an exception for Marie-Christine's wedding. It had been more or less a full-on class reunion and neither Marie-C's parents nor the Hotel d'Angleterre had stinted on the Krug. But Nick had been abstinence itself. 'Got to get back to the UK. Big client meeting on Monday,' he said ruefully. Geneva was his spiritual home. This rainy, UK Midlands town wasn't. But if his new job meant traipsing around the regional network pitching for clients, then traipse he must. The branch manager welcomed him with a cup of vending machine coffee with a plastic stick for a spoon. 'Glad that head office saw fit to send us a local lad,' he said as Nick looked around for somewhere to put his laptop case. He smiled and silently prayed that his local knowledge wouldn't be interrogated too much. Since graduating from the Sorbonne he'd been pretty much a fixture in Switzerland. His six years at the public school 40 miles from where he was now sitting seemed a very long time ago. He was saved. The branch manager was already deep in a ring binder (Nick made a note to self: head office really needed to get the local branch network up to speed with the Paper Resources Management Program). 'You're meeting Mr Bragg, a private banking client. You can see his profile here.' Nick was slightly offended at the suggestion that he'd come to a meeting underprepared. He handed the ring binder back. 'Aged 31, no family wealth, owns a chain of clubs and bars, limited investment profile barring property interests.' 'That's right. We've had him marked down for our RACLB programme for the past year or two.' Nick flushed. 'I'm afraid I don't recall doing the RACLB module at induction.' 'You won't have. Local initiative. Stands for Rich And Cocky Little Bastard.' 'Mr Bragg is here,' said the secretary. Lee Bragg wore a three-piece suit, white snakeskin shoes and a tie with the biggest knot Nick had ever seen. He had a goatee and a thin moustache and his shoulder-length feather-cut hair was dyed silver. 'Lee. Nice to meet you, mate.' Nick counted four rings and two bracelets as they shook hands. Nick fired up the laptop and began to run through the Capital Management Interface Strategy. 'Hang on, hang on,' said Lee after three slides. 'I thought you was the private banking bloke.' Nick could almost see his Geneva friends from the Class of '04 grinning at him through the window. 'Capital management is the more generally accepted term in the States and the other major markets these days, Mr Bragg.' 'Well, I'm not in the bloody States. Just skip to the mattress bit.' The manager interjected. 'Local idiom again, Nick. You know – where we propose consolidating the majority of Mr Bragg's assets.' 'Too right. And you'll need a bloody big mattress for my assets.' Nick tried to skip forward to the Capital Diversification Integers slide. The screen dissolved. 'Your bosses in The Smoke had better put you on an IT course, matey,' Lee guffawed as Nick tried to find the restart key. The Class of '04 egged him on: 'Tell him you came top in the Technology Paradigm Module, Nick.' Lee shifted impatiently. 'Look here mate, don't bother. All I want is a quick decision. Villa in Florida or ski chalet in Switzerland?' Nick struggled with his conscience. He really ought to go back to Capital Diversification Integers. But a sale was a sale, and somehow he didn't think Mr Bragg was going to hang around for very much longer. 'Well, funny you should mention that. I worked in Switzerland for a while and I do happen to know this chap who has quite an exciting little development going on outside Zermatt. I could get his number if you like...' The Class of '04 disappeared into the Midlands rain. |