Chapter 55 #2
“Despicable, wasn’t it? I’m almost ashamed. No one wants glass in their dinner, do they? It had quite the ripple effect round
the room. Damage!”
“You’re such a player,” said Polly, not sure how long she could carry on smiling at this vile creep. “Playing devil’s advocate,
couldn’t you coexist with this... other Italian restaurant? It would get you brownie points with the community, surely.”
“Fuck the community,” said Richard with gusto. “Every meal someone buys in that place they aren’t buying in ours.”
“Surely Jim must care? He’s a councilor.”
“I think you have the wrong idea about councilors, my dear. They don’t exist to care .” Richard Pound laughed heartily again, but Polly had encountered a lot of people on Slattercove and Shoresend council who
cared a great deal and wanted nothing better than to rid themselves of the gangrene in their ranks.
“Peter Hore there, opposite you, is the money man. He hasn’t a clue what he’s doing businesswise, but he thinks he does. Rich
as Croesus and a harmless chump. Genius on the stock market, though it does help if you have a pal who gives him insider tips
on what to buy, for a generous backhander.” Polly knew this, of course, because she’d done her homework. And it wasn’t hard
to trace who that friend was when you didn’t think you’d be found out and were incautious with information.
“Isn’t that... illegal?”
“Oh God, yes. Don’t say I told you this, but invest in minerals. That’s straight from the horse’s mouth. Tank Uranium Corporation
in Canada. We’ve all done very well out of that one thanks to Peter’s friend Ni—oops.” He covered his mouth before he could
say Niles Rillington, a name that Polly was already aware of.
“I appreciate the tip. What about Donald? What special skills does he bring to the table?” Polly jerked her head toward the eldest man in the group, who looked like a doddery old white-haired uncle who was totally oblivious to everything.
He seemed to be happy eating and drinking without the bother of conversing, even if Jeremy to his right was doing his best to engage.
“Don’t take any notice of him,” said Richard, flapping his hand. “He’s got a hereditary title and sits in the House of Lords,
and it’s handy to have one of those on the board even if he’s virtually inbred. Plus he says yes to everything because he
can’t think for himself. Not a bit of gray matter in that weird-shaped head of his.”
But Polly knew that Donald wasn’t as bumbling as he appeared. He had been living a double life for thirty years and had a
mistress and two children who were ensconced in a secret vineyard business he had in France. Lady Celia Devine would have
a lot to say about that if she found out.
Polly couldn’t believe her luck. Richard Pound was the gift that kept on giving. She had plenty to sink the lot of them, but
he was providing her with enough to keep it sunk for eternity.
“What I can’t find is Councilor Stirling’s name on anything,” Polly asked then. “Why is that?”
“Well, he can’t be seen to have a vested interest, can he, being a councilor,” answered Richard, his tongue wonderfully loosened
by flattery and fine wine. He lifted his fingers to his lips. “Shhh. It’s all in the name of his daughter. My, the power that
man wields, everyone calls him James Stalin, not Stirling. They’re all terrified of him, with good reason. He makes up the
rules as he goes along, and he’s got some dirt on the leader of the council, so he’s untouchable. Pushing people higher up
on the housing list for a blow job, that sort of dirt.”
“No way!” exclaimed Polly.
“Oh yes. And old Jimbo isn’t averse to a little fumble for favors either. Do you know, when you lean toward me I can see right
down your top.”
Polly forced out a tinkly laugh while slapping her hand to her chest to close down any gaping at her neck.
“Seriously, after this, I know a very nice hotel in Leeds if you’d like me to continue filling you in. I think you know what
I’m saying.” Richard winked and picked up a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Polly tried not to shudder.
“Let me do my presentation over coffee, and then we’ll see where we are,” she said, standing and signaling to the waiting
staff that it was time to bring out the Yorkshire Wensleydale, cafetières, and Betty’s best mints while she made some quick
amendments to her script.
Coffee and cheese were served up, as were more revelations. Richard Pound seemed to be under the impression that the more
he thrilled Polly with gossip about their dirty deeds across the whole county, the more chance he had of getting into her
pants, and she didn’t exactly tell him he was wrong. She could still feel his hand on her knee minutes after she’d removed
it, coyly but firmly.
Finally it was time. The lights dimmed, the screen dropped from the ceiling, and Polly took her place by her standing desk
from where she would control the PowerPoint on her laptop.
“Good afternoon, or should I say Ciao ?” A titter of laughter. “Welcome to BS, and you are very welcome to it. In the course of this presentation I hope to prove
to you what Ciaoissimo can expect from the future, what I can make happen, giving you everything I think you as a company
deserve.”
She pressed a button and the screen was filled with the first page of her research. A company profile. Then another: a drilling
into their finances, growth, gross and net profits, and what the potential could be. It all looked very exciting. There followed
photos of their establishments and several bullet-pointed slides that highlighted all their “best practices”: the extensive
choices on their menus, the functional cheap furnishings, the zero-hour staff contracts, and masterful corner-cutting at every
turn. The most BS that it was possible for an employee of BS to drum up.
Then the next slide: a photo of the road in Shoresend where the new Ciaoissimo restaurant in the making and Teddy’s restaurant were situated.
“Both restaurants at a push could coexist,” said Polly, as James Stirling made a boo noise. “But we all know that is not going
to happen: One has to be kicked to the curb for the trash it is.”
Polly moved to the next slide: Teddy’s restaurant. “This one, of course, has to... stay.” Richard Pound guffawed, presuming
it was a joke. The next slide: James Stirling’s formal council photo.
“Councilor James Stirling”—she pointed to him—“there he is. We do need to address your undeclared interest in the Ciaoissimo
chain. I mean, what’s going on with the proposed compulsory purchase of the Teddy’s restaurant car park? Manipulation of rules
for personal benefit. Or fraud, I think it’s better known as. And of course let’s not forget the sexual harassment claims
from council staff which have been made to disappear with a combination of threats and hush money paid from council funds.”
It was amazing how many people couldn’t stand James Stirling, and yet they had no chance of complaining if they were to keep
their jobs, because the head of HR was a puppet on a string for him too. People couldn’t wait to dish the dirt once they realized
it might actually lead to the toppling of his statue and not the loss of their pensions.
“What the...”
Polly heard his cry, but she plowed on regardless and put on her next slide: a choice selection of the duff restaurant reviews.
“All false,” she said, “a targeted attack to close Teddy’s restaurant in Shoresend. However, for every clever fake reviewer
who thinks they’re untraceable, there’s an expert computer genius who can trace them. And guess what... I have a source
address record of where every single one of these was sent from which makes for very interesting reading.” She looked pointedly
at Nicholas de Massey, whose stunned expression was priceless. It was a bluff on her part, but it didn’t sound like it.
“Polly, can I have a word, please,” said Jeremy, getting to his feet.
“In a moment, Jeremy. When I’ve finished. You did want me to get right to the heart of Ciaoissimo, so that’s what I’ve done.
My, what a tale of skulduggery, deception, sabotage, insider trading, blackmail, sleaze, fraud, second families living in
French vineyards, adultery, bullying, sexual misconduct, intimidation... I could go on, but I think that’s quite enough
for now. I know all my findings will be most welcomed by the community of Shoresend and far beyond. Fleet Street in particular.”
She pressed her button a final time and hoped she’d cued the sound up correctly. Out of all of this despicable crew, she wanted
Stirling to be rattled the most. Richard Pound’s voice came through the speakers at deafening decibels.
“Well, he can’t be seen to have a vested interest, can he, being a councilor. Shhh. It’s all in the name of his daughter.
My, the power that man wields, everyone calls him James Stalin, not Stirling. They’re all terrified of him, with good reason.
He makes up the rules as he goes along, and he’s got some dirt on the leader of the council, so he’s untouchable. Pushing
people higher up on the housing list for a blow job, that sort of dirt.”
“No way!”
“Oh yes. And old Jimbo isn’t averse to a little fumble for favors either. Do you know, when you lean toward me I can see right
down your top.”
Polly bowed. “Thank you for your time, gentlemen. I do hope you’ve enjoyed my presentation. I look forward to your downfall
and I know I won’t have a long time to wait.”
“You fucking bitch,” said Richard Pound, putting a very brave face on a very rattled body.
“Ciao,” said Polly, then she swept up her laptop and handbag and strutted out the door.