Part 10 (2/2)

”And you've had an idea, too. Which is why you phoned me, I a.s.sume.”

She nodded. ”You must get some real crackpots.”

”Oh, we do. Lots of them. Probably nine calls in ten are from nutters of one sort or another. But we take them seriously. That's why we call ourselves Alternative Vision Capital.”

”Some of them are good ideas then?” She pointed to the teapot. ”More peppermint?”

”Yes, please.” He pa.s.sed her his cup. ”Yes, we get some very interesting ideas. And we don't turn up our noses just because somebody doesn't look as if they're straight out of the business pages.”

Dee smiled. ”Like me?”

”Well, you're not ... Yes, like you. Why not? Look at Richard Branson. When he started that record shop or whatever it was he could hardly have looked less like the stereotypical capitalist, could he? The beard and the casual clothes and so on. And look what he's achieved.” He paused, holding out his hands in an all-embracing gesture. ”We're open to ideas. Any ideas.”

Dee nodded. They were seated behind the cash desk and a customer now approached bearing a small bottle of pills. Dee indicated to Richard that she would be a moment attending to the customer. Afterwards he asked, ”What did she buy?”

”Just magnesium,” she said.

”Magnesium? Do we need magnesium?”

Dee's eyes widened. ”Do we need magnesium? Boy, do we need magnesium! Did you know that there are over three hundred yes, three hundred bodily chemical reactions that require magnesium?”

Richard shrugged. ”I didn't. But I don't take magnesium pills and I'm still-”

Dee cut him short. ”You get it in your diet. Or should do.” She looked at him in a way that suggested she was a.s.sessing his magnesium levels. ”Do you eat many nuts?” she asked. ”Or whole grains?”

Richard shook his head. ”Not really.” He patted his stomach. ”Nuts are fattening, aren't they? I love those big fat ones macadamias. They're seriously good. But eat too many of those and you begin to look like a macadamia nut yourself you know, big and fat and round.”

Dee's answer came quickly. ”There are other nuts. Almonds, for example. Pine nuts are full of magnesium too.” She paused. ”You've probably got a magnesium deficiency, you know. Do you get tired?”

”I suppose so. Who doesn't?”

She did not register his question. ”And do you suffer from sleeplessness? Wake up at odd times?”

He nodded. He had not slept well the previous night. There had been a barking dog somewhere down the road; a magnesium-deficient dog, probably.

”I'll give you a magnesium supplement,” she said. ”Try it for a few weeks and you'll see the difference.”

He thanked her. ”But I think we should talk about your proposition. You said that you had a new product you want to develop.” He took out a notebook. ”Tell me about it.”

Dee looked at him doubtfully. ”You wouldn't ... take the idea, would you? I'm sorry to sound distrustful, but obviously ...”

He held up a hand. ”No, don't apologise. Not for natural caution. Of course you have to be careful. Intellectual property gets stolen every day. You come up with a good idea and the next minute it's in production somewhere else. And it's not your name on the packet.”

”Oh.”

”Yes. But I a.s.sure you, you're safe with us. We'd never do something like that.”

There was a silence, another one of those periods of unspoken mutual a.s.sessment that occur when we weigh up another person and choose between trust or natural, self-protective suspicion. What do I know about him? thought Dee. The University of Suss.e.x a shared background there. The s.h.a.ggy Dump a shared pub. What else? He liked peppermint tea and he likely had a magnesium deficiency. That was all the information she had.

She made her decision. ”There's a substance called Ginkgo biloba,” she said. ”We sell a lot of it, particularly to people who are worried about memory loss or failing brain power.”

”Who isn't?” he asked.

”Exactly. And I think that it helps. I really do.”

”And?”

Dee reached for a small bottle from a display on the counter. ”See this?” she asked. ”This is echinacea. It's a very common, popular remedy for toning up the immune system. But here it's being sold as a pill to protect you from germs on aircraft. You take one before you board. People love it. We all know that we're breathing the same air as a hundred other pa.s.sengers when we're on a flight. So we take a pill. And I happen to believe it works.”

Richard was watching her closely. She noticed that he had a slight tic in his right eye. It twitched slightly, almost imperceptibly. ”I see where you're going,” he said quietly. ”And I like it. So what are you wanting to sell this Gingko stuff as?”

”A Sudoku remedy,” said Dee. ”Improve your Sudoku performance with a pill.”

Richard sat back in his chair. He was beaming.

Chapter 34: Among the Rosbifs.

”Well, I'm very sorry to say it, Rupert, but that meal was not terribly good.”

Rupert Porter looked at his wife, reproachfully at first, but then he too shook his head in disapproval. ”You're right, Gloria,” he agreed. ”It was ghastly. And on your birthday, too! I'm so sorry, my dear.”

Gloria reached out across the table and took his hand. ”Don't even think about it, darling. It's not your fault. The important thing is that you took me out to dinner.”

He was placated, but not entirely. ”It really annoys me, you know. What if we were Americans, for instance, or a fortiori French? What would we think of London, paying what we just have for a meal like that?”

”If we were French,” said Gloria, ”we would take the view that our prejudices are confirmed. Les rosbifs know nothing about food.”

Rupert smiled wryly. ”Perhaps we should have ordered le rosbif rather than the Dublin Bay prawns.” He paused. ”When do you think those Dublin Bay prawns last saw Dublin Bay?”

”A long time ago. A month or two perhaps.”

Rupert nodded his agreement. ”Months in the freezer.”

They rose from their table. As they did so, a man sitting in the corner of the restaurant looked in their direction. Gloria noticed his stare, and returned it. How rude, she thought. But the man did not look away. After a moment, she averted her gaze.

”Rupert, that man,” she whispered. ”Over there.”

Rupert was struggling with his coat, a rather smart camel hair that he had bought in Jermyn Street. He was proud of this coat, with its velvet collar, which gave him, he thought, a rather raffish look. Prosperous and raffish. ”Mr Ten Per Cent,” Barbara Ragg had muttered when she had first seen him wearing it. He had seen her lips move but had not caught what she said.

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