A Ghost at the Door by Michael Dobbs Read Free Book Online

‘Come on, let’s try Plan B.’
    But he shook his head and turned away.

CHAPTER THREE
    It was a couple of days later that two envelopes dropped on the mat for Harry. One was crisp and cream, the weight of the vellum paper almost making it creak, and sent first
class. It had taken no more than three days to arrive. The other was recycled manila, clumsily resealed in brown tape, with Harry’s name scrawled across the fresh address label in uncertain
biro. Every corner curled like the ear of an old dog; it gave the impression of having fought many battles and lost more than a few. The letters arrived hidden among the usual avalanche of mail and
magazines but found their way to the top of the pile. Harry made himself a mug of coffee before settling down on Jemma’s sofa to open them.
    He no longer had his own sofa. After his old friend and financial adviser ‘Sloppy’ Sopwith-Dane had flushed out his brains with alcohol and prescription painkillers and succeeded in
bringing Harry to the verge of bankruptcy, many things had changed in Harry’s life. The ready money was gone, along with the parliamentary seat and his political career, the Audi S5, the best
of the paintings, the collection of rare first editions, the holidays and almost everything else he’d lived with for so long. Somehow he’d managed to keep hold of the house in Mayfair
but it, and the sofas, were now rented out. He’d been told by many that it would be far simpler to declare himself bankrupt, simpler still to shop his old friend, but ‘Sloppy’ had
killed himself in remorse and dancing on his grave would have destroyed Sloppy’s widow and two young daughters. Harry didn’t do stuff like that. Anyway, he’d survived, not been
declared bankrupt. Just. Now he spent his time with Jemma, living off a modest parliamentary pension and his rental income while he searched for new meaning in his life. And something more reliable
to live on.
    He sipped at his overheated coffee and opened the first envelope, using the spoon handle as a letter opener. For all the intensity of the paper on which it was printed, the corporate letterhead
itself was almost nouvelle cuisine, minimalist, leaving much to the imagination. ‘My dear Mr Jones,’ the letter began, written with a fountain pen, as was the signature at the bottom of
the single page, although the rest was printed.
    You may remember that our paths have crossed on a couple of occasions [Harry didn’t] and I trust you will forgive this intrusion. As CEO of this company, I have it in
     mind to expand our board of directors and am therefore engaged in a search for suitable non-executive candidates with the appropriate formidable talents and qualifications. I would be honoured
     if you would be willing to consider such a position.
    Harry put his mug of coffee cautiously to one side.
    As you are probably aware, we are a non-quoted company and have always taken the quality of our governance very seriously. I need hardly mention that your experience in
     international affairs, your level of personal contacts and your reputation for integrity are assets that my company would value very highly.
    Level of contacts? Once, for sure, but since he’d lost his seat he’d found that doors had a habit of closing quietly on him. And, as for his reputation, it was true he hadn’t
been charged after his arrest on suspicion of murder, but the smell hung around him like an old kipper.
    We have ambitious expansion plans for the future, and we expect our board members to share in that success. Your commitment would consist of attending between six and eight
     board meetings a year, three or four of which would be abroad as a result of the global nature of our operations. The remuneration would reflect your exceptional background and what we believe
     would be your ability to make a unique contribution, and I would expect it to be towards the top end of the usual scale for non-executives, plus share options and