CHAPTER 5 (Convention and Avignon)

Accordingly, later that week, and following another telephone call from Tim, Sarah found herself entering a modern hotel just off the Great Western road, at Richmond upon Thames. The sign above the door was entitled 'Anglo-French Business Forum'. The hotel coffee lounge that Sarah walked into was all leather and smoky haze. Business people suffering from various degrees of red eye and dishevelment were scattered around the room talking intensely.

Tim Cruikshank was lounging by the imitation fireplace, his back deep into the recesses of his arm chair, legs crossed and propped on a coffee table. In contrast to the tired and stressed atmosphere elsewhere, he looked relaxed and confident.

"Sarah," he said taking her by the arm to present her to the group.

He noted her smart dark business skirt and jacket with a nod of approval. She was dressed flatteringly in a way that emphasised the corporate image rather than her femininity.

"Please let me introduce Francois Deval. He is the genius behind Anglo-Franco-Swiss Banking Consortium whose activities are somewhat less public than their stock market price which has a habit of doubling year on year," he explained. .

The man seated on his right was tall and gangly with strong eyebrows and a Gaelic nose and made no attempt to contradict his introduction. He looked at Sarah politely and turned his attention back to Tim.

"Lon Tan buys and sells, mainly companies, but anything really. Watch the shirt on your back when you are near him. He's not particular whether he owns what he sells", everyone chuckled.

The recipient of Tim's description beamed contentedly at her. A token formal bow paid deference to his Japanese origins. His straight backed position on the edge of his chair gave the impression of a highly strung oriental bow looking for a target.

"Sarah has a legal background from the University College of London but these days specialises in keeping a note of what I and everybody else agrees at official meetings" said Tim.

"It means she is the one who has to drink the mineral water." Polite chuckles all round.

"With the number of companies Tim delves into, you must be kept busy", smiled Lon. When he had briefed her, Tim Cruikshank had explained that his official work was finder of corporate take over opportunities.

A petite, dark haired lady in a chic French pastel blue sleeveless dress who had been circulating the room joined the group. She was introduced as Michelle Tiot, proprietor of a retail fashion chain in southern France. She daintily shook Sarah's hand and seated herself revealingly on the arm of Francois Deval's chair. She seemed indifferent to the sensation she created amongst the surrounding men.

"Nobody wants to buy my company yet", she announced. Her English was casually correct with no effort made to deny it's French origins. Deval snorted.

"But I bet, by now, there is not a man in the room that would not jump at doing business otherwise with you if he could."

His tone seemed slightly resentful. His precise clipped speech gave the impression he had an interest in the flamboyant French lady that he didn't want to share.

She looked away pouting in the way the French have to say it's nothing to do with you.

"At least I make it plain to people when I want to make a deal", she said and continued, "What good is information if nobody knows about it."

"You talk about being free with information but if people really knew the cost of cutting up and stitching together one of your creations in India, they would never pay your ridiculous prices". Deval continued. "I keep telling Emelia but she keeps finding her way back to you".

"You see you boring old man", she retorted, "you don't understand, it is the intangible things that make life worth while. You cannot count and measure them. How can you calculate 'Mystery', the evocation of timelessness in a fragrance, the power a woman feels when she has tantalised a man to distraction and knows that she can wrap him round her little finger. Dreams and a heightened awareness - that is what your wife pays for".

Her passion was unmistakable and Sarah felt she had caught a hint of the drive that Tim had told her about and that had taken her from sales assistant in a nondescript suburban store to the high rolling world of international French boutiques.

A gong clanged by the entrance to the conference room announcing the start of a lecture on 'Computer Linguistics and Cryptology'. Tim and Sarah were here because of the contents of the youth's disk. But, as they moved to their places, Sarah couldn't help wondering why this would be of interest to Michelle.

Most of the lecture went over Sarah's head. It mainly comprised descriptions of a series of complicated mathematical algorithms. In the end it didn't seem to matter because the upshot of the whole thing was that man himself was the weakest link.

Somebody somewhere always knew the formula that was being used to encode data transmitted by computer link and with the knowledge of this formula or 'algorithm', data could be subjected to a non-stop bombardment of computerised attempts until the key was found and the data decoded.

Sarah was one of the last to leave with the others heading well in front of her to lunch in the dining room. The speaker had the appearance of the original mad professor - almost a caricature really. Short in stature and with tufty white hair sprouted above his ears. His glasses had extra thick lenses making his eyes appear tiny and gerbil like. He had far too many papers in his arms and they were held together in a disorganised way.

When the door that Sarah was holding open for him slipped from her fingers and cracked him on his shoulder the papers inevitably went flying.

She had agreed by way of apology to help him carry his papers and now sat opposite him at the luncheon table. He adjusted his glasses on his nose and stuck out his hand.

"Pleased to meet you Sarah Green". He used the name that was on the security tag attached to her lapel.

"My pleasure entirely - and do call me Sarah, all my friends do.

"And I'm Sam to my friends". He peered at her cautiously, well aware that the publicity of the podium could bring problems with some impressionable attendees. However, she seemed ordinary enough and it was difficult to imagine that this immaculate lady would let podium power go to her head. He heaved a sigh which was only partly of relief for she was quite pretty and turned to the menu.

She immediately dispelled any lingering doubts by handing over a picture from her handbag of her children. Aged 9 and 7 with youthful well scrubbed faces and more freckles than their mum. They were duly admired.

"I'm afraid I can't reciprocate because I haven't got any children", he said. "I don't know why but they never happened, there were some tests but ..." He hesitated.