jumper on behalf of the travel agent.
After a touch-and-go infancy and a skin-of-the-teeth childhood, Beaufort Holidays had grown to sturdy manhood in the past couple of years and now a rich maturity beckoned - according to Barney. All it needed now was a determined push tògrow' the business from its north-east power base. As part of his strategy to establish the Beaufort `brand', Barney was looking for creative ways of getting the company name òut there'.
`So he wants to buy a horse?' Malcolm had been sceptical on his first visit to Beverley Harris's office.
`He doesn't yet,' she'd told him and got up from behind her desk to stand over him as he slouched on a shapeless office sofa, trying not to spill his coffee.
At first sight she cut an imposing figure: raven-black hair surrounded an unreadable face of sharp planes and high cheekbones further obscured by heavy-frame spectacles. She wore a mannish business suit modestly cut to the knee. But, as she leant back to perch her bottom on the edge of her desk and the skirt crept upwards an inch or two, Malcolm began to revise his first impressions. Her eyes, magnified by the lenses of her glasses, were the milky blue of a heat-hazed sky and the thin line of her mouth now extended itself into a sinuous smile.
`Mr. Beaufort is looking for creative ways of putting the company name in the public eye. I thought of a horse.'
40
Malcolm put his coffee cup down on the low-lying table that stood between them. He wasn't sure where this was going but, as he contemplated the firm black-stockinged calves in front of him, she had his full attention.
Àm I right in thinking you can buy a racehorse and call it anything you want?' she asked.
`Provided it hasn't run before. There's a few rules, of course. The name can't be too long or obscene or already listed. That kind of thing.' `But we could call it Beaufort Holiday or something like that, if we wanted?’
'Sure.'
Ànd suppose we bought one today, how soon could it race?' Malcolm laughed out loud. `Steady on, there's a few other things to bear in mind. It depends on what kind of animal we're talking about.' `We're talking about one that will be running on a racecourse in our next financial year, i.e.
next January. Otherwise there's no budget for it.'
`How big a budget were you thinking of?'
À hundred grand. Including running costs.' The milky blue eyes bored into his. `Can it be done?'
He hadn't hesitated. `No problem.'
That office meeting had been swiftly followed by another, at lunchtime in a city wine bar. Beverly still wore the suit and the specs but, armed with a glass of Chardonnay, she'd allowed herself to relax just a little further.
She'd leant forward across the table towards him as she'd outlined her progress.
`Mr. Beaufort likes the idea. He never misses the Grand National, so he sees this as "an innovative use of resources". I quote.'
`Hang on. I can't produce a Grand National entry just like that. You could buy a four-year-old jump horse and call him what you like but he wouldn't be eligible for the National until he was six. And he'd still be far too young for a race like that.'
She laughed and the thin silver link of her necklace caught his eye as it twinkled on the creamy skin below her throat. When they'd first met, hadn't her blouse been buttoned to her neck?
Ì'm not saying it's impossible,' he added hastily. `We'd need a bit of time and a lot of luck but for that money I can find you an exciting prospect.'
41
She draped her jacket over the back of her chair and refilled their glasses.
He caught a hint of her scent, some kind of herby aroma he couldn't place, elusive and subtle. `That sounds good, Malcolm,' she said, emphasising this first use of his Christian name with the touch of a finger on his arm.
`But what's really important is that it runs often. To maximise the marketing potential.'
`So you're just looking to have an entry? Get the name on the race card and throw a corporate jolly at
After a touch-and-go infancy and a skin-of-the-teeth childhood, Beaufort Holidays had grown to sturdy manhood in the past couple of years and now a rich maturity beckoned - according to Barney. All it needed now was a determined push tògrow' the business from its north-east power base. As part of his strategy to establish the Beaufort `brand', Barney was looking for creative ways of getting the company name òut there'.
`So he wants to buy a horse?' Malcolm had been sceptical on his first visit to Beverley Harris's office.
`He doesn't yet,' she'd told him and got up from behind her desk to stand over him as he slouched on a shapeless office sofa, trying not to spill his coffee.
At first sight she cut an imposing figure: raven-black hair surrounded an unreadable face of sharp planes and high cheekbones further obscured by heavy-frame spectacles. She wore a mannish business suit modestly cut to the knee. But, as she leant back to perch her bottom on the edge of her desk and the skirt crept upwards an inch or two, Malcolm began to revise his first impressions. Her eyes, magnified by the lenses of her glasses, were the milky blue of a heat-hazed sky and the thin line of her mouth now extended itself into a sinuous smile.
`Mr. Beaufort is looking for creative ways of putting the company name in the public eye. I thought of a horse.'
40
Malcolm put his coffee cup down on the low-lying table that stood between them. He wasn't sure where this was going but, as he contemplated the firm black-stockinged calves in front of him, she had his full attention.
Àm I right in thinking you can buy a racehorse and call it anything you want?' she asked.
`Provided it hasn't run before. There's a few rules, of course. The name can't be too long or obscene or already listed. That kind of thing.' `But we could call it Beaufort Holiday or something like that, if we wanted?’
'Sure.'
Ànd suppose we bought one today, how soon could it race?' Malcolm laughed out loud. `Steady on, there's a few other things to bear in mind. It depends on what kind of animal we're talking about.' `We're talking about one that will be running on a racecourse in our next financial year, i.e.
next January. Otherwise there's no budget for it.'
`How big a budget were you thinking of?'
À hundred grand. Including running costs.' The milky blue eyes bored into his. `Can it be done?'
He hadn't hesitated. `No problem.'
That office meeting had been swiftly followed by another, at lunchtime in a city wine bar. Beverly still wore the suit and the specs but, armed with a glass of Chardonnay, she'd allowed herself to relax just a little further.
She'd leant forward across the table towards him as she'd outlined her progress.
`Mr. Beaufort likes the idea. He never misses the Grand National, so he sees this as "an innovative use of resources". I quote.'
`Hang on. I can't produce a Grand National entry just like that. You could buy a four-year-old jump horse and call him what you like but he wouldn't be eligible for the National until he was six. And he'd still be far too young for a race like that.'
She laughed and the thin silver link of her necklace caught his eye as it twinkled on the creamy skin below her throat. When they'd first met, hadn't her blouse been buttoned to her neck?
Ì'm not saying it's impossible,' he added hastily. `We'd need a bit of time and a lot of luck but for that money I can find you an exciting prospect.'
41
She draped her jacket over the back of her chair and refilled their glasses.
He caught a hint of her scent, some kind of herby aroma he couldn't place, elusive and subtle. `That sounds good, Malcolm,' she said, emphasising this first use of his Christian name with the touch of a finger on his arm.
`But what's really important is that it runs often. To maximise the marketing potential.'
`So you're just looking to have an entry? Get the name on the race card and throw a corporate jolly at
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