Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ï>¿*Another double header  -" starting with Dave and alternating with
Debbie (This is probably a lot easier to follow in the html version ....)
OK, so Saturday turned out to be a complete disaster  -" I try not to think
about it, even now  -" what with Niusha and Debbie falling out so
spectacularly, after the latter had turned up at the flat unannounced and
leapt to entirely the wrong conclusions about why the two of us happened to
be more than half naked in my bedroom, my various attempts through the day
to contact the woman, explain things ...  not that she was answering her
phones or e-mails ...  and then my taking the idiots way out and getting
blind drunk  -" very much on my own  -" and finally damn' near setting fire
to the flat with a misplaced cigarette.  Sunday wasn't a lot better  -" I
missed a few calls, I know, simply through being too ill to find my bloody
mobile in the wreckage, my post-op scars hurt like hell after the previous
days ill judged exertions and ...  well, I was ill, OK.  It was a fair way
through the afternoon before I crawled out of bed, at last, started to get
stuff together.  Like food and coffee as an immediate priority,
simultaneously logging into the network more from force of habit than any
actual desire to connect with the world.  And maybe I should have resisted
the impulse, I thought, as the kettle boiled neglected and eggs burnt into
the pan ...  while I looked at the few new e-mails I'd picked up, some
incomprehensibly cheerful ones from friends and associates, a couple of
professional newsletters and advice notes, the normal guff from various
government policy wonks.  And a cryptic one from Carla  -" she'd phone me,
basically, probably one of the calls I'd missed  -" and, of course, one
from Debbie.  Not the world's most affectionate or effusive communication,
just a note to say that she'd arranged a Sunday morning meeting with Gareth
in our offices, that if I was at all interested in the future of the
company I might like to participate  -" either in person or by phone if I
couldn't make it in.  I sat and stared at the thing for so long that my
late breakfast went its unfortunate way.  I could understand the anger that
she felt  -" even if I knew it was completely misplaced  -" but even I
could see that rather more of an immediate problem was that it was now
quite late on Sunday afternoon and ...  well, the meeting had presumably
achieved whatever it might have achieved without any sort of input from me.
I felt like smashing my head against the wall a few times, contented
myself, instead, with cursing bitterly  -" and aloud  -" for a while.  Then
I tried phoning her back, of course, got her voice mail, equally of course,
tried phoning Gareth  -" ditto.  Left messages for both of them, then took
some time to check with Seff if she'd heard anything  -" she hadn't but was
at least back in London, would be at the big meeting  -" and then sort of
sat there and found myself wishing I had a cat, once again.  Only this time
so I could kick the bloody thing.  I was still sitting there  -" obsessing
with the state of my phone's batteries, since you ask  -" when it rang,
caller ID showing an unknown, international number.  So I answered and
found myself talking to Carla for the first time in ages.  She sounded
cheerful enough and certainly no longer seemed to be at death's door.  In
the end, we spent over an hour on the phone  -" I half expected her to give
me a hard time for not being entirely up to speed with whatever tricks
Debbie was planning to pull at The Meeting but quickly realised that she
was a bit out on a limb at her end, too, not yet having taken back full
control of her own business.  So in the end it was a slightly
inconsequential conversation, however nice it was to be in contact with her
again, which didn't really help much  -" except that I now knew that
Bronstein Associates (US) would be represented by two 'bright young things'
(her words) from their New York office and that her new-ish husband, Hal,
was also planning to be there  -" except that he'd had problems with
flights from San Francisco and probably wouldn't get to the venue much
before lunchtime.  If things lasted that long, I thought.  It was only
after I put the phone down that I realised that I hadn't got anything all
that specific from Carla as to what her plans actually were.  Blame the
hangover, but  -" I still didn't know whether she'd be backing us totally
or in part, whether, given the information that Debbie had received about
there being financial worries at her end, too, she could actually afford to
keep to her previous commitments.  That said, she'd bothered to phone  -"
and had been friendly enough while we'd been talking  -" but it was all
worryingly vague.  And quite what was the husband's role in all this?  I'd
never met the guy, only had a single, rather unfortunate conversation with
him, and I didn't know whether he had any authority in Carla's organisation
or whether he was somehow going to be there as an observer, maybe even only
to report back on the performance of the BYTs.  So, I thought ...  a few
more imponderables to add to the mix  -" and then I noticed that while I'd
been on the phone I'd managed to miss three calls  -" two from Debbie and
one from Gareth.  With a deep sigh, I called the voice mail service, picked
up the messages they'd left.  > >> >>> >>>> >>>>> Debbie Dave didn't show
up for the meeting I'd arranged with Gareth, which wasn't really a
surprise, given that he'd failed to answer any of my calls.  Actually, in
some ways it was a bit of a relief  -" I didn't feel quite as angry, now,
as I had when I first walked in on him and Niusha cavorting on his bed, but
I still had a few things I needed to say to him and they would probably not
be helpful in terms of resolving our corporate issues.  So Gareth and I sat
and did the business, corralling figures into vaguely respectable
projections, rehearsing our various contractual points, generally agreeing
that the only way to approach the argument was to remind PCW and the
Americans as forcefully as possible just how much money they had
anticipated making out of this venture and, thus, by implication, how much
they would stand to lose if they canned the project.  Which might have been
something of a counsel of despair: We both had more faith in the contract
arguments than the financials, but then we realised that our chances of
successfully suing the likes of PCW for breach of contract were
non-existent, given the disparity in our resources.  Actually it was quite
a pleasant morning.  Gareth was good company again, even though focused
entirely on the work in hand, and we got what seemed like a lot done, my
mind wandering hardly at all.  In fact, it was gone about three in the
afternoon when we finally locked the place up and said goodbye  -" me
heading home to have another go at the Californian end, him to, as he put
it, blow some of the dust off some legal texts, remind himself of some of
the minutiae of relevant statutes.  It was only as he was walking away that
I realised that I'd had my phone buried in my bag the whole time, pulled
the thing out to check for messages.  There was only one  -" from Dave  -"
sounding distinctly frazzled but also apologetic, perhaps even sincerely
apologetic  -" about not having made it in to join our discussion,
something about his having been indisposed.  I had another flash of anger,
imaging just what  -" or who  -" his 'indisposition' had involved, but I
shrugged it off and gave him a call back.  Except that his number was busy,
so I went and got onto the tube home, called him again when I resurfaced 
-" still busy.  Quite a long call, then, perhaps.  So I left him a message.
It was quite a curt message, to be honest  -" just that we should meet at
our offices at 8:30 next morning, have an hour with the team prior to
heading over to the hotel conference room that we'd eventually agreed as a
venue.  Then I bought myself a bottle of decent wine and, home, began to
chase up our American friends ...  and review yet again tactics for the
coming encounter ...  Dave <<<<< <<<< <<< << < Monday morning I felt a lot
better, the enforced day of rest having done my physical scars no end of
good, while the complete lack of alcohol meant I had a relatively clear
head.  What I didn't have, I discovered on rising, was a wearable suit  -"
the two that I owned were irretrievably crumpled and/or in need of cleaning
 -" so, needs must, I just pulled on my standard jeans and sweatshirt
combination and headed into town for the office pre-meet Debbie had
organised.  Being the boss, I made sure of getting in first to ensure that
coffee was on the go when the others arrived, and, this being a special
day, stopped off at a Bloomsbury deli for a pile of croissants and pastries
and other corporate breakfast essentials.  I think that there may have been
a subconscious irony in that decision  -" today was the day when our
corporate days might well come to an abrupt halt, after all  -" but on
another level it was simply a gesture to the team that I, at least,
appreciated them.  Once I was in the office on my own, though, something of
my good mood began to evaporate.  Even by my standards I felt woefully
under-prepared for the meeting to come  -" the fact that I wasn't even
dressed 'properly' simply rubbed that in  -" and the fact that I was
ultimately responsible for everyone involved being involved began to weigh
on me.  Hell, I thought  -" I never chose to get into all of this, I just
answered the wrong e-mail, got seduced (in more ways than one) by a lovely
young woman with a Big Idea.  Probably it would have been better if I'd
just stayed grubbing around as a freelance, responsible to and for no-one
but myself.  Then again, there had been moments of genuine fun in the past
few months, the proposed Lake District development could have been
literally life changing  -" for me and others  -" and, well, generally,
maybe it had all been worth a try.  Also, of course, I'd met a whole load
of new people, made more than a few new friends  -" not least in Cumbria,
but principally in the office.  I wondered whether those contacts would
survive the potential destruction of the project  -" frankly, I'd never
really have a lot in common with Naz and Seff, however much I liked them as
people, and Debbie ...  well, what the fuck was going on there?  On cue, of
course, the woman herself arrived, carrying a largish cardboard box and, I
noticed, dressed rather more casually than I'd have expected  -" a jade
green silk shirt under a suit jacket, but hair loose and make up somewhat
relaxed.  She didn't see me, at first, standing as I was in the recess we
kept the coffee machine in, and I could see the tension on her face, the
worry haunting her eyes.  I realised that I wasn't the only one who had
doubts about the immediate future ...  When I stepped out to say, hello,
however, I can't say she seemed all that pleased to see me  -" actually a
look of some scorn passed over her face, if only for a moment, followed by
a slightly belated nod of recognition.  Oh, well, I thought, things to sort
out here ...  things which should have been easy to sort, too, if only I
knew what precisely the problem was.  Jealousy?  Well, maybe  -" hardly
Debbie-standard behaviour, though, and actually there was nothing for her
to be jealous about ...  though convincing her of that would require a
degree of trust on her part and, if she trusted me, she wouldn't be
jealous, so ...  Or maybe the problem was with one of my many other
inadequacies, or possibly not entirely to do with me at all...  I think we
could have spent the rest of the morning looking at each other in a
passively hostile, suspicious and guarded sort of way  -" well, at least
until the others arrived  -" if I hadn't finally remembered my manners. 
When I did, I finally pushed a mug of coffee in her direction, followed by
a conciliatory tray of croissants and stuff.  She looked really nonplussed
by the latter, almost jumped in surprise when she saw them.  Which I
thought odd, given that they were fairly innocuous sorts of edibles, and
then she started to laugh.  Which I found very odd indeed.  > >> >>> >>>>
>>>>> Debbie To be honest, I'd hoped to get into the office first, grab
some time to compose myself before the others  -" well, before Dave  -"
arrived.  Needless to say, I was just putting my stuff down  -" hadn't even
powered up the technology, taken my coat off, done anything at all, really,
except quickly take in the office I'd grown quite fond off, where so many
things had happened ...  when Dave himself emerged from the corner.  I'm
fairly sure I didn't look at all pleased to see him which was ...  sad,
because I was, really, in a lot of ways, really pleased  -" after all the
last time I'd seen him upright was before Phil died ...  well, aside from
his sitting up on the bed with the lovely Niusha, of course ... 
Nonetheless, a lot of doubts and fears  -" about the business, about him,
about me ...  about us ...  sort of took over the facial muscles and I must
have glared at the poor bloke.  Not that he reacted, much  -" didn't say
anything, make explanations, try an apology or whatever.  He just stared
right back at me.  God knows what was going through his mind  -" he looked
nervous, I thought, as if a lot was riding on this morning ...  or on this
moment.  And then he looked away, suddenly, stepped back towards the coffee
machine and handed me a cup.  Followed by a selection of cakes and stuff
... remarkably similar to the selection I had in the box I'd just brought
in.  This seemed amazingly silly, to me, even as I knew that this was just
the sort of gesture I should have expected from the guy.  And then I found
it really hilarious, started to laugh out loud.  When I got myself slightly
more together I saw that he was looking at me with a sort of quizzical half
smile, so I pushed my box over towards him, watched as comprehension dawned
and he, too, started to laugh.  I had the overwhelming urge to pull him
into a really tight hug, make it all OK between us in the most direct way
possible and ...  Gareth arrived.  God knows what he thought when he saw
the pair of us standing facing each other about a metre apart and laughing
uproariously at nothing very obvious but he didn't seem to let it bother
him.  Instead, he threw his coat over a chair, put a box of his own down on
one of the desks and commented, as Dave handed him a coffee that he'd
bought along a few bacon rolls ...  as the deli had been sold out of
croissants.  He looked more than slightly perplexed when we both collapsed
into hysterics, again...  Dave <<<<< <<<< <<< << < By the time Seff and Naz
arrived  -" the latter also carrying a big cardboard box  -" things had
settled down a bit and we were in work mode.  Gareth had accepted my
explanation  -" and Debbie's apology  -" for our earlier behaviour and,
while I think it was the first time that he'd doubted the wisdom of coming
to work with us, he took the whole thing in good part.  Possibly not least
because the bacon rolls went down rather better with the assembled team
than the rest of the stuff.  I think we ended up donating it all to the
architects upstairs ...  There followed a brief updating session  -" Debbie
and Gareth went through the work they'd done on Sunday morning, Naz &Seff
talked through the possibilities they'd uncovered in Germany and I
recounted, for what it was worth, my conversation with Carla.  I apologised
for not getting names and details about the Bright Young Things who would
be representing her but Seffi immediately got on the case  -" Bronstein
Associates' New York office was no big affair, apparently  -" and came up
with a list of possible names in short order.  Not that it made any great
difference, knowing names, but it gave us all, I think, just a slight
feeling of being in control.  More so when Seff went on to print out their
various public CVs  -" corporate clones, the bunch of them.  So at least we
knew what we were dealing with on that level.  Other than that, we
discussed tactics for a while  -" go in there and answer their questions,
basically, with the slight spin that Debbie and Gareth were keen on us
concentrating on the financials rather than legal stuff ...  and Debbie
suggested that we got over to the venue we'd arranged well before the 10am
start, establish ourselves in the room, make it clear that they were
meeting with us, not the other way round.  Which made sense, so we traipsed
off in a straggle, a few hundred metres down the road to the Hertford
Classic Hotel.  Which turned out to be everything you'd expect of business
class accommodation  -" efficient, clean and utterly soulless.  The
conference room  -" actually a suite, there were a couple of breakout rooms
in case anyone felt the need to go into private session  -" was set out as
a boardroom, twenty or so chairs arranged around a long rosewood table. 
There were bottles of water all around, little bowls of those inedible
mints and, yes, they'd even provided pens and paper on the off chance that
we were too disorganised to have brought our own And, over in the far
corner, there was a tray or three of croissants on one of the side tables
...  > >> >>> >>>> >>>>> Debbie We got to the Hotel, found its Buckingham
Suite  -" our venue  -" without troubling any of the staff and basically
sat and waited for our 'guests' to arrive.  There was some discussion about
seating arrangements  -" Naz was all for spreading ourselves around the
place, hoping to disrupt any potential blocs on their side, but eventually
we occupied the strategic end of the room nearest the coffee supplies and
dispersed ourselves so that Dave and I were facing each other, excellent
eye contact guaranteed, with Gareth between us at the head of the table,
Naz and Seff serving as buffers between us and the Great and the Good come
in judgement.  About 9:45 people started to come in  -" hotel people,
mainly, looking a bit put out that we were already in residence  -" but
then a succession of suits.  Some of the PCW people I knew but none of them
appeared to know us, given that some of the senior honchos made a point of
introducing themselves to Gareth, assuming that he was in charge on the
basis of where he was sitting and that he was wearing a suit.  Also, come
to think of it, he wasn't out for a smoke at crucial moments.  Eventually,
though, everyone was gathered around the long, polished table, the PCW guys
arrayed in a group at the opposite end from the five of us, the Californian
pair  -" looking clean, efficient and very slightly scared  -" stranded
midway between the two camps.  It was only when Dave formally kicked off
proceedings that I realised that Seffi and I were the only women in the
room ...  Dave <<<<< <<<< <<< << < Come lunchtime, well, we were still
talking and no-one had simply walked out, so things could have been worse.
Not that we'd actually made any real progress.  The guy Debbie had
identified as the probable decision maker, PCW wise, had spent an
inordinate amount of time playing with various mobile devices  -" and I
don't think he was checking background information or anything  -" while
even the Americans looked like they'd been close to pulling the whole thing
on a couple of occasions.  Luckily, the first time Gareth had resolved what
turned out to be a misunderstanding by revealing a hitherto unremarked
familiarity with US contract law, while on the second Debbie had come quite
close to flirting with one of the guys  -" which wasn't quite as elegant
but did distract him long enough to allow me to move the conversation onto
less contentious issues.  Sadly, that left us still in need of some sort of
miracle.  While everyone on our side remained positive, at least
ostensibly, we all knew that nothing that had been said or proposed had
been in any way new, that whatever had led to our guests arriving at their
current negative opinion of us had not been addressed, let alone overcome.
So it was not a huge disappointment when our scheduled lunch break arrived
and our interlocutors promptly withdrew into a side room to go into
conclave.  They even left us all the pizza slices and samosa-ish things
that hotels seem bound to provide on such occasions.  Still, I didn't think
it was all that evil of Naz to wander into their 'private' conference with
a tray or two of food.  I mean, he could have taken them some of the
coffee. And, anyway, he didn't learn anything.  Sadly.  So we all  -" more
or less  -" ended up standing just outside the hotel lobby so that the
smokers could have a drag or two.  In such a public place, we kept the
conversation quite general, the more so when it started pissing down and we
had to compress ourselves under the rather small canopy.  Even so,
suggestions were made, encouragement offered and teamwork, generally,
continued.  Around the time we were due to restart, Gareth changed the
tone. "Dave," he said, directly to me, "You know, talking out here, or back
in the office earlier on, its brilliant being around you people.  Back in
the room, though, when we're talking with those guys, its not the same, in
fact it feels like just another job.  Actually, it feel like its not going
anywhere." I nodded, waited for him to go on, watching a small and hassled
looking black guy get out of a cab just to the side of us.  Gareth noticed
my distraction, got a bit more assertive.  "I mean,", he said, as the black
guy trundled his case towards us, "why not stop fucking around with the
corporate stuff  -" stop pretending to work on their terms, why not play it
our way  -" humour, initiative ..." He had to pause at that point as the
new arrival had walked right up to me, fixed me with a penetrating gaze and
asked me, pleasantly enough, to confirm the name of the hotel.  Which I
did. Then he threw me.  "You're Dave, I think I heard?" he said.  I nodded.
"Well, just call me Sori." And then he shuffled off again, towards
reception.  Odd sort of bloke, I thought, and an odd sort of name.  Then I
turned my attention back to Gareth.  "OK.  Explain.  Do it our way.  What
exactly does that mean?" > >> >>> >>>> >>>>> Debbie I'm not sure what made
such an immediate difference.  We all resumed our previous seats, only this
time the 'suits' did do lethargically  -" even the ever optimistic yanks
looked downbeat after their lunchtime discussions  -" while we all more or
less bounced in, Seff and Naz flicking mints at each other across the table
while the opposition assembled.  I was prepared to disapprove of such
behaviour  -" being relaxed is one thing, being offensively casual is quite
another  -" but Dave had seen that one of the other guys was preparing to
announce the results of their prandial purdah and moved quickly to head him
off.  Specifically, he more or less drawled the single word "OK ..."
Immediately, everyone in the room was focused on him.  God knows how he
pulled it off ...  maybe it was, the body language, the tone of voice, the
timing, but ...  suddenly the most jaded accountant in the room was hanging
on his every word, the two Americans in particular looking startled but
somehow stimulated.  Even I  -" and I thought I knew Dave  -" felt a
strange surge of elation, lost control of myself long enough to flick a
mint of my own down the table towards a corporate VP who'd given me hassle
in the past.  What he actually said was, I think, pretty much irrelevant.
It was the tone  -" he, we, really, simply shifted from trying to give our
funders whatever information and clarification they might require  -" as we
had been doing all morning  -" to explaining, with a peculiar clarity and
fluency, exactly what we needed from them.  You could see the effect it was
having by the range of expressions that flicked across the faces at the
other end of the table.  The guy who had been about to make their
announcement had actually crumpled the papers he'd been holding in a
suddenly clenched fist, Mr Head Suit was almost literally reeling, various
underlings were open-mouthed and clearly enthralled.  And when Dave reached
some sort of conclusion, Gareth took over almost seamlessly, explaining how
we would be willing to forego some of our contractual entitlements, future
funding wise, in return for operational clarity, would assume
responsibility for the Cumbrian property et al immediately, provided that
they agreed to offset the costs involved against future returns on their
investment.  In fact, he went so far beyond the agreements we'd had on the
legal arguments to use that it left me almost speechless  -" he was
basically implying that they hadn't got a leg to stand on, that we would
graciously let them off the most onerous of their obligations to us because
we were ...  well, because we were such nice people, basically.  So they
were reeling  -" you just don't pull this sort of stunt in serious
negotiations  -" but I knew that sanity would take hold soon enough, so put
in my own tuppence worth as soon as Gareth had finished his fusillade. 
"You will appreciate," I said, with my best disarming smile, "that the lack
of complete support from our principal funders has, to date, significantly
impaired the development of the enterprise?" I let the thought of putative
claims for compensation hang in the air for a moment, before continuing,
quite sweetly, I thought, "So you will also appreciate that we need a
positive decision from you within the context of this meeting?" I left it
at that, the room now in a stunned silence, as Naz stared at me admiringly
and Dave gave me a broad grin.  I wanted to laugh, I wanted to cry, it was
all I could do to stop myself shaking like a bloody leaf.  It was one hell
of a moment.  And it wouldn't have stood a cat in hells chance of
succeeding if the moment hadn't been broken before the Big Guys had had a
chance to get a coherent response together.  Dave <<<<< <<<< <<< << < So.
Gareth picked up on my cues, then Debbie followed on like we'd been
rehearsing for months.  That, or we had some sort of team telepathy on the
go.  OK, so it probably wouldn't save the day  -" however much we had
startled the opposition with our sudden change of tack  -" volte face,
really  -" everyone in the room knew just how weak our position really was.
Which didn't remotely stop me feeling like giving Gareth and Debbie a
really big hug but I limited myself to giving Debbie a big smile  -" she
looked like she wanted to either laugh or scream, one of the two  -" and
tried to get my head round the problem of dealing with whatever response
they eventually came up with.  At which point, the black guy we'd met
earlier  -" Sori?  - shuffled into the room, without his bag but with the
same slightly confused, slightly distracted expression.  I was wondering
whether I should offer to help the bloke when one of the PCW crew regained
enough composure to notice him too.  And, presumably without pausing for
thought, peremptorily instructed him to remove all the lunch stuff and then
bugger off  -" this was a private meeting.  The effect was remarkable.  Mr
Sori  -" Mr Sori?   -" looked like he'd gained about 50cm in height and
more than a few kilos in bulk.  His facial expression went from affably
confused to steely anger in about a microsecond.  Someone, I felt,
enthralled as everyone else by the impromptu drama, had just made a Big
Mistake.  And a bit of my subconscious kept jumping up and down and yelling
'Sori!  Sori!  Mr fucking Sori!' ...  Or should that, I realised, be
Snorey? It was, indeed, Him.  Professor Hal Benton, PhD, economics guru and
successful serial entrepreneur.  Also, Mr Carla Davis.  And he was really
pissed off.  In fact, brusque and  -" to some  -" chilling introductions
out of the way, he sat down at the table, directly across the table from
his visibly cowering compatriots, and effectively took over the meeting. 
Well, the PCW guys were still reeling our pyrotechnics and their
colleague's faux pas and our lot were simply at sea.  Well, I could tell
that Debbie was on top of the situation  -" she was grinning like a cat
with a cornered dormouse  -" while Gareth and Seff seemed to know that
something good had just happened, if not quite what.  Naz just looked
completely confused.  So.  No change there, then.  > >> >>> >>>> >>>>>
Debbie OK, so we had our miracle.  Well, actually, we had a guy who just
happened to have been mistaken for a hotel busboy on the basis of being on
the basis of being black  -" had had problems getting a taxi for the same
reason, we learnt later  -" and who was mightily annoyed.  Then again, he
was who he was, too  -" academically brilliant, well versed in the theory
and practice of start ups and Carla's bloody husband.  So he would probably
have been well disposed towards us, anyway  -" and maybe all our earlier
bravura performance had achieved was to buy a moment or two of time.  Vital
moments, though.  In effect, PCW never recovered from the fatal
indiscretion  -" not that they'd learn from the experience.  Hal took over
control, took in information, took decisions.  Of course, the fact that he
also represented a significant chunk of money  -" Carla had, as she was
entitled to do  -" stashed away a fair chunk of her operation's profits in
its glory days  -" didn't exactly hinder his ability to do any of it.  So
we basically sat there and watched him demolish the information.  Dave,
Gareth and I contributed relevant stuff as and when required but clearly
the tide of the debate had fundamentally shifted.  We were, in fact, pretty
much en route to realising all of Gareth's wilder fantasies  -" them giving
us lots of money and then leaving us alone, essentially  -" when a small
voice kind of put a brake on proceedings.  One of the more junior PCW types
pointed out  -" directly to Hal, such was the state of play  -" that for
all our fancy projections and lofty ambitions  -" not to mention our
extensive liabilities  -" we didn't actually have an income stream ...  or
any immediate prospect of one.  It was an Emperor's New Clothes type of
moment  -" the tide had so totally turned that we'd pretty much forgotten
that we'd actually been arguing against the odds.  I saw Dave tense, felt
Gareth, beside me go through a tremor of  -" what?  - frustration.  Oh,
shit, I thought ...  so near and yet so far.  Except that Seffi looked up
from her laptop and said, rather too quietly for my liking, "Actually
that's not true.  We received a contract proposal from ZytPharma Gmbh this
morning.  If our directors accept it  -" which I would expect them to do 
-" it should bring in  ,¬ 100k over the next two months.  Additionally,
other parts of the ZytTech conglomerate will be using this initial work to
evaluate the process and may be expected to commission work of their own if
the pilot is successful." Dave <<<<< <<<< <<< << < PCW and the by now
totally irrelevant Bright Young Things gave in with surprisingly good
grace, after that.  And I do mean gave in  -" we got the lot.  OK, we
couldn't expect any additional funding from them but then we only had to
pay off the debt as an operational cost which considered opinion  -" well,
Gareth and Debbie  -" thought we could probably lose in accountancy. 
Crucially, too, they would continue to act as corporate guarantors for as
long as we still owed them money.  All of which we clarified when we were
all back in Hertford Square.  Leaving the hotel was kind of strange  -"
we'd been on the rack for hours, had one moment of collective brilliance,
then Hal had pitched up and done his deus ex machina shit ...  and suddenly
we were all back out in the street, watching the opposition slink away in
search of taxis.  We walked back.  No traipsing, this time  -" we were all,
fairly, elated.  We had just won.  Naz had his arm round Seff  -" both
arms, actually, it was impressive that they both stayed upright  -" while
Gareth and Debbie were practically skipping.  I found myself walking beside
Hal  -" it hadn't seemed very fair to just leave him in the bloody hotel 
-" and trying not to be too ingratiatingly grateful.  Actually, he was
pretty sanguine about the whole thing  -" merely pointing out that he had
immense faith in Carla's judgement and, even if we did look like a bunch of
complete losers, if she thought we were worth a vast quantity of their
money, then ...  By that stage, we'd found out what had been in Naz's box 
-" champagne,  -" and were collectively attempting some sort of record for
its rapid consumption.  Colin the architect and one of his partners had
joined us  -" reassured that they would now be getting paid  -" and Debbie
was on the phone to Cumbria, trying to get hold of Rosie, to tell her the
good news and to, as she put it, 'push the big green button'.  I found
myself talking to Hal, again, this time about more personal stuff  -" I'd
asked him about Carla and how she  -" and they  -" were after all that had
gone on, health wise, and he shrugged.  The worst of it was over, he said
and in a few months she'd be back on her feet again.  And then he told me
that Carla had suggested coming to the UK as a sort of late honeymoon,
specifically including visiting us at our new home in the Lakes.  Just as
Debbie concluded her call and came over to join us, he asked me, "I gather
you're converting some of the new building into flats for you and the team
-" do you think you could put us up in one of them for a while?  I know
Carla's utterly sick of hotels." I was about to point out that we were
hardly likely to say no when Debbie interjected, quietly.  "Well, there are
four flats, Seff and Naz will have one, Gareth another and ..." She paused,
moved closer to me and put her arm round me, rested her head on my
shoulder, briefly, and said ...  "So, yes ...  one of them will be spare
..."