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HAVING ONLY HAD brunch on the flight back to England and nothing else by four thirty in the afternoon, my stomach is rumbling like a bass drum as a receptionist leads me along the corridors of London Cap bank to Sophia Falicino’s office.
“Dayna, hello. A pleasure to see you.” Sophia, SP’s bank manager, stands to greet me on legs that are longer than my entire body, accentuated by her black pencil skirt and sinfully high heels.
I take her hand. “Thank you for seeing me on relatively short notice, Sophia. I appreciate it.”
She wafts a hand casually as she retakes her position behind her desk, unbuttoning her cream blazer. Sophia is that woman. The one who could intimidate the most beautiful and most successful women. I’m neither and don’t mind admitting how inadequate I feel around her.
“Let me pull up your proposal here.” She pouts her lips, her cheekbones perfectly contoured in the light of the desktop screen.
“I have a hard copy if that’s helpful,” I tell her, sliding the rush-job funding request towards her. It’s far from my finest work, but in the circumstances of this tender’s timeline, it really was the best I could do.
“That’s perfect, thank you.” She licks her index finger and thumb and flicks quickly to the page containing projections for ROI — return on investment.
I tell her about the well as she peruses the figures. I’ve never been this anxious asking for capital investment, which is surprising given that I’ve asked for larger sums when SP had been in a worse financial state. It’s not at all surprising given the risk I know I’m asking London Cap to take. And it’s certainly not helped by my overwhelming need to take revenge on Caspar Kahn. “With the fall in oil prices the government can’t realise a profit itself so it’s looking to sell.”
Sophia sits up, interlaces her fingers and presses her palms to the desk in front of her. “You hit the nail on the head, Dayna. Oil prices are painfully low and continuing to fall.”
“I know. I’m not hiding the weakness, Sophia, but I am telling you that SP can turn a profit.” I run my finger down one bar of a graph. “You see, here, this is the figure a typical company could expect to achieve. This one here is what SP can achieve with its blending expertise.”
She hums as if she’s mulling it over. I hope she’s mulling it over.
“I’m not saying I could realise the kind of profit I could have eighteen months ago, but there’s potential here. If we got some big export contracts.”
“If.”
I fake a smile. “You know it’s an if, Sophia; we’ve done enough deals together. Look, I know I can make this work, and it’s a solid foot in the Middle East again. It’s an entry step and it will be far from a windfall, but once the industry stabilises SP will be left with a quietly profitable well and an increasing network in the Middle East, something which is crucial to the long-term success of the company.”
Sophia leans back in her chair and brings her hands to rest on her stomach. “Dayna, you know I like working with you, and we’ve done some good business in the past.”
Here’s the inevitable “but”.
“But I just don’t think I can endorse this one. There’s a very small margin for error here. The profitability is low, at best. We don’t know what the effects of the lifting of sanctions on Iran will be. There’s a good chance prices could continue to fall and possibly plummet.”
“I’ve factored in margin.”
“A small amount. There are some serious players finding themselves insolvent, and SP isn’t as big as some of those names. My advice to you as your bank manager is to sit tight, ride the storm, and look for opportunities to invest when you have a clearer picture of how the industry and SP are going to fare.”
It’s no worse than I expected. It’s exactly what I expected. But with the private equity house turning me down earlier today, Sophia saying no would leave me no option but to submit an alternative bid. No option but to team up with Hassan Deeb or Clark.
“Please, Sophia. If you want me to beg, I will. This is a good opportunity for SP. I’ve never let you down before.”
Her smile is laced with pity. “Dayna, it’s business. I just can’t support this. I’m sorry. Maybe the next one.”
She’s right. I know it. Clark knows it. This well is potentially a bottomless pit ready to absorb money for no return. But I want it. I want to take something Caspar Kahn wants, just like he took something I wanted, needed, loved. Just like he took my father.
I FORCE MYSELF to smile at my staff as I make a beeline for my office. “Is Arthur around, Rach?” I ask when I round her desk.
She pulls up his calendar on her desktop. “Just coming out of a meeting with Jeff Potter.”
I check my watch; it’s coming up to six. “Could you try to grab him before he heads home and let him know I’d like to speak with him?”
“Sure. I’m guessing from the look on your face the meeting with Sophia didn’t go to plan?”
I take off my coat and hang it across my arm. “It went exactly as I expected. She won’t invest.”
“And King’s Private Equity?”
I shake my head, suddenly feeling drained. I can’t blame Sophia or King’s. In their shoes, I’d probably do the same.
