The flight into Guernsey was delayed and Frank felt his stomach lurch as the plane made its bumpy approach. This was his first business trip abroad and the last thing he needed was to be late. Eimear and himself were coming from Dublin to a board meeting where they would be the only Irish people present and despite the Celtic Tiger years, Frank still felt enough cultural inferiority to want to avoid turning up late to a meeting with upper class English people.
In the event they were early and had twenty minutes to discuss strategy and to nibble on the chocolate biscuits that had been laid out for the Directors.
Eimear had a few ground rules to set down. ‘Don’t speak unless you are asked something by name. And for God’s sake, don’t question anything that somebody else says. We’re humble service providers and we’re here to deliver the accounts and to get out of dodge without being embarrassed’.
‘I prepared those accounts’; Frank said with as much emotional outrage as Accountants can muster in these situations. ‘And I can stand over every number in them’.
‘It’s not the numbers I’m worried about. These old duffers never look at the numbers. They earn their outrageous fees for spotting that the font on page seventeen doesn’t match the font in the table on page six, or that you have spelt ‘it’s’ with an inappropriate apostrophe. My favorite was last year when they questioned the directors’ fees in the profit and loss account. Geoffrey, the Chairman, gathered all the indignation of the cavalry officer he had previously been.
“Me and the chaps had a quick chat over dinner last night and I’m afraid to say that last year we weren’t paid nearly that much”.
I tried to explain the accruals concept to them and how the sum in the accounts was made up of what they were paid plus what they were owed. But their eyes just glazed over. These guys are supposed to be providing oversight to a four billion pound Hedge Fund and all they care about are their poxy fees’.
Outside, the moneyed life of Guernsey was waking up. Yachts bobbled in St Peter Port and a trail of bustling pin stripe suits were making their way into the various off-shore branches of British banks.
‘Nice view, isn’t it?’ Eimear said. ‘I can think of worse places to have a board meeting. It reeks of money here, so it’s a good place to talk about it’.
‘Sure’, said Frank. ‘But why are we here? This is a fund managed in London, registered in the Cayman Islands and the book-keeping is done by us in Dublin. So why is the board made up of five old guys from the Channel Islands?’
‘It’s all about tax, Frank. These people like to pretend that they’re selling sophisticated investment products but really they’re just a cheap little tax avoidance scheme. This is a British operation, but they can’t have board meetings there or the UK Tax authorities will say that it is an on-shore fund and tax the hell out of it’.
‘But aren’t the Channel Islands part of the UK?’ Frank asked.
‘Only when it suits them’. Eimear replied. ‘It’s like abortion in Ireland. We like to think that we are as pure as the driven snow by not having it. But we turn a blind eye to all the girls sneaking over to England to have it done there. Well the British are like that about tax. Holier than thou when it comes to clamping down on the little guy claiming a few dodgy expenses against his tax bill but at the same time they ignore every millionaire hiding his ill-gotten gains in so called ‘off-shore’ funds.
Frank had tuned out on the mention of abortion. He had spent the trip over sneaking glances at his boss and he didn’t want the erotic thoughts running through his head to be interrupted by talk of terminations. They were staying overnight in Guernsey and Eimear had mentioned a pub that she had been in the year before. Frank wondered if she was dropping hints. A few gin and tonics and a chance to get to know her new good looking staff member. That’s how he liked to see it anyway.
He was ambitious and having a fling with his boss seemed as good a way as any to get ahead. And Eimear was a looker to boot. Particularly today, when she had put on her best power suit for the benefit of the guys on the board. Frank had noticed that suit before. It always seemed to come out when she had a meeting with older men. Deep red with a knee line that was just the right side of decency, it screamed business mixed with pleasure. Eimear was a modern business woman who had smashed through several glass ceilings on her way up. But she didn’t seem to be averse to using sexual attraction when it suited her.
‘You must be the Paddies’, a voice boomed from behind. Frank reeled to find a shovel shaped hand being thrust towards him. ‘Geoffrey Olmer Swanston. I’m the chairman of the board of this little beast. And you must be the chap who has been filling my inbox all week with these blasted accounts’.
Frank was about to answer yes, but the ex cavalry officer had already spotted a more favorable battlefield.
‘Ah, the lovely Eimear. Great to see you again. Hopefully we can get you out for a drink this time. Did you have a pleasant trip over?’
However, it was clear that the chairman didn’t just like the sound of his own voice; he wasn’t interested in hearing the sound of any others. For not even the lovely Eimear was able to get a word in before Geoffrey was bounding over to the door to greet the other directors.
‘Come in gentlemen, we’ve a busy agenda to get through today. We’ll cover the first part this morning and then adjourn for lunch. Debbie has booked the five of us and the two chaps from the fund manager’s office into La Rochelle for 1pm. So keep that in mind if you’re thinking of asking any long winded questions this morning. We’ll wrap up this afternoon with a view to finishing early. Rupert and I have a foursome to get to for 4pm’.
Frank felt a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. He noticed that the accounts were scheduled for discussion in the afternoon session which meant that they could have gotten a later flight and not had to get up at 3am to catch the red eye. He also realised that Eimear and himself were the only people at the meeting who were not invited to lunch. His cultural inferiority went into overdrive.
It was going to be a long day, so best to just sit back and enjoy the view.
To be continued……
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