The Vodka Trail Page 3

  Marty motioned to his colleagues to sit at two of the S-shaped black leather chairs around the table. “Milk and sugar?” he asked, pouring the drinks without waiting for a reply. He splashed extra cream into Amy’s coffee, ignoring the irritation that flitted across her face. That girl needed fattening up, even if she didn’t see it herself. She was thin enough to pass through a fax machine.

  He took a piece of shortbread and passed the plate round. Amy took one. Marty grinned, eager to hear the results of Amy’s market research. “Ready with your presentation, Amy? Anything you need?”

  Amy was opening her briefcase to remove a laptop. Marty had expected her to reflect his enthusiasm, but she didn’t smile. “I’m good,” she said distantly. Maybe she was nervous.

  He let Amy busy herself with his AV equipment. She was familiar with it, as both she and Erik had been summoned to Marty’s office many times since the joint venture began. A huge monitor lurked behind one of the panelled walls. Amy jabbed the remote control. The panel slid away, revealing a screen full of white noise. “Been watching football?” she asked him.

  “I couldn’t possibly comment,” Marty said. In truth, he rarely used it for anything else.

  Amy fiddled with the remote and plugged a USB extender into her laptop. The big screen sprang into life with a picture of a patient sitting in a hospital bed. ‘Darria will make a difference’, the strapline proclaimed.

  “And how,” Marty said. “All right, bab, let death by PowerPoint commence.”

  Amy flicked to another slide, a frown of concentration on her face. “Here are some statistics,” she said. “We carried out market research across a population of two thousand people.”

  “Where were they?” Marty asked. “This population? Down the road from here, perhaps.”

  Amy pretended to slap him. “Don’t interrupt, Marty. They were all over the country. This was a UK-wide survey. One third of interviewees were well, one third were cancer patients and one third were cancer survivors. More than 99% had never heard of darria.”

  “What a surprise,” Marty murmured.

  “Indeed. And it got interesting then. I couldn’t say darria was a potential cure – that’s against the law – but I could ask whether they’d use a food supplement that was rumoured to beat cancer. It would be sold as a tea to drink once a day. Ten per cent of cancer patients would drink it in addition to their NHS treatment. Besides, ten per cent of survivors and five per cent of people who had never had cancer would drink it to stay well.”

  Erik looked as if a wasp had stung him. “You asked them about tea? That’s how the villagers in the valleys of Bazakistan use darria, but we’re going further. We’ll be launching a prescription drug.”

  “It’ll take too long,” Marty said. “And the trials are costing a fortune. Look, I’ll show you a spreadsheet with costs to date and estimated outlays to completion.” He reached for a laptop on his desk.

  “Can I finish the presentation first?” Amy asked.

  “Yes, go ahead,” Marty said. “We’ll discuss the cost of clinical trials later, Erik, but that was my concern when I asked Amy to research the UK market’s appetite for tea.”

  “There’s no point,” Erik protested. Dismay was written on his face, but he kept his voice calm. “Marty, if you say that darria tea cures cancer, the regulators will treat it as a medicinal product. You can’t sell a medicinal product without a licence, and you won’t get one without clinical trials. Don’t you see, Marty? There’s no money to be saved, because I’m going to have to run trials anyway.”

  Marty had debated the same issues with his lawyer and was confident he could wriggle around the regulations. “I believe it depends how we position the product,” he said. “As long as we don’t advertise darria as a cancer remedy, we can register it as a food supplement. What did you tell your cast of thousands, Amy?”

  “That there was a buzz about a certain brand of herbal tea, and it was reported to be a cure,” Amy replied. She rapidly flicked through her slides.

  “Exactly,” Erik said. “Why would anyone drink it otherwise? The problem is, we can’t allege it’s a cancer treatment without a licence.”

  “No, we can’t,” Marty said, his patience tested. “But others can. We’ll just advertise darria tea as supporting good health. That doesn’t involve medicinal claims. At the same time, though, we’ll run press trips to Bazakistan, all expenses paid. The journalists will meet doctors who will talk about the miracle cures they’ve seen with darria. They can interview centenarians too. It’s a great news story.” He was satisfied this was the answer.

  “Yes,” Amy agreed. Her eyes were shining. “It should whip up a social media storm too. Word will spread.”

  Erik glared at her. She looked away from him.

  Erik continued with his objections. “Bazakistan’s unstable,” he said. “You’ll have to pay bribes to keep the journalists safe from the President’s militia, let alone the freedom fighters who hide out in the valleys where darria grows.”

  “I can afford it,” Marty said. He was sanguine about paying a few bribes. The cost of the press junkets would still be modest compared with clinical trials. He turned to Amy. “Did you cover price and outlets?”

  “Of course,” Amy said. “Demand is relatively inelastic, with little sensitivity to price until you exceed a pound per cup. The convenience of teabags wins over leaves by an overwhelming majority, even if leaves are cheaper. The survey groups were also asked whether they’d prefer to buy online, through supermarkets, at chemists or in health food shops. Practically everyone would purchase through an online shop or a supermarket. The numbers fall dramatically for other outlets. Here’s a slide that explains it.” She pressed a button on her keyboard.

  Erik folded his arms, face stony and voice crackling with tension. “That’s enough about the tea. I think your marketing strategy’s unwise and it’s too dependent on viral marketing. Amy, you should have focused your market research on prescription drugs.”

  “We did that too,” Amy said, flushing. She looked only at Marty, refusing to meet Erik’s eyes. “The results were less conclusive, that’s all. With a handful of exceptions, the cancer patients told us they would take anything their doctors prescribed.” She shrugged. “Sadly, some patients wanted it now. We had to explain that wasn’t possible at the experimental stage.”

  Marty was about to suggest they’d be first in line to buy darria tea. He noticed Erik’s grim expression and decided against it.

  “What about the rest of your sample?” Erik asked.

  “The control group – those who’d never had cancer – weren’t interested,” Amy said. “Why would you ask for a prescription drug if you were well? Ten per cent of survivors would request a prescription to prevent recurrence, although we can’t be certain doctors would prescribe it.”

  “They should,” Erik said robustly.

  “It depends if there’s a preventative effect,” Amy said.

  “It has to be demonstrable,” Marty said. “Even then, it must offer value for money too.”

  “It will,” Erik protested. “I want to sell the drug cheaply to make it accessible to all.”

  “We can’t sell it too cheaply, Erik,” Marty pointed out. He was becoming painfully aware of his partner’s lack of commercial knowledge. “We need to recover the cost of our research and make a profit on top.” He wanted a fat, juicy profit. At least Amy understood that. Marty was encouraged by the prospect of healthy tea sales.

  Erik evidently wasn’t. He looked tense. “We mustn’t make the drug so expensive that doctors won’t prescribe it,” he said. “Have you talked to doctors too, Amy?”

  “A limited survey of cancer specialists was carried out,” Amy said. “If they think it’s better than the alternatives, they’ll prescribe it, whatever the cost.”

  Marty had heard enough. “Why bother with the drug? There’s a massive demand for darria tea,” he said. “We’ve got to start production as soon as possible. I’m go
ing to get on a plane to Bazakistan and buy up a darria plantation.”

  Erik glowered. “You agreed to fund my drug research,” the younger man said, his tone uncharacteristically angry. “Tea won’t solve anything. I’m not convinced your viral marketing will work. Even if it does, cancer sufferers won’t drink enough to cure themselves, especially if you charge a pound a cup.”

  Marty stood his ground. “Erik, the market research proves otherwise. Customers will invest in their own health. What’s the point of distilling the shrub into a prescription drug as well? Doctors won’t prescribe it if their patients can simply drink tea.”

  Amy, glancing anxiously at both of them, opened her mouth to speak. Erik interrupted before she could say a word. “Marty, I won’t let you do this,” he said. “If you want to get rich selling tea, you can find another partner and another product.” He rose to his feet. “I’m going to see my friends at the university. I need an investor with a sense of social responsibility.”

  “Wait,” Marty said. He’d never had an argument with the young man. Erik was pragmatic and inclined to seek common ground.

  This time, it was different. Erik turned his back on both of them. He walked out.

  Marty stared at the open door, noting that Amy looked shocked too.

  “How come Erik didn’t know how the market research was progressing?” he asked. “You both work in the same office.”

  Amy squirmed. “Erik’s usually in the lab. Even in the office, he’s totally focused on science.” She chewed her lip. “I was afraid he wouldn’t like what I had to say.”

  “You weren’t wrong.” Marty admitted to himself that he hadn’t appreciated the strength of Erik’s moral stance. He’d imagined the logic of a cost-benefit analysis would speak for itself, even though Erik had made it clear he wasn’t interested in finance. Amy seemed to understand the young man better. “Tell me what you’d do in my shoes,” he asked.

  “Listen to Erik,” she said hotly. “It’s the least you can do after the years of work he’s put into this, the long hours in the lab every day. Darria is his life.”

  “And my investment, which I want to recoup,” Marty reminded her. “Besides, we can’t continue with only a small lab and shoestring staff. Despite what Erik thinks, I know the rules. I’d have to spend much more to bring a prescription drug to market.”

  “The answer’s obvious, then,” Amy said. “Doctors will prescribe a drug if it works. What’s the problem with launching darria tea and continuing with Erik’s research?”

  “Only money,” Marty replied.

  “You won’t lose out,” Amy said. “The tea sales will fund the research. Once the drug’s launched as well, you’ll have two revenue streams.”

  That sounded plausible. “You could be right,” he said. “Give me a copy of your presentation, and more data if you have it. I’ll crunch the numbers.”

  “Don’t forget, my market research was limited to the UK, for reasons of cost,” Amy said. “There’s potential elsewhere.”

  “Agreed,” Marty said. “Less red tape in some countries too. You can advertise drugs in America, for a start. As we’re based in the UK, it made sense to test the market here first. I won’t ignore the foreign upside, though.”

  Amy still looked stressed. “Shouldn’t you ring Erik?”

  “I’ll do it now,” Marty said, reaching for his phone.

  Erik didn’t reply. After listening to the voicemail greeting, Marty said, “I’m going to rework my financials, Erik. I’ll almost certainly pay for your research. I’ll even pay for lawyers to put that in writing. Give me a call back, please.” He frowned. “I hope he’ll accept that. We’ve got so much to do. Brand name, patent registrations, raw materials, production facilities, packaging…”

  “Do you want to see the rest of my presentation?” Amy asked.

  “Email me,” Marty said. “I’ll send everything to Katherine Evans. She’s my lawyer, and she’ll register the brand and make sure the patents are up to date for the tea and the drug. Erik’s made tweaks to the extraction process, so we need to get that patented for a start.” He stood up, stretching and yawning, keen to end the meeting. “Onwards and upwards, bab,” he added.

  “There’s just one more thing I need to discuss,” Amy said. She fiddled with her fingers. “It’s a bit difficult.”

  “Can’t it wait?” Marty asked.

  “It won’t take long.” She was blushing again. “Marty, you and Erik don’t always agree on the direction of the darria business. You’re looking to make money, while he wants to bring a cancer cure to the masses. I find it difficult working for you both when I’m caught in the middle.”

  “Are you saying I’m wrong?” Marty demanded. He could see where her sympathies lay.

  Amy shifted awkwardly in her seat. “No,” she said, with apparent conviction. “A business has to generate profits. My father drummed that into me.”

  Despite the tension in the air, Marty grinned. “That’s a good lesson to learn.”

  “It is,” Amy conceded. “But that’s the problem. I know you’re right, but Erik doesn’t see it.”

  He understood now. “You don’t want to tell him, do you?”

  “It isn’t my job, Marty, and to be honest, my diplomatic skills aren’t up to it. I can tell you both what you can sell and how you can sell it. I can’t solve your arguments. Listen, I hope you like what you’ve seen of my work so far. If you have a marketing position in your vodka business, I’d love to do that instead.”

  Marty was somewhat alarmed. It was hardly a vote of confidence in his darria enterprise. Was she afraid the partners wouldn’t reconcile their interests? “That came out of left field,” he said. “Don’t you like Erik?”

  “Of course I do,” Amy said. Her face was bright red.

  He remembered the sudden sweetness in Erik’s eyes when Amy’s name had been mentioned the previous evening. “Are you seeing him?” he asked.

  “No,” Amy protested.

  She would like to, he suspected. It showed her taste in men was improving. In the past, she’d been keen on Ross Pritchard, who had nothing to recommend him but his bank balance.

  Marty grimaced. He was no agony uncle. His priority must be rebuilding his relationship with Erik. Darria had the potential to make millions for him, surpassing even the lucrative Snow Mountain vodka distribution business. Without Erik, it wouldn’t happen. “I don’t have another marketing job for you, Amy,” he said, “but the minute there is one, I’ll call you.”

  He moved towards the door and held it open for her. When she’d left, he tried once again to ring his business partner.

  Chapter 5

  Davey

  The conference offered a variety of talks and workshops, but that wasn’t why Davey and his colleagues were attending. Once he and Charles had given seminars to the other delegates, their first day passed in a whirl of networking. Saxton Brown was less than a year old, and he needed to raise its profile. Afterwards, he made an informal pitch to several insurance brokers in the hotel bar. He was drinking with them when he realised it was seven thirty, the time he’d arranged to meet Alana. Davey made excuses and dashed away, still in the charcoal suit and blue shirt he’d worn all day.

  She was waiting for Davey in the hotel atrium. He’d seen her earlier in business clothes, but now she’d changed into a simple black shift and pearl choker. The dress suited her slim figure. Shiny black stilettos elongated her legs and added to her height; he was no longer looking down at her.

  “That was a mind-blowing day,” Davey admitted. “I need to recover my strength. Where are we going?”

  “A little place about a mile away,” Alana said. “We could walk, but,” she gestured to her shoes, “I’ve booked a cab.” She picked up a Louis Vuitton valise. Davey assumed it contained her laptop. He hoped she wouldn’t spend half the evening checking emails.

  Their taxi was already outside, a placard in the passenger window announcing GREEN. As it inched through roadwo
rks, it occurred to Davey that it would have been quicker to walk. He looked regretfully at Alana’s heels.

  She stretched her ebony legs. “I thought your speech this afternoon was very interesting,” she said.

  “Thank you.” Davey welcomed the compliment. Alana didn’t give them lightly. “I think we need more niche players like mine in the London market. I wanted to let the young guns know it’s possible to raise capital and set up on their own.”

  “It helps to have your track record,” Alana pointed out.

  “True,” Davey acknowledged. “But it’s about spotting winners too. My IT director, Charles, came from a bank. And young Ross didn’t have my experience, but he’s extremely able.”

  “The best actuary Veritable Insurance ever had,” Alana said. “When I bought the company, I was sorry to see him go. I gave him a promotion, but it wasn’t enough.”

  Davey grinned. He understood Ross too well. It was pound notes that motivated the actuary, and Davey had offered Ross more of them than Alana. Naturally, he’d make sure he kept Ross’ package competitive. He didn’t want Alana luring the rising star back.

  Alana made small talk about the conference and the other speakers until they arrived at their destination, a Michelin-starred restaurant in a rambling white Georgian house. Dusk was falling, and candles flickered invitingly on each table. They were seated by a picture window overlooking a garden lush with greenery.

  Alana ordered champagne. “It’s the greatest European invention,” she declared, “and I’ll touch nothing else with a meal.”

  Davey was happy to acquiesce. He was partial to it himself and often had a glass with his wife, Laura; she said it was low in calories. “I’ll split a bottle with you,” Davey said, “although I enjoy a good craft beer, and I believe I should thank you Americans for persuading us it’s cool.”