CHAPTER ONE
Edward James Higgins Professor of Tropical Plant Science at Oxford University, did what he always did when it rained during his bike ride to work and hung his wet socks and sandals next to his bicycle clips on the radiator to dry.
Being Saturday, and with no students to bother him, he plumped the old cushion in his chair, settled down with his bare feet on his desk and glanced up at the faded remains of the old newspaper cutting pinned to the cork board.
With the dark, shoulder-length hair and central parting, few would have recognised the forty-year-old photo of himself - a short-lived celebrity, a student demonstrator and a fanatic, pale-faced environmental activist who the press had dubbed Huggy. A few old friends still called him Huggy, but nowadays, he was mostly known, even by first year students, as Eddie.
Eddie’s bicycle and his flapping old raincoat were well known around Oxford but at sixty-two years old, the one-time Ozzie Osborne look-alike now sported a central parting that had broadened to six inches. “Hope springs eternally, but there’s nothing wrong internally,” he’d say in response to cruel jibes about his hair, now reduced to a ring of sparse grey threads. Eddie, an enthusiastic writer of satirical poetry in his spare time, always felt inspired to scribble another whenever he looked at that old photo.
He’d just taken a sheet of notepaper to start one when the phone rang.
“Your visitor’s here, Eddie,” said Charlie who combined janitorial duties with unlocking the front door on Saturday mornings.
He knew who it was although they’d not yet met. This was the chairman – or chairwoman – of an Oxford-based company, Vital Cosmetics, who had offered the University money in the form of a student bursary. Universities grabbed any cash on offer and Bill Hughes, the head of department, had done his best to quell Eddie’s opinions on industry. “We could use the money, Eddie, so can you put aside your well-known prejudices?”
Eddie had been adamant. “No.”
“Not even if, as part of the deal, you become the appointed scientific adviser to Vital Cosmetics with all that that might offer? Influence? Powers of persuasion? Change for the better?”
“Well, if you put it like that.”
That was almost a year ago. Now, wearing his damp socks, Eddie went to the door and opened it to a wall of perfume.
Standing there was an unexpectedly tall, slim, black-haired woman who looked much younger than he’d imagined. This wasn’t the squat, savage-looking, bespectacled and mousy-haired boss he had imagined but a taller, more delicate creature with pure white skin, shiny red lips and deep brown eyes surrounded by thick, black paint.
She smiled at him. “Professor Higgins?”
“Call me Eddie.”
“May I come in?”
Baroness Isobel Johnson passed him and so he checked her from behind. She was wearing shiny, red, high-heeled shoes and black stockings. A flimsy red scarf was draped over a dark grey jacket and beneath that a matching grey skirt. A red handbag hung from her shoulder.
Eddie’s low interest in personal details meant he hadn’t learned much about her beforehand. Had he bothered he’d have discovered that Isobel Johnson was highly regarded in some circles. She was a regular contributor to magazines on fashion and such-like and was often called upon to speak on the radio or TV or at conferences in support of women in business All Eddie knew was that not a drop of rain had touched her so he knew she’d arrived by car or taxi, certainly not by bicycle.
He was still holding the door open with his glasses hanging on the cord around his neck. “We banned those sorts of shoes some years ago,” he said. “They leave marks on the laboratory floor.”
Isobel turned and looked at him and Eddie saw a striking resemblance to a waxworks model of a Chinese concubine he’d once seen. It was the porcelain features and glossy red lipstick that clinched it.
“Of course,” Isobel said. “How thoughtless of me. Shall I leave them outside?”
Eddie wondered about that because he’d also been at the forefront of a ban on high heels in corridors but, at this rate, she’d need to return home for a complete change of clothing. “Outside is fine,” he said beckoning to the corridor.
He replaced his glasses to watch how she bent over in the tight skirt and removed the shoes. She placed them neatly against the wall, brushed the skirt down and then turned to look up at him from a slightly lower altitude. “Better?” she asked.
“Thank you,” Eddie said. “Please come in. Take the stool by the incubator.”
“Did you put the kettle on as you said you would, Professor Higgins?”
“Yes. Tea?”
“Thank you.”
“Milk? Sugar?”
“Neither thank you. It’s a big laboratory, Professor Higgins.”
“Call me Eddie. “
“And you’re in charge?”
“Yes. Biscuit?”
“What sort do you have?”
“Osborne. Rich Tea, or whatever they’re now called.”
He busied himself with two mugs of tea, one with milk and two sugars, the other without. He squeezed the tea bags with the spoon, checked they were fully spent of colour and polyphenols and dropped them in the pedal bin. Then he grabbed four biscuits from the packet.
“This looks very complicated Professor Higgins.”
In looking to see what it was that was so complicated, the tea from one mug spilt on the floor so Eddie wiped the splashes with his foot hoping she hadn’t seen. Hot wetness seeped into his already damp, grey socks.
“Gas chromatography. Some students’ work. Results from a few tests on Krabok nut oil,” he said.
Eddie was a world expert on tropical hardwood trees such as Kraboks, their nuts and their fungal diseases but he tried hard not to bore anyone with too much science. He’d seen too many eyes glaze over in the past to even try.
“And what does it tell you?”
He slid the mug of tea towards her leaving a trail of wetness and put two Rich Teas alongside it. That’s when he noticed her fingers, the shiny red nails and three rings – gold with clear little stones.
“My students were looking for therapeutic properties, particularly antifungal ones amongst the aldehydes and esters components in nut oils.” He was speaking somewhat distractedly because nail paint always intrigued him. Why did they do it? What was the purpose?
“I see,” Isobel replied.
“In your cosmetics business, you call them essential oils, Baroness Johnson.”
“Isobel, please.”
“In theory, when choosing an essential oil for human use you would want one with a high therapeutic value and low toxicity. There are many different compounds within each of the major categories – in fact there are several hundred individual chemical substances in these oils. That makes it difficult to evaluate them chemically. Even though a chromatograph may show only a few of the constituents of an oil, one still needs knowledge of many individual substances and their properties to read and understand a GC-MS report. Some components can be quite toxic in large quantities.” Eddie glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “But, as the head of Vital Cosmetics you know all that of course.”
Isobel tried sipping her tea but Eddie knew it would be far too hot for her delicate red lips. She put the mug down.
Over his half-moons he watched her looking at the screen through two strands of straight black hair that had fallen forward. Her brown eyes peered through long black eyelashes that were either false or fluffed up with those little black brushes they use to improve the flutter effect. Her eyebrows were thick, black and neat mirror images of each another.
“This,” he said pressing a few keys, “is a comparison of two oils that you might think were identical – lavender oils. Lavender is useful for teaching students. If lavender is grown above 2,000 feet, the ester content increases. This, some say, makes high altitude lavender oil more useful in aromatherapy and therefore more profitable.
“We’re talking serious biochemistry coupled with complex benefits and toxicity testing, Baroness. Claims, for instance, that lavenders have calming effects and antispasmodic properties are - what shall I say? - mostly hearsay. Most users and sellers of aromatherapy products don’t have the slightest understanding of the biochemistry behind the ludicrous claims they make.”
Eddie was already getting into the swing of things. He pulled up another stool and sat down close enough to find her perfume quite overpowering. “And neither do perfume and cosmetics manufacturers,” he added, wrinkling his nose.
She smiled. “But whoever heard of someone dying from an overdose of skin cream, Professor?”
“And whoever heard of someone taking an anti-ageing cream who finds the ageing process has been stopped in its tracks,” he snapped back.
“But it’s their choice,” she replied, checking the heat of her tea again. “If they feel and look better then…”
Eddie erupted. “The word anti means against,” he said. “Anti-ageing therefore means against ageing. It means that something, in this case a mix of chemicals, acts by delaying the biological process of ageing. No such single chemical exists. Anti-ageing does not mean lessening the visual signs of ageing. The cosmetics industry uses expressions to distort scientific fact. It turns clearly understood words and changes their meanings. It distorts truth to get around advertising standards that are, in themselves, inadequate. The cosmetics industry lies, misrepresents and steals words to sell products that don’t work.”
“Really, Professor, I don’t quite……” but there was no interrupting Eddie when he was on a roll.
“Take the word serum,” he said. “Ask any woman these days what serum is and she’ll tell you it’s cosmetic. No. it’s not. Serum is a highly complex body fluid in which blood cells circulate in blood vessels. Serology is a scientific subject in its own right. Serum is not, and never can be, a mix of a few synthetic chemicals in a drop of oil sold in pink tubes and little bottles. They stole the word, Baroness.”
Isobel looked appalled as if no-one had ever spoken to her like this but Eddie still hadn’t finished.
“And you think that someone in a society like ours where good quality food of all types is cheap and available in abundance needs to take food supplements and consume energy drinks as if they’re vital for general health and performance?”
He was pleased how he’d slipped in that indirect reference to Vital’s new range of sports drinks. He made a noise that was meant to sound triumphant
“What on earth is meant by replacing lost electrolytes for example?” he went on. “Do they really mean the sodium chloride in sweat? If so, say so. Does anyone who drinks these concoctions properly understand words like hypotonic, hypertonic or isotonic? And, even if it was possible, would anyone really need to improve and speed up their metabolism?”
Baroness Johnson wriggled off her stool. “Professor Higgins. I thought I was here to listen to your views following a meeting you had with our staff a short while ago.”
That was true. Meeting staff was a job of the scientific adviser but he’d only met them once. Once was enough, though. He’d walked around their manufacturing area and found staff boring, disinterested, arrogant and, quite frankly, rude.
Eddie was still seated and Isobel was facing him at eye level so he stood because his mother had always told him to stand if a seated lady, he was conversing with stood.
“Yes,” he said, “Because according to your email to Professor Bill Hughes you had concerns about the way your business was being run. You’re in the cosmetics and health products business and you’ve appointed a scientific adviser. Well, here I am – asking questions and advising.”
Isobel sniffed. “Professional advice is one thing. Personal views are quite another, Professor.”
“Not so,” Eddie said crossly. “For a scientist, different sets of views must be allowed to overlap until indisputable facts tilt opinion one way or another. And, anyway, the message I received was that you wanted opinions on staff motivation and commitment, not just their scientific knowledge. That is a pity because as none of your staff are properly qualified their ability to question technical data is limited. But it was as if you were suspicious of goings on within the company. Am I right?”
She sniffed again so he knew he was right.
“If so then as your scientific adviser and as I am not at all clear who I actually report to, I would like to say that Vital Cosmetics gives me great cause for concern.”
“I see.”
Eddie swallowed some tea and wiped his mouth. “So, do you want to hear my views?”
“Yes,” she said. “That’s why I’m here. And if you are in any doubt, Professor, you report to me.”
Eddie was pleased she’d cleared up that question but it was the way she announced it that took him by surprise. It was surprisingly forceful.
At last, she took a reasonable sip of her tea and nibbled on an Osborne. She was standing up and he’d always imagined well brought up ladies ate and drank sitting down, but he wasted no further time on that. “What qualifications does your chief buyer have?”
“Peter Lester?”
“That’s him. What is his background?”
“Business, Professor. He was not my appointee. You must understand all the staff were in place before I became Chairman. The Chief Executive, Nick Carstairs and the Finance Director, Boris Hamilton, were also in place.”
“Nick Carstairs?”
“He was in banking.”
“Boris Hamilton?”
“Accountancy.”
“The Quality Manager, Donald McVie?”
“I believe he worked for a local engineering company but why do you ask?”
“I think one or more of them broke into my home.”
That shook her. Her eyes widened and the thick black eyelashes didn’t move at all for a full three seconds.
“Broke in? How? When?”
“I trod in a sticky blob of chewing gum outside my front door.”
“Chewing gum?”
“Lester and McVie both chew gum.”
“Do they? But could it not have been the postman? A delivery driver?”
“Perhaps, but let’s see what the finger prints tell us.”
“Finger prints? Did you call the police?”
“Finger prints found in dust in my home laboratory are being looked at by my private investigator.”
“Private investigator? Good gracious. But why on earth would anyone break in.”
“To steal my Krabok nuts, Baroness.”
“Nuts?” she repeated.
“Breaking into my home is far easier than breaking into this laboratory.”
“But why?”
“Let’s begin with my nuts,” Eddie said. “Drums of Krabok nut oil are used in some of your cosmetics. What’s more, during my jungle forays in South East Asia - which I conduct twice a year, by the way - I came across a type of Krabok tree that produced three times as much of a certain vital component as normal. Those trees could become very valuable if protected and genetic and other tests were performed. And that’s not just because of their value in cosmetics. Far more interesting to me is that we’ve shown they produce an interesting oil that could be extremely valuable in medicine. However, Baroness, that is all now very unlikely as those trees were also stolen.”
Eddie stopped at that point and watched her fingers playing around her shiny red lips. Her cheeks, too, showed a slightly rosier tinge. “Stolen?” she said.
“Perhaps I should have said illegally felled – taken from a national park and wild life sanctuary in northern Thailand.”
Isobel’s cheeks were growing rosier by the second.
“But, all that aside,” Eddie said more quietly, “With regard to your concerns about the way your company is run, I’m not a businessman but it’s all about standards. We should all live according to a set of standards. In Vitals’ case staff should be suitably qualified, understand the products they make and sell and should not, whilst being remunerated by Vital, be tempted into doing things that verge on illegality.”
He stopped, wondering whether he’d gone too far but his new private investigator friend, Mark Dobson, had sown many of Eddie’s suspicions. He watched Isobel remount the stool, wriggle and pull her skirt down to almost cover her knees. She sipped her tea, pushed the rogue strand of hair from her face and took a deep breath. Then came the minor capitulation that Mark Dobson had forecast when he knew Eddie was meeting the boss.
“We have to make the best of whatever we inherit,” she said.
Eddie had just dunked half an Osborne and lost it to the depths of his cup of tea. He decided to search for it later.
“I think, Baroness, that what you’ve inherited is a business philosophy of cutting corners, contempt for quality assurance and, or so it seems to me, total disregard for science, international law and the environment. And, personally, I would never have employed any of your senior management team. How does that make you feel?”
“Bad enough to seek your help, Professor Higgins. A public scandal would not be good for anyone. Despite your obvious passion, your views are, I admit, not too different from my own. The burglary is new though.”
Suddenly Eddie felt sorry for her and looked at her over the top of his glasses. He’d never seen a face with such evenly distributed features before. One side of her face was a perfect mirror image of the other. An unusual feeling then came over Eddie.
“Would you like lunch?” he said quietly. “If it’s not too crowded, I often eat at Greggs. They do a nice cheese and ham baguette.”
