Shameless Corruption and the World Cup

How is the World Cup going for you? Disappointed that England were 'out' even before the last game of the group stages? Horrified by Uruguay biting their way through to the last sixteen? Several of the European teams - Spain, Italy, Croatia - have crashed out early, suggesting that conditions do indeed favour the South and Central American teams.

I'm still here in England while Caroline has gone suspiciously quiet in Rio. The last I heard, Bertrand Cottoneau had promised her tickets for the final at the Maracana Stadium in July. But I was worried when she got involved with a shady character called Mr Nim in Singapore, and traveled with him and his entourage, first class, to Brazil. He must have some kind of hold over her. Why otherwise would she have asked me to bring a million dollars in cash with me when I fly to Brazil? This kind of money movement is beyond my competence, so I phoned Cosimo Baldissi for advice:

“Are you all right, Cosimo? Speak up, I can hardly hear you.”

“I had an accident, Roberto, and it hurts if I laugh or shout.”

“Well this is no laughing matter. I’ve had a peculiar message from Caroline. She says she needs a million dollars urgently.”

“Ah. That much?”

“Is that all you’ve got to say? You know something about it? I know she’s been speaking to you and Bertrand. He’s getting me a ticket for the final.”

“Yes, we’ll all be there. It will be like old times.”

“I hope not. I couldn’t bear a repeat of Copenhagen. Come on Cosimo; tell me what’s going on. Is Caroline in trouble?”

“If I tell you, you will be in danger. For Caroline, the danger is a fate worse than death. For you, just death.” I had to stifle a chuckle at the Italian’s amusing exaggerations.

“I don’t think they give the death penalty for illicit currency movements. I’m sure Caroline has a good reason for needing the money. I just need some advice on how to raise it and how to move it to Brazil.”

“How much has Caroline told you? Did she tell you about my accident?”

“No. She told me about meeting you and Bertrand and going to Brazil via Singapore for a financial directors’ conference. Then she had a problem with her bank account and she used mine to send a lot of money to Bertrand. It was six hundred thousand euros. So why does she need a million dollars now? Caroline’s usually tight with money.”

“She’s trying to help Bertrand. He has many problems. He’s not the same man since Francine left him for New York. And he has to deal with that FIFA man, Cleb Fludder, who promises to retire and then stays on to wreak more havoc. Bertrand says he is destroying the beautiful game, and Cleb thinks Bertrand is after his job. He’s right, of course.”

“I’ve known Caroline to be generous, but not with money. And she doesn’t care about football. It must be something else.”

“Do you know about Caroline’s gambling habit?”

“Sorry Cosimo, Caroline doesn’t gamble. She calculates. You wouldn’t believe the grief she gives me when I bet twenty pounds on the Manchester United score.”

“People change when they are exposed to new experiences. She spent a week with Prince Lippi and picked up a taste for the casino. He introduced her to some high rollers. I expect she needs the money to settle a gambling debt.”

“Impossible. If you think that, you don’t know Caroline. It must be something else. But whatever she needs it for, will you help me?”

“Of course, anything for Caroline. What assets do you have?”

“Assets? Loans, more likely. We don’t even have pensions. Everything’s tied up in the house. We put every penny we had into it and then borrowed a lot more.”

“How much is it worth?”

“Caroline says two million, but she likes to talk it up.”

“You must live in a mansion.”

“No, we live in Surrey. House prices around London are crazy.”

“And the mortgage?”

“Nearly a million.”

“There are companies which will buy a house quickly at a discount. I will email you two names that can be trusted a little bit. Sell the house, and I will help with the transfer of funds. We will need a friendly bank with an operation in Brazil. I will speak to Von Wolfswinkle.” (extract from Shameless Corruption)

For more, and for the result of the World Cup final before it even happens, click below:

eBooks by Robert Fanshaw

 

Shameless Corruption

I have some news for followers of the adventures of my wife, Caroline. Shameless Corruption, the third novel in the Shameless series, will be published by Steam eReads in June this year. The publishers also handled the first two novels, Shameless Ambition and Shameless Exposure , all available as reasonably priced ebooks from Amazon . Each novel stands alone  and you don't have to read them in any particular order. But Ambition and Exposure are a useful, lightly fictionalised background to the current predicament Caroline and I find ourselves in. If you want to experience the full impact of Shameless Corruption, you are advised to get reading.

As I have hinted in previous posts, Caroline and I are having problems with our relationship. Between you and me, I'm not sure we will still be living together by the end of the World Cup tournament in Brazil. The 'D' word is in the air. My instinct is not to talk about it, but the counsellor at Marital Solutions said it would be good if I discussed things more with trusted friends. I know I can trust you, dear reader, but please bear in mind this is only one side of the story. Caroline would probably explain it differently.

Neither of us have been saints during the four years we have been married (to which a quick glance at the books above will attest). But when Caroline was promoted to Finance Director of Monsaint Medical Instruments, it was not the job either of us expected. We both thought she would be crunching numbers at their HQ in Stratford, East London. But Ivan, the former FD of Monsaint, who got the top job, wouldn't let go of the numbers, and has used Caroline as a kind of deputy chief executive, sending her on all the trips abroad he didn't want to make himself. Monsaint has operations in Europe and South America, and next on the agenda is China and the Far East, so I have hardly seen Caroline for three days in a row over the last six months, and when I do, she is 'too tired' for the things most married people do. My work is based in London, a commute from where we live in Guildford, and I generally get my clients to come to me because I work in the London courts. I'm just saying it's not me who is away all the time.

When Caroline gets tired she struggles to control her tendency to pick faults with others, i.e. me. I try not to accuse her of nagging, but that is what it is. For years she has complained about me going to football matches (Manchester United - there's no need to feel sorry for me) and having modest wagers, nothing more than a hundred pounds, on the outcome of certain matches and the occasional horse race.

So it's a little ironic, isn't it, that she called me the other day from Italy, where she was meant to be renegotiating Monsaint's bank loans, to say she was staying another few days to learn how to play high-stakes poker from her 'friend' and casino owner, Prince Lippi?

Always Read the Brochure

I didn’t dare risk revealing my ignorance by asking a question. I was still wondering what I had been so honest about in the profile that Caroline must have completed for me. Was it the football or the jealousy? Or did I have a failing of which I was not yet aware?

“No? So let’s start with what matters. How long is it since you last had sex? With each other, I mean.”

Caroline stared straight ahead. “I think it was when we were on holiday in the Caribbean. Last October.”

“Is that your recollection, Robert?”

I looked at Caroline. “What about that time in December you came home drunk from the Monsaint Christmas party?”

“If you say we did, then we did. But it’s not proper sex if I don’t remember it, is it?”

“Let’s not worry about details,” said Valerie. “It’s clear from what both of you are saying that your sexual relationship has ground to a halt. You’ve both been very brave to admit that by coming here. Can you tell me, one at a time, why you think that has happened? Caroline first.”

“I think… Of course we’re both very busy at work and the opportunities have been limited.”

“Go on.”

“I think Robert’s gone off me. He’s more interested in Manchester United. He keeps making hurtful comments about my appearance, my weight.”

“What comments?” I said, but got no further. Valerie told me to wait my turn.

“Go on, Caroline.”

“Robert makes no allowance for the pressures of my job. He thinks I swan off abroad for the fun of it when actually I’m working really, really hard. He expects me to jump into bed the minute I get back home but I need time to relax first.”

Valerie nodded. “I understand. Now you, Robert. How do you explain the recent lack of sex in your relationship with Caroline?”

I looked at Caroline and wondered if I dared tell the truth, that I was wracked by a crippling jealousy, the image of Caroline in the arms of another man. The lack of opportunity was a smokescreen; it hadn’t stopped us in the first few years of our marriage. I had no idea which comments about Caroline’s appearance she had misunderstood. I thought she was drop-dead gorgeous. The trouble was, so did certain other men in her life.

“I can’t explain it.” Well, I couldn’t. I couldn’t explain how she had allowed herself to be seduced by an old boyfriend. Not just seduced, but painted naked in loving detail for the whole world to see. How she brushed off my concerns as me being old-fashioned, and how even now she went all misty-eyed when recalling those evenings in his studio in Whitechapel. Valerie fixed me with her sympathetic smile and told me not to worry; that most men find it hard to talk about their difficulties in the bedroom.

“No, you misunderstand. I don’t have difficulties in the bedroom, I…”

“Yes?”

“I mean, everything works all right. It’s just that Caroline’s mind seems to be somewhere else. She doesn’t seem interested.”

“I see. Thank you, Robert. Thank you Caroline. I know this isn’t easy. But as you know from the literature, we don’t focus too much on analysing the past. The most important thing is the present and the future. And we know from our research that the key is to re-establish physical intimacy, starting from today. But not with each other. First we must rule out any physical, organic or behavioural problems. Are you happy to proceed with the session?” Caroline nodded. I wished, not for the first time, that I’d read the brochure, but I nodded assent.

77 Days

77 days until the World Cup starts and I'm worried about Caroline getting the tickets. That's a normal thing, isn't it, to worry about your partner? Especially when she does something she has previously nagged me relentlessly for. If your partner does something out of character it makes you think they are changing. Oh my God, what if Caroline changes into someone different? What if the new Caroline is someone I don't like? Or worse, what if she turns into someone who doesn't like me?

I was in the pub, after work on Tuesday waiting for the football to come on, with a friend called Danny. We spent the first drink talking about the problems at Manchester United, and the second drink discussing the merits of different football managers, having a huge laugh at the horrible idea of Arsene Wenger as the manager of United. This led to a list of other unsuitable managers for the greatest club on Earth, and we came to the conclusion that it might as well be David Moyes because everyone else is either too inexperienced for a big club, closely associated with an enemy, or already exposed as lacking sufficient vision.

Out of the blue, Danny asked me a personal question. "How is Caroline?"
Of course I was suspicious. "She's fine, thanks."
He persisted. "Does she like Italy?"
A couple of weeks ago I had mentioned, before a European game I think it was, that Caroline was going on one of her work trips, starting in Milan; and that she might be able to get tickets for the World Cup in Brazil because she was meeting up with Bertrand Cottoneau, that guy who used to play for France and is now a top bureaucrat in the European Football Federation. I know Danny was interested in the World Cup tickets, not in Caroline's welfare, but I actually responded to his personal question with a personal answer.

"Good question. I have only heard from her once. I think she might be hiding something from me."
"Yes," said Danny, "but did she say she has met Cottoneau? Can she still get free tickets for the final?"

I took a sip of my drink. "She says she can, but there's no free lunches, are there? I'm worried what she's having to do to get them. Bertrand has some dodgy friends. She met up with him at a lingerie fashion show, and now she says she is going to a casino in Trieste. Caroline in a casino! I mean, the grief I get from her when I bet on the football. She thinks gambling is a stupid waste of money."

He told me not to worry because in business you have to pretend you like people you can't stand. And in any case, if she got tickets for the final, whatever she did was worth it. Can you tell Danny isn't married?

Is Caroline an extravert?

Caroline, Antonia and the other high-flyers had some tests done to see how well suited they were for the upper reaches of the business pyramid.

Melody gave them a schedule of questions to answer and discuss in pairs. She explained there were no wrong answers, but action-orientated extraverts who liked the big picture were in pole position. Antonia, Head of PR and Social Media, whizzed through the questions and the scores confirmed she was indeed in pole position.

Caroline, numbers girl, cautious, thoughtful, and attentive to detail, struggled to find answers in the tick boxes which fitted her complex feelings in social situations. But she was smart enough to know what Melody was looking for and ticked accordingly, resolving to develop her extravert qualities in the quest for promotion. She knew from experience that it only took a couple of glasses of wine for the inner accountant to take a back seat.

When she finally came home she wanted to try out the tests on me. Initially, I refused.
'Go on, Robert. It really works. I learnt something about myself.'
'Lawyers don't do tests,' I explained, 'only exams. Lots of them. What did you learn about yourself?'
'I learnt that I had been supressing my wish to speak out and propose action because I was worried what people would think. Leaders need to be decisive, not get bogged down in weighing up the evidence like you do.'
'So I don't need to do the test, do I? You've decided I'm an introvert.'
'Well, you don't speak much at parties and you prefer to write things down. Extraverts prefer to speak, introverts prefer to write - recognise anyone, Robert?'
'That's women and men, not extraverts and introverts. I'm a lawyer; we do write things down, otherwise it's not evidence.'

I did the test under protest. Caroline watched me, sipping a glass of extraversion. When she saw me sucking the end of the biro, she said:
'You're not supposed to think. Just tick the one that feels most natural.'
'But it depends on the situation, who I'm with.'
When I'd finished, I came out borderline, saved from outright introversion by my wide circle of friends: Antonia, (Caroline's friend, strictly speaking); Rampant Jessica (a work colleague); and 80,000 other Manchester United supporters.

I'm still not sure about Caroline. Is she an extravert? If you have read Shameless Ambition and have an opinion, please let me know.

Uncertain identity

Robert Fanshaw is not my real name. Probably. If you stick with my blog for a while you'll see why I would want to create some doubt.

My wife, however, really is called Caroline. She appears in the title of my blog because she leads a more interesting life than I do.

I am a junior barrister, as Forbes-Brown reminds me. Forbes-Brown is a partner in the commercial law firm that bungs work our way when petty squabbles work their way up to the higher courts. His office is museum of 1980s technology. Everything is still done on paper and his secretary prints out his emails and leaves them in a neat pile on his desk. My work is dull stuff, but if anything interesting happens with the ageing rock group that can't agree about royalties I will tell you. Or that American firm that bought a chocolate company and found it came with a load of bolshie old age pensioners in almshouses.

Caroline keeps asking when will I earn some serious money like everyone else in the legal profession. Her job is more interesting. She's a high-flyer with a dynamic corporate outfit which I will call Monsaint Medical Instruments (MMI). Caroline and half a dozen young colleagues have been identified as the potential next generation leaders in Monsaint. They are being given leadership training and special projects to play with. I've met some of her colleagues: they're a nice enough bunch, if you can stand the relentless positive attitude.

Fortunately life is not just work. Life is also football. I am one of the derided prawn sandwich eating Manchester United fans who clog up Virgin first class and the northbound M6 on alternate weekends. Caroline, a modern woman in many ways, does not understand football, but she did go White Hart Lane recently with the American boss of MMI. He and his ex-pat pals are Clint Dempsey fans. More on that in a later post. It's been a good season at Old Trafford but there have been too many anxious half-times.

Do men understand women better or worse than women understand football? In the course of time I hope my blog, and your comments, shed some light on this question.