The Savages Read Free

lamp for inspection. Her mouth and nose were covered by a mask, but the gleam in her eyes made it clear she was elated by her catch. ‘You’re a red meat fan, Mr Savage, am I right?’
    Titus plucked a tissue from the box on the steel-topped trolley beside him.
    â€˜I eat well,’ he said, dabbing at his mouth. ‘Better than most, in fact.’
    The hygienist wiped the scaler on the back of her glove. Titus eyed the shred, which had probably been there for no more than twenty-four hours, and wished he had flossed that morning. He had a meeting to attend in the next ten minutes, only now he risked having to endure a lecture.
    â€˜Can I ask about your brushing routine, Mr Savage?
    â€˜Trust me,’ he said, and balled the tissue in his fist. ‘I appreciate how important it is to do a thorough job.’
    Titus Savage enjoyed a formidable reputation in the City. The investment company he founded many years earlier sought to assist struggling businesses by restructuring them. It was only recently, following the investigation, that the true nature of the operation became clear. Back then, had anyone accused him of ‘predatory working practices’, chances are they would’ve been sued. Titus was a familiar figure in the Square Mile, with his bald dome, penetrating blue eyes and the signature silk scarf which he folded around his neck on leaving the dental surgery. He glanced at his watch next. Satisfied that he was still in time for his meeting, Titus began to walk briskly in the direction of the office, buttoning his coat as he went.
    It was a bright morning, but with so many towering buildings the sun rarely made it to ground level. Unusually, for a man of Russian stock, Titus always felt the chill. He sometimes joked that this was down to the fact he’d never visited the motherland. He certainly looked on the Slavic side, but had been born and raised in England. London was his home, and the city his stalking ground. Titus Savage knew every restaurant, coffee shop and cut-through, which at first explained why he ducked unexpectedly into a back street within yards of the office doors.
    Instead of heading for a side entrance to the building, however, Titus took to the gloom under a fire escape. There, he stood with his back to the wall and explored his freshly cleaned teeth with his tongue.
    Three minutes later, a man in a suit hurried off the main street. He looked nervous, as if far from his natural environment. Seeing Titus Savage step out of the shadows did little for his manner.
    â€˜You’re late,’ said Titus. ‘And I’m busy.’
    â€˜I’m sorry.’ The man raised his palms. Perspiration needled his forehead. He wore rounded glasses that began to steam now he had stopped. ‘This isn’t easy for me, Mr Savage. I’m toast if anyone from the firm knows I’m talking to you.’
    â€˜Your firm is toast if you
don’t
talk to me.’ Titus produced an envelope from the inside pocket of his coat. He offered it to the man, and then tipped it away from his grasp when he reached for it. ‘The memory stick?’ he said, as if to remind him why they had arranged to meet.
    Hurriedly, the man found the stick in his pocket and completed the exchange.
    â€˜It’s all there,’ he assured Titus. ‘The balance sheet for the last quarter and the minutes from this week’s meeting with the bank.’
    â€˜I hear they’re playing hardball.’
    â€˜We’re being hammered,’ the man said. ‘On their terms, we just can’t meet the interest payment.’
    â€˜As I predicted several months ago,’ said Titus. ‘You’ve allowed yourself to become too bloated as a business. It needs carving up if you’re going to survive.’
    â€˜Which is why I want to help you,’ the man cut in. He looked around one more time. ‘I know in your hands the firm is finished in its current form,