Chapter One

      IT WAS a lovely early June day. After a miserably cold spring, a cloudless blue sky hailed the start of summer in the city.

      The dust and heat and the oppressive air that trapped and held the exhaust fumes hadn’t yet built up. Instead, a light balmy breeze played hide and seek, fluttering flags and awnings, and giving London the air of being en fête.

      In spite of the financial problems that at present beset JB Electronics, the bright sunshine lifted Perdita Boyd’s spirits and put a spring in her step as she walked along Piccadilly.

      Tall and slender, with a natural grace of movement, even in a business suit, her hair in a no-nonsense coil, she turned male heads.

      Considering herself to be somewhat nondescript, with eyes of palest turquoise and hair the bleached gold of ripe corn, she would have been surprised had she known what an impact she made.

      Even the elderly, and somewhat crusty, bank manager she had been to see earlier that morning, whilst refusing to give JB Electronics a loan, had smiled at her and sighed for his lost youth.

      After leaving the bank, attempting to gather herself and regain some shred of optimism, she had called in at the nursing home where her father was recovering from recent heart surgery.

      John Boyd had been sitting by the long windows that looked out over the well-kept grounds.

      He was a tall, nice-looking man of just turned fifty five, with a good head of thick grey-blond hair and a slight gap between his top middle two front teeth that gave him a boyish appearance.

      As she’d crossed the room to kiss him, he had queried, ‘No luck, I take it?’

      Sitting down opposite, she shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. While the bank manager was sympathetic, he was also adamant that they could offer neither a loan nor a bigger overdraft.’

      John sighed. ‘Well, as the Silicon Valley set-up is in an even bigger mess than we are, that means we’ve no alternative but to negotiate with Salingers.’

      ‘It won’t be easy. They’re a tough lot. They have us over a barrel and they know it.

      ‘Even so, we can’t afford to let them have the controlling interest if we can possibly help it. We need to keep it down to no more than forty-five per cent of the shares.’

      ‘I’ll do my best.’

      ‘Go up to fifty per cent if you have to. When are you going to see them?’

      ‘I’m going to their Baker Street offices first thing tomorrow morning.’

      ‘That’s good, we’ve no time to spare. Who will you be seeing?’

      ‘I’ve an appointment to see a Mr Calhoun, one of their top men.’

      ‘Yes,