CHAPTER 7
In Gregg’s, Eddie took his Nokia back and stuffed it back in his pocket.
“He’s calling back,” Isobel said.
“If you want to meet him, you’ll need to be quick,” Eddie said. “He’s flying to Bangkok on Tuesday. I’ll be joining him later.”
“You’re joining him?” She seemed surprised.
“Coincidentally, I have meetings arranged with colleagues from Chulalongkorn University in Bangkok and with the director of one of the national parks.”
“And is that where the krabok trees were illegally felled?”
Eddie nodded but was distracted by the way Isobel dabbed at her mouth with the paper tissue. The technique was so different from his own but, he concluded, a different method was probably essential if your face was covered in make-up. The distraction only lasted a second or two but by then he’d forgotten her question.
“I understand you have a patent pending on a method of oil extraction from krabok wood,” he said.
“I believe so,” she replied trying to keep up. “It’s not something I fully understand but one of our directors, Nick Carstairs, has driven this with Peter Lester. They think it would help to maintain our competitiveness by increasing yields and so on.”
“Is that so? How interesting. Is the patent being applied for in the name of the company or an individual?” It was a trick question because Eddie already knew the answer.
“I’d need to check, Professor but I’m sure...”
Eddie interrupted her. “Krabok nut oil is extracted in at least one distillation plant near Malacca,” he said. “Oil from krabok tree bark has a much smaller percentage of oil but it’s not unknown for it to be used to replace or dilute the purer nut oil.”
“Replace it? Dilute it?”
“The oil, suitably diluted and mixed with other oils, is shipped in cans or drums to processors like Vital.” He paused. “Would you like to know what I think?”
Isobel nodded.
“I think you’re paying for top quality, pure oil.” Eddie looked at her over his half-moons, frowned, the tufts of his grey eyebrows almost meeting in the middle of his forehead. “And then there are the other oils you use – coconut oil, palm oil, grapeseed oil and so on. I believe they have all been diluted with cheap vegetable oils by your suppliers. How may suppliers do you have? One? Two? More?”
“One, I understand,” Isobel replied vaguely. “They import our raw materials and handle a lot of our exports.”
“A dangerous practice would you not agree?”
She nodded.
“Especially as no-one at Vital properly analyses the imported oils or checks the quality,” Eddie added. “Instead you accept the analysis that comes with the shipment. These are easily forged. During a short tour of your processing plant I managed to take some samples. If we had more, we might show it’s mixed with cheap vegetable oils.”
The grey, unblinking eyes stared at her, testing her. “Some cosmetics companies claim that mixing essential oils with what they call carrier oils helps ‘carry’ the essential oil into the skin, that it improves absorption into dry skin and prevents adverse skin reactions. So-called ‘fractionated coconut oil’ is one. It’s utter nonsense. It’s pseudoscience to cover up a desire to reduce manufacturing costs and increase profits.”
Eddie pounced knowing full well she knew virtually nothing about manufacturing or science. “Take krabok oil for example. Tests in my laboratory showed hardly any resemblance to pure krabok oil. And yet Vital Cosmetics claims that krabok oil is a key ingredient with all sorts of magical properties. The same can probably be said for all the other ingredients you use. Your quality assurance is virtually non-existent.”
Isobel flushed enough for it to show through the make-up. Her black eyelashes fluttered. “But you say we are paying for top quality raw materials.”
“Oh yes. Someone somewhere is taking advantage and making a big profit. I assume your profits are also satisfactory at present but if someone checked your claims of purity and asked questions about how miracle cures and unimaginable improvements to beauty can be provided by using impure and inferior materials, might they not feel a little hard done by?”
“Good gracious.”
Eddie wiped a blob of yellow curry sauce on the table with his finger and licked it off. “Yes,” he said. “If by ‘good gracious’ you are expressing surprise, alarm, dismay, annoyance and exasperation, then I think you’ve chosen very effective words, Baroness. The question is what are you going to do?”
That was when his phone rang again in his pocket. It was Mark Dobson. “Eddie? What’s up?”
“I’m taking luncheon with Baroness Isobel Johnson,” Eddie said, “She’d like a word.”