A Perfect Heritage (4 page)

‘Yes,’ said Athina, ‘I am. Without us there will be no House of Farrell for Mrs Bailey to, er, develop.’

Walter Pemberton cleared his throat; it was clear this was the moment he had been waiting for. ‘Our position on majority shareholding is non-negotiable. Absolutely non-negotiable.’

Bianca sat in silence as the negotiations went on, enjoying the rhythm, the exchanges of power, realising which victories were important, which window dressing, waiting for the kill. It was half past eight now and she marvelled at Lady Farrell, who appeared as fresh and as razor-brained as she had been seven hours earlier. Caro too had stayed the course, although she had contributed little; Florence had remained alert, but said even less. Bertie was clearly, within the family, the least important member: never consulted, his mildest opinion brusquely swept away by Lady Farrell. But she noticed something else too; a couple of arguments, one on the location of the factory, another on the advisability or otherwise of relocating the offices, were shrewd. He was undervalued, she realised, not to be written off lightly.

‘Right,’ said Mike Russell, after a lengthy discussion and a part-victory over company reconstruction, ‘I think we’re getting somewhere. But we do still have to solve this problem of the shareholdings. Lady Farrell – you’re still adamant?’

‘Absolutely. This is our company, and our company it will remain.’

‘Perhaps you would excuse us for a moment,’ said Mike. ‘Hugh . . .’

They left the room and Bianca, left with the Farrells, smiled at them.

‘Lovely room,’ she said, looking round at the tall windows, the shutters, the fine Edwardian fireplace, the polished floor. ‘I wish all boardrooms were as pleasant.’

‘We pride ourselves on our buildings,’ said Athina. ‘My husband set up the House of Farrell in this very room. I don’t suppose you’ve been to our shop in the Berkeley Arcade. That too is very special.’

‘I have indeed been,’ said Bianca, ‘but only to look in from the outside. It’s lovely. Quite charming.’

‘And it has a value to the brand that is inestimable,’ said Athina, ‘in terms of image, and customer loyalty. A journalist once wrote in
Vogue
that it was the heartbeat of Farrell’s. I wonder if you would agree with that?’ Her tone was defensive.

‘Lady Farrell, it would be impertinent of me either to agree or disagree,’ said Bianca, smiling at her. ‘I simply don’t know enough of Farrell’s at this stage to comment in any detail on anything. But I thought it was a delightful place.’ She smiled at Florence. ‘I believe it is your headquarters. How nice that must be for you.’

‘It is indeed.’

Mike and Hugh returned.

‘Right,’ said Mike, ‘this is what we propose in broad outline and by way of a compromise. You will keep your fifty-one per cent of the shares, we will take forty per cent and Bianca and the new finance director we will be appointing will have nine per cent between them.’

‘Mrs Bailey will have shares in the company?’ Lady Farrell’s tone implied this was tantamount to handing over the entire control of the British government to the Monster Raving Loony party. ‘Why on earth should she be given shares? I understood she was to be an employee.’

‘Lady Farrell, I do assure you there would be no question of Bianca coming on board at all without her having shares. That is always one of the bases of these deals.’

‘But – why?’

‘Because she is ultimately the person who will be responsible for making the company profitable once more. Saving it, indeed. I do not use that word lightly. No salary could reflect the contribution she will be making, nor indeed the risk involved.’

‘Well, I’m not sure that we could agree to that. Allowing you a share is reasonable, of course. And I suppose the finance director, who I presume would be part of your team. A reflection of the investment you are making. But . . .’ her green eyes flashed briefly in Bianca’s direction ‘. . . how can that apply to – to
her
?’

If Bianca had never been so utterly disparaged in her entire professional life, no one observing her would have suspected it. She leaned forward, smiled briefly at Athina, and said, her voice sweetly earnest, ‘Lady Farrell, if we can reach a position today where I am to be appointed the chief executive of this company, my investment in it will be one hundred per cent, in terms of time, commitment, passion, and every skill I possess. My reputation will be on the line every bit as much as Farrell’s own. I believe in the company absolutely and I know it has a future, or I wouldn’t be here, I do assure you. I think that together we can take it forward and make it very successful once more. But – it has to be together. I need your commitment to me as much as you need mine to you. So – I need to be a part of the company, not just an employee. Does that help at all?’

There was a short, intense silence, then,

‘Very well,’ Lady Farrell said, ‘we will agree to that. Providing the rest of what you offer is satisfactory, of course.’

Mike nodded. ‘Let’s hope it is. In return we will put the money in by way of a loan note, and shares, and if the company underperforms the loan note gets repaid first and the remaining value is for the shareholders. We would charge interest on that loan note, at fifteen per cent, but it means you keep your share and if you believe in the House of Farrell and its ability to survive, you will be prepared to take that risk. Release a bigger share, and you get a lower loan rate. Simple as that.’

There was a silence.

‘Clearly,’ Athina said finally, ‘we must discuss it further, particularly with our lawyers, but I think perhaps we have something to build on. Meanwhile it’s late and we’re all tired. We will get back to you on Monday. Thank you. I will have your coats brought in.’

And she rose and swept out, followed by her entourage, Walter Pemberton smiling graciously at Mike as they passed.

‘Well done everyone,’ said Mike with a weary grin as the door closed behind them. ‘Nearly there. I was a little nervous that their lawyers might put a spanner in the works at the last minute.’

‘I don’t think Pemberton and Rushworth know about anything as useful as spanners,’ said Hugh.

‘It’s a very clever deal,’ said Bianca. ‘Well done us.’

‘I think so too,’ said Mike modestly.

‘And we gained some very good ground. That salary thing, they swallowed that.’

‘Yes, I thought the lawyers might spot the flaw there, but—’

‘Nah,’ said Hugh, ‘too busy admiring their own negotiating skills.’

‘Fascinating, isn’t it,’ said Bianca, ‘how vanity obscures common sense? They have no idea even now what a mess they’re in. Just so busy hanging on to the past and its successes. The only one who seemed to have the slightest grasp of reality was Bertie. Funny, he seemed such an idiot at first.’

Chapter 3

Bianca burst into noisy tears.

This always happened. Patrick smiled at her tenderly, pushed her tangled hair back, and held her close. Soon she would stop and move into the absolute calm and sweetness that sex led her to, hunger satisfied, desire stilled, pleasure absolutely achieved.

She felt it now, the calm, reached for it, settled into it with a soft, appreciative sigh.

‘Thank you,’ she said as she always did. And, ‘My pleasure,’ he said as he always did.

She was quiet for a while, enjoying the warmth, the smell, the feel of him, contemplating what they had just shared and discovered and achieved. It surprised her, every time, the height, the intensity of it; that after so many years and such complete familiarity and knowledge of one another, it should be so fierce and so different. It was a source of great joy to her that it was so; of course, there had been times, after babies, during crises both domestic and professional, that it had been just a little less of a delight, indeed not a delight at all; but the crises had passed, the babies had grown and slept, and they had been able to return to this extraordinary thing, so vital and so precious to their marriage.

It surprised her when it happened, often at times when she would least have expected it, when she was exhausted or stressed, or even, indeed, after a day of quite mundane domesticity. She would look at Patrick and he at her, and they would acknowledge without a word what lay ahead, sometimes in minutes, sometimes many hours later, but they would know it was there, waiting for them, and enjoy the contemplation as much as the reality.

People – well, many people – thought Bianca must be the dominant one in their relationship, given her position in the world, her glossy public success, but it was not so, and Patrick was not dominant either: they were rather wonderfully equal. They discussed, they argued, they compromised; moreover, they respected and enjoyed one another and their entirely complementary roles within the family. It was, she knew, or might sound so to the cynical, rather too good to be true.

She raised her head a little now, looked at him, smiled.

‘Want to talk?’

After sex they were both energised rather than tranquillised and moved into a state of emotional and intellectual closeness, discussing problems, sharing dilemmas, debating issues in a way that their standard days did not allow.

Bianca knew this was unusual; indeed, as far as she could gather, almost unheard of. She only knew that of all the unexpected blessings in their marriage, it was perhaps the greatest.

‘Well actually,’ said Patrick, ‘yes, I rather do . . .’

Bianca now found herself seriously frustrated. PDN had decided she should go on gardening leave with immediate effect, while the Farrells, or rather Athina and Caro, had refused to agree to her joining the company until the deal was signed and sealed. They were not prepared to have her installed as CEO under, as Athina put it, false pretences.

‘They’re so bloody arrogant,’ she said, storming into Mike Russell’s office one morning after a fruitless attempt to persuade Caro to at least let her look at the consultants’ sales figures. ‘What do they think I’m going to do, sell their secrets to Lauder?’

‘Probably,’ said Mike. ‘I’m sorry, Bianca, but hang on; won’t be long now.’

‘Let’s go on that half-term skiing holiday after all,’ Bianca said to Patrick that night. ‘I’ve got nothing to do until the wretched Farrells deign to play ball, and it would be a distraction as well as fun.’

‘Oh . . . right.’ Patrick looked at her, almost sharply. ‘You do realise I said we wouldn’t be going? I’m pretty busy myself now, cancelled the time off, and the Rentons have probably filled our space in the chalet?’

‘Darling, don’t be awkward. You know you can always get time off,’ said Bianca, ‘you only have to tell them. It’s only a week, and if the children are kicking their heels at home over half-term and I’m kicking mine with them, we’ll all go mad. I’ll have a word with Patsy, see if there’s still room for us.’

Patsy Renton, who knew it would do her school gate cred no end of good if she announced the Baileys were going to join them in the chalet in Verbier, said she would see what she could do, while mentally already moving three sets of children into two rooms, and rang Bianca later that day to say that would be fine and they’d love to have them. ‘Just the flight to sort,’ she said.

‘I’ll get Patrick on to it,’ said Bianca. ‘Wonderful, Patsy, I’m thrilled.’

And settled as contentedly as she could into some extra sessions with her personal trainer preparing herself physically for the trip – there was no way she was going to find herself anything but as good as the other female skiers in the party – and spent a dizzily expensive morning at Snow and Rock, equipping them all with new skiwear. She was a lucky woman, she thought, able as she was to bestride the best of both her worlds, her family and her career.

‘Cool,’ said Milly, surveying her loot later.

‘Really cool,’ said Fergie.

‘I hope I’ll be better this time,’ said Ruby, her voice showing just a slight lack of conviction. She had spent much of the previous skiing holiday falling over.

‘Of course you will be,’ said Milly. ‘It was only because that instructor was such rubbish last time. I’ll help you lots, promise.’

‘I’m just going to do snowboarding,’ said Fergie. ‘Skiing’s no fun. Can you get me a board, Mum?’

‘I already did,’ said Bianca.

‘You’re the
best
!’ said Fergie.

‘I know,’ said Bianca modestly.

Patrick had actually had some trouble persuading the other two partners that the huge audit he was supposed to complete within the next seven days could wait until the week after that. And it had meant postponing his meeting with his friend Jonjo Bartlett which he’d been rather looking forward to. But Bianca did holidays like she did everything else – one hundred per cent. She was the best companion, joyfully energetic, full of ideas, up early, urging them all out of bed to go and see or do something before the day proper began, bringing an extra dimension to everywhere they went. And it would be great to have a real family holiday. The last one, sailing off the Turkish coast the previous summer, had been interrupted when Bianca had to fly home halfway through.

It was Bertie who first heard the bad news: Bertie, white with apprehension, who was forced into being the messenger, therefore, and thus placing himself in the firing line – being too decent to insist on that role going to the people actually responsible, Bernard Whittle and Sons, the firm of accountants employed by Farrell’s ever since Cornelius and Athina had founded the firm.

It turned out that someone had totally failed to declare the income from The Shop for the last three years – and with interest and VAT a million and a half was owed.

‘Well, of course it’s absolutely ridiculous,’ said Athina. ‘But it’s not our fault, except possibly yours, Bertie.’

‘Why me?’ asked Bertie, quite mildly. ‘I don’t do the accounts.’

‘As financial director,’ said Athina, ‘it’s the sort of thing that surely comes under your watch? Although I’m surprised at Bernard Whittle, I have to say. We shall have to tell those people, I suppose,’ – she continued to refer to Porter Bingham as those people – ‘because it’s not the sort of money we can get out of petty cash, and another million won’t mean anything to them, surely? You’d better get on to them today. Just ring them up and tell them – I’m sure they won’t mind.’

‘I think it would be better, Mother, if you did it,’ said Bertie, ‘or at least we should see them together. This isn’t petty cash. It’s quite major. I think we owe them the courtesy of a formal representation.’

‘I see,’ said Mike Russell, struggling to remain calm in the face of Lady Farrell’s blithe assumption that a demand for a further one and a half million was a minor matter set against the overall sum they were investing in Farrell’s, as she put it.

‘Lady Farrell, we’re talking quite serious money here. And a considerable incompetency on the part of your accountants. Frankly, I’m appalled. We shall have to go back to our board. Every deal has to be approved and I had trouble getting this one past them. I might have to ask you to find the extra money yourselves.’

‘Well, that’s ridiculous!
We
can’t lay our hands on that sort of sum.’

‘Perhaps one of you could sell your own property? You’re all living in very expensive places, and—’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Athina, looking slightly unnerved. ‘Although, Bertie, your house is far too large for you and Priscilla’s been talking about moving back into London for years. We might consider that.’

Bertie was silent.

‘Well . . .’ Mike stood up, walked over to the window, looked out, ‘this has rather rocked my faith in the accuracy of any information you can provide. We are struggling to do our financial due diligence, and this sort of thing makes a bit of a mockery of it. As you know we are going to appoint our own accountants to work with Farrell’s in future, and they are commencing their audit next week – I dread to think what else they might find. And I’m still not sure this isn’t the sticking point on this deal. So it might be that we have to take a charge on the family properties, just as a gesture of good faith on your part. Mrs Johnson, I know, has a house in Hampstead. Mr Farrell, where is your property?’

‘In – in Surrey,’ said Bertie, ‘in, er, Esher.’

‘Very nice. And I presume there’s no mortgage on it?’

‘No.’

Bertie looked at his hands, clenched as they so often were, Mike had observed.

‘Well, we might go down that route,’ he said, ‘or – and I would frankly prefer this, I want Bianca to have access to any information she might need with immediate effect. It is clearly crucial. She needs to draw up her own plans for the company and time is of the essence.’

‘I don’t see why there is such a rush,’ said Athina.

‘Well, I’m very surprised at that, Lady Farrell,’ said Mike. ‘We can’t meander along, losing millions a year, hoping for the best. So if we are to continue with this, I want Bianca given your full cooperation from Monday. Otherwise, as I say, I begin to doubt if we can continue. One more disaster like this one and we certainly can’t.’

‘I really can’t see any problem with that,’ said Bertie. ‘In fact, it seems very reasonable to me.’

‘Well, it doesn’t to me,’ said Athina. ‘But I suppose we should discuss it.’

Bianca was packing the children’s cases when Mike rang her.

‘Bianca, you’re on. Or rather, in.’

‘What?’

‘Yes, from Monday. The old girl has graciously agreed you can have access to any information you require. She’s told Lawrence Ford, that excuse for a marketing manager, that he’s to cooperate fully with you, and that you can go round all the stores as well, talking to the consultants. Frankly, it’s a huge relief to me. I’ve never seen goalposts shifted so swiftly and on an almost daily basis. OK?’

‘Well,’ said Bianca, looking rather wildly at the mountains of jackets, helmets and goggles on her bed. ‘I was going to take a week’s skiing—’

‘Oh, what?’ Mike’s voice, normally so easy, sounded suddenly harsher. ‘Bianca, I need you there; time is absolutely crucial, you know that. You can take a holiday later in the year, when it’s all up and running. Don’t let me down.’

‘I – won’t,’ said Bianca and even as she stood there, listening to Fergie telling Patrick, who had just come in from the office, that he’d beaten every other boy in the group at the dry ski slope that morning, she felt the familiar thud of excitement at the prospect of actually getting to grips with the reality of Farrell and its complexities, and yes, being herself rather than some slightly unsatisfactory impostor.

‘I’ll be there,’ she said, ‘of course. Monday morning. Don’t worry. Thanks, Mike.’

And walked out of the room, and into her study, calling to Patrick to follow her.