Twisted Love and Money (12 page)

“I’m a whore,”
he contradicted, “I can make millions on this deal. You are in for
a half a million. Associated Foods get a good acquisition. Everyone
is a whore.”

“I decide who I
sleep with.”

Crawford
smiled, happy with her response, he did not want her to be a whore.
He wanted her to sleep with him, not every man.

“O.K. Janet,
you decide,” he said and he knew she knew she was to decide about
their relationship. But Janet seemed to ignore his remark.

“What you are
really saying Leo, is that I have to keep this guy Peter spilling
the beans.”

“Right.”

“Why don’t I
target the real boss Michael O’Byrne?”

Crawford
considered.

“Michael
O’Byrne built the business. He will not want to sell. His son is
the weak link. You have to work it Janet.”

“Work it?”

“Get an affair
going with him. When we put the pressure on they will have board
meetings and so on to discuss the crisis. It will help us greatly
if we can know how they are reacting as we go along. In the end and
inside track can be crucial to winning.”

“You are a
bastard, Leo Crawford.”

“A rich,
successful bastard,” Crawford laughed.

“You can rely
on me,” Janet said confidently,” but I decide what I want to do
with my body.”

“If I said it
was beautiful would you hold it against me?”

“Corny.”

“Come on Janet,
you know we can work together on this one.”

“I think it is
time you went to your bed Leo. Do you want me to see you to your
hotel?”

“No thanks.
It’s just across the street, but I had a fancy I might stay here
tonight Janet?”

“No Leo.” Her
voice was warm, fond, embracing him, but firmly refusing.

“All
right.”

He stood up and
then leaned to kiss her. She drew back, but offered a cheek for a
peck.

“Goodnight,”
she said in amused tones.

“I will be in
touch,” he countered businesslike. “I will let you know when I am
coming over again. I have to go to Venezuela the day after
tomorrow. Blasted currency over there! As a group we are not used
to coping in the inflation climate in South America.”

“Take care
Leo.”

When he was
gone Janet leaned with her back against the door. ‘Phew’ she
sighed. Then she began to clean up. Janet was excited. At least she
was in there making things happen. She was confident she would be
able to handle Crawford. He did seem sure enough of his touch with
women, and had patience. She could use this to stall him. Also, she
guessed he had a stable home life and would not put it seriously at
risk. That was his weakness. What was his expression? Yes, she
would have to work it.

Crawford let
himself out of the building. It was dark and a light rain was
falling. He decided to walk rather than seek a taxi. It was just a
matter of minutes to the Hotel. He turned his jacket coat up
against the rain, stuck his hands in his pockets and set out.

He too was
happy with progress. All good deals took time and patience, and he
hated it when it was too easy.

Chapter
thirteen

“We’ll meet
this guy Jeremy in Larry Murphy’s tonight. O.K.? It’s your job to
sell him the design and explain the profit margins.”

“
Where does the money man, this guy Jeremy come into
things?”

“If Jeremy
comes in he provides the working capital. We provide the site, the
design, the sales team, the lot. But without the upfront money we
can’t start. When we get Jeremy in our exposure with the bank is
minimized. Mr. Moneybags gets us up and running.”
“Who is this Jeremy, where does he come from?”

“Paul, where he
comes from doesn’t matter. What matters is what he brings.”

“Just curious
Clifford, that’s all. I like to know whom I am doing business
with.”

“He’s London
Irish. He’s seems bright. But he has cunning. Jeremy went into
retail. Apparently he teamed up with some English queer who is good
in design, had a flair, if you know what I mean. They own a chain
of Fashion shops in London and the south east of England. Big on
the high streets I understand. And they are big in France and
America.”

“Not Jeremy and
David?”

“You got it.
He’s here to open a big shop in Grafton Street.”

“And will put
up the cash?”

“Our site is
ideal and he is interested in the penthouse when it is built. If
Jeremy comes on board we can start the work in a month.”

“A month? No
problem. I’ll be able to clear the planning formalities. Things are
well advanced. But Cliff, how can we be sure that Jeremy will put
the money up front?”

“Don’t you
worry Paul. Leave that bit to me. You just keep him sweet when we
meet him tonight.”

“Is he a queer?
I’m not going to sleep with him.”

“Jesus, relax
will you. Nobody is going to ask you to do that. Anyway I think he
is straight. He mentioned a girl. Dorothy was her name. Big, but
big in the interesting places, he said.” Clifford laughed as he
spoke and continued, “He said she might be along tonight.”

Paul pushed
through the doors to Larry Murphy’s pub. The ground floor bars were
packed with the after work, office type of drinkers. No sign of
Clifford and party. Paul went downstairs. Downstairs was less
crowded. He spotted Clifford in a group to the right.

“Evening all,”
Paul called cheerfully. “I can see that there was no late work done
in the offices of Dublin Construction this evening.”

“Oh but great
discussions here,” Brian the quantity surveyor joked.

“Let me
introduce you to Jeremy O’Neill,” Clifford interjected. “Jeremy,
this Paul our Architect.”

“How do.”

Jeremy shook
his hand, “What are you drinking Paul?” he added. Jeremy spoke in a
London accent, but not cockney, more refined, the accent of an
Irishman with a considerable number of years in London, who has
taken on some local inflections.

“Glass of
Guinness please,” Paul asked.

“Sure you won’t
try a drop of the hard stuff?”

“No thanks. I’m
a beer man.”

“Then have a
pint.”

“Well, all
right” Paul conceded. “To be sociable.”

“Another
round,” Jeremy addressed to the barman.

Paul was not
sure why he was surprised at Jeremy’s relative youth. Jeremy was
short, overweight with wide round shoulders, an endomorphic build.
He looked as if a run for a train or bus would wind him. He was
dressed in a casual jacket, open neck shirt and fashionable
jeans.

“Cheers,” Paul
said, sipping his pint.

Brian was in
full flight. It was obvious that the group were a few drinks ahead
of Paul.

“What’s soft,
yellow and goes round and round?” Brian asked Jeremy.

“What?”

“A long playing
omelette.”

Jeremy laughed
and Paul suppressed a groan. Brian’s sense of humour was dreadful.
If Jeremy liked his jokes Brian would go on all night.

“What’s big,
grey and mutters?” Jeremy asked as a response.

“What?” Brian
smiled, sucked into the coming joke.

“A mumbo
jumbo.”

Brian guffawed
and the other two laughed along politely.

Paul took a
second slug of his pint and began a side chat with Clifford about
the Northside development. He made it sound dynamic and he could
sense that Jeremy was half listening while still swapping inanities
with Brian.

Brian caught
Clifford’s eye.

“Have to go
folks,” Brian said cheerfully. “I’m taking the wife to a show
tonight. I’m going to be late, have to meet her outside the Abbey
Theatre. See ye’s again.”

And he was gone
leaving the three of them. Clifford nodded to the barman for
another round. Jeremy’s glass was empty again.

“
Clifford tells me you have a number of awards for design?”
Jeremy asked Paul.

“Yes, if you
come to my office you will see them on the wall.”

“Might drop
into you tomorrow to see the model. Cliff tells me you have a model
of the development in your office.”

“That’s right,
a full model in wood, made exactly to scale.”

“For a
non-technical man that would be a better way for me to see what’s
proposed. What do you say I call at ten tomorrow morning?”

“Fine, let me
give you my card.”

Paul felt a
little unsure; obviously Jeremy did not want a heavy conversation
at the bar.

Jeremy felt
heavy almost desperate. He was regretting having set up the
meeting. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. And then the
Architect turns out to be called Paul. As if he needed reminding,
it was David’s surname. Forget Paul he said to himself, meaning
David Paul his lover, and he took another slug of his drink.

It was a long
time since he had got drunk but he was well on the way tonight. He
threw himself back into the conversation.

Tonight he was
going to get drunk with strangers and forget.

His involvement
with Dorothy was upsetting his balance. His gay existence was
shattered. He felt angry with himself and with the world. He wanted
to be elsewhere. Not talking to this Paul. He wanted to be alone.
He sighed and ordered another round. He really wanted Dorothy to
turn up. In the meantime he would concentrate on anaesthetizing
himself with drink.

At eight Paul
noticed a heavyset bosomed woman arrive. She was average height,
heavy but with a well proportioned substantial figure. To his
surprise she singled them out and came in their direction.

“Jeremy,” she
exclaimed.

“Dorothy,” he
cried, opening his arms and smiling. As she approached he took her
hand and kissed it.

“Meet Clifford
and this is Paul. We are all partners in a business deal. My
architect George introduced us.”

“How do you
do,” Dorothy said, smiling and sizing each of them up in turn.

Her substantial
figure was encased in a tweed skirt and a blouse and she wore a
stylish leather jacket for warmth. Paul stood up and let her have a
seat. “Drink?” he offered.

“
You presume correctly my dear.”

“Let’s have
another round,” Paul said and called to the barman. After this one,
he said to himself, I’ll call a halt.

“Leave me out,
I have to run. See you tomorrow Jeremy,” Clifford said, much to
Paul’s surprise.

“Paul,”
Clifford added, “ You take Jeremy and Dorothy for a bite to eat.
Get to know Jeremy. You will see a lot of him on this project.”

And with smiles
and a wave Clifford was gone. There was an awkward moment of
silence.

“You are an
Architect, is that right Paul?” Dorothy asked.

Dorothy had
sensed the awkwardness and to break the tension she started to ask
Paul questions about himself and his family. The conversation
flowed. Although Paul responded to Dorothy he was carefully
pointing his remarks towards Jeremy. Making sure Jeremy appreciated
his track record as an Architect.

“Another
round?” Jeremy interjected.

“Same again,”
Dorothy replied. Dorothy too was playing it by ear. She could see
Jeremy was distressed in some way, not the cheerful social being
he’d been on the previous occasions they’d met. She wondered was he
concerned she would let slip his confession to being gay. She
decided to go with the flow and see where things ended up.

“Not for me.
I’ve drunk two pints and I have two in a queue on the bar,” Paul
said with a laugh.

Jeremy scowled.
“Boring,” he said.

Dorothy
laughed, “Don’t mind him Paul, It would appear that Jeremy gets a
little aggressive when he gets drunk. Don’t you sweetheart?”

“Get knotted,”
Jeremy said, but not aggressively.

“Do you two
know each other a long time? “ Paul asked trying to be normal and
maintain the peace.

“Jeremy is just
a good friend. Aren’t you dearest?”

Jeremy squared
his shoulders and grinned in drunken acknowledgement.

“It’s so
shagging boring.” he said, “I don’t want to hear you two talk about
Paul’s family and the pet dog. Let’s get out of here.”

Jeremy stood up
and swallowed his drink and made for the door. He was reasonably
steady considering the amount of drink he had. Dorothy and Paul
were obliged to abandon their drinks and follow Jeremy, or else
lose him.

“You shit.”
Dorothy said grabbing his arm at the top of the stairs, “Don’t you
dare walk away from me.”

“Sorry.” Jeremy
did not look contrite, “I was pissed off,” he added.

“Let’s go and
get a bite to eat,” Paul suggested when they got outside.

“Yeah let’s,”
said Jeremy, again walking off, this time down towards Fitzwilliam
Square. He grabbed Dorothy and linked her. “Don’t say I forgot you
this time.”

Dorothy grabbed
Paul’s arm and linked him so that the three of them walked down the
road together, arms linked in a row. Paul sensed that Dorothy did
not want to be seen in public being escorted by Jeremy, who was
short, fat and drunk.

Chapter
fourteen

Fitzwilliam
Square was busy enough. Two black prostitutes stood on one
corner.

“Where do the
blacks come from?” Jeremy asked, curious not racial.

“England I
expect,” Paul replied, “I believe they come over for a short spell
and then are replaced.”

Jeremy
aggressively asked Dorothy. “Would you like to be one?”

“Piss off.” was
the spirited reply.

“What would you
do for fifty?” Jeremy persisted, a lewd grin on his face as he
enjoyed Paul’s embarrassment at the topic and Dorothy’s rising
anger at his nerve.

“F’ you!”
Dorothy said angrily, letting go of Jeremy’s arm.

“Done,” said
Jeremy, producing his wallet and producing five ten-pound sterling
notes.