Takeover

by Brian Freemantle

  “There’s no need.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “You didn’t.”

  She was still close. He said. “I want to kiss you again.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  He felt out for her this time, conscious of her warmth beneath the silk shirt, and she let herself be pulled against him: her breasts were full against his chest and he stirred with excitement. She didn’t try to move her body away. When they parted, she said, “I didn’t intend coming back to London.”

  “Oh,” he said.

  “Would you like me to?”

  “Yes.”

  There was a lot of glass in the bathroom, giving a multi-faceted reflection of the occupant. Rudd sat with the water to his chest, gazing at himself and trying to rationalize what had happened. So much for never obeying impulse! It was madness, he realized; stark, raving bloody madness. He realized something else, too, something of which he’d been worryingly aware ever since he’d met her. More forcefully than anyone before, Margaret Buckland reminded him of Angela.

  Further along the same corridor as Rudd’s room, Margaret Buckland stood unclothed before her dressing-room mirror, hands held tightly against her breasts as though she was surprised at their nakedness. She squeezed hard, until they hurt, feeling the warmth between her legs. She hadn’t given way to the fantasy yet; not quite. But she thought she was going to. The anticipation trembled through her. She’d have to bath again, before going downstairs.

  18

  Rudd supposed the library was the most convenient place for Buckland to use as a study. It was large, like everything else in the house, books encased from floor to lofty ceiling. Running entirely around the room was an open-railed balcony, reached from either side by spiral wooden steps. There were library ladders on the ground and upper sections, and half-way along, near the circular staircases, reading tables. Hovering over each there were low-slung lights, and there were side lamps as well. At the far end there was a larger study desk, leather inlaid to match the covering of the library step platforms and the reading tables, and an alcove alongside. The furniture there was real leather and button-backed. Buckland guided Rudd towards a table already set with glasses and decanter. Slowly Rudd helped himself to whisky.

  “What’s wrong?” said Buckland.

  “I went riding for the first time. And then took a boat on the lake.”

  Despite the soaking to try to ease the ache, Rudd’s legs and back still hurt from the unaccustomed exercise. The physical discomfort concealed the other he felt for what had happened on the overgrown island.

  “Margaret mentioned it,” said Buckland. “I’m surprised she took you there; we haven’t been to it for years.”

  “She told me.” Rudd expected to feel more embarrassment than he did.

  “Sorry about this afternoon.”

  “Margaret explained,” said Rudd. It should have been him apologizing. Rudd met the man’s eyes. Upstairs in his room he’d only thought about the moral implications of becoming involved with another man’s wife. Here he realized it went beyond that. It wasn’t any affair that mattered. It was the risk he created to the takeover. Never – ever – had Rudd allowed anything to endanger a business consideration. But never, since Angela, had he felt attracted to anyone as he felt attracted to Margaret. He knew what he should do. But not what he was going to do.

  “I thought it was more comfortable to finalize things here, rather than in London,” said Buckland. “My board approved, as I knew they would.”

  “Mine didn’t.” Rudd had planned the delivery for the maximum effect. Buckland had been reaching forward towards the decanter. He stopped, stretched forward, jerking up to the American. “What!”

  “They’re insisting on revisions,” said Rudd.

  Buckland sat back, his glass forgotten. “What sort of revisions?”

  “They’ve imposed a liquidity limit,” said Rudd. “They’re refusing to allocate more than $20,000,000 for a cash purchase.”

  “But that’s not what we agreed,” protested Buckland. “You’ve misled me and through me the board.…”

  Rudd held up his hands. “Please!” he said. “I know what was agreed. Hear me out. Beyond the $20,000,000 they are offering a share exchange, $7,500,000 of Best Rest stock for Buckland House Preferential Issue. Our stock quotation is currently running at twice that of Buckland House.”

  Buckland was sitting quite still, even his hands unmoving as he tried to analyse what Rudd was saying. At the moment they were only juggling with figures: he hadn’t lost anything. “What’s your dividend declaration?” demanded Buckland.

  “It’s not finalized yet for the full year,” said Rudd. “I would expect it to be in the region of eighteen per cent overall.” Like the initial announcement about the revision of terms, Rudd had rehearsed the order in which he intended to spell them out.

  Buckland strained for the equation, using a rough dollar translation. Taking the conversion at £3,400,000 on an eighteen per cent declaration meant Buckland House receiving £612,000 against the £170,000 payable upon their own dividend of five. So if they agreed to the share acceptance, they’d benefit by more than £400,000 a year. Buckland tried to keep any reaction from his face. “Were there any more modifications to what we discussed?” he said.

  Rudd nodded. “The liners would become a separate division of our conglomerate,” he said. “It was decided to invite you to sit upon the board of that division.” Rudd paused and then he said, “To maintain the tradition.”

  Buckland smiled. “That was a very courteous gesture.”

  “But practical,” said Rudd. “None of the other people who are going to form the board have any experience of running ships.”

  Buckland recognized that it would be a peripheral involvement but nevertheless it would mean his being associated with a multinational with outlets more widely spread than his own organization. He bent forward, finally refilling his glass.

  “There’s one more thing,” said Rudd. He decided he hadn’t lost the superiority yet.

  “What?” said Buckland warily.

  “My board insisted that I be offered a seat with Buckland House holding company.”

  Buckland gave no immediate reaction, just stared across the small space that separated the two men. It would be erosion, he thought, just like having the damned merchant banker had been an erosion and even Prince Faysel. Or would it? The merchant bank claimed there was need for hotel management expertise. And who better had it than the chairman of Best Rest, plasticized and nyloned and occupancy-conscious and portioncontrolled maybe. But efficient enough to declare an eighteen per cent dividend from a worldwide operation. There were needs for economy in some parts of the Buckland House organization. Perhaps, through Rudd, they could link up with some of the streamlining – country-to-country reservations on the same computer or bulk food-buying providing the standard was sufficiently high – and achieve those economies themselves. In many ways the proposals were better than those he’d originally presented to the board.

  What was the debit balance? It was not as decisively clear-cut as before. And there would be a loss, an erosion. Practical good sense or not, Buckland House, holders of the awards and the rosettes, the choice of kings and queens, would be linked with Best Rest, holders of every credit card shield, the choice of the package-tripper clerk. But not inextricably linked. Again it had to be an estimate, until he could get the accountants to make the calculation, but $7,500,000 would only accord about a thirteen per cent holding in Preferential shares. And Preferential didn’t control anyway. The Initial issue did. And there was no danger to those.

  Rudd waited patiently, conscious of the other man’s inner debate. At the moment the advantages must still appear to be in favour of Buckland House.

  “This is a considerable departure from our earlier discussions,” said Buckland.

  “Not really,’ argued Rudd. “The purchase price remains unaltered in content, just adaptation.” H
e hesitated, wondering whether to make the point. Deciding to risk it, he said, “And there could be practical advantages: basically we’re in the same business, although at admittedly different levels.”

  “There is no question of an outright cash purchase?” demanded Buckland.

  “Absolutely none,” said Rudd. “Our present offer, in its entirety, is the only one with which I am empowered to proceed. If your board finds it unacceptable, in any part, then I’m afraid our negotiations must end.”

  “That appears to be an ultimatum,” said Buckland.

  “It wasn’t intended as one,” said Rudd. “It was intended to make absolutely clear my terms of reference. I didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding so that you would have to go back again.”

  “You’ve a fresh letter of intent?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll present it,” said Buckland.

  “With a recommendation for acceptance?”

  “I’ll have to consider the new terms in detail before I can give a reply to that,” said Buckland. What would his father have done, he wondered.

  Four of them ate at a small circular table like the one in his Sloane Square house. Buckland, Margaret, Rudd and Lady Buckland. Any atmosphere between Rudd and Margaret was prevented by the old lady, who took immediate command of the conversation and made herself the focal point throughout the meal, searching for acquaintances and friends in America he might know, insisting upon discussing parts of New York and Virginia she’d visited twenty years before and refusing to accept that they had altered so much that he couldn’t possibly know the places she was talking about.

  When the men joined them after dinner and Rudd said he couldn’t play bezique, she looked at him in disbelief.

  “I thought everyone could play bezique!”

  “I’m afraid I can’t.”

  Behind his mother, Buckland raised his eyes apologetically.

  “You’re going to buy our ships, Mr Rudd?” said Lady Buckland.

  “I hope to.”

  “They’re very special.”

  “Which is why I want to buy them.”

  “You’re not going to paint them, are you?”

  Everyone regarded the old lady in surprise. “Paint them?” said Rudd.

  “Garish colours. Can’t stand this American insistence on painting everything like a rainbow.”

  “I don’t think black hulls suit the Caribbean, where I intend to operate,” said Rudd. “I’m considering changing to white. But apart from improved air-conditioning, they will remain exactly as they are now.”

  Lady Buckland stared at him, as if uncertain. Then she said, “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “Harry’s asked me to sit upon the board that will operate the ships,” said Buckland.

  The old lady turned to her son. “So we’ll remain associated?”

  “Yes.”

  She came back to Rudd. “I like that,” she said. “That’s a very good idea.” She stood up, pressing against her stick for support. “If we can’t play bezique then you can take me home, Ian. Are you staying tomorrow, Mr Rudd?”

  “I’m afraid that I’ve got to return to London early.”

  “Then I’ll say goodbye. I’m very glad about those colours.”

  Rudd and Margaret stood watching her slowly walk from the room. Rudd said, “She’s quite a character.”

  “She works hard at it,” said Margaret.

  Rudd turned to look at her. So much like Angela, he thought.

  “I’ve told Ian I’m coming back to London,” she said.

  Rudd recognized the opportunity to be sensible. Now was the time to apologize again, say it was a mistake he regretted and end anything before it began.

  “It’ll be better if I telephone you,” he said.

  “All right,” she said.

  Rudd and Buckland went over the terms and conditions of the sale again at breakfast, and from the other man’s attitude Rudd knew Buckland considered the changes to be to his advantage. Margaret appeared as he was leaving. She shook his hand and without any self-consciousness said she hoped they’d meet again.

  It was noon when Rudd got back to the Berridge. Hallett was waiting in the suite.

  “Mr Bunch has gone to Paris to arrange the finance transfer for Senator Jeplow,” reported the personal assistant. “Prince Faysel has cabled, saying he’s arriving tomorrow. And there’s a telex from New York, from Mr Morrison. He’s getting here on Friday.”

  “I want you to do something for me,” said Rudd.

  Obediently Hallett opened his folder.

  “I want to move into an apartment,” said Rudd. “Somewhere central, as near here as possible.”

  Hallet sat regarding him with amazement. “An apartment!”

  “I can hardly stay on here after we make the bid, can I?” he said. “It would be too awkward.”

  Hallett smiled, the surprise going. “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said.

  Neither had Rudd, until just before the limousine had arrived outside the hotel.

  19

  The official Saudi announcement that they had purposely manipulated the oil glut affected the money and stock markets as the bankers had predicted during the investment board meeting in Zürich.

  Oil and subsidiary shares dipped, rose and then dipped again in their uncertainty. Britain raised its parity rate by half a per cent and there was a brief switch in sterling, and then American banks raised their interest rates by an average of one full per cent, so the money flowed back into dollars.

  The anger of the more radical producers would have been predictable anyway, but one of the chief sufferers of the Saudi investment cut-back was Nigeria, which had been dependent upon Saudi finance for the creation of a new dock and refinery at Port Harcourt. Their oil minister summoned a meeting in Lagos of Libya and Algeria, the other radicals, and succeeded in getting observer attendance from Venezuela and Iraq. It ended with a communiqué declaring that they would not be subjected to Western-influenced blackmail and insisting that they would demand a barrel price of $52, with the warning to contracted customers that if they attempted to cancel or defer their agreements for the short-term, cheaper offers, then they would be ostracized when the oil surplus was exhausted. Saudi Arabia countered with the reminder that it produced forty per cent of the West’s oil and the promise it would make up any shortfall created by such victimization.

  When Faysel entered the Berridge suite, Rudd thought he looked exhausted.

  “We’ve averaged a meeting a day since the official announcement,” said Faysel, confirming the American’s impression.

  “Did you expect these repercussions?”

  “Not quite as virulent,” conceded Faysel. “The Crown Prince is already trying to shift responsibility for the decision on to Hassain, in case it backfires. And guess what I learned in Jeddah?”

  “What?”

  Faysel told Rudd of Jeplow’s lobbying in Washington from which the oil embargo had emanated, intrigued by the cynical smile that developed on Rudd’s face.

  “Ironic, isn’t it?” said the Arab.

  “It may be more than that.”

  The reaction came from Snaith. He jerked up from the second letter of intent and said, “These are completely different terms from those already discussed.”

  “They’re not,” said Buckland, seizing upon the other man’s exaggeration. “As I’ve already explained, they are substantially the same. If there is a difference, it is to our advantage. It was your bank who talked about the need for restructuring. Rudd would bring fresh expertise on to this board and I’ve already outlined the streamlining possibilities from which Buckland House might benefit from association with Best Rest.”

  Gauging the cause of Snaith’s response, Condway said, “Would Best Rest be prepared to commit finance?”

  Buckland shook his head. “At this stage, I haven’t discussed it. It’s a hugely rich chain, so I don’t consider it out of the question.…” He turned back to the m
erchant banker. “I think our own shares will benefit, simply by the link with such an organization,” he said.

  “Seems to me that we gain in every way possible,” said Gore-Pelham.

  “Damned fine outcome,” agreed Penhardy.

  “I have the proxy nomination from Prince Faysel,” said Buckland. “With it is the indication that he and the investment fund he represents are in favour of acceptance. I’d like a formal vote, from this board, to complete the negotiations.”

  “I think this might be a turning point in the affairs of this company,” said Condway, after the unanimous decision.

  “I think so too,” said Buckland.

  * * *

  “It’s the best short-let agency there is,” said Hallett. “It’s expensive.”

  “It’s fine,” said Rudd.

  The apartment was half-way along Grosvenor Square, looking out over the small park and the American embassy beyond. It was on two floors, a dining-room, kitchen and lounge on the lower and three bedrooms above. The furniture was reproduction but good, and similar neither to the house off Sloane Square nor the mansion in Cambridgeshire. Rudd decided that was important.

  “What about booze and food and stuff like that?” asked the personal assistant.

  “Organize it,” said Rudd. “I’ll probably move in straight away.”

  “You’re going to find it strange,” predicted Hallett.

  “Yes,” said Rudd. Madness, he thought again; absolute fucking madness.

  He could hardly wait to see her.

  20

  Margaret entered the apartment hesitantly, halting immediately inside the door. Rudd nervously gestured her further in. She smiled quickly and continued on. Rudd thought the flowers helped but the apartment still had the bare, unlived-in feeling he’d been aware of when Hallett had showed it to him. Needing a focus, Margaret went to the window with its view of Grosvenor Square.

  “Its very nice,” she said.

  “Would you like a drink?”

  “Please.”