Daughters of Fortune: A Novel

by Hyland, Tara

  “It’s too late. I’ve already signed mine over.”

  55

  _________

  Armand Bouchard and Piers Melville launched their takeover bid on Monday morning. Even without Amber’s shares, Bouchard now had 22.5 percent of the company. If all the public shareholders decided to take his offer, his holding would rise to 52.5 percent—a controlling majority.

  The pieces of the puzzle had begun to fall into place over the weekend. After Elizabeth had spoken to Amber, she’d finally worked out that Piers had tricked her. She’d called William and left a calm, dignified—if slightly shaky—message, explaining exactly what had happened and resigning from the board. Since then, no one had been able to get in contact with her. Piers had also gone to ground.

  By ten in the morning, the Melville board—with the notable exceptions of Piers and Elizabeth—had all gathered to discuss Bouchard’s offer. Caitlin took her place beside William.

  Hugh Makin kicked off. He had obviously been elected to speak on behalf of the other directors. “The majority of us feel that we should recommend the offer to our shareholders,” he said, making it clear a secret meeting had already been held this morning.

  Everyone looked at William. The fight had gone out of him. His shoulders were slumped, his head bowed. The betrayal by both his daughter and brother had taken its toll.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he murmured. “Perhaps it’s time to give in.”

  “No.” Caitlin’s voice was loud and clear. She was damned if she was going to let Piers win.

  The sales director, Douglas Levan, glared at her. “I hardly think you’re in a position—”

  “Let her speak.” William’s voice was weary, but he still had enough command to make the other man fall silent.

  “The family still has 47.5 percent of the shares,” Caitlin began. “That means we’re playing for the remaining 30 percent, which is publicly owned. All we need to do is convince shareholders that there’s more value leaving the company in family hands—”

  “The offer is 40 percent higher than what the shares are trading for at the moment,” Douglas interjected.

  “Yes, but we’re still putting through big changes. There’s potentially a lot more value to be had.” She paused to let her words sink in. “Bouchard is trying to get the company on the cheap. And you guys are going to let him.”

  There was silence as the men around the table digested what Caitlin had said. It was William who spoke up. “She’s right. We can’t give in at the first bid. The least we can do for our shareholders is put together a decent defense. Who knows, maybe we’ll win. But, if not, at least we’ll have made the bastard pay through the nose.”

  No one could argue with that. As directors, they had to act in the best interests of the shareholders. They would fight, at least for now.

  After everyone had gone, Caitlin looked over at William. So much had happened that weekend. By the time they had dealt with Amber and figured out what Bouchard and Piers were up to, they hadn’t had time to discuss what had happened with her mother.

  “Look, I want to apologize for not believing you,” she began.

  William held up his hand. “Let’s not worry about that now.” His voice was gruff. “I want to focus on saving the company. We can put the soul-searching on hold for when we’ve gotten ourselves out of this mess.”

  Caitlin waited for a second and then asked, “Does that include Elizabeth? Because if we’ve got any chance of winning, we’re going to need her help, too.”

  It was eleven in the morning, and Elizabeth was still in her robe. She hadn’t opened a paper today and was avoiding the news programs. She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been, trusting Piers. She had been so desperate to be made chief executive that she had lost everything. She’d betrayed her father and Caitlin, destroyed the company, and, worst of all, pushed Cole away.

  The doorbell interrupted her self-flagellation. Part of her hoped it might be her husband, but deep down she knew that was ridiculous—and she was only mildly disappointed when she opened the door and found Caitlin standing there.

  “So what do you think?”

  It was an hour later, and the two women were sitting in Elizabeth’s kitchen. Caitlin had just outlined her idea for saving the company.

  Under the takeover rules, Melville had forty-two days to mount its defense against the bid. When the rumors of a possible takeover had first started, William had insisted on inserting “poison pill” clauses into both his daughters’ contracts. That meant if anyone outside the family acquired over 30 percent of the shares both Caitlin and Elizabeth could leave the company immediately. Caitlin’s idea was to leverage this for all it was worth.

  “Our strongest argument is that Melville is essentially a family company and that, as a family, we’re best equipped to run it,” she told Elizabeth.

  Under the takeover rules, Melville could hold a meeting to explain to investors, analysts, and the media why the company was worth more than the takeover bid. This could act in two ways—either to push up the offer price or to encourage investors to reject the bid outright. At the meeting, Caitlin wanted to put on a new fashion show—in lieu of showing the October collection.

  “It’s a little unorthodox, but I think it’s our best shot,” she said. “I can work on it in secret—just me and a few of the design team that I trust.”

  Elizabeth thought it through. “So you’d have—what?—forty days, tops, to put together a collection. Can you do it?”

  “I’ll give it a go.”

  Elizabeth nodded and then fell silent. “Well, it sounds like you and Daddy have it all under control,” she said stiffly. “I hope it all works out.”

  Caitlin smiled gently. “Come on, Elizabeth. I’m here because we need you on board, too. It’s only going to work if the whole family pulls together.”

  Elizabeth didn’t answer at first. There was only one thing preventing her from saying yes. “What does Daddy think of all this?” she asked tentatively. “Of me being involved? I can’t imagine he’s very happy about what . . . what I did.”

  “I think right now that’s the least of his concerns,” Caitlin pointed out.

  Elizabeth thought about it for a moment and then said, “Fine. Just tell me what I need to do.”

  With Caitlin designing a killer collection and most of the board ambivalent about the outcome of the takeover, it was up to Elizabeth and William to do everything possible to combat Bouchard.

  William took on Piers’s role as finance director and set to work to come up with new, robust forecasts for the next five years. Once he was happy with those, he started collaborating with a team of corporate brokers from Sedgwick Hart, Cole’s old firm, to determine how far they could stretch the valuations.

  Elizabeth assumed a more public role. “I know I’m not at my best right now,” William admitted to her. “I think you’ll project a more vibrant image, and that’s what we need to get across.” That meant she had to meet with all their key shareholders and present their ideas for the business. With the top fifteen investors scattered across four continents, it was a punishing schedule. Every night, she fell into bed completely wiped out. But in a way she was grateful for the distraction of work. Cole had called, wanting to meet, but she had put him off.

  “I need some more time before I make any decisions,” she’d told him.

  He’d seemed to accept that. She hadn’t asked if he was still sleeping with Sumiko. At the moment, they were separated. It wasn’t really any of her business. But she was beginning to realize how much she missed him. At night, she came home to an empty house where there was no one to hear about her day, to talk through the good points and the bad. It made her think about what it must have been like for him, when she’d been working so hard, always putting Melville first. It didn’t excuse what he’d done. But it did help her see his actions in a different light. Inevitably, her family had asked after Cole. She’d kept her explanation brief. “We were having some probl
ems, so he’s moved out for a while.” She didn’t volunteer any further details, and her demeanor didn’t invite inquiries.

  In her Hoxton home, Caitlin was also working every hour she could, under Lucien’s watchful eye. Usually she would spend months planning and researching a collection—now she had mere weeks. But that could be no excuse for slacking on quality. The sharp eyes of the fashion and financial worlds would be looking for any hint of weakness.

  The theme had been easy to settle on. She wanted to emphasize patriotism, the Englishness of the brand. So many small and midcap U.K. companies had been bought up by foreigners recently, French and Spanish conglomerates on the acquisition trail—so the idea was, let’s keep Melville independent. To Caitlin, the Second World War seemed to capture perfectly that combative spirit.

  Initially Elizabeth and William weren’t impressed with the idea. Caitlin wasn’t particularly surprised. In many ways, the forties had been an austere period for women’s fashion, what with rationing and government regulations on the manufacture and distribution of clothing. But then that had simply encouraged designers to be more innovative: shortening skirts to make the most of restricted fabrics, and introducing the concept of mix-and-match separates to create the illusion of a more extensive wardrobe. If she worked with that, put her own unique spin on it . . .

  “We’re in your hands,” William said.

  Elizabeth agreed. “Do whatever you think is best.”

  Caitlin did. She recruited Jess and two more of her trustworthy design assistants and set up headquarters at her house. With the question mark over the company’s future, the design room at Melville was in a demoralized slump, so when everyone was officially told that the three had left the company, no one questioned the lie.

  Luckily, Caitlin’s living and dining area was open-plan, thirty feet long and flooded with natural light. They cleared the furniture into one of the spare bedrooms and made it their workroom. Sewing machines, mannequins, and drawing boards were brought over in the dead of night from Melville. Caitlin was on good terms with the suppliers, so she could just call them up and say what she wanted, and it would be with them the next day, no questions asked. After all, they only needed enough for the samples for the show.

  It was a ridiculous set of circumstances, but the four of them had never had more fun—working to the absolute max, bent over a sewing machine until their backs ached, alternating the pizza, Chinese, and Indian takeaway menus, mainlining coffee.

  Two weeks before the clothes were due to be shown, Elizabeth came to look at what Caitlin had achieved. She couldn’t help being impressed.

  “I had doubts at first,” she admitted, “but you’ve absolutely nailed it. This is going to blow them away.”

  “Thanks.”

  Then Elizabeth frowned. “But who are we going to use to model the clothes? If we go to any of the usual agencies, word will leak out about what we’re up to.”

  Caitlin smiled mysteriously. “I’ve got an idea about that, too.”

  The next day, Caitlin and Elizabeth went to visit Amber at The Causeway Retreat, England’s most exclusive private rehab clinic. William had booked her in there after picking her up from the police station the night she’d landed in England. Rehab was one of the conditions of her release. It was fortunate she only had enough drugs for personal consumption on her—it meant the authorities could be lenient, as long as the family took responsibility for her.

  She had been at The Causeway for a month now, and everyone was eager to see how she was getting on. They’d been shocked by her appearance the last time they’d seen her: the skeletal body, unwashed hair, and gray complexion.

  It was a thirty-minute helicopter flight from Central London to the 350-acre private island off the coast of Essex—the best way to get there, as the road was only accessible four hours a day at low tide. Amber was in a group-therapy session when they arrived, so an orderly took Elizabeth and Caitlin on a tour of the grounds. It was more like a five-star hotel than a clinic, with a gym, swimming pool, and games room. After they’d finished looking around, they sat in the lush, landscaped gardens waiting for her.

  She finally came out, carrying a jug of orange juice with her. After a month in rehab, she was back to her old self. The most severe physical withdrawal symptoms had hit forty-eight hours after her last dose and had lasted a week.

  “It’s the psychological demons that are going to be harder to combat,” she told them. The deep, overwhelming depression had gone, but the cravings hadn’t. They never would, the clinical nurse had explained. The hunger would always be there, the dream of the next fix. It was up to her to want to stay away from it.

  “But let’s talk about something else,” she said hastily. Shut away from any news, she was eager to hear what was happening with the takeover bid. Elizabeth quickly explained what they’d been up to.

  “I wish there was some way I could help,” Amber said, once she’d finished speaking. She saw Elizabeth and Caitlin exchange a look. “What is it?”

  “Actually,” Elizabeth said slowly, “there is something you can do. That’s why we came to see you.”

  “But it would mean leaving here,” Caitlin interjected, “and we don’t want you to do that unless you feel ready.”

  In some ways, Amber didn’t want to. It was easy to stay clean in such a peaceful, isolated environment, with a strong support network in place and no temptations for miles. The thought of leaving the safe cocoon terrified her. But she also knew she couldn’t stay here forever. She had already discussed a home aftercare plan and seeing a psychotherapist in London. At some point, she was going to have to be strong.

  She took a deep breath. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

  While Melville got its defenses in place, Armand Bouchard started turning the screws. Piers had undoubtedly helped pinpoint areas where the company was vulnerable. Melville’s main loan was due to run out a few days before the defense meeting, and the bank that controlled it began to make noises about withdrawing their financial backing. Bouchard’s GMS Group was a corporate behemoth, and its influence in financial circles far exceeded Melville’s. No one wanted to alienate a potentially lucrative client.

  Elizabeth hit the phones. But everywhere, doors were slammed shut in her face. None of the banks she normally dealt with wanted to know. They were all too frightened of Bouchard. She couldn’t even get them to return her calls. Furious after being told that another corporate lending director was in a meeting of indeterminate length, she slammed down the receiver and looked at her list. His was the last name. She crossed it through.

  “Shit,” she swore under her breath. She was out of ideas.

  When the phone rang a second later, she jumped, wondering if it was one of the banking executives finally returning her call.

  Fortunately it was something even better.

  “Hello, Elizabeth,” said a familiar voice. “I hear you’re looking for a hundred million pounds. And I think I may be able to help.”

  The contract was signed quietly three days later. When Cole had heard the news about the loan, he’d called his old banking contacts. Within hours he had a syndicate of five U.S. investment banks willing to come in on the deal. As they were spreading the risk between them, he’d even managed to negotiate a lower interest rate than Melville had had for the original loan.

  William came to Elizabeth’s office to deliver the news that the money was theirs. “Cole really pulled through for us, didn’t he?” he observed, walking over to sit at her desk.

  “Yes,” she said shortly.

  “I hope you’ve called him to say thank you.”

  Her mouth tightened a fraction. “I will.” There was a silence. Then: “Was there anything else?” she asked.

  William sighed. “Look, my dear,” he said, “I don’t know what went on between you and Cole, and I don’t want to. Obviously, whatever it was, he hurt you very badly.” William stopped, clearly waiting for an answer. Elizabeth stared down at her desk.
r />   “Yes,” she mumbled. “Yes, he did.”

  Her father nodded. “Now, I understand that you’re the only one who can choose whether to give him a second chance. But whatever you decide, make sure you do it for the right reasons. It’s far too easy to act out of spite or stubbornness.” He stood up and started to leave. At the door, he turned back. “Just remember—there’s no weakness in forgiveness.”

  Elizabeth debated with herself for a long time after he’d gone and then finally phoned her husband.

  “I just wanted to let you know again how grateful we all are here, Cole,” she said. Aware of how stiff she sounded, she tried again. “You don’t know what this means to us . . . I mean, to me.”

  “I do. More than you realize. I just wish you’d felt you could call me to ask for help.” He waited a beat, then said, “Elizabeth . . .”

  She closed her eyes. “Please, don’t—”

  “No.” He was forceful now. “Let me say this one thing.”

  She waited.

  “I miss you, Elizabeth.”

  There was a long silence. All that could be heard was their respective breathing down the phone.

  “Well, that’s what I wanted to tell you,” he said gruffly. “I know you’ve got a lot going on now, but maybe in a few weeks’ time . . .”

  “I miss you, too,” she said suddenly.

  “You do?” He sounded pleased.

  “Yes, I really do.” She looked at her watch. It was nearly eight in the evening. She thought of all the work she still had to do tonight. And she made a decision.

  “Cole?”

  “Yes, Elizabeth?”

  “Are you free for dinner?”

  It was after nine before he reached the house. They greeted each other awkwardly, with a brief, almost platonic kiss on the cheek.

  “I’m really glad you called,” Cole said for the fourth time since he’d arrived. She was relieved that he seemed as nervous as she did.

  They went into the kitchen. He’d brought a vintage Taittinger with him, and while she called to order Chinese, he opened the bottle.