by Janey Rosen
If this meeting goes well, we will secure the funds needed to really grow and finally make some decent returns on this business, after years of hard work. Now, more than ever, I am aware of the need for me to be independently solvent if and when Alan and I sell the house, I will be damned before I ask him for money to support me.
Smoothing down my black pencil skirt and straightening the hem of my matching suit jacket, I open the door with a false smile. I schmooze a warm hello, and try to catch the eye of each person in turn, as I begin to shake their hands, and introduce myself.
“Elizabeth Dove, how do you do,” I gush with my professional voice I have mastered over the years in business. Shaking the next hand extended to meet my firm grip, then the next, “thank you so much for coming today.”
As I take the next hand in mine, the touch is familiar but before realisation dawns, it is the voice which fills my veins with ice.
“Sebastian De Montfort, delighted to meet you Elizabeth…” I withdraw my hand sharply and, wide eyed, I stare at him in disbelief and then anger – pure guttural anger at his blatant intrusion into my working life.
What the hell is he doing here? Why did he not mention that he was invited to attend this meeting when I saw him… only half an hour ago? Crap.
12
“Mrs. Dove…?” I snap back to the moment, to the room of faces all now looking at me expectantly.
“Gentlemen, th…thank you all for coming today.” I try to recover my composure and professionalism - this is too important to allow him to sabotage my agenda.
“In front of you, you will find a presentation pack which includes our business growth plan and forecasts. If I could ask you to please turn to page one, the Executive Summary…” Everyone shuffles the papers in front of them and locates the page as directed.
“You will find a synopsis of the structure of our company, a statement on our readiness for market and USP, and a brief outline of our growth plans.” The room falls silent as the investors study the document. I lead them through the plan and include a power point presentation, which they digest. When I have finished I open the floor to questions.
A portly man of later years and a ruddy complexion raises his hand, “Mrs. Dove…Elizabeth, if we are to invest the monies you require what share interest are you proposing to offer?”
None, I just want your money! “That’s a very good question” I reply, “In terms of return on investment we feel that 6% annualised interest plus a 10% share holding is a very generous return, I should add that we would not be offering a Board position, there would be no voting rights attached to the deal.”
“Elizabeth…” Sebastian commands my attention. He sits back, arms crossed and a wicked glint in his eyes – he is relishing my discomfort. I stare at him with the coldest, steely glare I can muster.
“With all due respect, you cannot expect investors to simply write a cheque for the level of funding you are seeking, and expect them to be happy with a return they would achieve from a high street bank with little or no risk exposure. I personally would require a non executive Board position, in addition to 20% of your ordinary shareholding.”
Oh I just bet you would, you control freak.
I am furious with Sebastian for demeaning me in front of these men, and for sowing the seed in their fat little heads about wanting a slice of our company. Well, it’s not up for negotiation – over my dead body! This business has pretty much cost me my marriage, my social life, years of stress… if he thinks I am going to hand it on a plate then he is crazier than I gave him credit for.
“Thank you Mister De Montfort” I say with more than a hint of bitterness. “As I just indicated, the option of a Board position is not something we would consider at this time.” Averting my frosty gaze from him, my attention returns to the others in the room.
“Please remember gentlemen, that you would be receiving a very healthy profit share as well as an attractive interest rate on your investment – that is not something you would receive from your high street bank” that told him. He looks impassive but raises an eyebrow at me, shakes his head and writes something down.
I answer questions from two gentlemen and thankfully these are operational rather than financial queries.
Drained, I sit down again as Ruth stands to deliver a closing speech. Looking at the faces of the men, I can’t read their expressions in order to guess whether or not they may bite the cherry.
I don’t meet Sebastian’s gaze, instead I look everywhere except at him; I’m simply too angry with him but I feel his eyes burning into me and it takes all my willpower to avert my eyes. Ruth is thanking everyone for attending the meeting today, and for their interest in Evershaw Dove. Soon I’m shaking hands with them all as they leave, most muttering that they will ‘be in touch’ and ‘very interesting proposal’ but no firm offers.
Sebastian is waiting behind the last gentleman, who is telling me he will give the matter his ‘earnest consideration’ and I turn to follow him through the door but I feel a firm grip on my arm forcing me back into the meeting room.
Ruth has left the room and I see that she’s in deep conversation with our accountant so I am alone with him. He shuts the door and leans against it, arms folded and an amused smirk plastered across his face. I let him have it.
“You arrogant, conceited, son-of-a-bitch!” I hiss. “What the hell do you think you are doing coming here like this, no bloody warning, making me look an idiot… it’s all a game to you isn’t it?”
I am on a roll and the venom spills forth.
“Oh it’s just fine to turn up here out of the blue, take me to a hotel and have your way with me, no mention of the real reason you are here which is to bleed my company dry. Oh no, the sex was a nice little added bonus wasn’t it… a little extra for your trouble in driving up here…I… I’m lost for words.”
“Have you finished your little rant Elizabeth?” The patronising twerp asks. I cannot speak to him. I cannot find any more words to relay how angry I am.
“Because if you have, then please allow me to respond. Sit down.”
Staring aghast at him, I cannot believe that he dares to order me to sit so I remain standing with my defensive posture of folded arms, chin in the air.
“SIT.” He barks, pulling a chair away from the table and swishing his hand toward it indicating that I should sit. I sit, cross my legs and arms and look straight ahead out of the window rather than in his direction, like a petulant child once more, sitting before her head teacher for a reprimand.
“That’s better. I appreciate that it was a shock to see me here, but the fact is that I knew very well that you would not have allowed me to come had I discussed it with you first. Yes, I did want to see you other than in the boardroom… although I have to admit that I would rather like to fuck you hard over this table right now… but that aside, I thought we would kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. I had you to myself before the meeting, let’s call it ‘due diligence’ Elizabeth. Plus, I was then privy to a very interesting business meeting at which a sexy, clever woman convinced me to part with a large chunk of my money and not many people achieve that so very well done you.”
My jaw has dropped and I am totally and utterly speechless. He doesn’t see that this is wrong on so many levels. He wants to fuck me over the table - hard! He is going to lend me the money… oh and he wants to fuck me over the boardroom table. My mind keeps on returning to that point and I’m so furious with him.
“Fine” I say petulantly, “10% and I’ll shake on the deal here and now.”
I have him now, the cocky little prick will never agree to a reduction in terms so he will walk away and I shall have won and proven that he cannot always get what he wants.
“10% it is” he rises and proffers a hand to shake.
What the hell? We shake hands, his grip so tight on mine that I wince.
“I’d have gone to 15%” I tell him smugly after the deal is sealed with a shake, his hand still gripping
mine.
“And I, Elizabeth, would have dropped to 5%.” Damn him.
He doesn’t release my hand, his grip like iron. He’s close to me, and I feel his breath on my neck as he pulls me forward and kisses my cheek.
He’s clever, anyone looking through the sound proofed glass would see us shaking on a deal and him politely kissing the cheek of a newly acquired business partner, nothing more sinister. Yet he’s hurting me now, not releasing me and I start to protest and pull at my hand but he maintains his hold on me.
“Come to Cornwall this weekend, Elizabeth. Drive down to Penmorrow and be with me.”
“You really are nuts” I hiss at him, incredulously. “You may be investing in our company but don’t for a minute underestimate me and think that you are buying me. I won’t be driving anywhere this weekend. I will be here trying to sort the tatters of my marriage and… if I never see you again it will be too soon.”
He releases my sore hand and I turn, open the door and flee to the ladies cloakroom where I lock myself in a cubicle, and sob with the humiliation and stress of the day.
Ruth is tapping lightly on the door and asking me what’s wrong. I open the door and fall into her arms and she hugs me tightly. “Beth you did really well don’t cry” she soothes.
“You don’t understand,” I wail. “He’s agreed to give us the money for 5% damn him.”
“What? That’s fantastic news, why on earth are you crying? Which one was it? I bet it was that gorgeous black haired Adonis, he couldn’t take his eyes off you…” she says excitedly.
“Yes, but don’t you see … that was Sebastian! It’s all about control, he wants to own me Ruth and now I’ve agreed to his investment I’ve walked straight into his plan and…sold my soul to the devil!” I sob.
“Let me deal with him, Beth. To be honest I would rather enjoy ‘dealing’ with him, he’s so sexy!”
I flash her an angry stare and she blushes.
“Look, we take his money, grow the business, and we need never see him again. He’ll receive his money via our accountant and, meanwhile, you get on with your life. Get yourself sorted, divorce Alan, think about yourself and the kids and don’t complicate it further with Mr. Moneybags.” She says wisely.
“You don’t know what he’s like” I protest. “He won’t let it go Ruth, he’ll be all over our business like a rash – he’s a control freak.”
“I’ll deal with him Beth, leave the creep to me. The main thing is we’ve got our money, we can go ahead with our plans.”
“Be careful,” I warn, “I’m discovering just how manipulative he can be.”
13
I dial Alan’s mobile number, returning his earlier call. He picks up and I can hear the acrimony in his tone.
“Beth. Thanks for eventually getting back to me. I’ve spoken to my lawyer and it seems that, if we can agree things amicably, we can get the divorce through without having to incur huge legal bills each and, to be honest, I’d rather we sorted everything as soon as possible.”
He tells me I can have the house but he wants his pension and his share of the business if and when it is sold. He then talks about custody of the children, clearly having written all his terms down before my call, stating the children must stay with him on alternate weekends and two nights during the week plus half of their school holidays.
“Another thing” he says, there’s more? “You are NOT to have a man back to MY house at any time… understand?”
I do not counter his vexatious request with the fact that it’s also my house. Instead, I agree to his terms, which overall seem reasonable. He ends the call by informing me that his lawyer will prepare a draft agreement and then send me the divorce papers and then he clicks off. I’m left feeling partly relieved that we have reached an agreement on which to move forward, but also a profound sadness at the ending of our marriage.
I return the call to Joe’s school and ask to speak to the head teacher who advises me that Joe will be excluded from lessons tomorrow morning for telling Mrs. Elmore, his history teacher, to “fuck off” – can today get any worse?
He will be required to sit in the school library and write a letter of apology to Mrs. Elmore, who apparently has never been spoken to in such a manner before; I somehow doubt that as I recall her as being an irritating, mousy, woman with a squeaky voice and cynical attitude to her pupils. I apologise profusely, and explain that Joe is going through a difficult time at home as his father has now left the family home - this news is not met with empathy by the Catholic head teacher of Joe’s Catholic school. I’m not surprised, but the school needs to know that my Joe has his reasons for being rebellious right now.
Ending the call, I hurriedly sign the waiting contracts on my desk and call Nicky to authorise the ordering of new brochures, figuring we can afford them now we have the investment. That returns my thoughts to Sebastian and his meddling. What am I to do with that man? I wonder. Never before have I been so… so subjugated by any man, and I detest the part of me, which welcomes his dominance. It’s as though I’m two people – Elizabeth Dove the respectable mother and business woman… and some harlot who dwells in my darkest psyche; she wears red lace underwear, a black choker and bends over saying “whip me now baby!” and I can’t recall her always being there, perhaps she’s been asleep and Sebastian has awoken her?
My phone bleeps.
Hi PARTNER. I hope you keep that boardroom table polished Mrs. Dove I intend to have you there – perhaps after our next board meeting? S
He’s so obtuse. Partner! He may have wiled his way onto the Board but he will not be receiving any extra ‘benefits’ from me any more. My reply is curt and I hope it stings.
Mr. De Montfort, Ruth will be your point of contact here, I don’t deal with minority shareholders. B
He is quick to reply.
Interesting. Hope Ruth has great legs too and likes tables. S
Insufferable ass. I can’t resist a cutting reply.
I’ll be sure to give her the choker! B
I wait for his reply but my phone stays silent. I’m full of regret then. For some reason he’s under my skin and, although I try to despise him, I find myself wanting him even more.
I begin to wonder if this is just escapism; if my life has been so lacking in male attention that I am pouncing upon the first male who shows me attention. Perhaps he strokes my female ego, I begin to tell myself that I’d be better served gleaning satisfaction from books and my vibrating toys rather than suffer the complexities and manipulations of men.
Time to call it a day, it’s five thirty and the kids will be home waiting for dinner having taken the bus home from school. I hate them having to take the bus but I had no choice again today.
When I arrive home the house seems strangely empty without Alan. Joe’s engrossed in with his games console, blowing apart a zombie while Bella pretends to complete homework; she thinks I haven’t noticed the instant messages on the screen of her PC.
There’s precious little food in the fridge so I retrieve a ready made chicken curry from the freezer, defrost thoroughly before use, the packaging advises. I remove the cardboard surround and stab the plastic film lid aggressively with a fork then toss the whole solid, frozen mass into the oven onto a baking tray and turn the dial to the highest temperature. It’s an improvement on most of my culinary attempts – most food items are prepared using my ‘ten minute microwave rule’ and miraculously I haven’t poisoned us yet!
The children and I sit at the kitchen table and eat our insipid curry, and I realize I miss the family dinners we used to enjoy around the dining table with everyone talking in turn about their day. The normal activities of living seem so far removed suddenly, and I feel a stabbing of remorse and sadness in the pit of my stomach. No good dwelling on the past, I’ve got to move on I tell myself.
Joe’s in bed asleep, Bella’s gone back to her bedroom and I’m alone and feeling miserable. I pour myself a large glass of red wine in the kitchen and take it to
the lounge where I sink down onto the sofa, exhausted.
My iPad is on the coffee table and I pick it up and rest it on my lap, reaching forward and picking up my glass. I wake my tablet and, as the screen comes to life, I take a long drink of wine and savour the warm richness and allow my thoughts to drift to Sebastian. I can still feel his touch on my skin and see the wicked glint in his eyes when he looks at me.
It’s nearly nine o’clock and not too late to send him a message so I pick up my phone from the coffee table, replacing it with my wine, and send a text message.
Hey, you busy?
Staring at my phone, I wait for his reply. A few minutes later my phone alerts me to a new message received but it is not from Sebastian. It’s from Alan and he’s obviously drunk.
Hope ur happy Beth ruin our marriage for wot? Never good nuff for you well I want the kids I’m a better bloody parent than you
His message fills me with dread and anger; a can feel a knot in my stomach tighten and, made braver by the wine, tap a hasty reply.
Piss off Alan! You’re hardly blameless in our marriage breaking up are you?! As for the kids I hardly think a court in the land would give custody to a whisky soaked drunk!
Shaking, I send the message and drain my glass. If it’s a fight he wants, he can bloody have one!
My phone bleeps in my lap, I hesitantly look at the screen.
Hey sexy, lovely to hear from you – still angry with me? S
I’m angry with all men, honey, not just you!
