So she had turned finally to ‘Old Flann at the bank’, albeit highly reluctantly. She knew she would have to go a lot further than just smile at him for the size of the loan she was after, and while she was dressing to go out and meet the loathsome man for lunch, she suddenly wished for a little of Leonora’s worldliness and sexual wisdom. Having only ever known Tyrone and, very briefly, JeanLuc de Vendrer, she knew she was gauche and naive for a woman of her age when it came to dealing with men, and more particularly, with what men wanted. And even more particularly in an age where men were finding it easier than ever to get what they were after, with women ever more eager to supply it. The Sixties had been the decade of staying loose and letting it all hang out. Even Princess Anne had jumped on the stage of the Shaftesbury Theatre in London, and joined in the dance at the end of the first nude musical Hair.
Not that Mr Flannery had witnessed the spectacle, but nonetheless, Cassie suspected, he was well aware of the changing sexual climate, even in Ireland. Her fears were justified, when all through lunch he rubbed his knees against hers under the linen-clothed table, and kept dropping his napkin for a very obvious peep up her skirt. He worried endlessly through the meal at how lonely Cassie must be without a man in that great house of hers, and hinted several times that for him there was a big and important promotion in the offing, to a post which would be greatly enhanced by the addition of a wife.
And now back in his stifling office, he was asking Cassie if she would like to remove her jacket, and while Cassie dallied as to whether she should or not, he all but ripped it off her. Cassie was wearing a thin silk polo-neck sweater under the jacket of her suit, which showed off her perfect figure. Flannery ran a finger round the inside of his stiff collar and remarked how remarkably fit Cassie kept herself.
‘But back to business,’ he reminded himself out loud. ‘Back to business. You already have your eye on some premises, so you say.’
‘I’ve been looking at Peacock’s Mill, on the outskirts of Athy,’ Cassie told him. ‘Mr Muldoon heard they were considering selling it.’
‘Mr Muldoon I feel sure will give us good advance warning of the end of the world,’ Flannery replied, smirking. ‘Yes? Yes?’
‘If I offered on it, lock, stock and barrel, I think we could get it for fifteen thousand. We’d need another ten grand to get it right for our purposes, and say an initial float of five.’
‘You’d be looking for a loan, then, of thirty thousand pounds.’
‘That’s about it, Mr Flannery.’
‘A secured loan.’
‘I guess it would have to be.’
‘Secured against Claremore.’
‘That’s my only collateral.’
‘And Claremore stands you now at let us say—’
Flannery pressed the fingertips of both his hands together and did his best to look roguishly at Cassie.
‘Let us say um – eighty? Eighty-five?’
‘I’d say nearer one hundred and twenty-five.’
‘Equine establishments are not everyone’s cup of tea, alas, my dear Mrs Rosse.’ Flannery got up and walked round the room, ending up behind her. ‘No, no. Equine establishments really are not everyone’s cup of tea. However,’ he said, coming forward behind her. He placed his hands on both of Cassie’s shoulders, his fingers reaching down as far as they dared towards her breasts.
‘Although I might well get admonished for my fool-hardiness, they do say that a well-known emotion is blind, yes? Yes? And so, because of my – my belief in you, my dear Mrs Rosse, I am prepared to grant you this loan, against a charge on Claremore. And at an interest of only three and a half per cent above base rate.’
‘Three and a half per cent?’ Cassie exclaimed, using her apparent dismay to turn in her chair and dislodge Flannery’s hot pudgy hands, which were slipping ever further towards their target.
Flannery leapt back as if shot. ‘Most people, I have to tell you, Mrs Rosse, would think twice of lending such a sum against such dubious collateral.’
‘Perhaps in that case, just to make sure, I’d better go ask some of these other people,’ Cassie said, rising and collecting her jacket.
Flannery stood between her and the door.
‘I will lend you all the money you need, Mrs Rosse, at one and a half per cent above base—’
‘Yes, Mr Flannery?’
‘I have a very charming cottage in Kinsale, recently purchased, with a remarkable view of the harbour. I would be more than honoured to entertain you there as my guest, let us say this weekend?’
Cassie did up her jacket and tugged it down into shape. Then she looked at the smooth and white-faced man who stood in the way not only of the door, but of her future. ‘You’d like me to go to bed with you, would you Mr Flannery?’
Flannery coloured crimson, and his chin began to tremble. ‘That wasn’t quite what I said, Mrs Rosse,’ he answered.
‘It was what you meant, Mr Flannery,’ Cassie countered.
‘I could let you have the money at base rate. With no extra interest.’
‘In return for a weekend in Kinsale.’
‘It really is a most charming spot. Are you at all familiar with it?’
‘Only by reputation, Mr Flannery. What about the charge on Claremore?’
Flannery took his handkerchief out of his top pocket, and passed it once across his brow. ‘I’m afraid I would still have to insist on that. Yes, most certainly,’ he replied.
‘Sorry,’ Cassie said curtly. ‘No deal.’
‘It’s the rules of the bank, Mrs Rosse.’
Cassie leaned forward, and putting a finger under his wobbling chin, tickled him mockingly like a baby.
‘What about you, Flanny-boy?’ she half-whispered. ‘Don’t you have any capital?’
‘Nothing like the amount you require, Mrs Rosse,’ he gasped.
‘But what do you require, Mr Flannery?’ she continued. ‘If I can give you what you want, don’t you think you could give me what I want? Or do you think that I should charge you interest too?’
‘I’m not quite sure of what you mean by that, Mrs Rosse.’
Cassie smiled at him, then taking him by one of his fat, moist hands, led him back to the chair where he was sitting and pushed him down into it.
‘I mean if you want me to come over, then you borrow the money against your collateral from your bank. And lend it interest-free to little Cassie.’
She leaned right over him, one hand on either arm of the chair, until her face was a matter of inches from his. She had undone her jacket again, so that the objects of his earlier desire now hung tantalisingly close to him, and he became almost suffocated by her scent.
‘Well?’ she said, her eyes glinting mockingly. ‘What do you say, sexy?’
‘Yes,’ Flannery gasped up at her, now completely in her thrall. ‘Yes, yes of course. I don’t see why we couldn’t come to some sort of mutually amicable arrangement. Yes, yes. Why not? Why not indeed?’
Cassie looked at him, at the sweat that was beginning to shine on his unlined white forehead and the fine mist which was starting to cloud the lenses of his black wire glasses. Then she flicked his tie out from under his vest, and gave one of his cheeks a good, hard pinch.
‘Good,’ she said, standing up. ‘After all, if you expect favours from girls, then I think girls should expect some favours back from you, don’t you?’
She did her jacket up, collected her purse, and went to the door.
‘What about the weekend?’ Flannery stuttered, scrambling to his feet.
‘I’m really not too sure,’ Cassie said, going to the door. ‘I think I need a second opinion on it.’
She threw open the door and called out into the bank.
‘Excuse me, everyone!’ she cried. ‘But Mr Flannery wants me to go on a dirty weekend with him in return for lending me some money at three and a half points over base!’
Flannery made a desperate attempt to shut his office door, but Cassie had her foot firmly wedged
in it.
‘I reckon that represents a pretty lousy deal, don’t you?’ she asked.
The employees, all of whom she knew from Erin loathed Flannery as much if not more than Cassie did, began to laugh, some of them out loud, while several girls roared back their support to Cassie. Cassie grinned, clenched her fist in the air, and removed her foot from the manager’s door, leaving the crimson-faced Flannery to hide himself away within. Then she walked to the nearest counter to audible applause from some of the girls, and bidding the teller good afternoon, withdrew all her remaining funds and closed her account.
Outside in the street, in full sight of the still wide-eyed employees, and also the now ashen-faced Flannery who was watching from the side of his office window, Cassie let all the air out of his car tyres before getting into her own car and driving off back to Claremore.
‘If I had the money, I’d sure back you,’ Dexter told Cassie that evening as they sat on the terrace of Claremore drinking wine.
‘I don’t think I’ll have much trouble actually raising the money, Dex,’ Cassie answered, ‘though thanks for the thought. No, I guess the catch is whether the gamble will pay off.’
‘What America does today—’ Dexter ventured.
‘We’re talking Ireland here, Dex,’ Cassie interrupted with a grim. ‘What America does today the Irish will think about doing next century. And only think about, remember.’
She poured them both some more wine, and for a moment they sat in silence and watched Josephine jumping her pony in the home paddock below them.
‘That kid’s a natural,’ Dexter said.
‘She wants to be the first girl to win the Grand National,’ Cassie replied.
‘You mean she doesn’t know Elizabeth Taylor has beaten her to it?’
Cassie laughed, then drank some wine. ‘Of course, there’s no reason why we shouldn’t go international, I suppose,’ she said, changing the subject back. ‘We don’t just have to think of selling our concentrates here in Ireland. We could compete directly in the whole of the British Isles. And not only that, I reckon we should really be aiming for the private owner, and livery yards, rather than just racing. Trainers are ultra conservative, you know, particularly in Europe. They still swear by oats. Whereas to the ordinary owner, who doesn’t grow his own fodder, and has to rely on his corn merchant, ready-made cubes and concentrates must be becoming very attractive alternatives.’
‘You sound as if you’re rehearsing a sales pitch there, Cassie,’ Dexter said.
‘Maybe I am, Dex,’ Cassie answered. ‘I’ve a meeting at the Bank of Ireland Monday morning.’
Early on Sunday evening a dark blue chauffeur-driven Bentley Continental pulled up outside Claremore, and Leonora got out. Cassie received her at the front doors, and stood with her on top of the steps outside.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’ Leonora enquired.
‘I’m really not sure,’ Cassie replied. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’
‘OK,’ Leonora sighed. ‘So I was in a foul mood when you called uninvited. But that doesn’t mean that you have to behave as badly as me.’
Cassie smiled and stepped aside. The one thing she admired about Leonora, Cassie thought as she followed her into the house, was her ability to wrong-foot her opponents.
‘I love this house,’ she announced as she swept into the drawing room, ‘but Jesus Christ you could do with Billsy.’
‘Who or what is Billsy?’ Cassie enquired.
‘Who or what is Billsy indeed,’ Leonora echoed, flopping on to a sofa. ‘Don’t you ever leave the stable yard? Billsy is Billsy Deane, lover. Only Ireland’s top interior designer. He’s going to do Derry Na Loch as a set of pleated tents.’
Cassie stared at Leonora as if she’d taken leave of her senses, then decided not to venture any further into what was for Cassie uncharted territory.
‘Drink?’
‘I don’t arrive at this time of day to take tea, sweetheart.’
Leonora started to cough, and then lit another cigarette, as Cassie poured them both a drink.
‘What did you arrive at this time of day for, Leonora?’ Cassie asked.
‘I heard you needed money,’ Leonora replied, putting her gold lighter away in her purse.
‘I don’t need money.’
‘OK. If you want to split hairs, an investment then.’
Leonora shook her fringe out of her eyes and stared up at Cassie. After a moment she followed the look with her frosty little smile.
‘Word travels,’ Cassie said.
‘Nowhere faster than in Ireland,’ Leonora answered. ‘The word is you want about fifteen grand.’
‘About,’ Cassie agreed cautiously.
‘That’s peanuts,’ Leonora said. ‘I can let you have that now.’
She reopened her purse and fished inside for her cheque book.
‘Wait up,’ Cassie said. ‘What’s the big hurry?’
‘It sounds like a hot number, that’s what,’ Leonora replied impatiently. ‘And like all very rich people, I enjoy making money. What are the banks quoting you? Because I’ll undercut them by a point, and I’ll only take twenty per cent of your gross once you’re in profit. How’s that for starters?’
‘I don’t want your money,’ Cassie replied. ‘So you can put away your bank book.’
‘Oh for Chrissake don’t start coming all proud again!’ Leonora retorted. ‘I’m not doing you any favour, goddammit! This is business!’
‘That’s why I don’t want your money,’ Cassie told her, getting up and walking over to a window. ‘If it was a favour, I really might have considered it. After all, money is only money. But we couldn’t do business together. You must be crazy.’
‘Of course I’m crazy,’ Leonora agreed. ‘I’ve been crazy since the day I was born. And who do I have to sleep with to get another drink round here?’
Cassie refilled Leonora’s glass, while Leonora impatiently stubbed out her half-smoked cigarette and at once relit another one.
‘But I’m not crazy, Leonora,’ Cassie said. ‘Which is why we couldn’t do business. Why should I give you twenty per cent of my idea for the loan of a few thousand? The bank will lend me the money, and I’ll only need pay them back the interest.’
Leonora stared at her, twisting her mouth sideways as she did so, and biting the inside of her lip.
‘Sure,’ she replied after a long moment, ‘but business isn’t just money. Business is who you know. And nobody knows my new husband better than me.’
‘Sorry,’ Cassie smiled. ‘I’ve forgotten what your new husband does.’
‘He makes a lot of money,’ Leonora said. ‘And one of his sidelines, well it’s more of a hobby really.’ She drew on her cigarette and blew the smoke into a thin stream up towards the ceiling before looking back into Cassie’s eyes. ‘One of his hobbies is a firm called UFM. United Fodder Merchants. They make animal feedstuffs.’
Cassie held Leonora’s gaze. She’d thought there had to be something other than sheer profiteering behind Leonora’s offer. Lesser people profiteered. Leonora took you over before you were even on the market.
‘Sorry, Leonora,’ Cassie replied, still holding her look. ‘No deal.’
‘OK,’ said Leonora, looking away and putting out her cigarette. ‘Get buried then.’
Cassie walked to the door and opened it. ‘And now I’m afraid you’ll have to go,’ she said. ‘I’ve guests this evening.’
Leonora collected her purse and rose. ‘Sure,’ she said with a smile as she walked past Cassie. ‘I know.’
Dexter Bryant was among Cassie’s close friends who had been invited for an informal kitchen supper that evening.
‘Did Leonora know you were coming here tonight?’ Cassie asked him during the meal.
‘Yes,’ Dexter nodded. ‘As a matter of fact she did.’
‘How?’
‘Because she wanted me to go to dinner with her tonight at Derry Na Loch.’
One of the assistant ma
nagers of the Bank of Ireland, a Mr Tuohy, listened most sympathetically to Cassie’s request on the following day, and indicated that the bank would be only too pleased to offer her facilities for the loan, provided a charge was secured on Claremore. The loan was to be over three years, and a weekend in Kinsale was not part of the package.
Tomas pretended to be indifferent about the whole affair, merely expressing the opinion that Cassie had to be out of her mind to think such a hare-brained scheme could succeed.
‘Listen,’ he told her. ‘If the Lord God had intended horses to eat nuts, he’d have given them a pair of nut-crackers.’
But later it came back to Cassie from one of the lads that Tomas was warning them all to look out to whom they were talking, because in a couple of years’ time he was going to be a multi-millionaire.
After a closely conducted survey, and a properly organised business analysis, Peacock’s Mill was deemed to be an ideal property, and the bank was informed that Mrs Rosse intended to bid for it at the auction, to be held in the first week of August. At the same time, samples of certain concentrates had been brought back for analysis from America by a bloodstock agent friend of Cassie’s, and laboratory tests were being conducted on Tomas’ feed recipes, in order to see if they would make up satisfactorily into what was finally to be known as the Claremore Concentrate.
Meanwhile, The Donk’s cough which he had prior to Ascot, and which had meant his withdrawal from the Gold Cup, had not developed and he was back in full work during the Royal Meeting itself. In preparation for his main target of the season, the twenty-one-furlong Goodwood Cup, he took in another mile-and-three-quarter race at Leopardstown which he won more or less as he liked. Dermot Pryce, it now seemed, was sadly and permanently sidelined, so once again Dexter Bryant was on board. After the race Dex was of the confident opinion that the little horse would take all the beating at Goodwood.
To Hear a Nightingale Page 58
