by Lewis Orde
‘Is this how Aronson Freres normally conducts its business?’
‘Would it bother you tremendously if it were?’
‘No. It would just destroy a few of my cherished illusions about bankers.’
‘That we’re all a bunch of stuffed shirts?’ Simon asked with amusement. He passed a die to Roland, who threw a six. Simon threw a one, and Roland took the move.
‘I envy you your luck,’ the banker said.
Roland grinned as he watched Simon play a three and a two. ‘Wasn’t it a compatriot of yours who said something about not wanting brilliant generals, only lucky ones?’
‘Napoleon,’ Simon acknowledged. ‘I believe one of my ancestors financed his attempt to plant the Tricouleur in every corner of the world. Possibly not one of our wiser investments,’ he added ruefully. ‘All right, Roland – it is acceptable if I call you Roland, I hope – what do you intend to do that will benefit Aronson Freres?’ He watched closely while Roland moved. ‘Surely you would be better off covering your man, you are leaving him wide open.’
‘A moment ago you envied my luck. I’m counting on it for you not to throw a one or a four.’
Simon threw a six and a three, and Roland covered the open man on his next move. ‘Your luck is holding, Roland. Let me hear your proposal, please.’
‘Four fields are doing well right now – engineering, motor cars, chemicals and pharmaceuticals. Soon there’ll be a fifth – electrical goods. My research leads me to believe that there’s going to be an absolute explosion of gadgets and appliances, first in the kitchen and then in the leisure areas. We’re very slowly emerging from a period of austerity and people are going to want things. Christ, after what they’ve been through they’re entitled to everything under the sun. That’s the business in which I’m interested – electrical products.’
‘What do you know about this particular business?’
‘Only what I’ve learned in the last few months,’ Roland said, ‘but my main interest is in being able to read a balance sheet.’
‘You have to be doing business before you need to read a balance sheet, Roland.’ Simon pushed the men around automatically, unimpressed with what he had heard so far. Disappointed, too. He had expected something more adventurous, more in keeping with the way Roland played backgammon. Simon always liked to use the game as a means of judging a person’s character, and Roland was an easy man to define – he had a strong sense of daring backed by an almost infallible belief in the power of his own luck. But now he seemed like just another prospective borrower, a man trying to persuade a bank to finance his dream. A dream which if it failed, would leave the bank to explain the loss to its shareholders. ‘How do you hope to build this company?’
‘Not from scratch, that’s too long and laborious a task.’
‘Acquisition?’ Simon’s interest increased a fraction.
Roland nodded. ‘There’s a company in Wembley, near the stadium, that’s in receivership. Mar-Cross, Limited. It manufactures plugs, wall sockets, electrical fittings. It’s a small, well-established firm that was rocky before the war. The war gave it a new lease on life when it manufactured under contract to other companies involved in government work. Now the business has dried up and it can’t meet its obligations.’ He opened the briefcase and took out a folder full of papers. ‘Of all the companies I’ve been looking at over the past few months, this is by far and away the most promising. With the right management, the right new direction – and an injection of capital – I think it could be very profitable.’
‘Bottom line, Roland. How much are we talking about?’
‘Approximately fifty-five thousand pounds to buy Mar-Cross.’
‘That is a considerable amount to pay for a bankrupt company just to begin with. How much will operating costs devour before the company is able to support itself? Assuming it will ever reach that point.’
Roland smiled to himself. He knew he had not broken through yet, but now he had him: ‘Absolutely nothing. Not a single penny.’
‘Nothing?’ Something about Roland’s expression arrested Simon’s attention completely. He pushed the backgammon board aside, suddenly absorbed in what Roland had to say.
‘Mar-Cross owns two tiny but quite profitable subsidiary companies in the Midlands. One manufactures leads and terminals for car batteries, the other makes insulation for heavy-duty cable. It’s Mar-Cross itself which has dragged the whole thing down. I’m not interested in either of the subsidiary companies because I want to concentrate on products which will be used in the home. I’ve already contacted allied firms with an eye toward selling those two subsidiaries should I buy Mar-Cross. There’s enough interest to make me optimistic.’
‘Why don’t these allied firms buy Mar-Cross and take control of the subsidiaries that way?’ Simon asked, testing him.
‘Large companies either don’t have the time to do it in a roundabout manner like that or else they can’t be bothered. If the companies are handed to them on a silver platter, however, they’ll pay. I estimate that I’ll be able to realize forty thousand pounds from the sale of those two subsidiaries, which will leave me – for an initial outlay of some fifteen thousand pounds – with a viable company ready for expansion. A company which, incidentally, owns the land in Wembley on which its factory stands. All the figures are in the presentation I’ve made. They’re in that folder.’
‘What kind of collateral will you be putting up? How much of your own money?’
‘Everything I own, about fifteen thousand pounds’ worth of stocks which I’ll liquidate. And, of course, myself.’
Simon weighed the answer. ‘I’m not certain that will be enough to persuade my board to back your venture. If the company went under because you went into a business which, as you say, you know very little about, what would we do with a mountain of plugs and electrical products?’
‘You’re forgetting the factory building and the land. Mar-Cross is worth more stripped and sold in separate packages than I’ll pay for it.’
‘Roland, Aronson Freres is a bank, not an estate agent or a factor. It deals in lending money to carefully assessed risks. It doesn’t deal in land and electrical goods. That’s how my board will see it when it considers your proposal.’ He took the folder and leafed through the contents quickly, casting an experienced eye over the figures and data Roland had prepared. ‘Leave it with me. Give me time to study this and I’ll present it to my board at the earliest opportunity.’
‘When do you think that will be?’ No matter how hard he tried, Roland was unable to conceal his impatience. ‘I’ve already put in an offer to the Official Receiver. It won’t be good forever.’
‘Thursday afternoon, two days from now.’
Roland closed the briefcase, which now felt light and unfamiliar. ‘Simon, never mind about your fellow directors – what are your feelings?’
‘I haven’t had time to go through this yet.’
‘Just as I’ve explained it to you.’
‘All right, I like your thinking. If you did buy Mar-Cross, carved it up and sold it piecemeal you would probably show a quick profit on your original investment. There is something to be said for that kind of approach. But then, of course, you would not be a businessman; you would be a hatchet man. And I think you want to build, not take apart.’
‘Will you support me?’
‘I will support you. More than that, though, I cannot promise.’
*
Simon telephoned Roland shortly after four on Thursday afternoon, ten minutes after the meeting at the bank ended. But instead of telling him the board’s decision, he invited him to his home for dinner that night. Roland, with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, immediately knew what the bank had decided.
He arrived at Simon’s three-story house in South Kensington at seven o’clock. A maid opened the door and led him through to the dining room where Simon sat playing backgammon with his two daughters on a corner of the table that was set for dinner with
elegant silverware, crystal and china. On seeing his guest, Simon excused himself from the game.
‘Welcome to my home. Miriam and Sharon have been looking forward to meeting you ever since I told them how well you play this game.’
‘We never finished ours.’
‘True, but the way we left it I would not have bet against you.’ He introduced Roland to the girls: Sharon, the older at thirteen, had her father’s slim build and deep brown eyes, with long black hair and a quick, spontaneous smile. As she formally shook Roland’s hand, he had the premonition that in only a few years she would be breaking a lot of hearts. The younger of the two girls, Miriam, had hazel eyes and long blonde hair tied in braids. At ten, she still retained her puppy fat and showed no signs of her older sister’s graceful manner. Roland couldn’t help wondering if she was at all jealous of her older sister’s blossoming beauty.
‘Where’s your wife?’
‘Nadine? In the kitchen. No one else is allowed to cook but her, that’s the one iron-clad rule of the house. I consider myself fortunate,’ Simon said with a smile, ‘that she allows me to make myself coffee when I work late.’ Sensing Roland’s anticipation he added, ‘After dinner we can talk. I have a proposition which I think will be of interest to you.’
Simon’s wife joined them a few minutes later, a dainty woman with an apron tied around her waist. Like her younger daughter, Nadine’s hair was also blonde, cut short in a style that clung to her head like a cap, and her lively eyes were almost violet in color. Although she was tiny compared to her husband, Roland had little doubt it was she who organized the family. At the bank Simon might be a powerful director but here he did as he was told. And, Roland guessed, he would probably have it no other way. Considering his wife and two daughters, Roland thought, he couldn’t blame him.
After dinner, Nadine allowed the girls to play one game of backgammon each with Roland, both of which he purposely lost, before telling them to say goodnight. Miriam dutifully kissed her father and mother, waved a quick farewell to Roland and disappeared upstairs. Sharon kissed her parents first, then stood solemnly in front of Roland.
‘It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr Eagles. Please be our guest again.’ Then, before Roland knew what was happening, she brought a blush to his face by leaning forward quickly and kissing him on the cheek.
‘I think you made quite an impression,’ Nadine laughed after Sharon had left the room.
‘Throwing away the games didn’t hurt your chances,’ Simon joined in. ‘I saw the way you played, making a liar out of me after I told them how good you were.’
‘It was a tactful gesture,’ Roland said good-naturedly.
‘And it was appreciated,’ Simon replied, then turned to his wife. ‘If you will excuse us we’re going into the drawing room to talk.’
‘Of course.’
‘I assume your bank turned me down,’ Roland said when he sat down in the drawing room. It was more like a library, Roland thought. Books lined two of the room’s walls. He looked around with interest, wondering if Simon ever found the time to read them, or were they just there for show? One complete section which had caught Roland’s eye was devoted to legal volumes in both English and French.
‘I qualified at the Bar in both France and England,’ Simon offered, noticing his guest’s interest.
‘A sideline?’
‘Not at all. I represent Aronson Freres. And you are perfectly right – Aronson Freres turned you down.’
‘Any particular reason?’ Roland asked, trying not to reveal his disappointment . . . it was one thing to guess that the bank had rejected his proposal; it was far worse to actually hear it.
‘The general feeling was that you represented a risky investment because you have no experience in the field.’
‘I see. What’s your proposition?’
‘I told you on Tuesday that I would support you. I am still willing to do so, but on a personal level. Despite your own lack of experience in this particular field, you have put forward a very thorough presentation. I’m impressed with your determination to see it through, and with the fact that you are willing to invest every penny you have. Therefore, I am prepared to put up the money from my own pocket—’
‘As a personal loan?’ It didn’t seem possible to Roland that a man he was meeting for only the third time would make such a gesture . . .
‘Most certainly not. We’re discussing a sizable sum of money here, not a few shillings. If I loan you the money and you go under I would be deeply out of pocket. You put up your fifteen thousand pounds, and yourself, and I will supply the remaining capital – for a fifty-fifty partnership.’
‘So if I go under you can claim a healthy tax loss.’
‘If it should come to that, yes.’
‘Forty-nine percent,’ Roland countered.
‘No.’
‘Simon, I’m the one doing the work. I want control.’
‘And if I am contributing the lion’s share of the capital I also want some control over what happens. I think I’m entitled to it.’
‘You pointed out the other day that you were a banker, not in real estate or the electrical business. Aside from money, how could you help?’
‘Quite possibly I could not, but I want some say.’
‘I can’t do it, Simon. I’m sorry.’
Simon stroked his beard with his thumb and forefinger while he studied Roland. He found Roland’s obstinacy amusing – like a young horse champing at the bit without realizing that the jockey also contributes to winning. ‘What will you do, try other banks? Aronson Freres rejected your proposal and I was supporting you to the hilt. What chance do you think you’ll have elsewhere? If you don’t know the answer to that I’ll tell you. Absolutely none. Surely you can see that fifty percent of something is worth a damned sight more than fifty-one percent, or even a hundred percent, of nothing.’
Roland understood how much sense he was making. Simon was his only entrance, even more so with the time limit he had to buy Mar-Cross from the Official Receiver. In another couple of days, a week at the very most, someone else would step in and snap up the company. But if he owned only fifty percent how could he be confident of directing it the way he wanted it to go? ‘I don’t want to have to fight with you over every decision, Simon.’
‘You won’t have to, just as long as your decisions make sound economic sense.’
‘I’m curious. Why would you want to help me this way?’
‘I told you. I liked your presentation, the whole idea. And I believe you have the right combination of aggression and luck.’
Luck? Roland marveled at the word. How much luck had he enjoyed in his life? Not that much that he could remember. Perhaps Simon saw it differently. ‘Would you like to back my luck to prove your point?’
‘How?’
‘One hand of poker, five cards open. You back my hand, I’ll back yours. If my hand wins, we’re fifty-fifty. If your hand wins, then I get fifty-one percent.’
Simon appeared intrigued by the proposition. ‘But then your luck would be with my cards, would it not?’
‘Tough problem, isn’t it? Even Einstein would have trouble figuring it out.’
‘All right. I’ll back your hand for an equal partnership.’ Simon took a fresh pack of cards from the drawer of a mahogany secretary, broke the seal, removed the jokers and started to shuffle. Roland watched in fascination as the cards riffled quickly through the banker’s long, slender fingers. ‘Cut for deal.’
Roland cut a six, Simon a jack. Simon shuffled again, then offered them for Roland to cut. Roland shook his head. ‘Just deal.’
Simon turned up the first two cards: a four of hearts for Roland and eight of clubs for himself. The second cards were dealt: a nine of hearts for Roland, a king of spades for Simon. Then the third cards – an ace of diamonds for Roland, a four of spades for Simon. The balance shifted toward Roland’s hand.
As he waited for the fourth cards, Roland suddenly realized that he was no long
er bothered by the outcome of the hand. If Simon had this much faith in him then he would go along with any decisions Roland made; it seemed unnecessary to challenge the luck he placed so much importance on. The poker hand was an exercise now, nothing more than a means for Simon to further cement his belief.
Slowly, Simon turned up the fourth cards: a four of diamonds for Roland – a pair! – and a three of hearts for himself. The odds had shifted dramatically in favor of Roland’s hand. ‘My luck seems to be holding out for you,’ Roland said.
‘I expected it to. But there is still another card.’
‘Don’t bother. You’ve proven your point. Fifty percent.’
Simon smiled, glad of Roland’s surrender with good grace. He hadn’t wanted to take a chance on that last card; he still wasn’t certain which way the luck would run when they were playing each other’s hand. ‘That wasn’t what I was playing for, Roland. Anyone with an eye for a quick profit could spot a company in trouble, carve it up and sell off its assets. But you have the confidence to rebuild it. I was playing for fifty percent of Roland Eagles. I’ll have the check for you tomorrow. Will you be using the Mar-Cross name or will you be forming a holding company?’
‘I was thinking of R.E. Electrics, if that’s okay with you.’
‘Fine. I’ll register it at Companies House. Two directors, you and me. A brandy to toast our union?’
‘Please.’ As Simon turned away Roland picked up the cards and straightened them, unable to resist looking at the top cards. The first was the two of clubs, which meant nothing. The second was the king of hearts – a card that would have made Simon’s hand a winner and given Roland control of the company. Simon had been right about Roland’s luck, except it had been sitting beside the hand he was backing, not the hand he was holding. As he slipped the cards into the box he felt satisfied that the game hadn’t been played through. With the faith Simon had in him he would make an ideal partner.
Simon returned with two brandy snifters, passed one to Roland and raised the other in a toast. ‘To R.E. Electrics and its takeover of Mar-Cross.’
