by Lewis Orde
‘It might cost me money,’ Simon replied mysteriously, ‘but it will be money well spent. Can I speak with you afterwards?’
‘Certainly. Is there any other business?’ No one responded and Roland closed the meeting. ‘Let’s go for a walk outside,’ Roland suggested to Simon.
The two men walked around the perimeter of the factory grounds, Roland swinging his arms in the carefree manner of a man ready to go on vacation, Simon with his hands buried in his trouser pockets, his shoulders sagging. ‘How does one go about getting rid of a son-in-law?’ the banker finally asked.
Roland turned to stare at his partner, the scene at the table the previous Friday night vivid in his mind.
‘Trouble in paradise?’ He told himself he shouldn’t be surprised, but a trace of amazement still managed to creep into his voice. What was really incredible was that it had taken so long. Graham Sharp had been sponging off Simon from the start. Only Simon had reacted in a manner that was totally out of character – he seemed willing to ignore his son-in-law’s shortcomings just to keep Sharon happy.
‘There always was, but Sharon wanted to marry Graham so I refused to stand in her way. Her happiness always came first, as I’m sure you can understand. Now Graham is using our love for her against us, always with the implied threat that he’ll leave Sharon if we don’t give him what he wants. I’ve already loaned him’ – Simon laughed abruptly – ‘given him is more like it, the money to open that second salon—’
‘And now he’s trying to tap you for money to start this line of beauty products, is that it?’ When Simon nodded, Roland asked: ‘What about the profits from those two salons? Surely he has something to invest there? They’re the two most popular salons in London if what I read in the gossip columns is true.’
‘According to his books, he’s barely breaking even.’
‘That’s ridiculous! Those two salons are always packed. Or has he got his hand in the till?’
‘I think so.’
‘Where does the money go?’
‘Certainly not to Sharon. Most evenings she sits alone in the house I bought them while he goes out. He has a wardrobe with enough suits for an entire army, a new Jaguar and a new Maserati.’
‘He certainly lives well, better than you or I do.’ A really slimy devil, Roland thought, trying to get me to side with him against Simon. And Sharon as well – where are her brains?
‘He lives well off my money while he makes my daughter miserable. The thing is, I wouldn’t even mind financing him for this new venture – this licensing idea – if only he would leave Sharon, promise to make a complete break with her.’
‘Is he playing the away game?’ The words slipped out and Roland hated himself for the unintentional vulgarity.
‘I’m certain he is.’
‘Then why does Sharon stand for it?’
‘She won’t let herself believe he’s cheating on her. She only wants to believe what Graham tells her – that he goes out almost every night looking for the chance to promote himself. His name is in the newspapers often enough for her to believe it.’
‘Can’t you do anything?’
‘I’m afraid to try. Even if I told Sharon that Graham was seeing other women – that he was stealing from the shops – she’d hate me, not Graham. Nadine and I have talked it over many times. We’ve wanted to tell her, to show her some proof, but we don’t think it would do any good. Graham would defend himself with some lie, and she’s still so much in love with him that she would believe his lies – or want to believe them – rather than anything we told her, even if it is the truth.’
Finally, Roland saw where the conversation was leading. ‘But if someone else brought it to her attention . . .?’
‘Nadine and I were hoping that you could see your way clear to help. You are . . .’ Simon struggled to find the words he wanted to convey his thoughts without causing offense. ‘Roland, Sharon might pay more attention to you than she will to us. She always liked you . . . a young girl’s crush . . .’
Roland gritted his teeth. He owed Simon and Nadine, owed them more than he could ever repay . . . For the help in starting the business, the faith they’d shown in him, the sympathy and support after Catarina’s death. But here he had to draw the line. ‘I’m sorry, Simon. I can’t interfere.’
‘Why not?’
‘I can’t butt into someone else’s marriage.’ He stared at the banker, torn with pity. ‘Look, you said it yourself – Sharon had a crush on me. If I cut in like you’re suggesting I do, it might throw her from the frying pan into the fire. If I showed her what Graham was really like –and if she listened to me – she might rebound right onto me. What good will that do her? Or me?’
Simon walked a few paces, forcing himself to recognize the logic in Roland’s words. ‘Then what do I do?’
‘Be cruel to be kind, Simon. Don’t give Graham another penny. If he’s going to leave Sharon, that will make him leave.’
‘What will she do?’
‘Let her find out for herself. In the long run it’s the kindest thing you can do. And when it happens, you and Nadine will be there to catch her.’ Roland turned back toward the factory, feeling angry with himself that he’d been unable to offer further help to his friend. But short of taking Sharon away from Graham – making a play for her himself, using that old crush – what else could he do?
*
That evening, Roland, Janet and the children had the first-class compartment of the train to Bath to themselves. While Katherine and Janet sat reading a book together and Richard and Carol slept, Roland thought again of his talk with Simon. He felt like he’d betrayed his friend, but to go between Sharon and Graham would only be playing with her emotions. She would be torn up, forced to face the reality of the man she had married and desperate for support – support Roland couldn’t give her. Not now, not with Janet and the children. At another time, perhaps . . . no, there was no point in even thinking about it. The support she would need would have to come from her parents – they were the ones who had to tell her.
At Bath, they were met by Christopher Mellish, who drove them to his farm. Katherine sat up front while Roland and Janet sat in the back of the car, each holding a sleeping child.
‘Smell that fresh country air, eh?’ Mellish enthused. ‘Nothing quite like it, is there?’
Roland laughed. ‘You spend most of your time in London. What would you know about fresh country air?’ He decided that Mellish looked the part of a gentleman farmer in a rough tweed jacket and twill trousers tucked into a pair of gumboots. The mud on his boots was fresh and Roland wondered whether he’d brought the right clothes – all he’d packed were clothes made by his tailor on Savile Row; they were finely made and good to look at, but he wasn’t certain how well they would stand up to the rigors of farm life.
‘Living in London is what makes me appreciate fresh air,’ Mellish answered. ‘I should spend more time down here.’
‘Why don’t you?’
‘I like to watch my horses run, old man, not train. The same goes for my mill. I like to wear the cloth in suits, not watch it being woven before my very eyes.’
When they reached the farm, Sally had a snack ready. Afterwards, Janet put the two younger children to bed while Mellish took Katherine out to see the mare she would be riding for the weekend. Roland stayed in the kitchen with Sally.
‘How’s married life, Mrs Mellish?’ He always teased her about her double identity; on the magazine she was known as Sally Roberts, while in private life she used her husband’s name.
‘Pretty good. I guess I could ask you the same question, even if it isn’t literally correct.’
‘I’m not complaining.’
‘One marriage isn’t going too well, though, is it?’ Sally remarked as she dried plates and put them away in a cupboard above the sink.
‘Sharon? Simon asked me to help.’
‘I thought he might. He talked to me about her a few days ago. He mentioned you and I tried
to discourage him. What did you say?’
‘I told him to cut Graham off. If he decided to leave Sharon, so much the better. He’d be doing her a favor.’
Mellish returned with Katherine who kissed Roland good night, then went upstairs to bed. Later, the four adults sat around the kitchen table, playing bridge and talking. At eleven-thirty, after both Janet and Sally excused themselves, Mellish leaned forward conspiratorially, telling Roland he had some news for him . . . ‘news that will make you as happy as a pig wallowing around in a ton of muck.’
‘Put you on a farm for five minutes and you sound like a farmer,’ Roland said, laughing. ‘All that’s missing is the straw between your teeth. What is it?’
‘Adler’s . . . your old nemesis. They’re about to go belly-up.’
‘That isn’t news,’ Roland said, ‘I’ve been hearing that rumor ever since old Monty died and Albert got his hands on the rudder. Somehow they manage to keep stumbling along. It’s always the same with these family firms,’ he added, sounding as if he were angry at the injustice of it all. ‘Even if profits and dividends are way down, the shareholders let them get away with murder. A family name carries a lot of weight.’
Mellish waited for Roland to finish, then shook his head, eyes twinkling. ‘This time it’s different. I heard a whisper about the two branch stores in Edinburgh and Manchester. There’s been an offer on them.’
Roland lit a cigarette and gave himself time to think. That was news, and it shocked him. He saw Michael Adler once a month or so, a lunch or dinner date, and he’d never mentioned any difficulties that could result in the two branch stores being put up for sale. ‘Where did you pick this up? How fresh is it?’
‘Very fresh.’ Mellish’s eyes stayed bright at Roland’s interest. ‘I heard this week. One of my mill customers deals with them.’
‘How reliable is this customer?’
‘I haven’t got the faintest idea. I just thought you’d want to know.’
‘Thanks. May I use your phone? Long distance?’
‘Be my guest.’
Roland got through to the operator and asked her to reach Michael Adler’s home in London. When Michael came on the line, Roland said he wanted to see him. Right away.
‘What about?’ Michael said, mystified by the call. ‘I was just going to bed.’
‘I picked up some information that your Edinburgh and Manchester stores have had an offer made on them. What’s going on, Michael?’
There was a long moment of silence. ‘Perhaps I’d better see you,’ he finally said.
Roland turned to Mellish. ‘Is there a late train to London?’
‘Not this time of night. I’ll be glad to lend you my car, though.’
‘I haven’t driven in ten years.’ He turned back to the telephone. ‘Michael, I know this is asking a hell of a lot but can you get out to Somerset tonight? I’m staying at a farm for the weekend.’ He waved at Mellish, asked for directions.
‘It’ll take me at least three hours.’
‘I’ll be up.’ He passed on the directions, waited for Michael to repeat them, then hung up.
‘I’ll wait up with you,’ Mellish offered. ‘Fancy some backgammon or chess?’
‘Make it backgammon. Chess might put me right to sleep, and I want to be wide awake when Michael arrives.’
‘Funny,’ Mellish mused as he set out the board. ‘I thought my news would make you happy – Adler’s being in such dire straits. I never thought it would give you a sleepless night.’
‘Oh, it does make me happy.’ Roland grinned across the table and shook the dice savagely. ‘Just as long as I’m the one who gets to buy those stores.’
*
Michael arrived at the farm after three o’clock, looking like a man who had driven half the night. His hair was awry, face lined; dark shadows were under his eyes. Mellish stayed up just long enough to say hello, then went to bed. Roland searched round the unfamiliar kitchen, found a kettle and made Michael tea.
‘If you’ll pardon my saying so, you look absolutely terrible,’ Roland remarked, setting the cup down in front of Michael.
‘I’m entitled to with what’s been going on. Thanks.’ He picked up the cup and took a long swallow. ‘I don’t even know where to begin.’
‘Take your time, we’ve got all night.’
‘It’s my father. Everything my grandfather ever said about him has come true, and I don’t think there’s a damned thing I can do about it.’
‘Can I do anything about it?’ Roland asked. He didn’t want to push Michael by asking him straight out what was wrong – the man looked so distraught that Roland didn’t want to add to his pressures.
‘Sure, if you can work miracles.’ Michael closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. ‘My father hasn’t got the feel for the business, not like the old man had – not like I know I have. But he’s in charge. He’s the oldest Adler, so the shareholders are satisfied to see him there.’
Roland remembered expressing a similar view to Mellish. ‘What about this offer?’
‘Manchester and Edinburgh. They were that far away from being closed down’ – he held his finger and thumb half an inch apart – ‘and then someone stepped in. Made an offer which I feel is way below market value, but my father’s desperate. He sees it as the only way to raise capital to keep the Regent Street store running. But even that won’t last if he carries on the way he is now. And – damn me for saying it! – I think he’s doing it on purpose.’
‘What? How can you make an accusation like that?’
Michael stared gloomily into the cup. ‘My father had a brother—’
‘I know. Meir.’
‘Who told you?’
‘I was in Monty’s office one day when he and your father had an argument over the shady deal your father tried to pull on me. Your father threw in Meir’s name, claiming that if Meir had done the same thing to me old Monty wouldn’t have been so furious. Claimed that because it was your father who did it, your grandfather was trying to belittle him, make him out to be a crook.’ It had happened eleven years ago but Roland could still remember every word of the argument.
‘That’s the cause of the problem right there,’ Michael said. ‘There was always friction between my father and his brother. Meir was a year older, and from what I can gather a damned sight more businesslike than my father. My father was jealous of him, always had been, ever since they were young. Meir could always do everything better – school, sports, work, the lot. Even when he went off to America and was killed in a car accident, his ghost came back to haunt my father. No matter what my father did – what he tried to do – my grandfather would always say that Meir would have done it better. Don’t forget, my grandfather retired once, then came back and carried on working until he dropped dead.’
‘I thought he came back because his wife died,’ Roland interrupted. ‘He got lonely rattling around the house by himself . . .’
‘Like hell,’ Michael countered. ‘He came back because he didn’t trust my father. And he was right.’
‘But running the business down deliberately? That’s a hell of a claim.’
‘Roland, I’ve given it a lot of thought. Even if my father’s doing it subconsciously, I think that’s what he’s doing. I believe he’s always had it in his mind – since he was our age, even before – that Adler’s had always been intended for his favorite son . . . Meir. Whether my father realizes it or not, I think he hates it with a passion.’
Roland began to feel a trace of sympathy for Albert Adler. If what Michael was saying was true, then Albert’s life, too, had been ruined by hatred. ‘How far along is this offer for the two branch stores?’
‘It’s tentative at the moment. Why?’
‘I might be interested. But I’d have to talk to my partner first.’
‘For the two branch stores?’
‘No. For the whole thing. Adler’s itself, lock, stock and barrel. I once asked you if I could help in any way, and you said only
if I bought the business.’
Michael flinched as he remembered the conversation. ‘I was joking at the time. I never thought it would come to this.’
‘Your father would fight me for obvious reasons. How about you?’
Michael chewed his lip uneasily. He had the choice of watching the company his grandfather built up be destroyed, or turning against his father. ‘No, I don’t think I’ll fight you. You’ve got a sound record.’
Roland breathed out a barely audible sigh of relief. ‘What’s the share disposition of Adler’s?’
‘My father holds twenty-five percent. I hold ten. The other directors hold twenty-five percent between them, and forty percent’s out there.’ He waved a hand at the window before stifling a yawn. ‘Excuse me.’
‘How many other directors?’
‘Five, each with five percent.’
‘How loyal are they?’
‘To my father? They’re very loyal. They’re not family, but it’s a family firm – my father’s the figurehead and they reckon they owe him their positions. They’re all living quite nicely—’
‘Even if it’s only for a short time.’
Michael nodded. ‘They’re too shortsighted to even see that far ahead. They’re yes-men. They all think that their positions are secure just as long as they agree with my father.’
‘So your ten and the forty that’s out there make fifty percent.’
‘You’d be equal with my father and the other directors. You’d be unable to do very much.’
‘Unless I got the other directors to rally around me. Their shares would give me a seventy-five percent holding.’
‘It’s unlikely that they’d do that. Once you had seventy-five percent and the power to change the board you might get rid of them all. None of them would risk that.’
