Hold the Dream

‘Can we make the changeover easily?’

Alexander nodded emphatically. ‘We can. By manufacturing cheaper goods we can capture the more popular-priced markets here and abroad, and do volume sales. Of course, it is a question of sales and getting a real foothold in those new markets. But I’m sure we can pull it off.’ He reached into his inside breast pocket, pulled out a sheet of paper. ‘I’ve analysed every aspect of the plan, and I’m certain I’ve not overlooked one thing. Here it is.’

Emma took it from him, reached for her glasses, studied the closely-typed sheet. She recognized immediately that he had done his homework with his usual diligence. He had refined the idea she herself had toyed with, although she had no intention of revealing this, not wishing to undermine him, or diminish his efforts. She looked up, removed her spectacles and gave him the benefit of a warm, congratulatory smile.

‘Well done, Sandy!’ she exclaimed, reverting to the affectionate diminutive of his childhood. ‘You’ve put a lot of sound thinking into this, and I’m delighted, really delighted.’

‘That’s a relief,’ he said, a smile breaking through. Reserved of nature though he was, Alexander was always completely relaxed and outgoing with Emma, who was the one person he truly loved, and now he confessed, ‘I’ve really bashed my brains out on this one, Grandy, played around with all manner of convoluted ideas, I don’t mind telling you. Still, I kept coming back to my original plan for creating the new blends.’ He leaned closer to the desk, and gave her one of her own penetrating stares. ‘But, knowing you, I have a feeling you’d already thought of the solution before you threw the problem at me.’

Emma was tickled at his perceptiveness, but she stifled the laugh that bubbled in her throat. She looked into his candid blue eyes and slowly shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t,’ she lied. Then observing his disbelief, she added, ‘But I suppose I would have. Eventually.’

‘You’re damned right you would,’ he acknowledged. He shifted slightly in the chair and crossed his legs, wondering how to break the bit of bad news to her. He decided to jump in with both feet. ‘There is one other thing, though, Grandmother.’ He hesitated, worry suddenly clouding his face. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to cut down on our running costs at the mill. Really tighten our belts out there at Fairley, if we want to operate more efficiently – and profitably. I hate to tell you this, but a number of men will have to be laid off.’ There was a slight pause before he finished gloomily, ‘Permanently laid off.’

Emma’s face tightened in aggravation. ‘Oh dear.’ She nodded slowly, as if confirming something to herself. ‘Well, I sort of expected that, Alexander. If you have to do it, you have to do it. I presume you’ll be letting the older men go, those who are near retirement age?’ she asked, one brow lifting questioningly.

‘Yes. I think that’s the fairest thing.’

‘See to it that they get a special bonus, severance pay, whatever you want to call it. And naturally their pensions will become effective immediately. No penny pinching, and waiting it out until they actually reach retirement age. I won’t have any of that nonsense, Sandy.’

‘Yes, of course. I second-guessed you on that one. I’m preparing a list of names, and details of our financial obligations to the men. I’ll get it to you next week, if that’s all right with you.’ He sat back, waiting.

Emma made no response. She pushed herself up and walked slowly to the oriel window, where she stood looking down into the magnificent gardens of Pennistone Royal. Concern edged on to her wrinkled face as she ruminated on the mill at Fairley. Her life had been bound up with it in so many different ways. Her father had worked there, and her brother, Frank, when he was only a small boy and should have been at school. Frank had been a bobbin ligger, slaving from early morning until nightfall, hardly able to drag his weary little legs home at the end of the long day, sickly pale from exhaustion and lack of fresh air and sunshine.

Adam Fairley, Jim’s great-grandfather and the Squire of Fairley, had been the owner of the mill then. How she had hated him as a girl; for the best part of her life really. With the wisdom of great age, she knew Adam had not been the tyrant she had believed him to be. But he had been negligent, and that in itself was a crime in her eyes. His monumental negligence and his selfish preoccupation with his personal problems and his all-consuming love for Olivia Wainright had caused grievous trouble for others less fortunate. Yes, Adam Fairley had been guilty of abdicating his duties in the most careless and callous fashion, and without so much as a glance at those poor souls who toiled in his mills: The workers who made his cushioned life of ease and privilege possible, who were dependent on him, and were, in a very real sense, his responsibility. Half a century ago, she commented silently. I may understand something of the man now, but I’ll never forget what he did. Never.

She glanced down at her small but strong hands, soft and well cared for, the nails manicured to expensive perfection. But once those hands had been red and chapped and sore from scrubbing and polishing and washing and cooking for the Fairleys, when she had been bound in service to them as a child. Lifting one hand, she touched her face, and remembered with stunning clarity Murgatroyd’s sharp blows on her cheek. The detestable Murgatroyd, Adam Fairley’s butler, who had been permitted by the squire to rule that pernicious and secretive doomed house with a cruelty that bordered on savagery. Despite his harshness and his unremitting persecution of her, Murgatroyd had never frightened her. It was that monstrous house which had filled her with a nameless terror and from which she had wanted always to flee.

Then, one day, she had owned that great mausoleum of a place – Fairley’s Folly, the villagers had called it – and she had known at once that she would never live in it, would never play the role of the grand lady of the manor. And with a flash of sudden and intense vision she had understood exactly what she must do. She must obliterate it from the face of the earth as if it had never existed. And so she had torn it down, brick by brick by brick, until not a trace of it was left, and she could still recall to this very day the grim satisfaction she had experienced when she had finally razed it to the ground.

Now, across the span of four decades, she heard an echo of her own voice saying to Blackie: ‘And destroy this garden. Demolish it completely. I don’t want a rosebud, one single leaf left growing.’ Blackie had done exactly as she had instructed, uprooting that walled rose garden where Edwin Fairley had so inhumanly and shamefully repudiated her and their child, which she had been carrying. Miraculously, in the space of a few days, the garden, too, had disappeared as if it had never been there at all, and only then had she felt free of the Fairleys at last.

At this time in her life, Emma had acquired the mill. She had done her utmost to give the men proper living wages and overtime and all manner of fringe benefits, and she had kept the village going for years, often at great financial cost to herself. The workers were part of her in a way, for it was from their class that she herself came, and they held a favoured and unique place in her affections. The thought of letting a single one of them go distressed her, yet she had no choice, it seemed. Better, surely, to operate at half her work capacity and keep the mill rolling, than to close it down completely.

Half turning she said, ‘By the way, Alexander, have you discussed any of this with Kit?’

‘Uncle Kit,’ Alexander exclaimed, his startled tone reflecting the expression flicking on to his face. ‘No, I haven’t,’ he admitted. ‘For one thing, he hasn’t been around. And for another, he doesn’t seem interested in any of the mills, Fairley least of all. He hasn’t appeared to give a damn since you dumped him out of your will.’

‘That’s a crude way of putting it, I must say!’ Emma snapped, and returned to her desk with a show of briskness. ‘I didn’t dump him, as you call it. I passed him over. For his daughter, remember. As I did your mother for you and Emily, and your Uncle Robin for Jonathan. And you know the reasons why, so I won’t bother elucidating on them again. Also, let’s not forget that my will doesn’t come into effect until I die. Which won’t be for a long time, if I have anything to do with it.’

‘Or me either,’ Alexander cried swiftly, as always dismayed by her talk of dying.

Emma smiled at him, fully aware of his devotion to her, his genuine concern for her well being. She continued, in that business-like tone, ‘Well, so much for Kit. Mmmm. Of course, I realized he was being a bit derelict in his duties; on the other hand, I did think he made an occasional visit, if only for appearances’ sake.’

‘Oh yes, he does do that. But he’s so morose and uncommunicative he might as well not be there,’ Alexander explained, adding, as an afterthought, ‘I can’t begin to guess what he does with his time these days.’

‘Not much, if I know my eldest son. He never was blessed with much imagination,’ Emma shot back sardonically, the suggestion of a disdainful smirk playing on her mouth. She made a mental note to talk to Kit’s daughter, Sarah, about her father’s present mood. Morose indeed, Emma thought, with disgust. He brought his troubles on entirely by himself. No, not true. Robin gave him a helping hand, and Elizabeth and Edwina, his cohorts in the plot against me. Aware that Alexander was waiting expectantly, Emma finished, ‘Anyway, since Kit’s not around, he’s not going to hamper you – as he has so often in the past. Your way is clear. Put this plan into operation immediately. You have my blessing.’

‘Thanks, Grandy.’ He leaned forward, said with earnestness, ‘We are doing the right thing.’

‘Yes, I know that.’

‘And don’t worry about the men who are to be retired. They will be all right, really they will.’

She glanced at him quickly, her eyes narrowed under the hooded lids. She thought: I am so glad it’s not Alexander whom I suspect of treachery and duplicity. That I could not bear. It would kill me. She said, ‘It pleases me that you’ve always been so involved with the Fairley mill, and on such a personal basis, Sandy. You care, and that’s important to me. And I appreciate your understanding … I mean of my involvement with that particular mill.’ She smiled wryly and shook her head. ‘The past, you know, is always with us, always reaching out to claim part of us, and I learned a very long time ago that we cannot escape it.’

‘Yes,’ he said laconically, but the look in his eyes expressed so much more.

Emma said, ‘I’ve decided to go to the Fairley mill next week. I’ll be the one to explain the changes we’re going to make. Tell them about the retirements myself, in my own words. It’s only proper.’

‘Yes, it is, Grandy. And they’ll be thrilled to see you. They all worship you, but then you know that.’

‘Humph!’ she snorted. ‘Don’t be so foolish, Alexander. And don’t exaggerate. You know I can’t abide exaggeration.’

Alexander swallowed a smile, remained silent, watching her closely as she sorted through some of the papers on the desk, her head bent. She had spoken swiftly, crossly even, but there had been a curious gruffness in her voice, and he knew that she had been touched by his words. He was amused by her mild chastisement. It was a hoot. Her whole life had been an extraordinary exaggeration, for God’s sake. Why, she was larger than life.

‘Are you still here?’ Emma said, glancing up, frowning and feigning annoyance. ‘I thought you’d be halfway to the office by now, with all you’ve got to do today. Get along with you!’

Alexander laughed, jumped up and went around the desk. He hugged her to him, and kissed the crown of her silvery head. ‘There’s nobody like you in this entire world, Emma Harte,’ he said gently. ‘Nobody like you at all.’

CHAPTER 2

‘Nobody in this world but Emma Harte would have come up with such a preposterous proposition,’ Sebastian Cross cried indignantly, glaring, his face turning choleric.

‘She didn’t come up with it, I did,’ Paula replied in her coldest voice, returning his angry look with a steady unblinking gaze.

‘Tommy rot! It’s your grandmother talking, not you!’

Paula felt herself stiffening in the chair, and she suppressed the swift denial that sprang to her lips. Self-control was essential in all business dealings, and particularly with this odious man. She would not permit him to put her down, nor bait her with his inference that her grandmother was manipulating this negotiation from afar.

‘Think what you will,’ she said, after a slight pause. ‘But regardless of whoever formulated the deal, that’s it, as I’ve outlined it. It’s a take it or leave it situation.’

‘Then we’ll leave it, thank you very much,’ Sebastian shot back, filled with rancorous hatred for her and her strange yet compelling beauty, her money and her power. His dark eyes blazed, as he added, ‘Who the hell needs you or your grandmother.’

‘Now, now, Sebastian, let’s not be too hasty,’ John Cross soothed. ‘And please, do calm down.’ He threw his son a cautionary look, then turned to Paula, his whole manner unexpectedly conciliatory. ‘You must make allowances for my son. Naturally he’s rather upset. After all, your proposal came as something of a shock to him. He is very committed to Aire Communications, as I have always been, and he has no desire to leave the company. Neither do I. In short, we both expect, indeed fully intend, to continue in our present positions. I as chairman of the board, and Sebastian as managing director. Harte Enterprises would have to agree to that.’

‘I don’t believe that is possible, Mr Cross,’ Paula said.

‘Forget it, Dad,’ Sebastian almost shouted. ‘We’ll go elsewhere for the money.’

‘You’ve nowhere else to go,’ Paula could not help retorting icily, reaching for her briefcase on the conference room table. She stood up, announced with finality, ‘Since we seem to have reached an impasse, there’s obviously nothing more to say. I think I’d better leave.’

John Cross sprang to his feet, took her arm. ‘Please,’ he said quietly. ‘Please sit down. Let’s talk a little more about this.’

Paula hesitated, staring at him. Throughout their relatively short meeting, whilst his son had blustered and snarled, John Cross had adopted a stance of inflexibility, displayed a quiet but firm resoluteness to make the deal on his terms, despite their original understanding. Now, for the first time, she detected a sign of wavering on his part. And whether he was aware of it or not, the preceding months of tension and anxiety had taken their toll. The troubles of his floundering company were much in evidence, clearly imprinted on his gaunt and weary face, and there was a quiet desperation behind the bloodshot eyes which held a hint of new panic. He knows I’m right about everything, she thought, carefully assessing him yet again, but he just won’t admit it. The fool. She instantly corrected herself. The man standing before her had built up Aire Communications from nothing, so she could hardly characterize him as a fool. Misguided, yes; and, regrettably, he suffered from the serious malady of paternal blindness. He had long invested his son with qualities Sebastian did not possess, nor was ever likely to possess, and therein lay his downfall.

‘All right,’ she said at last, seating herself tentatively on the edge of the chair. ‘I’ll stay for a few minutes to hear what you have to say. But very frankly, I meant it when I said we’d reached an impasse.’

‘That’s not strictly true, in my opinion,’ he responded, smiling faintly, and his relief at her continuing presence in his board room was barely concealed as he took a cigarette and lit it. ‘Your proposition is a bit preposterous, you know. We want new financing. We don’t want to be taken over and thrown out of our own company. No, no, that’s not what we had in mind when we came to you,’ he finished, shaking his head several times for added emphasis.

Paula gazed at him in amazement. She gave him a curious smile. ‘You’ve just pin-pointed the crux of the matter. You came to us, remember. We didn’t seek you out. And you certainly knew enough about Harte Enterprises, and how we operate, to understand that we never invest in companies that are in trouble. We take those over, reorganize them, and put them under new management. Our management. In other words, we get them running smoothly, efficiently, and on a profitable basis. We’re not interested in financing other people’s continuing disasters. It doesn’t pay.’

John Cross winced at this unmistakable thrust, but resisted the parry. Instead he said, ‘Quite so, quite so. I’ve been thinking … Maybe we can arrive at a workable compromise–’

‘Dad! Don’t!’ Sebastian exploded irately, moving violently in his chair.

His father held up one hand, and frowned at him. ‘Hear me out, Sebastian. Now, Paula, here’s what I think we might do, how we might make a deal after all. Harte Enterprises could buy fifty-two per cent of Aire Communications’ shares. That gives you the control you insist you must have. You put in your management, reorganize as you wish, but you must let us stay with – ’

‘Dad! What are you saying? Are you crazy?’ Sebastian bellowed, his flushed face darkening considerably. ‘Where would that leave us? I’ll tell you where. Out in the bloody cold, for Christ’s sake.’

‘Sebastian! Please,’ John Cross shouted back, finally losing his composure, his exasperation running high. ‘Let me finish for once in my life.’

‘Just a minute, Mr Cross,’ Paula cut in rapidly, her irritation echoing in her voice. ‘Before you go any further, I must point out, yet again, that we wouldn’t be interested. It must be a full buy out. One hundred per cent or nothing. And I told you this right from the – ’

‘That’s the old monster talking again, Dad,’ Sebastian interrupted derisively, his mouth contorted into an ugly line. ‘Emma Harte! Jesus Christ, the only heart she’s got is in her name. Don’t deal with them, Dad. They’re vultures, both of them, and this one learned well at the knee of the master, that’s patently bloody obvious. She wants to swallow us up, in the same way her grandmother has swallowed up companies over the years. I told you, we don’t need them.’

Paula chose to ignore this unruly and vindictive outburst, deeming it unworthy of a response. She focused all of her attention on John Cross. She was appalled at his deviousness and enraged, but controlling herself, she said as evenly as possible, ‘I started to say, that I quite clearly recall mentioning the full buy out to you, Mr Cross, long before today’s meeting. I find it hard to believe you’ve forgotten the protracted conversations we’ve had about that very matter.’ She gave him a hard stare, wondering if he thought she was stupid.

John Cross coloured under her sharp scrutiny. He remembered her initial statements only too well. But he had hoped to get Harte Enterprises interested in the company, whet Emma Harte’s appetite, then structure the deal to suit himself. He had been elated when he had realized it was Paula who would do the negotiating. He had believed he could manipulate her, and the situation, to his advantage. His plan, had somehow misfired. Maybe Sebastian was right. Yes, Emma Harte was undoubtedly working behind the scenes; all of this had her unmistakable stamp to it. An unreasonable anger surged through him, and he exclaimed heatedly, ‘Look here, you’re not being fair.’

‘Fair,’ Paula repeated. She smiled thinly, added in a clipped tone, ‘The issues of fair or unfair just won’t play in this instance.’ She held him with her startlingly blue eyes. ‘I’m surprised to hear you use that word. I told you, at the outset of today’s meeting, that Harte Enterprises is prepared to pay you two million pounds for Aire Communications. That’s more than fair. It’s downright generous. Your company is in an unholy mess. It could go belly up at any moment.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, I suppose that’s your affair, Mr Cross, not mine,’ She leaned forward, grasped the handle of her briefcase. ‘We seem to have nothing further to say to each other.’

The senior Cross said, ‘If, and I am saying if, we do decide to accept your offer, can my son and I remain with the company?’

She shook her head.

John Cross thought rapidly, came to an unpalatable but necessary decision. ‘I would be willing to step aside. After all, I am near retirement age.’ He stubbed out his cigarette, fixed his pale eyes on her. ‘However,’ he went on firmly, ‘you must reconsider your decision regarding Sebastian. No one knows this company like my son. Why, he would be invaluable to you. I must insist that he be appointed to the new board of directors and that he be given a contract for five years as special consultant. I would have to have your guarantee on that, and in writing, before we can proceed any further.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘There is no place in Aire Communications for your son if we take the company over.’

The older man was silent.

Sebastian looked pointedly at his father, his expression at once both baleful and condemning. John Cross dropped his eyes, unable to meet that accusatory gaze, toyed with his gold pen, said nothing at all. Sebastian leaped up angrily, seething, and strode across the board room. He stood looking out of the window, his body rigid, and he cursed Paula Fairley under his breath.

Paula’s glance followed Sebastian. She felt the malignancy and alertness in him, but intuitively so, for she could not see his face. It was turned into the shadows cast by the window and the buildings outside. Involuntarily she shivered and brought her eyes back to his father. They regarded each other alertly, each wondering which one of them would make the next move. Neither did.

Paula saw a thin, grey-haired man in his early sixties, a self-made man who had pulled himself up by his bootstraps, and who, in the process, had acquired a distinguished air and a degree of superficial polish. He was also a frightened man. His company was sinking like a torpedoed battleship with a gaping hole in its bow, yet seemingly he was prepared to spurn the life belt she had thrown him because of his love for his son. The son who had so badly mismanaged Aire Communications that he had brought it to its present weakened and crippled state. She noticed a muscle twitching in the elder Cross’s face and glanced away.

John Cross, for his part, sat facing a young woman of great elegance in her grooming and her dress. She wore a magenta wool suit, magnificently cut and tailored, obviously a pricey piece of haute couture, with a man-tailored shirt of white silk. There was an absence of jewellery, except for a simple watch and a plain gold wedding band. He knew that Paula McGill Amory Fairley was only in her mid-twenties, yet she gave the impression of being so much older with her inbred caution, her cool authoritative manner. She reminded him of her famous grandmother, even though her colouring was so different. The glossy black hair, cut in a straight bob that grazed her jawline, the blue eyes flicked with violet, and the ivory complexion were unquestionably striking; but whereas Emma’s fabled russet-golden tints had always suggested softness and beguiling femininity, Paula’s beauty was somewhat austere, at least to suit his taste in women. Neither were her features quite as perfect as Emma’s had once been. Still, they did share the same aura of presence, and she had apparently inherited the old lady’s steely toughness as well as that uncommon widow’s peak, those sharp eyes that penetrated with a keen intelligence. His heart sank as he continued to study that palely beautiful but obdurate face.

He would never win with her. As this unpleasant realization sank in he did another volte-face, made yet another decision, and this one was final. He would seek financing from another source and insist that the deal include Sebastian. He must ensure his boy’s future with the company – one which had been built up expressly for him. That was the only thing he could do; the right and proper thing to do. Yes, he must protect his son above all else, otherwise what had his life been about?

John Cross was the one who broke the prolonged silence. ‘We are deadlocked, Paula. I have to pass.’ He lifted his hands in a helpless gesture, then let them fall on to the conference table limply. ‘Thank you for your time. And please tell your grandmother that her terms are too harsh for my palate.’

Paula laughed softly as they both rose. ‘They’re my terms, Mr Cross, but I won’t labour the point.’ Being a courteous young woman she thrust out her hand. ‘I wish you lots of luck,’ she said with studied politeness.

‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice equally as civil as hers but not quite as steady. ‘Let me escort you to the lift.’

As they passed the window, Paula said, ‘Goodbye, Sebastian.’

He swivelled his dark head, nodded curtly, and she was so startled by the naked hatred etched on his cold and bitter face she hardly heard his muttered response. She had recognized a most dangerous enemy.