Having It All (56 page)

Britt heard the pain in Liz’s voice as they stood apart from the others outside Ross Slater’s offices the next morning.

‘I didn’t know, Liz, I guessed there was something, that’s all. I could have been wrong.’

‘But you weren’t wrong were you? Oh, Britt, what am I going to do?’

‘You’re going to forget all about him. You’ve got Jamie and Daisy. You’ve got a beautiful home. And after this morning you could be rich!’ She reached out and took
Liz’s hand. ‘He was only a man after all!’ She smiled wryly. ‘And what do they matter?’

Liz smiled back. They both knew that, in their lives, whether they liked it or not, men had mattered too much.

But Britt was right. She had her children and she had her home. And last night she’d finally come to a decision. She didn’t want to join the idle rich. She’d seen what it did
to other people, drifting aimlessly from tennis lesson to interior designer to hairdresser, counting the minutes till six o’clock and the first G and T. She had no intention of selling out to
Ross Slater no matter how much he offered, because right now she needed WomanPower more than ever before.

As Liz waited with the others at World of Work’s glossy HQ, she tried to wipe the night before from her mind and concentrate on the meeting ahead. The others would be relying on her, and
she must somehow shake off the deadly bitterness that kept making her wonder if anything mattered any more.

At ten precisely Ross Slater’s secretary appeared to meet them and she ushered them not into Slater’s office, where she had been before, but the boardroom. Clearly they were being
given the red-carpet treatment.

She’d expected it to be all mahogany veneer and Olde English hunting prints, but instead the room was both tasteful and stylish, in terracotta with painted Egyptian columns. Liz tried not
to be impressed as she recognized the work of Rory O’Leary. Trump Tower. New York’s Russian Tea-rooms. Palaces in Abu Dhabi. And World of Work’s HQ. The artist never revealed his
prices. And if you had to ask you couldn’t afford him.

A side table by the wall at first appeared to be a witty
trompe l’œil
, but since a gold cafetière and five cups stood on it, Liz realized it must be real. Five cups.
And there were four of them. Herself. Ginny. Mel. And Britt, acting as their adviser. Ross Slater clearly didn’t need advisers. He was the kind of man who decided what he wanted to do for
himself and did it.

His secretary had just poured them a cup when Slater arrived, alone, as cool and charming as ever, in an expensive hand-sewn suit. Only the diamond winking at them from the heavy gold of his
signet ring, and the faintest fattening of his vowel sounds, hinted that his background was more East End than Eton.

He sat down, relaxed and calm in this setting which said ‘Ah ha, you thought you knew me, you thought I was a jumped-up barrow boy, but don’t underestimate me’ and she realized
why he had brought them here instead of coming to them. He had wanted to flash his power and his taste, to show them that he wasn’t a faceless conglomerate, but a man of vision, an individual
in a corporate universe.

And as Liz introduced him to the others she could see it was already working. The others were watching him, fascinated, waiting for his first move.

Once he knew that every eye was on him he leaned back in his leather chair and, very casually, began his pitch.

‘As you know I want to acquire WomanPower and I’d like to tell you why, and, of course, why you should sell to me.’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘WomanPower is a huge success.
You couldn’t buy the kind of publicity you’ve been getting. You’re the darling of the media. The Government seeks out your views and cooperation. You
are
women and work.
But you aren’t capitalizing on it.’ He looked round at them. ‘And my research tells me it’s because that’s the way you want it. You want to stay small so you can have
a home life as well as a business.’

So. He’d been doing his homework. Who had told him that? Dawn, the office manager, after a few drinks and a lot of flattery? It couldn’t have been one of them. Apart from Liz none of
them had met him before.

‘You may be surprised to hear that I have a lot of sympathy with that.’

Oh yeah, thought Liz, the man who works seven days a week, whose three marriages have failed because he’s never there, who goes home to a nice warm helicopter?

‘But I’m afraid life’s not like that. Clients don’t understand if their vacancy isn’t filled because you want to pick up the kids from school.’ Liz noticed
that his voice had become tougher, the harsh but fair headmaster. ‘Some of your customers are getting edgy. There are even whispers of inefficiency. Letters unanswered. Calls not
returned.’

Liz glanced at Britt. He was singing her tune. She could almost have written the words.

A flash of panic swept over her. Britt couldn’t have been feeding him information? She was the first one to know about his interest, after all. She could be on a fat consultancy fee if the
deal went through. Then she remembered Britt’s ravaged face that day looking up at her as she hid inside the cottage, an image of such abject misery that even Liz, who had so much to blame
her for, had been moved. No. Britt wouldn’t do that. Britt of all people wouldn’t do that. Not now.

She glanced at her friend. But Britt wasn’t looking in her direction. She was listening impassively to Ross Slater.

‘If you go on like this, I’d give you six months.’

For the first time Britt glanced at her as though she echoed his prediction. Six months!

‘WomanPower will collapse like a house of cards. You have to act now, build on your achievement! Flexible working is an idea whose time has come! And not just for women. Everyone wants
more balance in their lives. People OD’d on work in the eighties. Seventy-hour weeks! Eighty-hour weeks! And what for? Money but no time. Now they want their lives back!’

He stood up and started to pace. ‘If you join World of Work you can take your idea to every High Street in the country! Think of the people you’ll help!’

They could all hear the excitement in his voice, the eagerness to get his hands on an idea that had potential and expand it, and it was heady and infectious. Despite herself Liz felt carried
along by his enthusiasm.

Maybe he was right. Maybe WomanPower could do more good if it was on every High Street. For a moment she felt the exhilaration of seeing WomanPower as famous as Brook Street Bureau or The Body
Shop. Maybe they should sell.

Ross Slater stopped pacing and leaned over the back of his chair.

‘I know what you’re thinking. WomanPower is
our
baby and this man, this self-made millionaire who doesn’t give a toss about it, who just sees it as another brick in
his empire, wants to take it away from us. But I do care about it. I think it’s unique and I would want to keep that personal touch for women, that caring quality!’ She sensed he was
about to reveal his closing card. ‘And I certainly don’t want to exclude you. I would want both Ginny and you, Liz, to stay on as part-time directors. I’ve seen too many companies
bought from the person who created them and watched them crumble in months. I
need
you! I want WomanPower because I know what we could do with it, together.’

For a second Liz heard an echo in his words. ‘I couldn’t buy experience like yours,’ that’s what he’d promised the old man too.

But even she wasn’t ready for what he had to say next.

‘I want WomanPower very much indeed.’ He paused and looked from one to the other, gauging the impact of his words. ‘And I’m prepared to pay £2 million to get
it.’

Liz tried to suppress a gasp. Two million! And she owned nearly half of it! She tried to push the thought of swimming pools and cruises from her mind and listen to what Slater was saying.

It had been a brilliant performance. He’d thought of everything. It was, Liz saw with a frisson of fear, an offer they would find very difficult to refuse.

Liz zipped up her briefcase realizing that Ross Slater was watching her. And in that moment she saw that he understood the situation very well. That it was she, not the others,
who would be his opponent.

He came towards her smiling. And she remembered instantly why his steely charm had made her so uneasy when she’d met him before. It was the charm of the jackboot. He was the kind of man
who made decisions for you, from ordering your dinner to ordering your life. Some women probably loved it, but she wasn’t one of them.

As she started to leave the room she felt his hand hold her elbow, detaining her as the others went ahead.

‘Mrs Ward. Am I right in believing you used to be married to David Ward, the journalist?’

‘I still am married to him,’ Liz corrected, wondering why she’d bothered to challenge his assertion.

‘I see. But living apart? Your husband is a very persistent man.’ She could hear the veiled annoyance in his voice.

‘Good journalists usually are.’

‘Possibly. I haven’t much respect for journalists, I’m afraid. But he happened to be wrong about me. He listened to a sad old man who bore me a grudge.’

Liz wondered how much she should let on that she already knew. ‘And that grudge had nothing to do with you elbowing him off the Board of his ex-company?’

Slater laughed. ‘That’s ludicrous as I told your husband at the time. The old boy was past it, that was all. His memory had gone. He was incapable of sitting on a Board of
Directors.’

Liz remembered David’s description of the old man. ‘Sharp as a whistle on a cold morning.’

Ross Slater moved fractionally closer and dropped his voice. ‘I hope, Mrs Ward – or should I call you Susannah Smith? – that when all this is over you’ll have dinner with
me.’ He opened the door for her. ‘I like your style.’

As she walked towards the open door Liz pictured David’s face as he told her about the old man. It had been the old David speaking, passionate and angry.

And she knew whose story she believed. She just hoped she could persuade the others to do the same.

‘Wow! What an offer. He’s thought of everything!’

Mel picked up the official bid in its special bound folder and flicked through it.

‘It’s a dream come true! WomanPower on every High Street,’ Ginny enthused. ‘Part-time directorships! Two million quid! Gavin will be able to stop commuting and work from
home! We won’t have to sell the house!’

Listening to the relief in Ginny’s voice, Liz began to feel sick in the pit of her stomach and cold and shivery as though she were coming down with flu. But it wasn’t flu. It was
knowing she had to put the boot into the excitement she could hear from all around her. They saw Ross Slater as a saviour. A White Knight who would ride in and solve all their problems, showering
them with money, and reassuring them with his maleness.
It’s all right now that I’m here, darling, why don’t you run along and buy yourself a new dress while I sort things
out?

And how the hell could she persuade them that Ross Slater wasn’t a saviour but a snake in the grass?

‘Oh yes, he’s thought of everything all right,’ Liz cut in. ‘But will he stand by it? Ross Slater’s an entrepreneur, a one-man band. He makes his decisions
himself.
He didn’t even bring any advisers to that meeting. Anyone else would have come loaded with accountants, personnel directors, M&X people. But he came alone. Why? Because
he operates by instinct, that’s why, he makes up his own mind. He won’t listen to us! If we oppose him he’ll get rid of us and do what
he
wants. He’s about as
democratic as Attila the Hun!’

Liz knew she was pricking their balloon, but it had to be done before they signed WomanPower over to Slater and watched him dismantle everything it stood for.

Ginny stopped smiling and turned to her. ‘Then why has he asked us to be directors? He didn’t have to do that.’ Liz could see she wasn’t convinced.

‘Because he wants to get us to sell! And we’re more likely to sign on the dotted line if we think we’ll still be involved.’

‘Are you sure you’re not overreacting?’ Britt asked gently. ‘He’s not Conrad, you know. Under him WomanPower could have a great future. He’s a brilliant
businessman. And he’s clearly excited about WomanPower. You could hear it in his voice.’

Liz found Britt’s calm questioning much harder to ignore than Ginny’s anger.

‘Yes, but excited about what? Our image, that’s all. Do you think he gives a damn about the women on our books and whether they get a good deal? Of course he
doesn’t!’

‘We’ve got to do
something
, Liz,’ Britt reminded her quietly. ‘Even if you don’t sell, you’ll need a full-time MD and you could find yourselves eased
out anyway – without even getting rich.’

Liz winced. She knew Britt was right. But surely it must be possible to find someone sympathetic to run WomanPower for them? Suddenly she had an inspiration so blindingly obvious she
couldn’t think why it hadn’t come to her before.

‘
You
wouldn’t consider running it, would you, Britt?’

Britt smiled gently. ‘Sorry, Liz. But I’ve got my own company.’

Liz looked across at Mel. ‘What about you, Mel?’

Mel looked embarrassed. ‘I’d love to, but Garth and I are thinking of starting our own magazine.’

Liz turned to Ginny. She knew it was useless but she had to ask. ‘Ginny, what about you?’

‘Come on, Liz! It was you who told me not to wreck my marriage, that it was worth more than any company!’

Liz smiled wryly.

Ginny returned her smile with a touch of nervousness. ‘What about you, Liz, now that er . . .’ She trailed off too embarrassed to go on.

‘Now that I haven’t got a relationship to think of, you mean?’

She knew what they were all thinking. That she was asking
them
to make the sacrifice she wasn’t prepared to make herself. That of all the four of them it was
she
who was
the ideal choice. Especially now. Now that she had lost Nick.

And she knew in that moment that she’d lost the battle. If she wasn’t prepared to run WomanPower herself she could hardly expect them not to sell out to someone who would.