The Money Makers (60 page)

‘Yeah, well, we need to keep it quiet,’ he grunted.

‘The Aspertons won’t stay tame if they get wind of what happened.’

‘I understand. But I do apologise. I think you did a wonderful thing. I’m sorry if I made it harder for you.’ Val’s deep-set blue eyes were looking down and away from him. Anywhere but into his eyes. Her mouth was trembling.

George reached out a hand towards her. He longed to touch her, to draw her into his arms and comfort her, but he held back. He tried to help her with his words.

‘Thank you, Val. I ... I knew you wouldn’t have been angry if you’d known. And I certainly did make myself look a bit of a bastard.’

She looked up, her lips still quivering. Like this, tearful and emotional, George saw a Val which few had ever seen. Her broad, slightly crooked face, her deep intelligent eyes, her boyish ginger hair - to George, they were all entirely beautiful.

‘Val ... I ...’ he began and broke off.

Val stood there, not moving away, but not approaching him either. How was he to read this?

‘Val,’ he said, ‘I know it was awful of me running away from you like that. You deserved, well you do deserve much better than that. But is it possible for you to give me a second chance?’

She struggled with herself.

‘We were living together, George. We were lovers.’

‘I know.’

‘You hurt me so much. I swore I would never forgive you.’

Ever so gently, George lifted Val’s chin until her swimming eyes gazed straight into his.

‘I know how much I hurt you. I’ve grown up since then, grown up a lot. You wouldn’t have to pardon me, just give me a second chance.’

Val stared ahead of her, fear and hope struggling in her face. Kiki had phoned her in the summer, after George’s brother’s wedding. Kiki had told Val that George really loved her, that she should give him a second chance. Val’s pride and her anger at George’s treatment of Darren had kept her aloof, but it had been hard. What was she to make of this man?

She reached out to George’s jacket. She felt in his pockets until she found the weight of his wallet, and she picked it out. She opened it up. Inside were some credit cards, a couple of receipts, boring stuff mostly. And there were some photos. At the front of the wallet, framed in a clear plastic panel, was the photo of Val which she had given him that summer when they were first together. There was also a passport photo which George must have swiped from her desk drawer at some point. She hadn’t missed it. There were also the photos of Kiki which George had long kept in his wallet. They were tucked away at the back. When Val pulled at them, they came unstuck with a jerk. They hadn’t been moved for months.

Val didn’t say anything, couldn’t, just nodded. He reached for her, she for him. They embraced with the intensity of prisoners finding freedom. They kissed again and again until they’d had enough to pause awhile. Val sat on his lap, each of them giving or receiving kisses as they felt the need.

‘I’ve missed you so much.’

‘I hated not speaking to you. I knew I had to be firm with myself, because I’d be putty in your hands otherwise.’

‘God, I wish I’d known. It would have made waiting easier.’

‘Oh, George.’

Neither of them yet dared call the other what they wanted to: sweetheart, darling, my love. They were reunited, lovers again, but were they more? Neither of them had ever spoken deeply about their relationship while it had lasted, and they hadn’t spoken so much as a word since it had ended. Where did they stand now? All this time, George had kept a ring tucked away against his heart and now it clamoured out its question, like cathedral bells.

‘Val,’ said George. ‘If it’s too soon, if you need more time, then . . . then, it’s OK. I still want whatever you feel alright with, but ... is it possible? ... will you marry me?’

Her mouth was wordless, but her eyes said everything. He hugged her. ‘Val, dearest, dearest, Val.’ Eventually they pulled apart. She was still on his lap and there they sat: a plain, ginger, overweight pair. George pulled the ring from his breast pocket.

It’s hard to pay thirty thousand pounds for a ring. Diamonds big enough to be worth that much look like high-class knuckle-dusters on the finger. George had managed to find a genuine pink diamond which had once belonged to a movie star and that had pushed the price up. All the same, the stone was large for any woman. On Kiki’s tiny hand, it would have looked ridiculous. Val looked at the ring, the big stone on the little gold band, and tried to squeeze it on. She got it as far as the first joint of her ring finger. She turned her hand, catching the light, watching the precious reflective magic inside the stone, and smiled.

‘Have you been lugging this around with you all the time?’

George nodded. ‘Every day.’

‘It must have cost you an arm and a leg.’

‘More than that. It almost cost the bloody factory.’ And George explained when he had bought it and why. Val stared into the ice-cold heart of the ring.

‘To be honest, George, I don’t want Kiki’s cast-offs. I’d sooner have something which is more me.’

George nodded.

‘It is a bit big,’ he said.

‘And a bit flashy.’

‘Yes, that too.’ George sighed. ‘I didn’t really think you’d want it, to be honest, but I offered it to Kiki, so I owed it to you to offer it to you too.’

‘Maybe we could drive into Leeds together tomorrow. Look around for something there,’ Val said as she kissed her fiancé.

He smiled. ‘Let’s do that, my love.’

4

Christmas has come. The goose has grown fat, and heads for the oven with all the other birds who wish that Christ had never bothered.

Josephine and Helen spend Christmas week at Ovenden House. Because Helen is there, George and Val, and Matthew and Fiona come to visit as well. Lord and Lady Hatherleigh are perfect hosts. They welcome their new family as their own and aren’t put out in the slightest by Helen’s disability. What’s more, Josie can’t help noticing that, as before at the wedding, Helen is very well here. Something about Ovenden House comforts her. Her speech is slow but distinct; she walks strongly, albeit slowly; her stamina is better than it ever has been at home. When she does tire though, her understanding fades. She persists in forgetting that Zack and Sarah are married, but she believes that George and Val are, and she likes that. She calls Val, ‘Val’, and she calls Sarah, ‘that girl’. Fiona she doesn’t mention at all.

Zack and Josephine declare a kind of truce. She doesn’t complain about his stinginess or neglect in front of Sarah or her family. She’s also agreed to leave her beloved portable computer at home. To everyone’s surprise, she’s showing every sign of turning into a computer nerd, something no one could have imagined three years ago. For his part, Zack marks the suspension of hostilities with politeness, and by doing his fair share of looking after Helen. He’s not very good at it though, and his stints often end in tears, which only Josephine or Val are competent to deal with.

Val feels out of place, despite the warmth of her welcome. She doesn’t have a posh dress to wear at the black-tie dinners, and, despite Sarah’s offers of help, she doesn’t have a hope of fitting into even Sarah’s loosest frocks. So she puts on the best thing she’s got, sits in the candlelight by George and looks at the pearls and diamonds all around. Something like this used to be George’s scene. It’s a bit posher and a bit more British.

However, he’s outgrown dinner tables like this one, and even though he knows which way to pass the port, he feels out of place too. He and Val will be pleased to get back to Yorkshire.

Matthew is comfortable enough. He likes the affluence that surrounds him: the immaculately kept house and gardens, the litre bottles of Penhaligon’s aftershave in the bathrooms, the genial assumption that money and wealth and family will just go on and on for ever. This is what motivates him. This is why he trades on the inside and jeopardises his wealth, his relationship and even his freedom. His father’s fortune wouldn’t buy wealth of the kind that Lord Hatherleigh so effortlessly commands, but it would be plenty. Matthew’s not greedy.

Fiona, on the other hand, is as brittle as glass. She’s stranded in the bosom of her partner’s family. Matthew’s eldest brother is married. His brother is engaged. Fiona feels as though the world’s looking at her and Matthew, waiting for them to tie the knot. What’s more, she has to share a room and a bed with Matthew. They do most nights now anyway and they’ll be moving into their new home soon as well - but she likes to have the option. She likes an escape route, which Ovenden House, for all its rooms, can’t provide. She is distant, strange, hard as nails. She leaves as soon as she can, before Matthew’s ready.

It’s not a great Christmas, but not too bad. Josephine has a real holiday and her mum feels relaxed and easy. The three brothers all have business matters to worry about and all three scoot back to work while the rest of the country is still regretting last night’s turkey curry and making short-lived resolutions to drink less. This is the last Christmas before Bernard Gradley’s three-year deadline. Next year, everything will be different.

5

The strange battle is drawing to a close.

For months now, the two contestants have done their worst. Hatherleigh Pacific has slagged off South China. After reading one of Zack’s masterpieces, you wondered how South China’s management managed to get to the bathroom on their own, let alone run a company. But South China hasn’t been idle. They’ve hit back as hard as they can, and their new-found profitability is certainly eye-catching. Where does the profit come from? Hatherleigh Pacific calls it ‘dangerous speculation which the current management is ill-equipped to handle’. South China calls it ‘years of investment bearing fruit’. Who do you believe? It’s time to decide. The shareholders must vote, and the day for voting is today.

Once again, Zack, Lord Hatherleigh, Scottie and Phyllis Wang were gathered in Hatherleigh Pacific’s Hong Kong boardroom. Through the windows, a three-masted wooden-built sailing ship was gliding up Victoria Harbour, heading east. Tugboats and fire-fighters danced around it, pumping jets of water up into the midday sky, celebrating something.

The four executives watched it idly. There was nothing for them to do. The deadline had passed. The votes had been cast and were now being counted. All they had to do was wait.

‘You’re sure your phone’s switched on?’ asked Scottie. Phyllis nodded. ‘My team will call me as soon as they get the message through from the count. If for any reason they can’t get through, they’ll call Zack. And they know where we are, so they can come through the switchboard if they have to.’

Scottie nodded. He knew all that anyway. ‘I don’t understand how you folks do this for a living.’ His crimson face had burned brighter with every day of this takeover battle. The end wasn’t coming a minute too soon for his blood pressure.

In the comer, two bottles of champagne shifted in their ice buckets as the ice melted into water. The count was running behind schedule. Scottie drifted back to the plate-glass windows to watch the sailing ship, when Phyllis’s phone rang. She leaped to it.

‘Phyllis Wang here.’

She listened for a moment, then shook her head. ‘They haven’t heard anything.’ She went on talking in a low voice. Just because one deal was coming to a close, didn’t mean she didn’t have other things to be getting on with.

The other three lapsed back into expectant silence. Phyllis wound up her call. The sailing ship came to the eastern end of Victoria Harbour and began to head for the narrow strait of Lei Yue Mun and the sheltered waters of Junk Bay beyond. Zack’s phone rang.

‘Gradley,’ he barked. His voice was snappish and his dark face was broody and drawn with tension. He was acutely nervous. Lord Hatherleigh thought it was the Hatherleigh family fortune that Zack cared about, but the thought hadn’t crossed his son-in-law’s calculating mind. Zack was concerned about his forty million dollar success fee. With the success fee and the ever-increasing success of RosEs, came his partnership.

‘Hi, darling, it’s me.’

‘Sarah! Hi. We haven’t heard anything yet. We’re all here, still waiting.’

‘I thought you were going to hear by eleven at the latest.’

‘Yeah, I thought so too. It’s gone twelve here now.’

‘Is that a good sign or a bad sign?’

‘It’s a sign we should have chosen someone else to run the count.’

‘Anyone ever tell you that you’re very sexy when you’re grumpy?’

‘You do quite often.’

‘Your fault for being grumpy so often. Well, I’m going back to sleep. It’s five in the morning here. Ring me when you hear anything, and good luck.’

‘Thanks, I will.’

Zack rang off. Sarah sounded calm, like she didn’t have fifty million quid invested in the outcome. The four executives watched the clock and waited. The sailing ship was now almost out of sight, only its stern still visible amongst the jumble of traffic and the dancing light on the water. Phyllis’s phone rang once again. She leaped to it and listened.

Her face broke into a smile of joy and her little hand clenched into a fist, thumb up.

‘Fifty-two percent,’ she said. ‘We won with fifty-two percent.’