Twisted Love and Money (16 page)

Jeremy
shrugged. “ Everything I touched turned to gold. I don’t know how I
do it. Once we bought a racehorse. Cost me ten thousand. David and
I wanted an excuse to be fashionable and go to Ascot and so on.
Well, it won all before it. I sold the beast for five million.”

“I don’t, I
can’t believe.”

“Believe me
Dorothy, Not only that, I got out of Electronics before the crash,
back into property. Lucky, but I followed an instinct. I am always
decisive and quick to follow my gut feel, my heart.”

“I believe you
Jeremy.”

Dorothy held on
to his hand. She was scared. Scared she would lose him. And she had
thought he was a waif she would have to look after.

“If I get
uppity, take the horse whip to my backside,” Jeremy offered.

“I will Jeremy,
You had better believe it.”

They both
smiled and the eye contact told Dorothy they were still lovers.

“I’m glad I
told you” Jeremy said, “I don’t like to complicate things with too
many secrets. I’ll take you through it sometime. My accountant says
I am a sterling billionaire, being conservative but taking
everything into account.”

“Jeremy come
over to the couch and kiss me.”

They sat
together. Jeremy kissed her and began to stroke her breast. He
confidently opened her blouse and put his hand inside her bra. Her
nipples rose hard and firm to meet his exploring fingers.

“Jeremy,”
Dorothy sighed. She wanted him inside her now.

“
It’s great to feel horney,” he said. He nearly said, with a
woman, but he bit the words off in time.

“What are you
going to do about it?” she asked.

“Will you touch
it?” he replied.

“No,” Dorothy
took her hand away.

“Will I have to
marry you?”

Dorothy seemed
not to notice but the words went to her core. Nobody had said those
words to her before. But some instinct told her he was serious. She
realized she had to satisfy his value system, nice catholic girls
did not tell boys to get on with it and screw the ass off them. The
mention of marriage changed the climate. Now they were talking
Catholic Church and respect. He said he was decisive when he wanted
something. She now was full of hope that he wanted her.

“In a catholic
church?” she asked half-mocking, half-testing his intentions.

“I’d want to do
it right,” he said seriously.

“Then you had
better sort out David” she said, pushing him away and standing up,
fixing her clothes.

“Dorothy,” he
said pulling her hand.

“Watch it,” she
said half in jest, “or I will take your pants down and then who
will have a sore behind?”

Jeremy giggled
a funny giggle. Dorothy realized she had him. Somehow she was able
to turn him on. He wanted to be dominated in sexual areas.

“Go,” she
said

“Dorothy?”

“Jeremy you
said you had to go. Well go. I can’t stand it. If you touch me
again I will rape you. And I want to be treated right. Do you
understand?”

“Yes
Dorothy,”

Jeremy stood
up. His eyes were shining. He felt he would burst. He was proud
that Dorothy could see the swelling in his pants. But she would
decide. She would decide where and when he could have an orgasm. It
was hers.

“It’s yours,”
he said.

“I’ll cut it
off if you let David near it.”

“I won’t. In
Ireland I am so guilty.”

“Stay guilty.
I’ll make an honest man of you if you let me.”

“Please,”
Jeremy smiled and then dropped to his knees.

“Will you marry
me Dorothy?”

Dorothy smiled
and considered her response, despite her internal turmoil.

“Jeremy first
you sort out David and then you ask me.”

“Time, I need a
little time. I want to keep the initiative and tell him in my own
time.”

“I understand.
Why don’t you come down to meet my parents, properly that is? Dad
was very rude tonight.”

“Of course
Dorothy. Let us go easy at this. David and I have a lot to do with
the business. I know I have been hiding out in Ireland. But we both
really do have to work very hard. There is an American trip soon
and we also have to see the institutional investors for a scheduled
lunch in London. We cannot have a public rift. It would unhinge our
bankers.”

“I understand
more than you know Jeremy. If you like, come down to my parents
place for a weekend. I’ll arrange it. You can bring David. I’d like
to get a look at him.”

“Will do,”
Jeremy said agreeably clumsily rising to his feet and he kissed
Dorothy.

He stood about
on one foot looking awkward and Dorothy knew he had something else
to say.

“What?” she
asked.

“Can we go to
visit my mother before the weekend?” he asked.

Dorothy had an
inspiration. Maybe she could keep him away from David.

“Let’s go now,”
she offered. “The evening is young yet. She’ll be delighted if we
call unexpectedly.

Jeremy
startled. This was too quick. But he knew he needed to do it
suddenly without time to think.

“Do it,”
Dorothy urged.

“I’d have to
ring David and explain,” he stammered.

“Do it,”
Dorothy repeated. This was exactly what she wanted. She did not
want him going straight back to David.

Hesitantly
Jeremy rang David. He was there. Dorothy listened to one side of
the conversation, wishing she could hear all that was being said.
Jeremy explained about the need to visit his mother and then
answered David in monosyllables. Then he hung up.

“Now to ring
mother,” Jeremy said. Taking a deep breath he picked up the phone.
It was answered.

Shaking he put
down the phone “She said come before half eight, she likes to go to
bed early.”

Chapter
eighteen

When Jeremy
told her the address Dorothy decided that she was not risking her
car in that neighbourhood. If her car was not stolen it would be
demolished was how she put it.

They parked in
the nearest underground car park. Then they went on foot for the
last half mile, sticking to the broad well-lit James Street.

Dorothy held on
to Jeremy as they walked. The flats were off James Street deep in
the Liberties.

Faces passed
them as they walked. A man with a limp and a pained hurt face. A
woman, expressionless, looked like she had been ill or was
alcoholic or on drugs. A woman in old clothes with two healthy
babies in a double buggy with a third standing on the back of the
buggy as she laboured to push them along.

“This end of
town gets a lot of people who cannot cope,” Jeremy remarked, seeing
how Dorothy was eyeing the passers by, “But there are also a lot of
indigenous people, born and bred in this area, salt of the earth.
Hard honest and real.”

Dorothy
wondered if Jeremy thought she was real. And his David? Was he
real?

It was twenty
years, but Jeremy felt as if he knew every stone. But he thought it
funny how everything seemed smaller, meaner.

“We are here,”
Jeremy said.

He knocked on
the door of a ground floor flat. “We were raised here,” he
added.

A large tough
looking unkempt young man came out of the front door of the flat
adjacent the one Jeremy had knocked on.

“Are you one of
the O’Reilly’s?” Jeremy asked and the young man looked surprised
and suspicious. His face turned dark and threatening.

“I am Jeremy,
Mrs. O’Neill’s son, Jeremy. Are you an O’Reilly? My mother told me
about the new neighbours. It is twenty years since I was home.”

“Jeremy, the
lost lamb,” the youth said sarcastically. “She told us about you
too. And you’ve come home, and with a fancy woman? About time too…
You don’t sound like a Dub. Where did you get the fancy
accent?”

Jeremy smiled.
“Do you think she is in?” he asked.

“Your Ma had an
accident. Hurt her arm. Did she tell you?”

“No we spoke on
the phone, nothing about an accident.”

“I’ll have to
let you in. My own Ma is at work.”

The youth
produced a key and opened the door.

“Visitors Mrs.
O’Neill,” he shouted in his deep Dublin accent. He stood back with
a smile and let them in. Jeremy closed the door, smiling, leaving
him outside.

She was sitting
in a wicker chair at the window. She would have seen them coming
and heard the exchange at the door. Her arm was in a bandage.

“Ma,” Jeremy
said and went and kissed her cheek. She held her cheek up to him
but otherwise was still.

“Ma?” she said.
“Jeremy I hardly recognize you. You have a cheek coming home after
twenty years.”

“Ma, this is
Dorothy,” Jeremy said, introducing her and simultaneously, almost
hiding behind her.

“Good child
bearing hips. Maybe you will give us a boy,” she said.

“Ma, have
manners.”

“Manners, kiss
my arse. I am too old for manners. Fat lot of good it did me
teaching you manners.”

“I’m here Ma,”
Jeremy said helplessly.

She smiled and
reached for his hand. “So you are, so you are. I don’t know why you
have been so scared to come home. And you with a fine young lady,
when did you marry? Do I see a ring? No. Put the kettle on Miss
while I look at the cut of him. Fine young man you have grown up to
be. Only ever ringing on the phone at and then like a scared
rabbit.”

“Ma.”

“Shut up and
sit down. It’s about time you came home.”

Chapter
nineteen

“He wants
what!” Michael O’Byrne was red in the face and, just astounded.

Unlike the
formal monthly meeting, the weekly board meeting had no set agenda.
Dermot O’Rourke had put the proposal to the meeting as they sat
around the boardroom table. All attention centred on Dermot and
Michael, only James O’Driscoll was absent, as he was in
Germany.

“O’Donoghue
wants us to merge the two companies. He wants to be the Chairman of
the merged company,” Dermot explained.

“He’s nuts,”
Michael spluttered. “Our turnover is five to six times his.”

“Turnover
doesn’t mean much as we are in the agribusiness where margins are
so low,” Dorothy interjected. “Remember Howlett Holdings is a
quoted company. This gives its shares a higher value because of
marketability.”

“
O.K.” Michael retorted. “We must account for a substantial
slice of his turnover. If we decided to give him no more business
then he will have to run for the hills. Take us out, leave him with
his overheads and his profits are practically gone.”

“His overheads
are low and he has a long track record with the banks,” Dermot
interjected.

“He is too
old,” Michael insisted.

“Of course he
is too old,” Dermot agreed.

Michael opened
a bottle and poured himself a drink of water. He began to calm
down. Dermot’s announcement had given him a fright. Dermot had read
from the copious notes he had taken in his meeting with
O’Donoghue.

“What does he
really want?” John asked.

“His ass
kicked,” Peter threw in.

Dermot ignored
Peter.

“
I don’t know what he is up to. He is an old devil. I’d almost
swear he knew we had him targeted for a takeover. We will have to
watch our step. O’Donoghue was well up, clearly having taken legal
advice. He was spouting about fair trading regulations and so on.
If we do make a bid we will have to watch our step.”

“What do you
mean, you would swear he already knew?” Dorothy demanded. Are you
suggesting one of my staff leaked the information?”

“Of course not
Dorothy,” Dermot said sounding as if that was the last thing that
would occur to him.

“Without
evidence you should be careful Dermot,” Peter added.

“We took great
precautions,” Dorothy continued, “only the Board got initialled
copies of the O’Donoghue proposals.”

There was a
movement of the board members as they fished out their copies of
the report, noticing for the first time their initials discretely
placed on the back of each sheet.

“Where is yours
Peter?” Dorothy demanded, noticing that he did not have the report
out in front of him.

“Read and
shredded,” Peter replied nonchalantly. Dorothy glowered at him.

“Come on, back
to the topic,” Peter admonished. “What do you think John? We have
to deal with this?”

“Well, like you
all I am astounded,” John replied. “I agree that Colm O’Donoghue is
too old. This proposal would result in a large increase and
diversification of his business. With O’Donoghue Senior in the
Chair the banks and investment houses would be dubious about the
longer-term investment. Though that said the position of chairman
is not as critical as Managing Director.”

“Don’t
underestimate,” Dermot corrected. “They run their business out of
an old Garage, granted. But that’s just a historical connection
because O’Donoghue is semi-retired. Their haulage set up down on
the Docks is very sophisticated. They have state of the art modern
computer systems. He employs young vigorous managers. Has a good
team. This is why we use them for our haulage, they are very
good.”

“Is there an
obvious successor to O’Donoghue?” John asked.

“No,” Dermot
admitted. “I expect that if he dropped dead the banks and other
outsider shareholders would want to put in new top management. He
has a grandson, about eighteen tears of age. Too young yet, but he
will inherit, he is the only child.”

“So we can
laugh off this stupid offer, “ Michael said sounding unsure. The
board smiled.

“That old
codger knows something. I’d swear he knew and was marking our card
in an indirect way,” Dermot suggested.