Twisted Love and Money (18 page)

“You are not so
bad yourself,” Janet said with a laugh. Peter was making her
nervous with his seriousness.

Peter did what
he knew best. He ran his hand along the side of her neck and gently
but firmly drew her mouth to his. They kissed, long and soft and
exploring.

Peter took
charge as they played, like children in a new game, leading and
following, teasing and being teased. Peter was in his comfort zone,
doing what he could do best. Janet responded, moving from amusement
to something else, to a place where feelings she had long submerged
began to surface.

Then the dam
burst and they were struggling to take each other’s clothes
off.

They celebrated
each other’s bodies, both young fit and vigorous.

Afterwards they
showered together and Janet lent Peter a spare robe.

Janet took a
bottle of white wine and some cheese from the fridge. She was in
shock. Peter had been so dammed good in bed. At least he was good
at something, very good.

Then they sat
and played music and talked, trading background, beliefs and
experience. As night fell into darkness they continued in a relaxed
warm mood. In time Janet sent out for a take a way Chinese and they
ate it in front of the TV. Peter knew he would be staying the night
and Janet wanted him to stay.

That night they
made love again, this time with less urgency, but more passion.

Chapter
Twenty-one

“It’s an
absolute fucking disaster,” Dorothy declared.

As soon as she
had heard the news she had called an emergency meeting of the
executive board. She had insisted that Michael O’Byrne fly back
from business in Paris. Only James O’Driscoll, on business, this
time in the Middle East, was excused. Peter, John and Dermot were
there. Michael was in the chair and the atmosphere was highly
charged.

“Calm down
Dorothy,” Michael soothed.

“Daddy, we have
an amazing fuck up. We are in trouble.”

“For Christ
sake tell me! What for Jasus sake?”

“It is AF,”
Peter announced solemnly. “I have received a fax from their
procurement people. They have stopped all orders pending a quality
review. Some major problems with our Organic Deliveries last week.
Everything is on hold.”

“I thought you
were on top of the AF account Peter. I thought you were handling
this quality survey business?”

“I am, I am,”
Peter protested. “We were winning all round. Additional orders to
beat the band. Everything pally. Long-term orders and talk of
long-term supplier arrangements. Everything was right from the
sales end.”

“Then why are
they cancelling?”

“Not
cancelling, suspending.”

“Suspending,
for fucks sake.” Michael hissed through clenched teeth. But for
this board meeting he would be eating out in Paris that night and
he was not in a mood to take prisoners.

Peter took a
deep breath. “Don’t shoot the messenger,” he protested, “They are
suspending dealings with us because Dermot’s people have fouled up.
They dispatched some vegetable consignments as organic food and
they were obviously not organic grown. Too perfect. Perfect
carrots, smooth, clean, not a sign of insects anywhere. Very
obviously grown in a chemical environment. The AF people ran some
tests in their quality labs. They concluded that the supplies were
not organically grown. That was when the shit hit the fan.”

“We don’t
accept the allegation,” Dermot protested angrily. “We have vigorous
quality checks. And even if something got through the AF reaction
is way over the top. They cannot stop supplies just for one
incident. Especially as it has not been fully investigated.”

“They have
suspended orders,” Peter said triumphantly. “Quality is quality. We
fucked up and they have hit us.”

“How do we get
it back on the rails?” Michael asked wearily. “Should I recall
James O’Driscoll from the Middle East? Should I get James to talk
to them? With respect Peter, James has dealt with the AF people for
the past twenty years.”

“Not with the
new central procurement,” Peter retorted, he felt that to recall
O’Driscoll would be the equivalent of saying he, Peter could not
handle the situation. “I have already arranged to see them myself,”
he added proudly, “As soon as we got their communication suspending
orders.”

“How did you
handle it?” Michael asked.

“First I rang
their consultant on quality audits, Simmons. I expressed my gravest
concern. She was positive, but gave no commitment of support. Then
I rang AF and asked to speak to someone with suitable authority.
Said I insisted on taking the problem to the highest level.
Eventually I got through to their Managing Director, a man called
Crawford. I am to see him tomorrow.”

“O.K.” Michael
said, sitting back and spreading his hands, in a gesture seeming to
say ‘what can I do,’ but he was observing his board closely. “Peter
as you have it set up, you better see this Crawford fellow.”

Peter
nodded.

“I’ll get James
back,” Michael added. “He can link with you Peter when he gets
back. You can both work as a team.”

“Right,” Peter
said firmly. He was relieved. O’Driscoll could share any blame that
was going if Peter could not sort out things in his meeting with
Crawford.

“Dermot, you
have to follow this one up every inch of the way. We cannot
tolerate quality blips. Get on to it.”

“Understood,”
Dermot said tersely. He sensed he was in deep trouble.

“Why this
Crawford, why the Managing Director?” Dermot asked suddenly,
turning to Peter. “Why not the top Procurement man? What did you
say his name was? Was it Purvis?”

“Phillip
Purvis. He said it was over his head and he bounced me up to
Crawford. Purvis said that the breach of their quality policy,
especially so blatantly, was a main board issue and Crawford was
the man. Said that in view of O’Byrne’s long association with AF he
would arrange for me to see Crawford. I accepted gratefully.”

“All right, all
right,” Michael cut across them. “Dorothy, how much does this
business mean to us. Let us have the financials.”

“Broadly,
without AF we would fall back towards breakeven. I asked John to do
the detailed financials. John?”

Dorothy gave
John the floor with a tight encouraging smile.

John cleared
his throat. “It is worse than that.”

“Worse, how can
it be fucking worse?”

“Don’t forget
the new orders Peter brought in. This represented a significant
increase in business. To meet the new orders we have in turn
ordered from our suppliers, to the tune of about fifty million. In
time we will have to pay for these and now we have nowhere to sell
the produce. That is unless AF lifts their suspension. Our stock is
perishable so we could have major write offs. In addition AF may
suspend payment of current amounts they owe us.”

“
If other customers hear of the AF action we are goosed,” Peter
added, almost with relish. “We could get more
cancellations.”

“Dorothy, what
about the banks?” Michael asked.

“So far we have
kept them in the dark. But we will have to tell them.”

“It is not that
simple,” Dorothy cut in, “Once the banks know we are in dispute
with our major customer AF, they will go cold, they will want to
re-examine our lines of credit and their exposure.”

“Will the banks
back us?” Dermot asked anxiously.

“The banks
could do a couple of things. On the upside they may continue to
back us. Again looking downside, they can send in a receiver to
realize the assets and protect their loans. So could our debenture
holders if they get wind of this trouble, it is likely they will
act to protect themselves.”

“
What’s the likely outcome?” Dermot prompted.

“The banks
could back us for a month. Trouble is our debt equity ratio is
already around eighty. Banks like to keep it at fifty for comfort.
They were giving us a bit of rope because of our high growth
rate.”

“Last week,”
Michael bellowed. “You John, and Dorothy, were talking of the
company being worth between a hundred million and two hundred
million.”

He looked black
and could not comprehend what he was being told.

“The price of
shares,” John said solemnly, “is what people are prepared to pay
for them. If there are no profits, they will not pay more than
asset values. If you are borrowed it is net asset values. Think of
our brand new plant in Cork. It only has a scrap value unless it
can be used to generate revenue. If we are sent to the scrap yard
then we only get scrap value.”

“But hopefully
that situation will not arise,” John added, realizing that in the
manner of conservative accountants he was painting the blackest
picture.

Michael
clenched his fists. “This is a fuck up,” he said angrily. He stood
up and strode around the room. He looked out the window onto the
green of Fitzwilliam Square. Two women were playing with some
children. The sun was shining. Michael spun around and slammed the
table.

“Jobs are on
the line,” he roared.

“Dermot,” he
shouted, pointing at him. “You fucking well sort out this quality
issue.”

“John,” Michael
gripped the edge of the table and was purple in the face, “We took
you on as a top accountant. Despite your so-called expertise, you
did not stop us from making the forward commitments even though the
money was tight. Start now, work with Dorothy, and come up with a
plan to straighten out the banks.”

John began to
protest, but Michael carried on.

“Peter, get to
this guy Crawford. Do what you have to. Threaten legal action,
raise hell, but don’t blow it. Tell him James O’Driscoll the senior
sales director will be back in two days. Hold the line.” Peter
nodded and Michael turned to Dorothy

“And
Dorothy.”

“Yes Sir?”

“When do we run
out of money?” he said weakly.

“If AF doesn’t
pay at the month end, receipts will be down and payments have to be
made.”

“Dorothy,” he
said with quiet intensity. “Go through all the payments. Obviously
we have to pay wages. But for everything else, I authorize payments
from here on in.”

“Yes Dad.”

“Don’t dad me.
Just do it.”

“Yes sir.”

“We will have
daily meetings until this crisis is over. This meeting is finished.
Good luck Gentlemen.”

With that
Michael wheeled out of the room leaving the boardroom door widely
ajar.

“Gone for a
pint,” Peter remarked sarcastically.

“More likely a
brandy.” Dorothy added and could not suppress a giggle.

“Peter I want
to fly to the UK immediately,” Dermot said, grim but even
toned.

“I want to see
their quality people. Eyeball to eyeball. I want chapter and verse.
I want traceability to every load we supplied. I want to go all the
way down the chain and kick ass,” Dermot insisted.

“Whoa Dermot.
Not so fast. This is a delicate situation. As you would expect, I
told them we would want to see their people. They kicked to touch.
Said, first I have to see Crawford. Then our people can come
in.”

“Ring me when
you get clearance. It is vital we follow this up immediately. I’ll
start this end now but we must talk to them, understood?”

“Understood.
Soon as I have clearance I’ll be on the blower with the
details.”

After the
meeting John and Dorothy gathered up their papers.

“So we call the
Bank.” Dorothy said.

“Yes,” John
agreed.

“I have been
dealing with them so I make the contact. Brian Mulligan is the bank
manager. I will try to see him after lunch.”

Dorothy went
back to her office. She was shaky. She got her secretary to make
arrangements with the bank.

“Mr. Mulligan
will see you at two thirty,” she reported.

Dorothy went
over the figures again. She had to admit that John was a good
accountant. She could find no fault. It did not take a genius to
see they were in trouble. But John had set it all out, long and
short term, upsides and downsides. He had a grasp of the essentials
of the business and presented figures well.

Dorothy closed
the file with a sigh.

Troubles always
came in twos. Jeremy had not rung her. The meeting with his mother
had gone so well. At first Dorothy had been amazed. Such a harmless
old woman, so kind. Then as the evening had gone on she had begun
to realize that Jeremy’s mother, Maureen O’Neill, was like many
Irishwomen of her generation, well-spoken to strangers, anxious to
impress, but as hard as nails on their own.

She could
imagine that Jeremy had been accurate when he had said that if the
kids in the neighbourhood got into a fight his mother would slap
her own kids first and then try to find out who was to blame.
Generous to a fault but highly critical of her own.

Dorothy had
been fascinated as she watched the way Jeremy was manipulated by
his mother. Faint approval here, surprise, and then expressions
like ‘do you tell me now.’ It was hard to see whether Maureen
O’Neill had forgiven her son for running away. She made a great
fuss of him. Seemed pleased when he explained he was in business
with a partner. Refused flatly when he suggested he might ‘set her
up somewhere.’ Suggested he might do more to help his siblings who
were not doing well at all. Told him if he was doing well he should
try to help his sisters and their unemployed husbands but cautioned
him not to make beggars of them.

Dorothy had
sensed that her welcome was unqualified. When a few questions
elicited her standing as a qualified accountant, Maureen O’Neill
appeared impressed and pleased. A respectable girl for her son? And
if he married maybe he would come back to Dublin. Back into his
mother’s sphere of interest.