To Be the Best (Emma Harte)

by Barbara Taylor Bradford

  ‘Uncle Ronnie, he’s behaved unethically!’

  ‘It may seem that way, but it’s not necessarily so. Arthur Jackson is the executor of Sam Weston’s estate. He has only one obligation. To those children whose interests he protects. If he can strike a lucrative deal, or make additional income for them, he will.’

  ‘I think that’s what he’s done with Jonathan, don’t you?’

  ‘Most likely. Ainsley’s always been a shrewd operator. He’s probably offered to pay a big cash dividend out of his own pocket to the Weston estate, as long as the law firm vote the stock they control with his.’ Sir Ronald rubbed his chin, pursed his lips, ruminated. Then he added, ‘I’ll do a little fishing tomorrow. I have ways and means of finding things out. There are no secrets in our world, you know. Hold off on your phone call to Arthur Jackson for the moment.’

  ‘Yes, I will. Thanks, Uncle Ronnie.’ She leaned forward eagerly. ‘Is there any reason why I can’t launch a bid to take Harte’s private? Buy out my stockholders?’

  ‘Yes, one very good reason. I won’t let you.’

  ‘But it would be legal?’

  ‘It would. But to take your company private, you would have to offer money publicly, in the open market, to your stockholders. And you would immediately expose yourself to every predator and corporate raider in the City and in Wall Street.’ He shook his head with great vehemence. ‘No, no, I won’t permit you to do that, Paula. There would be other takeover bids, possibly hostile ones. And anyway why should your stockholders take your money? They may prefer to take Sir Jimmy Goldsmith’s money or Sir James Hanson’s or Carl Icahn’s or Tiny Rowland’s…or Jonathan Ainsley’s. You’d all be bidding against each other, accomplishing nothing except pushing up the price of the shares.’

  Her face changed ever so slightly and she glanced away, biting her lip. After a moment she looked at him and asked in a tired voice, ‘Then what can I do, Uncle Ronnie?’

  ‘You can start looking for a few small stockholders who between them hold ten per cent of the Harte shares. Perhaps four or five, maybe even as many as twelve. Track them down, buy them out – at a premium, if necessary. You’ve already got forty-one per cent. You only need fifty-one to have control.’

  ‘God, I’m so stupid, Uncle Ronnie! What’s wrong with me tonight? I keep losing sight of things. Obviously I’m not thinking straight.’

  ‘That’s understandable, you’ve had a nasty shock. Also –’ He paused thoughtfully before saying, ‘I think there’s one other thing you must do, my dear.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You must dispose of Jonathan Ainsley.’ She looked at him. ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know at this moment.’ Sir Ronald pushed himself to his feet, walked over to the window, stood staring out into Eaton Square, his analytical mind examining various possibilities. Eventually he swung around. ‘What do we know about this gonif?’

  ‘Not much, I’m afraid, since he left England and went to live in Hong Kong.’

  ‘Hong Kong! So that’s where he ended up after Alexander turfed him out. A very interesting place, Hong Kong. Now, tell me what little you do know.’

  Paula did as he asked, repeating the information Charles Rossiter had given her, which he, in turn, had learned from Sir Logan Curtis.

  ‘Start digging, Paula,’ Sir Ronald told her, ‘And dig deep. Do you have a particular private investigating firm you use for business matters? If you don’t, I can recommend one.’

  ‘No, that’s all right, thanks. I use Figg International, and have for years. They handle all of my security at the stores, provide guards, you know, the usual thing. They happen to have a private investigating division with offices and agents all over the world.’

  ‘Good. Hire them immediately. A momzer like Jonathan Ainsley must have more than one skeleton in his closet – ‘ Sir Ronald bit off the end of his sentence when the library door flew open.

  Michael walked in, and when he saw Paula he exclaimed, with a laugh, ‘Oho, so you’re the emergency!’ Instantly, he realized how serious Paula and his father were, and continued in a more sober tone, ‘From the way you both look, it must be an emergency.’ His eyes rested on Paula. He took in her extreme pallor, her tired eyes. ‘What’s wrong? It’s not something to do with the fire in Sydney, Paula, is it?’

  ‘No, Michael, it’s not,’ Paula said quietly, then glanced across at his father.

  Sir Ronald said, ‘Jonathan Ainsley has returned; he’s in London. To make trouble for Paula.’

  ‘How can he do that?’ Michael demanded, turning to her, frowning, his eyes full of puzzlement.

  ‘Uncle Ronnie will explain.’

  Once his father had acquainted him with the facts, Michael went to sit next to Paula on the sofa. He took hold of her hand affectionately. ‘Dad’s made some excellent suggestions, but what can I do to help you?’ he asked. He was full of sympathy and worry for her.

  ‘I honestly don’t know, Michael, but thanks for offering. Right now I’m going back to the store. I must start checking the records, go over the computer printouts. I must find those crucial stockholders. And as fast as possible.’

  ‘I’m coming with you, to help you,’ Michael announced.

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to, honestly. Uncle Ronnie has guests. I’ve interrupted your dinner party.’

  ‘You can’t do a job like that alone,’ Michael protested fiercely. ‘It’s endless. You’ll be at it all night.’

  ‘I was going to phone Emily.’

  ‘Good idea. Let’s call her from here. We’ll meet her at Harte’s. The three of us can handle it together.’

  ‘But – ‘

  ‘Do let Michael go with you, my dear,’ Sir Ronald interjected. ‘I will feel better, knowing he’s at the store with you.’

  ‘All right.’ Paula rose, kissed him on the cheek. He hugged her to him, and she murmured, ‘I can’t thank you enough, Uncle Ronnie.’

  He smiled down at her. ‘We’re mishpocheh,’ he said.

  Chapter 43

  ‘Know thine enemy,’ Paula said. ‘That’s what this is all about, Jack, why I asked you here.’

  Jack Figg, managing director of Figg International, nodded quickly. ‘I get the picture. And this Jonathan Ainsley chap is also your cousin, is he?’

  ‘Correct. And a very troublesome one at that. The situation is critical. I wouldn’t have dragged you to the store at eleven-thirty at night otherwise.’

  ‘That’s no problem. I’d come out at any time for you, Paula. I’ve always valued our friendship, as well as our long-standing business relationship.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She gave a warm smile. ‘I feel the same way.’

  Jack Figg, who ran the biggest and most successful security and private investigating company in Britain, sat back in the chair facing her. He pulled an Asprey leather jotting pad out of his sports jacket, said, ‘All right, Paula, shoot. Give me as many facts as you can.’

  ‘That’s just it, I don’t have very many. However, it’s my understanding that Jonathan Ainsley has lived in Hong Kong for about twelve years. That’s when he left England. He owns a company called Janus and Janus Holdings. More than likely it’s to do with real estate, that’s always been his area of expertise. He’s married, but I don’t know to whom. Charles Rossiter told me that they’re presently staying at Claridge’s; oh, and he mentioned that the wife is pregnant.’ Paula lifted her shoulders in a shrug. ‘I can’t tell you more than that.’

  ‘Hong Kong is obviously our jumping off point. But I’ll also have him watched here, so we know what he’s up to.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, and, as I just said, the situation is critical.’

  ‘I understand. And no doubt you needed the information yesterday.’

  ‘No, five years ago, if the truth be known,’ Paula answered quietly.

  Jack Figg gave her a knowing look. ‘I get the picture. But actually, how long do I have?’

  ‘Five days – at the most. I’d like your report on m
y desk by Monday.’

  ‘Good God, Paula! You’re asking for miracles! I can’t deliver in that short a time!’

  ‘Jack, you have to, otherwise the information will be worthless to me. It’ll be too late.’ She leaned across the desk, her face tense, her blue eyes focused intently on him. ‘I don’t care how many agents you put on. It can be a hundred, if necessary – ‘

  ‘If I do that, it’s going to cost you a lot of money,’ Jack interjected.

  ‘Have I ever haggled with you, Jack?’

  ‘No, of course you haven’t, it’s not your style. But digging deep, doing a complete profile of this nature can become very expensive. Very quickly. Especially when there’s a time element involved. To gather the kind of information you want, I have to turn Ainsley inside out. I will have to put a lot of operatives on. It’ll also be necessary to move a number of my agents from other Far East countries into Hong Kong. That in itself will send the costs skyrocketing. Then there’ll be all kinds of payoffs, bribes – ‘

  Paula cut in, ‘I don’t need to know the details, Jack. Just do it. Please. Get me as much information on Jonathan Ainsley as you can. I need ammunition against him, in order to defend myself. There’ve got to be some skeletons in his closet.’

  ‘Maybe not, Paula. He might be as clean as a whistle.’

  She was silent, knowing this was true.

  ‘But I hope he’s not,’ Jack added swiftly, ‘for your sake. And look, I’ll try to get back to you on Monday. However, it could be Tuesday.’

  ‘Do your very best, Jack.’

  ‘I’ll get to it tonight,’ he promised, impatient to start working the telephones and the telex machine. He stood up. ‘The Far East is already open for business.’

  After Paula had walked Jack Figg to the staff lift and thanked him once again, she hurried into the office where Emily and Michael were working on the records of Harte’s shareholders.

  ‘Any luck yet?’ she asked from the doorway.

  ‘Not yet,’ Emily answered. ‘But never fear, we’re bound to come up with some names before too long. How did it go with Jack Figg? Is he on the job?’

  ‘He is. And I have a lot of confidence in him. If there’s anything to find, Jack will find it.’

  ‘Oh I’m sure there’s sleaze in Jonathan Ainsley’s life!’ Emily exclaimed. ‘He always was weird and mixed with a strange bunch when he lived here. Like that awful Sebastian Cross.’

  Paula felt a cold little shiver run through her. ‘I’d rather not think about him, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Why should he bother you! He’s dead. Anyway, don’t stand there looking like a sucking duck. Come and help us.’

  ‘Of course.’ Paula joined them.

  Emily gave her a batch of computer printouts. ‘Start on these, but before you really dig in, let me get you a cup of coffee, and one of the sandwiches I brought with me. You haven’t eaten all night, Paula.’

  ‘I’m not hungry, darling. But I will have a cup of coffee. Thanks, Dumps.’

  Paula concentrated on the top sheet, running her eyes quickly down the page of names. Harte’s had hundreds of small stockholders who held nominal amounts of shares, as well as those others who had acquired larger blocks over the years. Suddenly, her heart sank. This was an endless task, as Michael had said earlier. It might even take longer than one night, several days perhaps, to find the people they needed. She was conscious of time, felt the pressure. Jonathan had boasted he was quickly going to buy up the five per cent he needed. But it was not a boast. She knew he fully intended to do exactly that.

  ‘I bet Jonathan has his stockbrokers and all kinds of flunkies skittering around, trying to buy Harte shares!’ she exclaimed, looking at Michael.

  He returned her glance. ‘I’m sure he has. But you have the advantage, Paula. You have the inside information – these records.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said dully, and dropped her eyes to the printout, starting to read again.

  Emily brought coffee for the three of them, sat down next to Paula. ‘Cheer up, lovey. We’ll get the results soon. As Gran used to say, many hands make light work. But, oh boy, do I wish Winston and Shane were here to help us.’

  ‘Oh so do I, Emily. I miss Shane so much. I can’t wait for him to get back from Australia. I feel as if half of me is missing when he’s not here.’

  ‘Are you going to phone him tomorrow, tell him about this?’ Emily inquired.

  ‘I think I have to, he’d be hurt if I didn’t. I only hope it doesn’t upset him too much. I couldn’t bear that. Poor darling, he’s had too much to contend with lately.’

  It was the gentle tone, the loving nuances, the look of longing in her eyes that stabbed at Michael. She worships Shane, he thought. He is her life. At that precise moment Michael knew what a fool he had been to think she would ever entertain any advances from him. The mere thought of what he might have done in a foolish moment caused him acute embarrassment.

  He dropped his head, pretended to concentrate on the sheet of names to hide his sudden discomfiture. His sexual desire for her had not waned in the past year. He had constantly fantasized about her, but how ridiculous he had been, he saw that now. She was happily married to his friend. How could he have ever thought that she would be interested in him, or any other man for that matter. It had always been Shane since their childhood.

  Michael felt as if a veil had been lifted. He saw everything with sudden clarity. He understood then what she had been doing earlier in the year…she had been persistently pushing Amanda at him. He ought to have recognized that months ago in New York, known that Paula was out of his range. But he had been so caught up in the fantasy in his own head, he had been blind to many things, most especially reality.

  ‘Here it is!’ Emily shrieked. ‘I’ve found a shareholder with quite a substantial number of shares.’

  ‘How many?’ Paula asked, hardly daring to breathe.

  ‘Four per cent. Gosh, she must be a fairly wealthy woman.’

  ‘Who is she?’ Paula asked excitedly, her voice echoing Emily’s enthusiasm.

  ‘A Mrs Iris Rumford of – ‘ Emily traced her finger across the printout. ‘– Bowden Ghyll House, Ilkley!’

  ‘A Yorkshire woman,’ Michael said quietly. ‘Perhaps this is a good omen, Paula.’

  On Saturday morning at ten o’clock, Paula sat opposite Mrs Iris Rumford in the handsome drawing room of her lovely old manor house in Ilkley.

  It was obvious to Paula that Mrs Rumford was a woman of considerable means, and she had been graciously received and offered coffee on her arrival minutes before.

  Paula had accepted a cup, and the two women had exchanged pleasantries, discussed the weather. Now, as she finished her coffee, Paula said, ‘It was very kind of you to see me, Mrs Rumford. As my assistant told you, I wanted to talk to you about your shares in Harte’s stores.’

  ‘Yes. And it’s my pleasure, Mrs O’Neill. Anyway, it was the least I could do, in that I had tea with your cousin, Jonathan Ainsley, on Thursday.’

  Paula almost dropped the coffee cup. She put it down carefully on the end table. This was the last thing she had expected to hear, and she gave Iris Rumford a sharp look. ‘He also came to see you about your shares in Harte’s presumably?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs O’Neill. He did. He offered me an excellent price for them, went very high actually.’

  Paula felt her throat tighten, and she swallowed several times before saying, ‘And did you accept his offer, Mrs Rumford?’

  ‘No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t.’

  Paula relaxed. She smiled at the older woman. ‘Then I can make you an offer for them, can’t I?’

  ‘You could, yes.’

  ‘Name your price, Mrs Rumford.’ ‘I don’t have a price.’

  ‘But you must know how much you want for your shares.’

  ‘No, I don’t. You see, I’m not all that keen to sell them. My late husband bought them for me in 1959.’ She gave a funny little laugh. ‘I’m sort of sentimentall
y attached to them. Harte’s is my favourite shop in Leeds. I’ve always patronized it.’

  Paula held herself still, pressing back her annoyance. She had obviously come here on a wild goose chase. But she could not afford to antagonize this woman; she needed her too badly. Paula said, ‘Well, of course I’m glad you like the store, that you’re a satisfied customer. But look here, I do wish you would consider my offer. I will purchase your shares at the same price Mr Ainsley quoted to you.’

  Iris Rumford studied her for a moment, frowning slightly, as if she were trying to make up her mind about something. Then she said, ‘Is there going to be one of those big battles? The kind I read about in the financial pages of the Sunday Times?’

  ‘I sincerely hope not,’ Paula exclaimed. Unexpectedly, Iris Rumford pushed herself to her feet. Paula also rose, realizing the conversation was suddenly at an end.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs O’Neill,’ Mrs Rumford murmured. ‘Perhaps I should not have let you come to see me. I’ve wasted your time, I’m afraid. You see, I thought that I might sell my shares, but now I’ve changed my mind.’

  ‘I’m truly sorry to hear that.’ Paula stretched out her hand, trying to be cordial, courteous to her.

  Iris Rumford shook it. ‘I can see you’re angry. And I can’t say I blame you. Forgive my vacillation. And please excuse the indecisiveness of an old lady.’

  Paula said, ‘It’s all right, really it is. But if you should change your mind again, please ring me.’

  All the way back to Leeds, Paula fumed.

  She was baffled and irritated by the woman’s odd behaviour, as well as being disappointed. Had Iris Rumford just wanted to be important for a brief moment in her life? Or was it a case of simple curiosity on the part of a lonely old woman? Had she merely wanted to meet Jonathan and herself? Paula wondered how Jonathan Ainsley had found Iris Rumford, how he knew that she owned a block of Harte shares. Obviously, he had his ways and his means.

  She sighed with exasperation as she pressed her foot hard on the accelerator, and headed the Aston Martin in the direction of Leeds. Going to see Iris Rumford had been a waste of time.