by Ian Hamilton
“I said I had to talk to you —to all of you.”
“Apart from the fact that I’d love to visit Italy and the idea of meeting Dom Ventola is exciting, I don’t know why we’d bother going to Milan,” Amanda said. “We’ve been pretty successful at opening doors, and we need to keep our growth manageable.”
“They sell their goods everywhere. There isn’t a door they couldn’t open for us,” Gillian said. “And they can take the PÖ brand and extend it into perfumes, watches, bags.”
“Except the PÖ brand —at this point in time —doesn’t have that kind of international cachet yet. We’re still building recognition,” Amanda said.
“If we got the right kind of support from VLG we wouldn’t have to wait too long to become a truly international brand,” Gillian said. “With their reputation, marketing dollars, and skills, and all their connections with fashion editors, bloggers, and stylists, we could get there much faster than we could on our own.”
“That may well be true, but before we get too far along talking about what the Ventola Group can do or not do for us, don’t you think we should consider what the price might be for any help they might want to give us?” May said.
“In recent years they’ve expanded their company by acquiring other brands. They own ten or more,” Gillian said. “They prefer to buy an up-and-coming brand at a reasonable cost and tie the designer into a long-term contract. But they’ve also bought some well-established fashion lines too.”
“I have zero interest in selling our interest in PÖ, and I think I speak for both of my partners in Three Sisters,” May said.
Ava nodded.
“I was only explaining how Ventola likes to operate,” Gillian said quickly. “I wasn’t making any suggestions.”
“And I don’t want to give up any control over how I work,” Clark said. “It took long enough to get the independence I wanted, and I’m not about to give it up after six months.”
“Okay, so where does this leave us?” Ava said.
The room fell quiet. Then Clark leaned in towards Ava and said, “What do you think we should do?”
“Well, we don’t know what they want and we’re all making assumptions,” she said. “I’ve never been afraid of having a discussion with someone, so I’m prepared to talk to them. But I think this decision is really yours to make. They only want to meet with us because of you.”
“I would actually have a chance to meet personally with Dominic Ventola?”
“I was told that, but we can confirm it,” Ava said.
“He’s been my idol for years.”
“If we do decide to go,” Amanda said, “what will we do about flights and hotels? Milan Fashion Week starts in a few days. It will be hard to get there and the hotels will be jam-packed.”
“I’m told that flights shouldn’t be a problem, and Raffi Pandolfo offered us the use of a villa on Lake Como if we want it.”
“A villa,” Chi-Tze said. She looked at Gillian. “What do you think?”
“It seems to me that we have nothing to lose by talking to them,” Gillian said. “And if there’s nothing to be gained on the business side, we’ll at least get a bit of a holiday.”
“And I’ll get the chance to meet Dominic Ventola,” Clark said.
“Does anyone disagree with Gillian?” Ava said.
“Who would go?” Chi-Tze asked.
“I think it should be everyone who’s here,” Ava said.
“Then I’m for it,” Chi-Tze said.
Ava looked at Clark and Gillian. They both nodded.
“I’ll have to call Wuhan and move some meetings,” May said. “I’ll do it as soon as we’re finished.”
“I’m in,” Amanda said.
“How does tomorrow look for everyone? Pang Fai leaves early tomorrow afternoon and I should see her off,” Ava said.
“And we have some meetings scheduled with buyers,” Amanda said. “They’ll be done by three.”
“Okay, then we should leave sometime late in the afternoon or early the next morning,” Ava said. “Amanda, why don’t you look after the flight arrangements. I’ll call Raffi Pandolfo and let him know we’re coming but that our schedule isn’t finalized.”
“I’ll text the flight details to everyone,” Amanda said.
“Perfect. Anything else?”
No one spoke. Then the younger women and Clark stood up and started to walk towards the door. Gillian, Amanda, and Chi-Tze were talking, and even from where she was sitting, Ava sensed their excitement. Clark turned when he reached the door and looked back at Ava and May, who were still at the table.
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me —for us,” he said. “This week has been the most amazing of my life and now the adventure continues.”
When the door closed and they were left alone, May said to Ava, “I know that telling the group about the invitation to Italy was the right thing to do, but I still wish we weren’t going.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you see Clark’s face?”
“He’s thrilled about meeting Dominic Ventola. It’s to be expected.”
“I know, but I don’t like what he said when he left just now.”
“What did you hear that I didn’t?”
“‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for me?’ He sounded like a man getting ready to ditch his girlfriend or quit his job.”
“You’re paranoid,” Ava said, laughing.
“Twenty years of doing business in China will do that to you,” May said.
“We’re going to Italy.”
“I’ve heard that the Italians and Chinese have a lot in common.”
( 5 )
It was almost eleven o’clock in the evening when the British Airways Airbus began its descent into Milan–Malpensa Airport. They had left the hotel at five to get to Heathrow in time for the eight-o’clock departure. It had been a long day. May spent most of hers on the phone with her husband, Changxing, tending to various business issues. Chi-Tze, Gillian, and Amanda ran from meeting to meeting, following up on the interest that had been generated by the show. Ava had slept in, went for a run, and then lunched with Pang Fai before seeing her safely into an airport limousine with two of the models. They were all headed for Beijing.
Ava thought the lunch had been a bit odd. For the three days leading up to the show, Fai had been a bundle of nervous energy, constantly chattering and barely able to sit still for more than a couple of minutes. At lunch she was so subdued that Ava found it difficult to get more than a few words out of her. Ava knew very little about actors but wondered if this was a natural post-performance comedown. When she asked Fai, the actress just shook her head and looked even gloomier. Ava wondered if she’d offended her somehow, but when they said goodbye at the hotel entrance Fai wrapped her arms around Ava and gave her a long, intimate hug.
“I’m going to miss you and the others,” Fai whispered.
“And we’ll miss you. But we’ll see you soon enough. There’s lots more for us to do together in the next few months,” Ava said.
“Ava, I like everyone on the team, but I don’t want to do anything unless you’re involved.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I think you understand me, and I feel so safe around you,” Fai said.
“What?” Ava replied, but Fai had quietly settled into the back seat and the chauffeur closed the door.
As the plane continued its slow descent, Ava replayed that conversation with Fai and the one she’d had the night before with Raffi Pandolfo. He had responded enthusiastically to the news that they were coming to Milan.
“I’m sorry we arrive so late,” Ava said.
“We’re just thrilled that you decided to come,” he said. “I’ll arrange to have you met at the airport. I can’t come myself, but you’ll be well looked after.”
“And we’ll need to stay at the villa. I hope that’s okay.”
“I’ve already reserved it for you. Our drivers w
ill take you directly there. Coming to Milan was the right thing to do.”
Ava closed the Moleskine notebook that sat on her lap and put it in her bag. When she worked with Uncle, she had kept a separate notebook full of names, numbers, and facts for each job they’d done. She used a fountain pen because the process of writing in longhand helping crystallize her thoughts. She wasn’t on a job now, but it was a habit she couldn’t break. Dominic Ventola was now written across the top of the first page of the new notebook. She had made notes about her impressions of Raffi Pandolfo, the information about VLG and Dominic Ventola that Carrie Song and Elsa Ngan had passed on, and the data she’d unearthed online.
VLG was a huge enterprise. Its sales ran close to $15 billion a year, and its annual profits exceeded a billion. Dominic Ventola controlled the business, even though he owned less than ten percent of its publicly traded shares. When VLG first went public, it had issued two types of shares. The first ten million were common shares, entitling the shareholders to dividends and an ownership position in proportion to the number they owned. The second type was voting shares, and only one hundred had been issued. Ventola owned eighty of them and Pandolfo the balance. Those voting shares gave the two men the power to make every major decision concerning the company, regardless of how many common shares they held. As the company grew and needed additional capital, it had issued more common shares, which diluted their ownership stake but not their authority to run the business. Ava knew that a dual share structure wasn’t uncommon, but it took someone with foresight to put it in place. She wondered if that had been Pandolfo or Ventola. Or both.
Ventola had started his career as a designer of men’s clothing, specializing in suits. It wasn’t until Pandolfo joined the firm that ties, shoes, and shirts were added to the lineup. The business was then known simply as Ventola. Their initial partnership lasted ten years, until a disagreement over the direction of the business prompted Pandolfo to leave. The company had floundered without him, and after a year’s absence Ventola asked him to return and agreed to the strategy that Pandolfo wanted to pursue. That was the start of a twenty-year period of growth and the birth of VLG.
Pandolfo’s vision was to build a global company that could offer the broadest possible spectrum of high-end consumer goods to as many buying sectors as possible. VLG did this by buying other brands, integrating them into the business, and then extending their lines. Ventola identified the brands he thought they should buy and grow, while Pandolfo orchestrated the acquisitions. It was, Ava thought, a partnership that obviously worked, and it showed no signs of slowing down.
The plane landed and they exited the baggage area at just past midnight to see a man wearing a white linen suit and white shirt holding aloft a sign that read “PÖ.”
“We’re the PÖ group,” she said.
“Welcome. My name is Riccardo. Signore Ventola and Signore Pandolfo have sent me and my colleague Giacomo to greet you,” he said. “The cars are just outside. Follow me, please.”
They were led to two silver Maserati Quattroporte sedans. Out of the corner of her eye Ava saw Clark nudge Gillian and whisper something to her. He was obviously impressed.
“How long is the drive?” Ava asked Riccardo.
“About one hundred kilometres, almost straight north from here,” he said. “At this time of night it should take us a bit more than an hour.”
“I’ll ride with you and Amanda,” Ava said to May.
Ava slid into the front seat and May and Amanda got into the back. Ava took a hard look at the interior of the Maserati. She wasn’t a car aficionado, but the Quattroporte was one of the most luxurious cars she’d ever been in.
“Do you know what our schedule is?” Ava asked Riccardo as the car pulled out of the terminal.
“One moment,” he said, reaching for his cellphone. He entered a number and then a few seconds later began to speak rapidly in Italian. He paused to listen, smiled, and then turned his head towards Ava. “Signore Pandolfo wants to speak to you,” he said, passing her the phone.
“Welcome to Milan. I hope the flight was okay.”
“It wasn’t bad.”
“Riccardo will take you to the villa. You’ll be met there by Francesca, the housekeeper. She’s prepared a late-night snack for you.”
“You shouldn’t have gone to such trouble.”
“It isn’t any trouble, and besides, I’m sure you’re all hungry after the flight,” Pandolfo said. “You asked about the plans for tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“Given your late arrival, we thought we’d let you get a full night’s sleep,” he said. “I’ve tentatively arranged for the cars to pick you up at nine-thirty. That should get you to our offices here in Milan at around eleven. Is that satisfactory?”
“It sounds just fine.”
“Excellent. Enjoy Francesca’s hospitality and we’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
Ava handed the phone to Riccardo and then turned to May and Amanda. “We’re on tomorrow morning at eleven in Milan.”
“Good, that gives us some time to talk as a group before we leave the villa,” May said in Chinese.
“Did Chi-Tze and the Pos talk much about this trip today?” Ava asked Amanda.
“Not really. We were preoccupied with our meetings.”
“I’m glad the concentration was where it should have been,” May said.
“Although when it was mentioned, both Gillian and Chi-Tze seemed excited about the business possibilities it might present. Clark is enamoured with the idea of meeting Dominic Ventola,” Amanda said.
The Maserati quietly accelerated. Ava glanced at the speedometer. They were going one hundred and fifty kilometres an hour. The surge in power had been effortless and the ride was incredibly smooth.
“I like this car,” she said.
“We have six of them,” Riccardo said. “They’re Signore Ventola’s favourite.”
“How nice for Mr. Ventola.”
“He likes quality in everything.”
Ava looked outside. They seemed to be on the outskirts of the city, but it was too dark to be sure. She’d never been to Milan or Lake Como, though business had taken her to Rome once for two days and to Naples for another. Those memories triggered thoughts about her mother. Jennie wanted them to visit Rome, Florence, and Venice. As she was again pondering how to delay the trip, Maria came to her mind. Maria’s response to Ava’s email about extending her lease had been abrupt: I’ll talk to my landlord in the next day or two. Maria. Ava knew she was very unhappy and definitely hurt. Her hope was that those feelings would have started to fade by the time she got home.
“The villa is in Mennagio,” Riccardo said, tearing Ava’s thoughts away from Toronto. “It’s on the west side of the lake. Signore Ventola bought it fifteen years ago and lived there for about a year, but the travel to Milan was too cumbersome on a daily basis. So now he just uses it on weekends or makes it available to special guests, like you.”
“Does Signore Pandolfo ever stay there?” Ava asked.
“No, never,” he said, pursing his lips and with a quick shake of his head.
They rode in silence. Ava looked back at May and Amanda. Their eyes were closed and their heads were resting against the back of the seat. She did the same and was just about to fall sleep when Riccardo pointed to a sign and said, “There is the route to Bellagio. Whenever we have American visitors they’re always excited to see that the place really exists. Signore Ventola tells them that while it was complimentary of Steve Wynn to model his hotel after our town, it pales by comparison.”
“I’m sure it does,” Ava said. “You could also tell the Americans that St. Mark’s Square at the Venetian Hotel, the Eiffel Tower at the Paris, and the pyramid at the Luxor bear no relation to the real things either.”
“Do they think they do?”
“Well, two-thirds of Americans don’t have passports. Vegas is one of their windows on the world.”
“Are you serious?”
“Will we go near Bellagio?” May asked.
“No, it sits at the tip of a peninsula in the middle of the lake. Mennagio is almost halfway up the western coastline,” Ricardo said.
Even in the dark, Ava noticed major changes in the elevation. As they drew near Mennagio, she could see more and more lights glinting on the mountainsides. Via Milano SS340 became Via Statale and they entered the outer town. Riccardo took four or five right-hand turns that led them through streets lined with houses and shops, and then one more gentle right brought them to the lake. They drove along Viale Benedetto Castelli. Ava looked at the lake shimmering under the light cast by a line of street lamps along a promenade. The other side of the road was lined with small hotels, shops, restaurants, and houses with large windows looking out onto the water. Riccardo braked several hundred metres along, reached under the visor, and pressed what looked like a garage-door opener. A ten-metre-wide ornately carved steel gate swung slowly open.
“We’re home,” Riccardo said.
He drove into the brown-and-black-tiled courtyard and stopped just past the house entrance. Giacomo stopped several metres behind. The villa was floodlit. The mixture of weathered red brick and pale pink stucco glimmered in the night. Ava climbed out of the car and took in the structure. She counted ten windows across the top floor and six across the ground floor, with two immense ones flanking the door.
As Riccardo popped open the trunk, the front door opened.
“Benvenuti,” a tall middle-aged woman said.
“Hello, I’m Ava Lee,” Ava said, walking towards her.
“I’m Francesca.”
“And this is May Ling Wong and Amanda Yee,” Ava said, indicating each in turn. “And behind us are —”
“I know who everyone is,” Francesca said. “Raffi sent me your names and photos.”
“That was clever of him.”
Francesca smiled. “Do all your bags have name tags?”
“I think so.”
“Excellent. Then I’ll have the men take them directly to your rooms,” she said, and spoke rapidly in Italian to Riccardo and Giacomo. She turned back to Ava. “Now please come inside. We’ve prepared a late-night snack for you. And if anyone wishes to use a washroom, there are two downstairs.”