“Janet, people are sometimes afraid of me,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I can see their souls. I can read people. It is the secret of my success.”
Janet paused at her massage. She straightened and he was conscious of the increased weight on the cushion. “And my soul Leo, what do you see?”
“At first I thought you were innocent.”
“And now?”
“Now I think you are innocent in a naive sort of way, but not sexually naive.”
“In these times few women of my age are, especially if they have any sort of looks.”
“Janet, I think you want everything.”
“Everything?” Janet climbed off him and began to knead his stomach.
“Everything Janet. You want to be in the jet set, the boardroom, powerful. You want a strong handsome lover, money and position.”
“Is that unusual?”
“No, but not every one wants it as much as you. I think you don’t want to wait. You want it all yesterday.”
“Suppose you are right?” Janet said and began to work on his thighs.
“I am Janet.”
“I want to have you Janet,” he added hoarsely.
“I don’t want you to have me Mr. Crawford,” she said firmly in a mild tone.
“We both know that I am the key to what you want.”
“I don’t want to be a Bimbo.” Janet increased her pressure. The eyes rolled in his head and with difficulty he kept his hands still as his legs tensed.
“You won’t be Janet,” he promised, “but first I want you. That is what will open all the doors.”
Janet smiled and stood up.
“Janet,” he pleaded, catching her ankle.
“Leo,” she replied, her tone amused and warm.” You can’t do anymore tonight. Get dressed, we will eat and then we will go through my report. Then you go back to your hotel.”
He looked up at her. “You will be coming to Dublin again soon, I presume?” she added with a smile.
Crawford took this as a promise and he let her ankle go. “I’ll get dressed,” he said.
When he came back Janet had slipped into her black dressing gown again. She had set the table.
“The leotard suited you,” he remarked cheerfully. He was feeling very pleased.
“I don’t want to have to kiss you,” Janet said as he sat at the table.
“No kissing?” he asked puzzled.
“Not on the lips. It is something I am saving up. My private place.”
“Fair enough.”
“Now, get dressed Leo and then we’ll eat.”
Janet brought some fresh bread rolls and they began the meal. Crawford poured out the wine and they touched glasses in a silent toast. Crawford felt himself almost tremble with excitement every time their eyes met. He had her, but only on a promise, but they had an understanding. She would come through.
For Janet, she was pleased with progress. They had reached a new level of intimacy. It had been obvious to her from the first time they had met what Crawford had really wanted. Now that he had a taste he would be dying for more.
But on her terms she thought determinedly. He had to work with her on the deal. Associated Finance had to pay up and get her career moving into the big time. Crawford was right. He was the key and she was going to turn that key. However he could not be allowed to feel that it was easy. He might know business, but she knew men. He would have to work as hard for success with her as she had worked on the project for him. “My report Leo,” she prodded.
Crawford smiled. “It is very good. I don’t need to read every line. It is very clear, O’Byrne’s have a new factory under way; they are just doing a German takeover with other acquisitions under consideration. You really got that guy to spill it all.”
“Immature, he was trying to impress.”
“Impressive it is. But obviously they are stretching their funds. We can take them.”
“Anything from your end Leo?”
“I have enquired through our sources. Apparently O’Byrne’s have four backers. First their ordinary bank, also a merchant bank, an insurance fund and a pension fund. The funds are hungry for good Irish stock.”
“Very good,” Janet said agreeably
“I had an idea on the plane,” he said, “ Instead of giving O’Byrne’s extra business and then stopping payments, why not just stop payments? We owe them about ten million a month according to our supermarket buyers, that is taking their full business with us. Some of it is low margin stuff for them, but cash flow wise it is big money.”
“I don’t think so Leo,” Janet shook her head. “Remember the fair trading regulations. We must be very careful. If we do something blatant and then move in and take over, frankly I’d expect the shit to hit the fan.”
“O.K. Janet. It is your play. What do you propose?”
Janet took a breath. Crawford noticed with warmth the rise of her bosom. Concentrate, he reminded himself. He sensed that if he did not take her business acumen seriously he could lose her.
“We have built a cover story about doing a supplier quality audit. I think we stick with it and build on it. We give them confidence first. Then we give big advance orders. Get them to commit themselves with their suppliers. Then we raise quality queries. Start a dispute and withhold payments. Finally cancel orders.”
“By which time we hope they are in deep shit.” Crawford added with relish. “Sounds great Janet but you will have to get more on the Financials. You will have to stay in touch with your source. What was his name?”
“Peter O’Byrne.”
“You may have to sleep with him,” Crawford threw out, titillating himself, his eyes alert to her reactions.
“What?” she said sharply.
“You heard.”
“I’m not a whore and you Leo Crawford are not a whoremaster.”
“I’m a whore,” he contradicted, “I can make millions on this deal. You are in for a half a million. Associated Foods get a good acquisition. Everyone is a whore.”
“I decide who I sleep with.”
Crawford smiled, happy with her response, he did not want her to be a whore. He wanted her to sleep with him, not every man.
“O.K. Janet, you decide,” he said and he knew she knew she was to decide about their relationship. But Janet seemed to ignore his remark.
“What you are really saying Leo, is that I have to keep this guy Peter spilling the beans.”
“Right.”
“Why don’t I target the real boss Michael O’Byrne?”
Crawford considered.
“Michael O’Byrne built the business. He will not want to sell. His son is the weak link. You have to work it Janet.”
“Work it?”
“Get an affair going with him. When we put the pressure on they will have board meetings and so on to discuss the crisis. It will help us greatly if we can know how they are reacting as we go along. In the end and inside track can be crucial to winning.”
“You are a bastard, Leo Crawford.”
“A rich, successful bastard,” Crawford laughed.
“You can rely on me,” Janet said confidently,” but I decide what I want to do with my body.”
“If I said it was beautiful would you hold it against me?”
“Corny.”
“Come on Janet, you know we can work together on this one.”
“I think it is time you went to your bed Leo. Do you want me to see you to your hotel?”
“No thanks. It’s just across the street, but I had a fancy I might stay here tonight Janet?”
“No Leo.” Her voice was warm, fond, embracing him, but firmly refusing.
“All right.”
He stood up and then leaned to kiss her. She drew back, but offered a cheek for a peck.
“Goodnight,” she said in amused tones.
“I will be in touch,” he countered businesslike. “I will let you know when I am coming over again. I have to
go to Venezuela the day after tomorrow. Blasted currency over there! As a group we are not used to coping in the inflation climate in South America.”
“Take care Leo.”
When he was gone Janet leaned with her back against the door. ‘Phew’ she sighed. Then she began to clean up. Janet was excited. At least she was in there making things happen. She was confident she would be able to handle Crawford. He did seem sure enough of his touch with women, and had patience. She could use this to stall him. Also, she guessed he had a stable home life and would not put it seriously at risk. That was his weakness. What was his expression? Yes, she would have to work it.
Crawford let himself out of the building. It was dark and a light rain was falling. He decided to walk rather than seek a taxi. It was just a matter of minutes to the Hotel. He turned his jacket coat up against the rain, stuck his hands in his pockets and set out.
He too was happy with progress. All good deals took time and patience, and he hated it when it was too easy.
Chapter thirteen
“We’ll meet this guy Jeremy in Larry Murphy’s tonight. O.K.? It’s your job to sell him the design and explain the profit margins.”
“Where does the money man, this guy Jeremy come into things?”
“If Jeremy comes in he provides the working capital. We provide the site, the design, the sales team, the lot. But without the upfront money we can’t start. When we get Jeremy in our exposure with the bank is minimized. Mr. Moneybags gets us up and running.”
“Who is this Jeremy, where does he come from?”
“Paul, where he comes from doesn’t matter. What matters is what he brings.”
“Just curious Clifford, that’s all. I like to know whom I am doing business with.”
“He’s London Irish. He’s seems bright. But he has cunning. Jeremy went into retail. Apparently he teamed up with some English queer who is good in design, had a flair, if you know what I mean. They own a chain of Fashion shops in London and the south east of England. Big on the high streets I understand. And they are big in France and America.”
“Not Jeremy and David?”
“You got it. He’s here to open a big shop in Grafton Street.”
“And will put up the cash?”
“Our site is ideal and he is interested in the penthouse when it is built. If Jeremy comes on board we can start the work in a month.”
“A month? No problem. I’ll be able to clear the planning formalities. Things are well advanced. But Cliff, how can we be sure that Jeremy will put the money up front?”
“Don’t you worry Paul. Leave that bit to me. You just keep him sweet when we meet him tonight.”
“Is he a queer? I’m not going to sleep with him.”
“Jesus, relax will you. Nobody is going to ask you to do that. Anyway I think he is straight. He mentioned a girl. Dorothy was her name. Big, but big in the interesting places, he said.” Clifford laughed as he spoke and continued, “He said she might be along tonight.”
Paul pushed through the doors to Larry Murphy’s pub. The ground floor bars were packed with the after work, office type of drinkers. No sign of Clifford and party. Paul went downstairs. Downstairs was less crowded. He spotted Clifford in a group to the right.
“Evening all,” Paul called cheerfully. “I can see that there was no late work done in the offices of Dublin Construction this evening.”
“Oh but great discussions here,” Brian the quantity surveyor joked.
“Let me introduce you to Jeremy O’Neill,” Clifford interjected. “Jeremy, this Paul our Architect.”
“How do.”
Jeremy shook his hand, “What are you drinking Paul?” he added. Jeremy spoke in a London accent, but not cockney, more refined, the accent of an Irishman with a considerable number of years in London, who has taken on some local inflections.
“Glass of Guinness please,” Paul asked.
“Sure you won’t try a drop of the hard stuff?”
“No thanks. I’m a beer man.”
“Then have a pint.”
“Well, all right” Paul conceded. “To be sociable.”
“Another round,” Jeremy addressed to the barman.
Paul was not sure why he was surprised at Jeremy’s relative youth. Jeremy was short, overweight with wide round shoulders, an endomorphic build. He looked as if a run for a train or bus would wind him. He was dressed in a casual jacket, open neck shirt and fashionable jeans.
“Cheers,” Paul said, sipping his pint.
Brian was in full flight. It was obvious that the group were a few drinks ahead of Paul.
“What’s soft, yellow and goes round and round?” Brian asked Jeremy.
“What?”
“A long playing omelette.”
Jeremy laughed and Paul suppressed a groan. Brian’s sense of humour was dreadful. If Jeremy liked his jokes Brian would go on all night.
“What’s big, grey and mutters?” Jeremy asked as a response.
“What?” Brian smiled, sucked into the coming joke.
“A mumbo jumbo.”
Brian guffawed and the other two laughed along politely.
Paul took a second slug of his pint and began a side chat with Clifford about the Northside development. He made it sound dynamic and he could sense that Jeremy was half listening while still swapping inanities with Brian.
Brian caught Clifford’s eye.
“Have to go folks,” Brian said cheerfully. “I’m taking the wife to a show tonight. I’m going to be late, have to meet her outside the Abbey Theatre. See ye’s again.”
And he was gone leaving the three of them. Clifford nodded to the barman for another round. Jeremy’s glass was empty again.
“Clifford tells me you have a number of awards for design?” Jeremy asked Paul.
“Yes, if you come to my office you will see them on the wall.”
“Might drop into you tomorrow to see the model. Cliff tells me you have a model of the development in your office.”
“That’s right, a full model in wood, made exactly to scale.”
“For a non-technical man that would be a better way for me to see what’s proposed. What do you say I call at ten tomorrow morning?”
“Fine, let me give you my card.”
Paul felt a little unsure; obviously Jeremy did not want a heavy conversation at the bar.
Jeremy felt heavy almost desperate. He was regretting having set up the meeting. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. And then the Architect turns out to be called Paul. As if he needed reminding, it was David’s surname. Forget Paul he said to himself, meaning David Paul his lover, and he took another slug of his drink.
It was a long time since he had got drunk but he was well on the way tonight. He threw himself back into the conversation.
Tonight he was going to get drunk with strangers and forget.
His involvement with Dorothy was upsetting his balance. His gay existence was shattered. He felt angry with himself and with the world. He wanted to be elsewhere. Not talking to this Paul. He wanted to be alone. He sighed and ordered another round. He really wanted Dorothy to turn up. In the meantime he would concentrate on anaesthetizing himself with drink.
At eight Paul noticed a heavyset bosomed woman arrive. She was average height, heavy but with a well proportioned substantial figure. To his surprise she singled them out and came in their direction.
“Jeremy,” she exclaimed.
“Dorothy,” he cried, opening his arms and smiling. As she approached he took her hand and kissed it.
“Meet Clifford and this is Paul. We are all partners in a business deal. My architect George introduced us.”
“How do you do,” Dorothy said, smiling and sizing each of them up in turn.
Her substantial figure was encased in a tweed skirt and a blouse and she wore a stylish leather jacket for warmth. Paul stood up and let her have a seat. “Drink?” he offered.
“You presume correctly my dear.”
; “Let’s have another round,” Paul said and called to the barman. After this one, he said to himself, I’ll call a halt.
“Leave me out, I have to run. See you tomorrow Jeremy,” Clifford said, much to Paul’s surprise.
“Paul,” Clifford added, “ You take Jeremy and Dorothy for a bite to eat. Get to know Jeremy. You will see a lot of him on this project.”
And with smiles and a wave Clifford was gone. There was an awkward moment of silence.
“You are an Architect, is that right Paul?” Dorothy asked.
Dorothy had sensed the awkwardness and to break the tension she started to ask Paul questions about himself and his family. The conversation flowed. Although Paul responded to Dorothy he was carefully pointing his remarks towards Jeremy. Making sure Jeremy appreciated his track record as an Architect.
“Another round?” Jeremy interjected.
“Same again,” Dorothy replied. Dorothy too was playing it by ear. She could see Jeremy was distressed in some way, not the cheerful social being he’d been on the previous occasions they’d met. She wondered was he concerned she would let slip his confession to being gay. She decided to go with the flow and see where things ended up.
“Not for me. I’ve drunk two pints and I have two in a queue on the bar,” Paul said with a laugh.
Jeremy scowled. “Boring,” he said.
Dorothy laughed, “Don’t mind him Paul, It would appear that Jeremy gets a little aggressive when he gets drunk. Don’t you sweetheart?”
“Get knotted,” Jeremy said, but not aggressively.
“Do you two know each other a long time? “ Paul asked trying to be normal and maintain the peace.
“Jeremy is just a good friend. Aren’t you dearest?”
Jeremy squared his shoulders and grinned in drunken acknowledgement.
“It’s so shagging boring.” he said, “I don’t want to hear you two talk about Paul’s family and the pet dog. Let’s get out of here.”
Twisted Love and Money Page 9