Guilty Pleasures

‘William Billington at the bank phoned Roger this afternoon to give him a heads-up that the bank are going to turn down Milford’s application for a capital loan.’

‘What’s he doing phoning Roger?’ said Emma feeling a hot flush of panic.

‘I am a director of this company,’ said Roger coolly. ‘I’ve dealt with William for years. He was trying to let us down gently. Frankly it was all rather embarrassing, not to mention incredibly worrying,’ continued Roger disapprovingly. He had walked over to the drinks table and began pouring himself a brandy.

Emma looked down at the floor. She thought her business-plan was convincing and at her meeting with Billington’s she’d felt sure that she had their support.

She glanced at Roger wondering if he’d had anything to do with the bank’s decision. After all, he’d dealt with William for years.

Emma was determined not to show her disappointment and fear.

‘It’s a set-back but I do have a few other meetings lined up and I’m confident that we’ll get the money.’

‘None of us share that confidence Emma,’ said Roger, leaning back in the chair and sipping his drink.

‘Oh? And who exactly is “us”?’ asked Emma.

‘The other directors. The factory. Have you spoken to the shop floor at all? They are aware that you want to decrease production and they all believe they are going to lose their jobs. So much for your expertise in management,’ he sneered. ‘The only positive thing you’ve done so far is to get a new designer onboard and she’s a complete amateur. How old is Stella now exactly, sixteen?’

Emma felt the anger welling up in her, outraged that they had come into her own home and ganged up on her.

‘And then there’s the rumour that the directors aren’t getting the end of year bonus,’ added Julia softly.

Emma shot a look at her mother. That had to have com

e from her; Emma had only mentioned it to her briefly the day before. It was the final straw and she came out fighting.

‘First off, Stella Chase is a very talented and successful designer,’ she said firmly, ‘we’re damned lucky to get her and when she starts work on Monday, everybody had better make her feel like that. Secondly, I really don’t think directors should get a bonus when the company accounts are running at record losses. How would that management strategy go down on the shop floor, Roger? And finally, whether you believe in me or not, I have had some very positive feedback from the banks and lenders I am meeting next week, and I maintain that I’m confident we will get the money we need.’

‘The money you want for your hare-brained schemes,’ said Roger petulantly, reaching for the decanter.

‘Billington’s will lend us the money if someone experienced is CEO,’ said Julia.

‘Someone like Roger?’ said Emma cynically.

‘Yes,’ replied Virginia. ‘Someone like Roger. This is for the good of the family you know, Emma,’ said Virginia.

‘Oh, you talk to her,’ said Roger to Virginia, taking his glass and leading Julia towards the door. ‘Perhaps you can talk some sense into her.’

For a minute Emma and her mother didn’t speak, both staring into the fire, listening to it crackle.

‘Go back to Boston, sweetheart,’ said Virginia finally. ‘You were doing so well out there.’

Emma felt she’d been punched in the stomach. She couldn’t believe her own mother would betray her like this.

‘So you don’t think I can turn the company around?’ she said, a waver in her voice.

‘Oh, I think your intentions are good Emma, but look at the facts. Morale is low, our bank has turned against us and this is tearing the family apart. Personally I don’t need the money, as Jonathon does very well. But Julia? Her gallery hangs on by a thread and Roger, well… Roger has his expensive wife.’

The two women exchanged a hint of a smile and Emma felt a spark of warmth towards her mother, then immediately extinguished it. More than anything Emma wanted Virginia to support her, but why should today be any different to the last twenty years of her life? Since Jonathon had come into the picture, Emma had felt more like an obligation than a daughter. No, there was never anything that would amount to neglect; Virginia sent polite letters to Emma at boarding school and had visited her once at Stanford University – although Emma remembered that the stay had conveniently coincided with a performance of Rigoletto at the San Francisco Opera that Virginia had particularly wanted to go to. And on the rare occasions that Virginia spent Christmas in Oxfordshire or at Saul’s chalet in Gstaad, she would grudgingly invite Emma to join them. But that was the rarity. More often, she’d be on a Caribbean cruise or in a luxury bolt-hole in the Bahamas with Jonathon which meant that from the age of eighteen Emma had spent Christmas with college friends or alone. Did she love her mother? She wondered. Of course she did. But could she count on her? No. Emphatically no.

‘Mum, Saul wanted me to do this,’ said Emma as firmly as she could. ‘I have another three appointments with three other lending banks this week. We’ll get the money, I promise you.’

‘Emma, if Saul were here now, he’d be much more concerned about you sorting out other areas of your life than saving the company.’

‘Like what exactly?’ asked Emma.

‘Like your personal life,’ said Virginia, pacing in front of the fire. ‘You’re thirty next birthday, Emma. You have no boyfriend, no time to see friends, no time to have a life. You’re here living in a huge house with a man you hardly know, old enough to be your grandfather. Darling, you’re paying for his company.’