Twisted Love and Money Page 14

  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.

  It was a sixth sense but Dorothy felt that Maureen saw her as a way towards a new influence over her son. Dorothy sensed they were natural allies. To get on her side Dorothy was agreeable and diffident, carefully biting back on her own strong personality. Dorothy decided to watch and learn from the mother until Jeremy was hers.

  Jeremy had left on a high note, amused and flattered by the mother’s references to a grandchild with the O’Neill name. A last wish for her dying years, to see Jeremy settled with a family.

  Thus it was with confidence that Dorothy had parted company with Jeremy at the end of the evening. He had pleaded to go to his Hotel. He had to straighten things out with David. He would ring her later.

  He had not kept his promise. No phone call. Then she had waited a day and rung his hotel. He was not available. She had ascertained that he was in a suite. A jealous rage built up in her. He was sharing a suite. Dorothy asked to speak to his partner David. Not in, but the receptionist had inadvertently confirmed that David was in the same suite.

  Dorothy tried to stay calm. She knew she must not ring him. Must not chase. He would only run. Like he had run from his mother. She decided to wait, to wait and to hope.

  With a sigh Dorothy turned her attention back to the figures.

  Chapter twenty-two

  Michael sat in his office fuming. One minute he he’d been in Paris expecting a pleasant trip, now he was back in deep shit. As he sat his fury grew. Then he stabbed at the buzzer for his secretary. John was required immediately.

  “Am I ruined?” he asked as John nervously sat opposite him.

  “Not yet,” John reassured. “This dispute with a major client is naturally a major setback. But it is not the end. If we survive it will however be a setback to our expansion plans.”

  “How bad?”

  “We are in a position where we have been growing as fast as possible. On that basis our bankers and backers have been providing funds. If we hiccup they will be doubtful. They are not into putting funds at risk. It can affect their jobs if they have too many losers.”

  “I have to agree,” Michael said. “If we look like losers they could rush to get out. We have to keep growing to their expectations or they will look elsewhere.”

  John nodded. He was about to add that it was early days and not to concentrate on the dark side, but he could sense that Michael was about to say more.

  “John. I brought you in to have the skill to avoid a situation like this.” Michael began in cold tones.

  “You are talking to the wrong Director Michael. Quality is in Dermot’s area.”

  “But we should not have extended our commitments John. That’s your business.”

  “The board discussed the extra AF orders. I warned of the dangers. It was a board decision to take the risk. All minuted.”

  “I needed a firmer voice John. You are too keen to be agreeable. A firmer more cautious voice.”

  “I am sorry you see it that way Michael. I stated a reasonable case. We had Peter’s reassurances that the client was sound and relationships were good. We got Dermot to reassure that the supply...”

  “John,” Michael cut across him, “I don’t want you to feel secure on this one. If we cannot find a way out I will need a scapegoat for the bank. I will have to let you go. Don’t think you will be alone. I will be saying the same to Dermot.”

  John felt his insides tighten. He began to protest.

  Michael stood up, “We unders
tand each other John. It is hard to say it but it had to be said. That’s all. Get back to it.”

  Michael’s voice was cold and dismissive.

  John stared at him and then shrugged and left, deciding there was no point in arguing with Michael in his present mood. Let him get over his funk, he decided.

  As John went out Dermot was sitting outside waiting to go in. He stood up from and went in to Michael’s office.

  “Good luck,” John said grimly.

  John went back to his office and revisited his copy of the figures he had prepared for Dorothy. No change. Depressed he threw his pen down on the paper. Nothing he could do until Dorothy got back from the Bank Manager. He could feel his anxiety come in waves. He tensed his body against the desk, relaxed, tensed again, relaxed. Slowly he began to overcome his sense of panic.

  He startled as Dermot O’Rourke came through the door. Dermot was red in the face. Knowing where he had been, John said nothing.

  “Bastard,” Dermot eventually spat out.

  “Who?”

  “Michael,” Dermot spat again. “I have worked for his family man and boy. Now he has threatened me with the sack. Me. I keep this fucking place together. Without my organizing we would have been gone long ago. Me. I can’t believe it.” Dermot sat down heavily. John smiled at him.

  “Me too,” he said.

  “I know,” Dermot grinned. “We are the disposable hired hands.”

  “Don’t get too upset Dermot. Michael is currently in a panic. He thought he was going to be worth a hundred plus million when we went to the stock market. Now he looks like he is going broke. It’s understandable how he is reacting. Give him time.”