Twisted Love and Money Page 4

  The car pulled into the Mushroom Plant.

  The driveway to the Plant was lined with rose trees, not yet in bloom, set off with daffodils and crocus. They smelt nice in the morning air. However Dermot knew that the horse manure pile was regularly turned over as it was organic and it was necessary to save it from heating up. Usually in the mid morning, at which time the entire area would stink of fresh manure. Dermot’s intention was to be in and out of the Plant before that happened.

  Dermot was annoyed to find Peter was not in yet.

  Dermot was left cooling his heels. Impatiently he took over Peter’s office so as to have the use of the phone. Sylvia, Peter’s secretary knew Dermot of old and made no objection. Dermot had other appointments and people to talk to. He got busy on the phone.

  Peter arrived just before half nine.

  “Yo! Dermot,” he said nonchalantly.

  “Peter you little scut,” Dermot stormed, “you were to be here to meet me. I have a busy schedule.”

  “Sorry Dermot,” he replied with a grin, “slight industrial relations problem held me up. One of the pickers, had to spend some time with her.”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, just one of the girls.”

  “Which one?”

  “Jenny Doyle.”

  “I think I know her father.”

  “That’s right. I forgot that you come from around these parts.”

  “He is a tough man Peter. If you knock up his daughter he’ll geld you. They say he is the best pig-gelder in the County. Uses a very sharp knife.”

  Peter gave an uneasy grin. “Don’t worry it was just a local issue.”

  “What can I do for you?” he added, changing the subject.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “Sylvia,” Peter shouted. “Bring us in some coffee and biscuits. Or would you prefer tea Dermot?”

  “Tea.”

  “A coffee and a tea,” Peter shouted.

  There was a noise from the outer office as Sylvia busied herself, wordlessly, with the kettle.

  “How are things in the Plant?” Dermot asked.

  “Lazy bitches. The pickings have fallen off dramatically. We were short on the last load to Liverpool.”

  “That can’t be good for business. Are the pickers upset? It must be costing them money.”

  “Not upset that I am aware of. Of course it costs them money, they are paid on an output basis,” Peter said spiritedly.

  “As long as you are happy there is nothing in the wind?”

  “I’m happy, but not with that man Paddy, the Supervisor.”

  “Your assistant manager.”

  “Yes, he seems dour and does not show respect. I think I’ll replace him.”

  “He has been here man and boy this thirty years,” Dermot protested. “He is the best there is.”

  “Don’t like him. I think I’ll fire him, that will buck the place up.”

  Dermot sighed. “Peter, don’t get us sued for wrongful dismissal.”

  “Oh I’d be careful. I’m quite smart when I want to be.”

  Dermot sat back and looked at his man. Peter was in his mid twenties. Dressed in an expensive designer suit he was very much the yuppie young man about the town. Not a good fit for a manure and mushroom heap in Kildare, even if it was, or used to be before he came, a very profitable manure heap.

  “Go easy on Paddy,” Dermot instructed, “I don’t want him fired. Understood?”

  “No.”

  “You will in a minute Peter. Paddy has an important part in your future.”

  “How could he possibly have?” Peter demanded indignantly.

  “From two points of view,” Dermot said with a tight smile. “First he might get annoyed if you fire him. Don’t test a dangerous man Peter. Paddy has a young family and a lot of local commitments. Throw him out and he will hit back. This is not the big city.”

  “You don’t expect me to believe that nonsense. You said two points of view. Why else should I keep him?”

  “Because, if in your judgment, Paddy can do your job, then I can arrange a promotion for you out of this place up to Dublin and the holding company.”

  This was a dream. Peter sat down. Out of the mushroom plant. He could hardly believe his ears. He sat silent and Dermot waited until Sylvia had gone in and out leaving the tea and coffee.

  “I’ve been talking to your father,” Dermot continued when they were alone again. “Someday your father will want to step down. We have to do succession planning.”

  “What about Dorothy? Surely she will object to me coming on board. She thinks she’ll end up succeeding Dad. She will shoot it down. She wants me to rot down here.”

  “Relax. Your Dad will square Dorothy. Don’t let her bother you. We men have to stick together.”

  Peter smiled.

  “But don’t tell her I said that,” Dermot added urgently.

  “Don’t worry.”

  Dermot sat back. “Well that’s that. Talk to your Dad on Sunday. Take a week to clear the decks and then we announce the changes and you start in Dublin you can start on Monday week.”

  “Fab.”

  “We have a new Finance Director starting on next Monday. He reports to Dorothy and she is re-titled Development Director.”

  “Oh?” Peter was stunned.

  “Yes, he is a former Partner in one of the big Accountancy firms. Your Dad needs him to give the Executive Committee a bit of class. We plan to go public some day.”

  “He better not get smart with me. I don’t go for Accountants. I’ve had enough with Dorothy.”

  “Don’t worry. Just try to get on with him. He has an important part in your Dad’s plans.”

  As Dermot got into his car he felt pleased. Office politics, he felt he’d got his office politics just right.

  Chapter five

  Ann-Marie sat in the morning room munching her breakfast in silent fury. For her the issue of her date with Seamus had become a major matter of principle.

  She’d had great fun on the previous Saturday at the hunt ball. At the ball a dishy bloke, one of Ashton Smith’s Gormonstown set called Paul, had manoeuvred her into the conservatory and tried to steal a kiss behind Ashton’s back. With a giggle she had obliged. Later he had whispered that he would like to give her a call.

  “I’m free Wednesday,” she had whispered and given him her phone number.

  Later she’d remembered that Wednesday was the night she had a date with Seamus, the biker she’d met at the St. Patrick’s Day Parade.

  Ann-Marie had a delicious time teasing herself with who she would or would not stand up. She imagined them both in leathers like Seamus. She imagined them both in dress suits like Paul. She imagined, for a delicious blushing moment, what they would be like naked in her bedroom. Seamus was ahead but the issue was undecided. So she was still going over the whole thing again and again.

  Until of course her Mother, over Sunday lunch, had repeated the whole story of their encounter with Seamus at the Parade and made a joke of it. Her father was furious.

  “My daughter a pick up,” he’d stormed, glaring at her, “And also, Ann-Marie, I am disappointed.”

  “Disappointed?” she said trying to control her hostility.

  “Yes think of the poor boy. I say poor advisedly. Are you not toying with him with his feelings?”

  “No more than he is with me.”

  “I don’t want you to see him,” her father said firmly.

  That did it. Ann-Marie knew she was going to date Seamus if she had to walk through fire to do it.

  Ann-Marie put down her knife and fork and opened her mouth to speak.

  Mother, sensing disaster but feeling powerless to prevent it, drew on her ‘Parenting Course’ training.

  “Dorothy,” she said sweetly before Ann-Marie could open her mouth. “What do you advise?” she asked, looking to Dorothy as Ann-Marie’s older sister to support her parents in the matter.

  Then came the astounding news. Dorothy had m
et a man.

  “His name is Jeremy, he’s over from London on business.”

  Dorothy was in generous mood and wanted to show off her beau. She also knew Ann-Marie well enough to understand that there going to be a major blow out with her parents. So when she made the offer to chaperone Ann-Marie with a double date on the Wednesday everyone just agreed.

  The offer practically stopped the conversation. Dorothy looked like the cat that had got the cream. Now in the breakfast room a terrible thought struck Ann-Marie. What if Seamus stood her up? After all the fuss, if she was stood up while she was with Dorothy and her man friend! Ann-Marie shuddered with embarrassment at the thought. Now the date with Seamus was all-important.

  Chapter six

  Janet sipped her cappuccino and watched the passing throng. It was amazing, here she was parachuted into Dublin, Capital city of Ireland and here were throngs of people happily leading their own lives without and connectivity to her whatsoever. This always fascinated her no matter what city she visited.

  Janet was sitting at the first floor window of the mezzanine in Bewley’s café in Grafton Street, Dublin’s premier shopping and fashion street. From there she could see all the movements up and down on the ‘pedestrianised’ street.

  That morning she had heard a song on Irish Radio, the words stayed in her mind

  ‘Dublin can be heaven

  With coffee at eleven,

  And a stroll in Stephen’s Green.

  Grafton Street’s a wonderland

  There’s magic in the air…’

  So she strolled through the beautiful gardens in St. Stephen’s Green on what was a beautiful sunny day. Janet was delighted with Dublin. She liked a small city and she sensed the buzz. Dublin was lively. There were lots of young people and signs of prosperity.

  Janet had been pleasantly surprised to see a hoarding on her walk down Grafton street with fly posters announcing the imminent arrival of ‘Jeremy and David’, one of the premier international fashion houses with boutiques around the world and stores in London and Paris.

  Over breakfast she had read through the Irish Times, the local prestige newspaper. She was further pleased to read that following the recent government elections, the Green Party were to go into a coalition government, promising stability, but also amongst the ‘programme for government’ there was a clause that promised to raise Organic farm production for one percent to five percent of farm output. Janet kept the page so she could copy it to Crawford.

  The bank at the bottom of Grafton Street had received a draft for fifty thousand as promised by Crawford. To celebrate she’d dropped into Brown Thomas, Dublin’s premier Department store and fashion shop. They had all the brands from Gucci to Armani plus local fashion houses as well as those from Paris and New York.

  Her feet were sore but her heart was glad. She’d bought a ravishing evening dress, now all she needed was an occasion to wear it.

  In the afternoon she had an appointment to go see a penthouse apartment in Ballsbridge, one of the most fashionable parts of town. With luck it would suit her, it sounded just right and Crawford’s fighting fund would be her source for the deposit and the rent.

  When she was set up she would ring Crawford and tell him she had established a bridgehead. Then she would invite him over to Dublin.

  Janet paused and sipped her coffee. If she brought Crawford to Dublin he’d get excited, not about the takeover, but about her. She would need a plan to handle him.

  Janet perused the Irish Independent as she sipped her coffee. She felt relaxed and in charge. But she wanted to read herself in on the local scene and was working her way through the local morning newspapers. Then she saw it, a small article at the foot of the financial page. There was an announcement about two new appointments to the Board of O’Byrnes. For a moment she was startled, clearly their target company was positioning for further growth.

  The article included an interview with Michael O’Byrne, the Managing Director. He spoke of hopes of going public at a future date and also of the appointment of a new Financial Director, a John O’Malley, recruited from a large Accounting firm, with expertise in Computer systems to the Board of O’Byrnes.

  Also mentioned was the promotion of Peter O’Byrne, Michael’s son and heir, to a role on the expanded Board involving quality customer care. The photo of the two appointees appeared at the bottom of the article. Janet drew a circle around the young and hopeful face of Peter. She had found her mark.

  The mention of ‘quality customer care’ in the article got her brain going. Quality and Peter, how could she leverage his inexperience?

  In the meantime she would lunch in the Café of the National Library. The very helpful concierge at the hotel had told her that they had a genealogy office at the National Library and also back copies of all the national and provincial newspapers going back centuries. This would be a good place to research the O’Byrne family. She needed a route to get to the O’Byrnes. She would do her homework and find out what was in the local public domain about this private family and their large Irish Business.

  Chapter seven

  Wednesday was a cold dull day, but it was cosy indoors. The weekly Board Meeting came to order as Michael picked up his papers and coughed. He opened the discussions by welcoming the new members to the Board.

  Michael O’Byrne sat at the head of the table. To his right James O’Driscoll the Marketing Director. Next to him Peter O’Byrne sat self consciously, not used to the formality of the board or the fact that he was now a member. Dorothy sat on Michael’s right. John O’Malley was to her right again. This was the first board meeting since he had been recruited. Finally at the far end of the table Dermot O’Rourke the Production Director sat or rather slouched. There was plenty of room as none of the non-executive directors nominated by the bank were present. The group sat with at least one spare seat between them, using the space to spread out their papers.

  “Congratulations Michael,” Dorothy congratulated, referring to the German takeover. They had just been through the papers and recorded the necessary minutes to formally authorize the purchase.

  “We did a good deal,” Michael said agreeably.

  “Yea,” James concurred “but a good deal only if we can use the distribution chain as an outlet for our Irish Organic Produce and Mushrooms.”

  “Presumably that is why we bought in,” Dermot said dryly.

  “Yes,” Michael confirmed. “James has been very busy. He has tied up a number of distribution outlets around our new acquisitions. With the increased volumes we should be looking at a two to three year pay back.”

  He paused.

  “Let us stay with the agenda. Production next?” he added with a raised eyebrow towards Dermot.

  Dermot took up the next hour with a detailed presentation on the status of various procurement contracts, then on to the mushroom scene and finally the Dublin vegetable Market.

  “Very good,” Michael had concluded that part of the agenda after allowing some questions that Dermot fielded expertly.

  “Now to the proposed new plant in Cork. Dorothy can you start with the Financials on the project?”

  “I would like John to present the figures,” Dorothy said.

  Michael smiled, “John?” he said, deferring to Dorothy’s wish.

  John cleared his throat. “As you know the plant has a capital approval of four million. The project is two thirds completed. It is a turnkey project and on a green field site so the financials are straightforward in that the main contractor has to deliver to the contract. Our advising engineers McNaughtons certify the work done.”

  Dermot came in, in support. “The project seems well on time and within budget. This week three large lorries will arrive with about a million pounds worth of drying equipment.”

  “Total project completion cost estimate is three point nine million,” John took up the story again.

  “Very good John,” Michael commented, “glad to see you are very quickly getting on top
of the numbers.”

  The other board members murmured in agreement. Dorothy smiled. She had spent a lot of time coaching John, but he sure was a quick learner.

  “There are contracts on about four thousand acres of vegetables sown throughout Cork and other parts of Munster. We hope to employ about two hundred people at the peak. For your information the peas went in starting St. Patrick’s Day. The sowing will end with beans around mid may,” John added.

  “That is Dermot’s area,” Peter threw in, aggressively addressing John. Keep the new finance man in his box, he thought.

  “True,” Dorothy said agreeably realizing her brother was attempting to put John in his box but she remained friendly on the surface, “but,” she added with a smile, “All roads lead to Rome, the Finances. Explain John.”

  “Well, Peter it is very simple, we have to pay cash to our suppliers. We then have to carry stock and finally we sell. Which is of course your department Peter, yours and James’s. Obviously we must sell and then wait to get paid and our cash back. Our markets, mainly supermarkets, require credit on our sales. The end result is there is a large funding requirement to cover the time between paying the Farmer and our getting out cash back from sales to our customers. We also have to cover running costs such as wages etcetera until we get the proceeds of our sales back into the bank.”