‘Yes—no. Not a sale—I mean, let me explain … ‘
One devilish brow arched sardonically in her direction. ‘I will give you five minutes,’ he said, and looked pointedly at his wristwatch.
He had fine black hairs on his wrist, she noted, and shook her head. What was she thinking …? Concentrate, she told herself.
‘When my father died, in accordance with his will Damien inherited the family home in Dessington and seventy-five percent of the business. I had the other twenty-five and the holiday house in Cornwall. My father was not big on equality of the sexes.’
‘I don’t need your opinions—just facts.’ Though he knew most of them. The manager in charge of the bank’s small investments had kept him informed of any development at Steadman’s over the years, but common courtesy decreed he listen to her. But now he realised the reason for the woman’s unvarnished looks and clothes. Lorenzo was all for equality of the sexes, and made a point of employing and promoting intelligent women in his organisation, but he had no time for a latter-day women’s libber who thought the world owed her a living without her having the requisite skills to earn one, and his patience was fast running out.
Lucy took a deep breath. ‘After Damien died I inherited all that was left … Manufacturing plastics is not my thing, so I was quite happy to leave the running of the place to the manager while the lawyer dealt with probate. Unfortunately it was only when the lawyer finalised everything a couple of months ago, and called me in to explain my inheritance, that I discovered my father—with Damien’s agreement—had seven years earlier made Antonio a partner in the business by selling him forty percent of the firm. I was still at boarding school at the time, and knew nothing about it, but apparently it was agreed between them all that Damien and Antonio were going to be partners in the business and run it between them when my father retired. Unfortunately Antonio died, so it was never to be.’ She sighed, and then chewed nervously on her bottom lip. This was the hard part.
She raised a hand and counted off the fingers of the other hand to help her concentrate. ‘So, after my father died I did not actually inherit twenty-five percent of the business.’ She counted off a second finger. ‘It was twenty-five percent of what was only sixty percent.’ She counted a third finger. ‘So that was twenty … no, wait … fift—’
‘Basta! Enough.’
Lucy raised her head, her green eyes clashing with his ‘You’ve put me off now,’ she declared, waving her hands out wide.
‘I’m a banker—I can do the maths. A word of advice—never go into business.’ And she could have sworn she saw a hint of amusement in his dark eyes before the shutters came down and his hard, expressionless gaze fixed on her.
‘Your time has run out, so I will put you out of your misery. Your brother—who was obviously quite keen on partners,’ he said, with a hint of sarcasm in his tone, ‘took on another partner eighteen months ago, selling fifteen percent of his share to Richard Johnson, who as it turns out is a property developer. Now your brother has died he wants to buy out the other two partners, demolish the factory and build a block of apartments on the land. You are six percent short of a majority on your own, and you want my bank, which now controls Antonio’s investment, to side with you to stop the development.’
In that moment Lorenzo, who had been ambivalent over what action to take—a rare occurrence for him—made up his mind. He had toyed with the idea of supporting Miss Steadman—the monetary aspect was next to nothing to the bank, and it also meant he could avoid discussing with his mother a subject that would reignite the pain of her losing Antonio.
He was intensely protective of his mother—had been since his father’s death, and even more so since the death of Antonio. She was a tender-hearted, compassionate woman, who had accepted the inquest result as gospel, and he had taken immense care to ensure she never found out about his confrontation outside the courthouse with Damien. He had paid off the reporter who had caught the declaration of his true view on the case.
But Lucy Steadman was not a good investment. She had been quite happy to let her father and brother keep her in comfort while spouting off about equality of the sexes, and frankly, after what he had learnt earlier today, any thought of assisting a Steadman in any way was anathema to him.
‘Yes, that is exactly right—otherwise the factory will close and a lot of people will lose their jobs. That would be a devastating blow to Dessington, the town I grew up in, and I can’t let that happen.’
‘You have little choice. The factory just about breaks even, but makes very little profit for its partners and consequently is of no interest to this bank. We will be selling to Mr Johnson, who is offering a good return on our original investment.’ He could not resist turning the screw a little. ‘Bottom line—unless you can come up with a higher figure than that currently on offer to buy out my bank’s interest in the next couple of weeks the sale will go through.’
‘But I can’t—I only have my shares.’
‘And two houses, apparently. You could possibly raise money on those with your bank.’
‘No—just one and a half. Damien mortgaged his,’ Lucy murmured to herself. That was something else she had not known.
‘Somehow that does not surprise me,’ he drawled cynically and, rising to his feet, walked around the desk to stop in front of her. ‘Take my advice, Miss Steadman, and sell out. As you said yourself, you have no interest in plastics, and neither does this bank.’
She glanced up the long, lithe length of him, her green eyes clashing with hard black.
‘How old are you? Twenty—twenty-one?’ he asked.
‘Twenty-four,’ she snapped. At five feet two and with youthful appearance, it had been the bane of her life at college, when she’d continually been asked for proof of her age. Even now she still had to carry identification if she wanted to enter licensed premises.
‘Twenty-four is still young. Do as your brother did and have fun. Allow me to show you out.’
Throw her out, more like, Lucy thought, and panicked. ‘Is that it?’ She leapt to her feet and grasped his arm as he turned towards the door. ‘No discussion? At the very least give me more time to try and raise the money. I’ll do anything I can to save the factory.’
Lorenzo looked down into her eyes. They were an amazing green, he realised, big and pleading. He lost his train of thought for a moment.
He could do without Lucy Steadman and her persistence. He had known of her initial call to the bank, and that she had been sent the bank’s standard response. When he’d received her personal letter informing him she was visiting Verona he had told his secretary to arrange a meeting for two reasons. Firstly out of respect for his mother’s feelings, because she was the one who had given Antonio the money to buy his share in Steadman’s in the first place, without Lorenzo or the bank’s knowledge, and it seemed she had a sentimental attachment to the investment.
It had only been after Antonio’s death and the inquest, when Lorenzo had got around to dealing with his brother’s personal estate, that he’d actually discovered his brother was a partner in Steadman’s. He had queried his mother about the investment because the transaction had not been made through the Zanelli Bank but the Bank of Rome, and had suggested she sell. Her reply had astounded him.
Her own mother’s advice when she’d married had been to always keep a separate account that one’s husband knew nothing about, as it gave a wife a sense of independence. Obviously her account could not be at the Zanelli Bank, hence it was at the Bank of Rome. As for selling, she hadn’t been sure—because it still gave her great comfort to know that Antonio had not been the lightweight people had thought, but had made plans for the future and intended being a successful businessman in his own right.
Lorenzo didn’t agree. On finishing university Antonio and Damien had taken a gap year together, to travel around the world.