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Jason picked up a tissue box and placed it on the table next to Gillian. She grabbed one and mopped up her face, apologising for her emotional display.
“Don’t worry about the tears, Gillian. I have a reputation to reducing people to tears in this room. It will add to the myth.”
My tears didn’t count obviously. Mine were not an illusion—I’d bawled buckets spanked over his lap all those years ago.
The phone rang, and Jason leaned over picking up his headset. “Eliza. Hi. I will have to call you back. Thanks.” Jason returned to his desk and thumped his intercom again.
“Carla, no calls please.”
Gillian’s mortification grew rather than diminished. “I’m so sorry
, Jason. I’m interrupting your day. If there is nothing you can do, I should go home. I’ve missed my train and—”
“Hold up. I didn’t say there was nothing I could do.” Jason remained stood behind his desk. “He needs to talk to me. The problem has to do with more than money. There are contractual issues with suppliers. This is bread and butter stuff for me, Gillian. It’s infuriating having to sit and watch him bury his head in the sand because he thinks I want to own his company.”
Gillian gaped at Jason.
“He never told you, I guess.” Jason puffed out his cheeks and looked up at the ceiling, as if to weigh up the situation.
“Told me what?” Gillian’s frown deepened.
Jason dragged a chair closer to the table, sat down, and leaned forward on his elbows, addressing the pair of us on the other side.
“When Anthony set up his business, making bespoke lampshades, and not long before he met you, Gillian, it ran into unforeseen problems. We were both young businessmen. My company had gone from strength to strength, making heaps, and Anthony made some bad decisions and got into debt. I confess I was indelicate when it came to dealing with his problem. He came for help, and I did what I did best. I bought the company out from him, restructured and refinanced it, then sold it back to Anthony on the cheap. All done and dusted in a short space of time. I made no money whatsoever from the process. I did it for Anthony’s sake and more so for my parents.”
I imagined the guilt that must have consumed Anthony—taking his brother’s money, plus, the humiliation of having Jason salvage his business while Jason’s thrived. The Jason back then in his early twenties would have been the young Dominant learning to contain his natural instincts. Massaging his prevalent personal trait from forceful domineering to responsible domination—taking charge and leading. His brother had probably been victim to Jason’s ruthless approach to problem solving, which centred on the ethos of deal with it then move on to the next issue.
My jaw dropped. When I snuck a glance at Gillian, her mouth gaped open once again.
She sprang to her feet, kicking back the chair. “I’m a fucking shareholder!”
“Please, sit.” Jason fixed her with one of his firm stares, and she capitulated. “I bought the majority of the shares. We left yours alone. It gave me the executive power I needed. When I sold it back to him, Anthony kept those shares I had, ensuring his ownership. Unfortunately, the risk, too.”
To Gillian, the business must have risen from the ashes like a phoenix. Well managed and prosperous but all down to Jason’s intervention, not Anthony’s good fortune. “Why wonder he doesn’t want you involved, Jason. You would buy the business up again, and he would be so ashamed. He would rather go bankrupt! God, this is worse than I thought.” She buried her head in her hands and I, unsure of my role, put an arm around her shoulders. Over her head, I shot Jason a pleading expression. He shook his head, as if to dismiss me from the conversation. I remained mute.
Jason continued. “I’ve no intention of buying the company. The problem lies not with money but contracts. The cash crisis has come about because while the suppliers aren’t providing him with goods, the company can’t sell. Recreate the supply chain, and the cash will flow again. He needs a different tactic for dealing with his suppliers or to change them.”
“He won’t change his tactics. Something to do with importing goods or quality issues. I don’t know. He won’t talk to me. We shout a lot instead.”
“Let him come and shout at me, then. I don’t care if he has to be angry, fired up, or whatever. If it gets the issues resolved, do it. Bait him with something, Gillian. Make him think I’m going to buy it up. If he won’t step into this building, have him come storming in here or wherever. He’ll listen to you, even if you’re shouting. It’s better than refusing to talk to me.”
“Have you tried?”
“Of course I’ve bloody tried. I’ve left voice messages, emails. He doesn’t even bother to open those. How do you think I feel? Watching him piss away the company I rescued once because he holds a grudge. I don’t do grudges. Anthony unfortunately does. Big style.” It was Jason’s turn to vent his spleen, and his voice rose.
There was more going on than sibling rivalry; there had to be to harbour such animosity.
“I understand.” Gillian sighed. “I’ll speak to him tonight. You’re happy for me to lie?”
“No. But if that’s what it takes to get him talking to me, do it.” Jason picked up the phone. “Martinson, I need a car to take my sister-in-law home…. Yes, that’s the address. And another one for my wife.”
“Wait,” I interjected. “Let me go with Gillian, keep her spirits up? A round trip won’t be a problem.”
Anthony and Gillian lived in the suburban home counties on the same side of the city as Blythewood. Jason paused, and I caught his eye. The reason why I wanted to go with Gillian was legitimate—a calming voice in her ear—but I also wanted to speak to her about nagging thoughts revolving in my own mind.
“Scrap the car for my wife. She will ride along and then head back to the White House.” He hung up the phone.
Gillian picked up her handbag. “Thank you, Jason, for seeing me at short notice. I hope you can do something. Something acceptable to Anthony.” The edge in her voice came across as a warning shot. Don’t screw my husband.
