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“We utilize our media resources,” Blume explained. “All of them. They are vast and unmatchable.”
He folded his bloodless hands together on the table and assumed an earnest demeanor. Focusing on Noah, he said, “By buying Platt/Powers, WorldView acquired a healthy publishing house. But the U.K. market is smaller than the American market. Significantly so. We want one on this side of the pond. We want Matherly Press.
“You publish books with mass appeal. Moneymakers, if you will. But you also publish literary works. Without question yours is a profitable house. It’s also a venerable publishing institution. It has a cachet of respectability. We’d like that for our little company.”
The fatuous understatement elicited a twitter from the WV group, but Noah let it pass without even a smile. Blume seemed to take that as a sign that he should stop and let the other side talk for a while.
“I’ve studied the proposal thoroughly,” Noah began. “You did your homework. The research was impressive. The projections are exciting but within the realm of achievability.”
“This is sounding very good,” Blume said, throwing grins all around.
Noah held up a cautionary hand. “However, before we move forward, there are a couple of points that must be addressed.”
“That’s the purpose of this meeting.”
“First, what about antitrust laws? Are you going to be in violation? I don’t want to become embroiled in a protracted legal dispute with the federal government.”
“I assure you that we don’t, either, and we’ve taken every precaution to avoid it.”
One of the lawyers was given the floor to explain why the probability of that happening was slim. Noah asked several questions, which he didn’t allow to be dismissed with legal double-talk. He kept at the counsel until his concerns were addressed and given the attention they deserved.
“Good,” Blume said when explanations had been provided to Noah’s satisfaction. “What’s your second point?”
Noah plucked an invisible piece of lint off the sleeve of his suit jacket, then looked over at Blume and said blandly, “Matherly Press isn’t for sale.”
* * *
“To which he said?” Daniel Matherly asked.
“Nothing that bears repeating,” his son-in-law replied.
“Something about stubborn old men who refuse to see the light, I’d bet.”
“Nothing that blatant, but definitely along those lines.”
They were having drinks together in Daniel’s home study. Maxine had poured them the first round. “One is his limit. He can’t have another,” she told Noah before leaving them.
“I’ll see that he doesn’t,” he called after her as she left the room. But a conspiratorial wink at Daniel nullified his promise to the housekeeper.
Now, a half hour later, they were enjoying their second round. “Fetch me my pipe, will you, please?”
Noah retrieved Daniel’s pipe from where he’d left it on the desk. He delivered it and a tobacco pouch to the large leather wing chair where Daniel sat with his feet propped on an ottoman. Methodically he packed his pipe and put a match to it.
“If Maxine smells that smoke—”
“I’ll claim it was you who was smoking.” He exhaled a plume of smoke toward the ceiling. Thoughtfully, his eyes remained fixed on the crown molding. “The mongrels are closing in on us, Noah. They’re mean and they have sharp teeth.”
Noah sipped his scotch. “WorldView?” He made a negligent gesture. “I don’t know how I could have stated it any more plainly. Matherly Press isn’t for sale.”
“They’ll persist. Particularly that Blume bastard.”
“It’s said he pisses ice cubes.?
?
Daniel chuckled. “I don’t doubt it.” He puffed on his pipe for a moment. “Even if Morris Blume falls by the wayside or gives up and goes away, another mongrel, even meaner than he, won’t be far behind.”
“Let them come. We can stave them off.”
