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 nextto 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 inSteadman’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
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 inSteadman’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
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