from Paris. The excellently-styled jacket above the pencil-slim skirt was trimmed across the shoulders and yoke with jet-bead embroidery and silk tassels. Her long, shapely legs were encased in sheer black hose, her feet elegantly shod in a pair of black satin pumps. The only jewellery she wore were large diamond earrings shaped like flowers, and, on her wrist, a narrow diamond watch designed by Cartier in the thirties.
Maxim went to meet her, took hold of her elbow, guided her over to the corner table.
‘You look lovely,’ he said, forever appreciative of a pretty woman, always full of genuine gallantry, ready with a compliment.
‘Why thank you,’ she said, turning to him, widening her smile. It lit up her face. ‘I always feel I must get myself done up in my best fancy duds to come to this place. So I dashed back to the Ritz to change. That’s why I’m late. Sorry, Boss,’ she said with her usual breeziness and casual style.
‘There’s no need to apologise,’ he replied, returning her smile, as usual faintly amused by her irreverent manner, her persistence in calling him Boss. When she had first come to work for him and had started to address him in this way, he had been irritated, had tried to make her stop. But she had ignored his protests, or they had flown over her head, he wasn’t sure which, and Boss it had remained since then. He had grown used to it by now, no longer minded. It was of no consequence to him, really. And he admired her for being herself, for not compromising her personality to suit somebody else’s idea of the proper corporate image. She was honest and forthright and rather blunt, unnervingly so at times. He laughed to himself. Graeme had nicknames for everyone in the company, at least those she dealt with on a day-to-day basis. Most of the names were highly appropriate, and some disconcertingly so.
‘What’s a few minutes between us,’ Maxim remarked as they sat down. ‘In any case, you’re worth the wait, Graeme. You’re positively blooming tonight. Let’s settle down, relax, have a drink before dinner and you can tell me what happened after I left the office. What would you like? A glass of champagne, as usual? Or something else?’
‘Champagne, Maxim, please.’ Graeme put her black velvet evening purse on the table, made herself more comfortable on the chair opposite him, crossed her legs, adjusted her skirt. There was an air of expectancy about her; it was as though she could hardly contain herself.
Once he had ordered her drink, she bent forward, her manner suddenly grown confidential, her vivid eyes more alive and eager than ever, her intelligent face aglow, flushed pink with excitement. ‘I’ve come to a conclusion about the Winonda Group, after being on and off the phone with Peter Heilbron in New York for the last couple of hours,’ she exclaimed, her tone rising slightly. ‘I think we should go for it, Boss, make a bid! It’s a cinch for us. The perfect company for a takeover despite what appear to be certain problems. I’ve studied the last two faxes I received from Peter and –’
‘If they’re sensitive, I presume you’ve shredded them,’ Maxim cut in swiftly.
‘Of course! How can you think otherwise!’ She sounded astonished, looked at him askance. ‘Am I not your clone, Boss?’
Maxim bit back a smile, made no response.
Graeme rushed on, ‘Winonda has a number of unprofitable divisions, but these would be easy to liquidate. We would keep the profitable divisions, of course, and simply reorganise them, give them a bit of the West International streamlining.’
She paused when the waiter brought the flute of champagne to her, waited until they were alone before continuing, ‘What makes the deal so attractive to me is the real estate Winonda owns just outside Seattle. It looks worthless at first glance, and especially so on paper. Undervalued, actually. It’s run down, and it’s in a very bad area. However, I know it has great value, that it’s a big asset.’
Maxim raised a brow.
Graeme explained. ‘It’s an asset because a Japanese company wants to buy it. They’re in the process of buying up the entire area, actually, and they want the Winonda real estate so that they can tear down the existing buildings, redevelop the land by constructing a hotel, a shopping mall, and offices on it.’
‘Then why hasn’t Charles Bishop sold?’ Maxim’s brow furrowed. ‘That strikes me as particularly odd. He’s extremely shrewd, usually very fast on the draw.’
‘He turned them down flat. Didn’t want to know, apparently. And not because they weren’t offering plenty. I believe they went as high as two hundred and seventy million dollars.’
‘What’s the catch?’
‘There isn’t one. At least, not for us. If we owned Winonda we could sell the real-estate holdings tomorrow. And to the same Japanese company. They’re standing in the wings. Waiting. They’ll wait in vain, of course, as long as Bishop’s the president of Winonda. You see, his father died in a Japanese prisoner-of-war camp, that’s why he won’t strike a deal with them.’
When Maxim said nothing, Graeme remarked in a low voice, ‘Put very simply, he’s letting his personal feelings get in the way.’
Maxim was thoughtful. After a moment he glanced at her. ‘You have good vibes about this deal, don’t you?’
‘Absolutely, Boss!’
‘So do I. And I have from the beginning, ever since you put forward Winonda as a possibility for us. Call Peter tomorrow, tell him to get the acquisition team moving at once. And good for you, Grae. I’m impressed. You must have done a great deal of research.’
Graeme shook her head. ‘A little, but not as much as you probably think. By one of those odd coincidences, my cousin Sara lives in Seattle now. She’s with a bank. I asked her about Winonda, after you’d told me to go ahead and analyse the situation. She mentioned that some Japanese company had been sniffing around. She’d heard about their interest in the Winonda real estate through her boyfriend, who’s a partner in an accounting firm. There was a nasty leak from somewhere, I suspect.’
She grinned at Maxim. ‘I guess you’re right about shredding machines, Boss. You can’t be too careful. In any event, I ran with the information Sara had passed on to me and had it checked out. It proved to be correct.’ Graeme stopped, cleared her throat. ‘The stockholders of the Winonda Group might not be too happy to learn that their president passed up millions of dollars for a parcel of real estate that nobody else seems to want. Poor judgement on Bishop’s part, wouldn’t you say?’
‘I can understand his reasoning in some ways. But yes, I suppose in the final analysis you’re right, Graeme.’
‘As the president and CEO of a public company he ought to have put personal sentiments aside,’ she stated in a voice that was surprisingly cold and deliberate.
Maxim gave her a swift look. He knew how tough, even ruthless, she could be at times. But her assessment of Bishop seemed harsh. Fleetingly, a faint shadow crossed his face. He frowned. ‘Yes,’ he said laconically, having no wish to continue this conversation, and reached for his glass.
Graeme sat back, gazed at him through appraising eyes. A muscle twitched on his cheek and he appeared strained all of a sudden and she wondered why. She was about to ask him if something was wrong and then changed her mind immediately. He was a very private man, never revealed much about himself or his feelings, and he hated anyone to pry, to try to winkle their way behind that powerful facade of his.
She lifted her flute of untouched champagne. ‘Cheers,’ she said. ‘Here’s to the
