your kind advice,’ Antonio drawled icily. ‘However, I must tell you that, strange as it may seem, I’m perfectly capable of running my private life without your assistance.’
‘Yes, well…’ His uncle shrugged. ‘I may have been a bit out of order…’
Antonio gave a snort of grim laughter. ‘You most certainly were! Especially since the idea of finding myself a rich wife is definitely not on my list of priorities just at the moment.’
‘But, all the same, I do wish that…’
‘Quite frankly, I’m far more interested in obtaining new contracts,’ Antonio said, firmly changing the subject. ‘Particularly in supplying our own brand of sherry to supermarkets in France, Germany and Italy. I also have high hopes of attracting some new business in North America,’ he added, before quickly glancing down at his watch. ‘Which is why I really must get back to work. I’m leaving tomorrow for a quick business trip around Europe,’ he said, rising to his feet and walking towards the door.
‘Unfortunately I can only afford to be away from the office for a week. But if I can manage to clinch those deals it will at least give us a breathing space. And also enable me to do some serious financial planning for the future.’
‘You’ve mentioned America. What about the supermarkets in Britain?’
With his hand on the doorknob, Antonio paused, before turning slowly around, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a frown.
‘I hadn’t intended visiting London on this trip. But it now looks as if I may have to. I’m becoming increasingly worried about a large shipment of some of our very best wines which was dispatched to Brandon’s of Pall Mall, in England, well over a month ago.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘I’m still not sure,’ the younger man admitted with a slight shrug. ‘For some reason, it appears to have gone missing. Needless to say I’ve been on the phone for the last two days, trying to track it down. But with absolutely no success so far.’
‘Surely a consignment that large shouldn’t be too hard to find?’
‘Which is precisely what I have been telling those English wine merchants!’ Antonio gave a short bark of sardonic laughter. ‘I know Sir Robert Brandon is an old friend of yours, Uncle, but I have to say that it looks as though his methods of doing business are still firmly rooted in the nineteenth century!’
‘You may regard Sir Robert and myself as ancient dinosaurs,’ his uncle retorted, ‘but if you do go to England it might be worth talking over your problems with him. He is, after all, one of the cleverest businessmen in the wine trade.’
‘Hmm…I’ll think about it,’ Antonio said as he turned to open the door, not overly impressed with the idea of picking the brains of his uncle’s old friend.
‘In the meantime—take care of yourself, Uncle. I should be back in my office by next Monday,’ he added with a smile, before leaving the room.
Striding swiftly down the corridor towards the front door of his uncle’s house, Antonio could only feel sorry for the elderly and infirm man, now confined to a wheelchair.
However, the brutal facts of life were that if only his uncle had resigned his position as head of the company immediately after becoming aware of his bad heart condition the family business would not now be in such a mess. Unfortunately the old man had refused to listen to his doctor’s advice, continuing to run the business his own way and only finally relinquishing control when forced to do so, after his last heart attack.
Which had meant that, instead of being able to make long-term plans for taking over the family business, Antonio had been forced to immediately abandon his highly lucrative career as an international tax lawyer in Madrid. And on his return home to Jerez he’d been faced with some fairly major problems.
The most important of which was the urgent need to bring modern organisation and technique into every corner of the business, Antonio told himself grimly as he left the house, running down the steps and across to where his sports car was parked, beneath the shade of some olive trees.
The extensive Ramirez family vineyards might produce some of the finest and most sought-after wines in the Spanish sherry trade, but his uncle had clearly never even heard of computers or the Internet. And there was virtually nothing in the way of records since his uncle had believed in handling as little paperwork as possible.
In fact, Antonio mused, drumming his fingers on the driving wheel of his car for a moment before switching on the engine, the meeting with his bankers this afternoon should, with any luck, help to solve most of his problems. Because the sooner he could start completely overhauling the family business the better!
Turning around his wheelchair, and gazing out through the open window as his nephew’s black Porsche disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust, Emilio sat buried in thought for some time.
He was well aware of just how difficult it must have been for Antonio to give up his highly successful career. Not that the younger man had ever complained, of course. But it must have been a wrench to be forced to suddenly abandon his friends, colleagues and that glamorous apartment in Madrid simply because he was the only one in the family capable of running the business.
He clearly had no way of lightening Antonio’s heavy burden, of course. But maybe…maybe there was something he could do about the financial problems facing his nephew…
While he might be stuck in this damned wheelchair there was still life in the old dog yet, Emilio told himself with a chuckle, before spinning around to pick up the phone on his desk.
‘Sí…’ he said as his call was answered at the other end of the line. ‘Señor Don Roberto…por favor…’
At approximately the same time, although many hundreds of miles away, Georgina Brandon was muttering furiously under her breath as she slammed down the phone.
She’d never got on with the manager of the company’s headquarters at Pall Mall in London. And it was just like the slimy two-faced man to try and blame Gina and her staff for his own shortcomings.
Besides, exactly why he seemed to think such a very large, valuable consignment of top-class sherry would have been sent to the Ipswich branch office, here in Suffolk, she had absolutely no idea. Surely it was far more likely to be found at their other warehouse, in Bristol? Or most probably tucked away in the vast dusty cellars in Pall Mall.
But the loss of such a valuable shipment seemed the very least of her worries at the moment. Because—while she might enjoy hearing that the head of the world-famous Bodega Ramirez had well and truly chewed the ear off that creep in London—she’d been utterly devastated to learn exactly who was now the new Chairman and Managing Director of the Ramirez company.
‘Antonio? Antonio Ramirez?’ she’d gasped down the phone, just a few moments ago.
‘Yeah. Surely you must have heard that he’d taken over the business from his old uncle Emilio?’
‘No…no, I didn’t know…’ she’d muttered, her trembling hands almost dropping the phone as she’d tried to get her head around this startling and highly alarming piece of information.
‘Well, well! Fancy clever Miss Georgina Brandon not being up with the latest news in the wine
