cocked an eyebrow, questioning.
‘Clemengers owns three six-plus-star boutique hotels, located on prime sites in each of Sydney, Melbourne and Brisbane, and was founded by my late father over fifty years ago. Many of our staff have been with us for over twenty years, some more like forty. We’re a family company that never outgrew its roots, its original mission statement—to be the best, to give the best, to the best.
‘This downturn,’ she continued, ‘has affected us of course, but not to the same extent as it has Silvers. You have to ask yourself why.’
Domenic didn’t want to ask, not her, but he wanted to know. He hadn’t read anything about this in that report and one of the questions he was going to ask his finance manager once he got hold of him was why he had to learn this from the opposition, when he’d expected a comprehensive report.
‘You don’t want to know why?’ she asked.
‘I’m still listening,’ he conceded with a nod. ‘You tell me what you think.’
‘I know,’ she emphasised, ‘Clemengers offers more than just a place to stay. Clemengers offers an experience.’
‘You’re trying to say that Silvers doesn’t offer an experience? We’re one of the biggest hotel chains in the world. We would never have got there if we didn’t offer the best.’
‘But you don’t offer a point of difference. You offer a fine product, a quality five-star product, but it’s not the same thing. Just look at your clientele, for example—’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ he interjected. ‘Mick Jagger stayed in Silvers hotels during his last tour.’
‘Exactly,’ she continued. ‘You have rock stars, businessmen, and tourists who like comfort. Clemengers, on the other hand, has prime ministers, sheikhs and those who appreciate luxury.’
He pushed off from the desk, strode three paces across the room and turned around. ‘So what are you offering, then?’
‘Simply the chance to share in the most prestigious hotel market in Australia. The chance to benefit and learn from our methods, so that you might strengthen the rest of your business. I’m offering a share of Clemengers.’
It was a crazy proposal and certainly there was nothing at all like it mooted in the report he’d been wading through this morning. And yet maybe it was just the sort of strategy Silvers should be looking at. Maybe that was what was lacking in that report. It was so much ‘same old, same old’. Maybe it was about time someone thought outside the box.
‘So what’s in it for Clemengers? I can’t believe you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart, to strengthen your own competition.’
She crossed to the window, gazing out across the vista of harbour bridge and opera house, ferry traffic and sails on a harbour that sparkled and shimmered in the early-afternoon sun, though he suspected she saw none of it.
‘You could say,’ she said, still facing the window, ‘that Clemengers has a small cash-flow problem. My father took some bad advice that got him into trouble with the taxation department. I had no idea until after he died that we even had a problem. Six months ago I discovered how big that problem was. The banks were prepared to help—for a while.’ She shook her head. ‘We were making headway, until the latest tax office penalty notices came in. Now the banks won’t extend.’
‘How much is involved?’
She looked over and rattled off a figure that had him raising his eyebrows. ‘That’s exactly why the lawyers advised that Clemengers be sold. If the banks weren’t interested—where else could we go? And yet the business is profitable—I can show you the figures to back that up. It’s just that the outstanding back tax and penalties have to be paid, and soon.’
She sighed and gave a wan smile. Right now she looked tired. Tired and so vulnerable, not at all the intrepid, risk-taking female who’d pushed her way into his office demanding he listen to her proposal. Her head tilted to one side as she looked up at him.
‘Clemengers has quietly been on the market for two months—why hasn’t Silvers expressed any interest? For a business looking for solutions to its own problems, I would have thought someone might have made an expression of interest, or at least made some enquiries.’
Domenic didn’t know. His Australian finance director had never passed on the information that the boutique hotel business was for sale. And while he may have had good reason to have discounted any opportunities the Clemenger deal might offer, why was there not even a mention of it in the report?
There was one way to find out. ‘I think I’ve heard just about enough.’ He moved to the desk, picked up the phone and dialled the finance director’s number. She watched him from where she still stood, near the window, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, as if she’d been on the verge of saying something, copper flecks in her hair suddenly brought to life. Did she realise how beautiful she looked right now? Was that why she’d chosen that particular spot to stand, with the sunlight washing over her in a golden sheen?
Probably not, he decided while the phone rang at the other end, she seemed to lack the guile of the women he usually associated with.
Evan Hooper answered on the third ring and Domenic dragged his eyes from Opal and focused on the wall, where those peculiar eyes—not quite blue, not quite green—couldn’t distract him. ‘Evan, what can you tell me about the Clemengers sale?’
Opal drew in a deep breath. For a moment, just a moment, she’d thought he was going to call Security and have her thrown out. Instead, she was still in with a chance. And he just had to see the benefits—there was far too much at stake for him not to.
‘And the finances?’ Domenic’s terse questions to the finance director were meeting with very long answers.
‘Then why?’ His voice kicked up a few decibels before, on a muttered curse, he flung the phone down. For a second he stayed where he was, leaning his weight with his hands on the desk, his chest heaving, until he looked up at her and pushed himself upright. He swiped up his jacket.
‘Come on, then, Ms Clemenger. Or may I call you Opal?’
‘Of course, but—where are we going?’
‘Where do you think? You’re going to show me that six-plus-star hotel you’re so proud of.’
She motioned to the desk, the plates of food still untouched. ‘Your lunch…’ she said.
‘Leave it,’ he said, putting a hand under her arm and guiding her towards the door. His face turned to hers and she caught his scent—woody tones over a mantle of male. It suited him. His teeth flashed as his mouth paused to smile. ‘I want to see what you’ve got to offer.’
His touch was warm through her jacket, yet that still didn’t stop the shiver that coursed through her. He meant the hotel, of course. Why would she imagine for a minute that she’d seen something else in the dark, heady gaze he’d turned her way? Sure he might be a playboy, but he was hardly likely to come the playboy with her—she wasn’t the type, which was exactly the way she wanted it.
All she wanted from Domenic Silvagni was an investment, funds to ensure the future of Clemengers and its staff. If it took a playboy to save it, then so be it. Right now she couldn’t afford
