To Be the Best

Since they had been working together they had drawn closer, and she was his staunch supporter in business and an ally in every way, whenever he needed one. It occurred to Michael now that he would not have been able to cope with his messy divorce and his dreadful personal problems without Paula’s friendship. She was always willing to listen to his woes at the end of the phone, or make herself available for a drink or a meal when the going really got tough. She had cornered a special place in his life, and he would be forever grateful that she had.

For all her success and sophistication and self-confidence, there was something about Paula – an endearing little-girl quality – which tugged at his heart, made him want to do things for her, want to please her. Frequently he went out of his way to accomplish this, as he had in New York recently. He wished the interminable phone call from the Harrogate store would come to an end so that he could impart his news.

Paula put down the receiver, made a little moue.

‘Sorry about that,’ she apologized. Leaning back in the chair, she went on, in an affectionate tone, ‘It’s lovely to see you Michael … and how was New York?’

‘Terrific. Hectic. I was up to my neck with work, since our business is going well over there right now. Still, I also managed to enjoy myself, even had a few weekends out in the Hamptons.’ He leaned closer to the desk. ‘Paula – ’

‘Yes, Michael?’ she cut in, eyeing him astutely, alerted by the urgency in his voice.

‘I think I may have found it … what you’ve been looking for in the States.’

Excitement flew onto her face. She sat forward slightly, her eagerness only too apparent. ‘Private or public?’

‘Private.’

‘Is it for sale?’

‘Isn’t everything – if the price is right.’ There was a hint of mischief on his face as he held her eyes.

‘Come on, don’t tease me!’ she exclaimed. ‘Is it actually on the market?’

‘No, it isn’t. But what does that mean in this day and age of the takeover? The owners can be approached … it doesn’t cost anything to do that.’

‘What’s the name of the company? Where is it? How big is it?’

Michael chuckled. ‘Hey, steady on, I can only answer one question at a time. The company is called Peale and Doone and it’s in the midwest. It’s not big, only seven stores … suburban stores. In Illinois and Ohio. But it’s an old company, Paula, founded in the 1920s by a couple of Scotsmen who settled in the States and at first dealt only in Scottish imports. You know, woollen goods, tartans and plaids, cashmeres and the like. They extended their inventory during the ’forties and ’fifties. But the merchandise is supposedly stodgy and the company’s in the doldrums, management-wise that is. Quite solid financially, or so I’ve been led to understand.’

‘How did you hear about Peale and Doone?’

‘Through a lawyer friend who’s with a Wall Street law firm. I’d asked him to be on the look-out for a chain and he heard about this company through a colleague in Chicago. My chap thinks they’re ripe for a takeover.’

Paula nodded. ‘Who holds the stock?’

‘The heirs to Mr Peale and Mr Doone.’

‘There’s no guarantee they’d sell, Michael.’

‘Correct. On the other hand, often stockholders don’t know they want to sell until they’re actually approached to do so.’

‘That’s true, and it’s worth investigating further.’

‘You bet it is, and although this chain is small, it might well be perfect for you, Paula.’

‘It’s just a pity the stores are in the boondocks,’ she murmured, and with a grimace, thinking out loud, ‘Big cities like Chicago and Cleveland would be more my speed.’

Michael gave her a sharp stare. ‘Look here, with your flair and expertise you can easily put your own special cachet on any store anywhere, and you know that. Besides, what’s wrong with the boondocks? There’s plenty of money to be made out there.’

‘Yes, you’re quite right,’ she answered quickly, suddenly realizing she may have sounded ungrateful after the effort he had made on her behalf. ‘Can you get some more information, please, Michael?’

‘I’ll ring my friend in New York later in the day and ask him to pursue this further.’

‘Does he know you were inquiring about retail chains for me?’

‘No, but I can tell him if you like.’

Paula said very briskly and firmly, ‘No. I think not. At least not for the moment, if you don’t mind. It’s better no one knows. The mention of my name could send the price skyrocketing. If there’s going to be a price, that is.’

‘Point well taken. I’ll keep Harvey in the dark for the time being.’

‘Please … and thank you, Michael, for going to all this trouble for me.’ Her smile was warm, sincere, as she added, ‘I really do appreciate it.’

‘I’ll do anything for you Paula, anything at all,’ he replied, his eyes filling with affection for her. Then he glanced down at his watch. ‘Oh, it’s getting late! We’d better be going. I hope you don’t mind, but the old man’s invited himself to lunch.’

‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said, her voice rising slightly. ‘You know I adore Uncle Ronnie.’

‘And the feeling is mutual, I can assure you.’ He threw her an amused look. ‘The old man dotes on you … he thinks the sun shines out of you.’

She picked up her black patent bag and moved across the room. ‘Come on then, let’s go. We don’t want to keep him waiting, do we?’

Michael took her arm, escorted her out of the office.

As they went down in the elevator he could not help thinking about his father and Paula, and their special relationship which had developed over the past few years. The old man treated her like a beloved daughter, whilst she seemed to revere him. Certainly she behaved as if he were the shrewdest man alive, which, of course, he was. Dad’s become her rabbi, Michael thought suddenly with an inner smile, and a substitute for her grandmother. Not surprising that some people considered their friendship peculiar and were jealous. Personally, he applauded it. Paula filled a void in his father’s life. Perhaps he did in hers.

Chapter 3

Sir Ronald Kallinski, chairman of the board of Kallinski Industries, walked across the impressive marble lobby of Kallinski House at a leisurely pace.

Tall, slender, a man of dominating presence, he had black wavy hair, heavily frosted with white, and a saturnine face. He had inherited the eyes of his father David and his grandmother Janessa Kallinski; they were of the brightest cornflower blue and seemed all the more startling because of his weatherbeaten complexion.

Renowned for never appearing ruffled or dishevelled, no matter what the circumstances, he was always perfectly groomed and elegantly attired. This morning he was wearing a charcoal grey three-piece suit with an impeccable white shirt and a pearl-grey silk tie. Although he was almost seventy, he was in such robust health and was so vigorous for his age he looked like a much younger man.

As he strolled through the vast entrance foyer, he nodded graciously to several people who recognized him, and paused to admire the Henry Moore reclining figure in the centre, which he had commissioned from the great English sculptor who also happened to be a Yorkshireman born and bred. Sir Ronald was as proud of his north-country origins as he was of his Jewish heritage.

After a brief moment of contemplation in front of the imposing piece of bronze, he continued on his way, pushed through the swing doors and stepped out into the street. He drew to an abrupt halt after taking only two steps, recoiling as the intense heat hit him. He had not realized how hot the day had become.

Sir Ronald could not abide heat of any kind. Upstairs in his executive suite, a series of handsomely-furnished rooms spanning the entire top floor of the giant office complex bearing his name, the atmosphere was icy cold, thanks to the air conditioning that was permanently turned up high and the well-shaded windows. This area of Kallinski House was generally referred to as ‘Antarctica’ by those who occupied it with him. Doris, his secretary of twelve years, had grown used to the freezing temperature by now, as had other executives who had been with him for more than a year or two, and none of them bothered to complain any more. They counteracted the chill simply by wearing warm sweaters in their offices. Even in winter, Sir Ronald kept the executive suite and his various homes as cold as he possibly dared without eliciting violent protests from staff, family and friends.

Earlier that morning he had contemplated walking to the Connaught Hotel; now he was relieved he had changed his mind and had ordered his car up from the garage. It was sizzling out here, and oppressive, hardly the kind of weather for sauntering through the busy streets of Mayfair.

His chauffeur had spotted him the instant he had emerged from the building and was already standing stiffly to attention next to the back passenger door.

‘Sir Ronald,’ he said, inclining his head respectfully, and opened the door wider.

‘Thank you, Pearson,’ Sir Ronald responded with a half smile, stepping into the burgundy coloured Rolls-Royce. ‘The Connaught, please.’

The car pulled away from the kerb and he settled back against the seat and stared absently ahead. He was looking forward to lunching with Paula and Michael. He had not seen her for several weeks and his son had been in New York for over two months and he had missed them both … in different ways.

His son was his good right hand, his alter ego, his heir apparent, and his favourite. He loved his younger son, Mark, very much; but Michael had a special hold on his heart. He was never quite sure why this was so. How could one explain these things? Sometimes he thought it was because his son was very much like his own father had been. Not that Michael looked anything at all like David Kallinski, being so much more Anglo-Saxon in appearance with his fair complexion and blondish hair. It had to do with a similarity of character and personality, and just as Sir Ronald had enjoyed a marvellous camaraderie with his father until the day of David’s death, so did he now with his son. It had been thus ever since the boy’s childhood, in fact, and he noticed Michael’s absences most acutely these days, was frequently lonely when his first born was travelling.

As for Paula, she was the daughter he had never had, or rather, the surrogate for the daughter who had not lived through her childhood. Miriam, their second child, born after Michael and before Mark, would have been thirty-four this year, if she had not died of encephalitis at the age of five. How they had grieved, he and Helen; they had not understood why she had been taken from them at such a tender age. ‘God works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform,’ his mother had said to them at the time, and only in old age had he come to terms with that extraordinary belief.

Paula was the smartest woman he had ever known, except for Emma, and he appreciated her sharp and clever mind, her quickness, her business acumen. But she could also be very female at times and he missed her femininity as much as he relished his role as her sounding board and, on occasion, her adviser. He had a lot of admiration for Paula. She was a good mother as well as a successful executive. Hers was a hard road and she trod it most adroitly, rarely ever stumbled.

He wished his daughter-in-law were half as practical and down to earth as she was. The trouble with Valentine was that she lived in another world. She was airy fairy, a bit flighty, and forever discontented. Nothing was ever enough for her, or ever right, and he understood only too well Michael’s feelings. His son’s frustration had grown to monumental proportions over the years and the inevitable explosion, when it had come, had been violent. He had not been surprised. He had never approved of Valentine as a wife for Michael, not because she was a shiksa – differences in religion scarcely mattered to him – but because she was so shallow, unworthy really. He had always known this, but how did one tell such a thing to a young man in love? In any event, the divorce agreement had been concluded finally, after much bitter wrangling and the exchange of vast amounts of money. Michael, most fortunately, had succeeded in getting what he wanted – a decree nisi and joint custody of his three children, the boy, Julian, and the two younger girls, Arielle and Jessica.

A smile softened Sir Ronald’s stern face as he thought of his little granddaughters. If only Helen had lived to see them, it would have made her so happy. But his wife had died eight years ago. He had never stopped missing her, and when he had been given his knighthood by Harold Wilson in 1976 his joy had been tempered by sadness because Helen was no longer with him.

This singular honour had come as a genuine surprise to him. He had never asked for nor sought a title, nor had he tried to buy one by making heavy donations to charity. He was philanthropic, and he had his favourite causes, had contributed generously to medical research and the arts, but this had been done discreetly and without fanfare.

To be on the Prime Minister’s honours list was flattering, and especially since everyone knew the title had been earned and was therefore deserved. Kallinski Industries was one of the largest and most successful conglomerates in Great Britain, and as such it not only provided much-needed jobs for thousands but was a major exporter of British goods abroad. Ronald Kallinski had devoted his life to bringing the company to its present dominant position, and he was proud of his accomplishments. So was his country apparently, since this was the reason the knighthood had been bestowed upon him.

Sir Ronald was not the first Yorkshire Jew to be knighted; others had been singled out by grateful prime ministers over the years … men like Montague Burton, and Rudolph Lyons. But nevertheless he prized the honour, as if he had been the first, and most especially when he contemplated the Kallinski family’s early history, thought of his grandfather Abraham fleeing Russia and the pogroms in the last century, settling in the ghetto in Leeds, and eventually opening his tailoring shop in North Street. That little factory turning out piecework for the John Barran company – the first ready-made clothiers to start in Leeds after Singer invented the sewing machine – had been the beginning, the nucleus of the billion-pound empire that Kallinski Industries was today.

On the morning of his investiture his one regret had been that Helen, Abraham, his father David, Emma and Blackie had not been present to share his pride and happiness. The four old-timers in particular would have appreciated the significance of the ceremony at Buckingham Palace, truly understanding how far the Kallinskis had risen since Abraham, the young refugee from Kiev, had first set foot on English soil at Hull in 1880.

The Rolls-Royce came to a sudden stop in Carlos Place.

Sir Ronald shook off his thoughts, leaned forward, addressed his chauffeur: ‘Please pick me up around two-thirty, Pearson,’ he said as the uniformed doorman outside the Connaught Hotel stepped up to the car, opened the door for him, helped him alight.

They ‘Sir Ronalded’ him to death as he went from the front steps to the dining room, and a faint smile touched his eyes as he was shown to the table his son had reserved. Five years ago he had wondered how he would ever get used to being addressed by his title. But he had – and in no time at all.

After he had ordered a dry sherry, he took a sip of the iced water a waiter had placed before him, then sat back to wait for Paula and Michael.

Sir Ronald did a double take.

Paula and his son were heading across the restaurant in his direction, and she looked so much like Emma that it was quite amazing.

He realized, as she drew closer, that she was sporting a new hairdo, and that it was this which underscored her already-pronounced similarity to her grandmother. Her dark glossy hair had been cut short in a sort of sleek bob. It was chic and obviously of the moment, and yet to him it had the look of the 1930s. It brought to mind the film stars of his youth … and the elegant Emma he had known and admired as a boy.

He rose, took Paula’s outstretched hand in both of his, shared her broad and loving smile, kissed her cheek. They exchanged affectionate greetings, seated themselves next to each other, and at once started chatting animatedly.

Michael went to the other side of the table, took a chair, motioned to the waiter. After Paula and he had ordered aperitifs, he asked for the menus.

Turning to Paula, he said, ‘You’re always in such a hurry, so let’s order … then we can relax.’

‘Why not?’ she laughed and took the menu from the headwaiter.

The latter hovered next to the table, explaining the specialities of the day, and making his own recommendations. After a cursory glance at their menus, Paula and the Kallinskis followed his advice. All three asked for the cold poached salmon and cucumber salad, and Michael ordered a bottle of Sancerre.

The aperitifs had materialized in front of Paula and Michael whilst they had been ordering lunch, and once the waiters had disappeared, Sir Ronald raised his glass. He looked directly at Paula. ‘To the memory of your grandmother.’

‘To Emma,’ Michael toasted.

Paula smiled at them both. ‘Yes, to Grandy.’

They clinked glasses, sipped their drinks.

After a moment, Paula said, ‘I thought you’d remember what day it is today, Uncle Ronnie.’

‘We both remembered!’ Michael exclaimed.

Sir Ronald remarked, ‘How could anyone forget the passing of such a great woman. And she’d be so proud of you, my dear. You’ve never let her down, and you’ve held her dream wonderfully well.’

‘I hope so, Uncle Ronnie … I’ve certainly endeavoured to guard everything she built … and make it stronger.’

‘And you have,’ Sir Ronald said, regarding her warmly. ‘You’re as much of a genius at retailing as Emma ever was. You’ve displayed a great deal of vision over the years, and I can only commend you on everything you’ve done with the stores.’

‘Thanks, Uncle Ronnie,’ Paula said, smiling, enjoying his approval.

‘And I second everything Dad says,’ Michael declared emphatically. He took a sip of his Cinzano Bianco, then winked at her over the rim of his glass.

Paula’s violet-blue eyes filled with laughter. ‘You’re prejudiced, Michael. Actually, you both are.’

Sir Ronald settled back in his chair, said in a more confidential tone, ‘One of the reasons I invited myself to lunch is to seek your advice, my dear.’

Paula’s curiosity was instantly piqued, and she quickly asked, ‘But how can I possibly advise you? Why, you’re the wisest person I know, Uncle Ronnie.’

He made no response to this remark. It was almost as if he had not heard it. A preoccupied expression invaded his face; he took a sip of his sherry, then gave her a long and careful look. ‘Ah, but you can advise me, Paula. About Alexander. Or, to be more precise, you can give me an opinion.’ Sir Ronald briefly paused, before asking, ‘Do you think Sandy would sell Lady Hamilton Clothes to Kallinski Industries?’

This was the last thing Paula had expected to hear, and she was taken aback. She stared at Sir Ronald without speaking for a moment. ‘I’m quite sure he wouldn’t,’ she said at last in a surprised voice. ‘That division is far too important to Harte Enterprises. And to Harte stores, for that matter.’

‘Yes, it has great value to Sandy, and to you too, of course, since the Lady Hamilton line is made exclusively for Harte’s,’ Sir Ronald said.

Michael interjected, ‘He may want to unload it, Paula – for the right price, and to the right people. Let’s face it, Sandy has been terribly overburdened ever since that family débâcle, when he fired Jonathan and Sarah. He and Emily really have their hands full, and they have to work awfully hard running Harte Enterprises – ’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she cut in swiftly, ‘they seem to manage quite well, Michael.’

‘In any case, we’d be prepared to pay top money for that division,’ Michael added, determined to get his point across.

‘I’m sure you would,’ Paula replied evenly, ‘and I’m just as sure Sandy wouldn’t even consider it, no matter what you offered.’ She looked from the younger Kallinski to the older, rapidly and with quickening interest. ‘Why do you want to buy Lady Hamilton Clothes, Uncle Ronnie?’

‘We’d like to have our own women’s fashion division,’ Sir Ronald explained. ‘And to supply your stores with women’s ready to wear in much the same way we supply your men’s clothing, and to sell to your boutiques in the hotels. Just as importantly, we wish to start and to build up a strong export line.’

Paula nodded slowly. ‘I see.’

‘Obviously, we wouldn’t sell the women’s fashions in countries where you own retail stores,’ Michael pointed out. ‘We’re thinking of trading only in common market countries – ’

‘Excluding France,’ Sir Ronald interrupted, ‘since you have a store in Paris.’

‘Oh I know you’d never do anything to damage my business, that goes without saying,’ Paula murmured. ‘And I can see why you’d like the acquisition, Uncle Ronnie, it makes a lot of sense.’

She glanced at Michael. ‘But you know how conservative Sandy is, and bound by tradition. Those are just two of the reasons Grandy gave him control of Harte Enterprises. She knew it would be safe in his hands because he would never do anything to weaken its basic structure. Such as selling off a very, very profitable division,’ she finished dryly, but her mouth twitched with sudden amusement.

Both men laughed.

‘Touché,’ Sir Ronald said.

‘Yes, I do know exactly what kind of person Sandy is,’ Michael acknowledged, shifting in his chair. ‘And that’s why I suggested to Dad that we got your reading on the matter first.’

At this moment the waiter arrived with the food, and Michael changed the subject. The three of them chatted about inconsequential things for the next few minutes, and once they had been served, the sommelier poured the chilled white wine for Michael. After tasting it, he nodded approvingly.

Sir Ronald and Paula sipped their wine and both of them commented on its fresh dry taste and lightness, and then Sir Ronald put his goblet down. ‘Bon appétit,’ he said, and picked up his fork and cut into the poached salmon.

‘Bon appétit,’ Paula and Michael responded almost in unison.

They ate in silence for a while, but at one moment Paula swung her gaze between the two Kallinski men, and asked curiously, ‘Uncle Ronnie, Michael, why don’t you simply start your own women’s clothing division? Certainly you’ve got all the necessary resources.’

‘We thought of that, my dear,’ Sir Ronald admitted. ‘But quite frankly we’d prefer to buy a well-established brand. So much easier, you know. And it would save us an enormous amount of time – and money, of course, in advertising and promoting a new product.’

‘And surely there must be lots of manufacturers who would jump at the chance to sell to Kallinski Industries!’ she exclaimed.

‘I’m perfectly certain there are.’ Sir Ronald gave her a pointed look. ‘But I’m interested in Lady Hamilton Clothes because it was founded by Emma and my father all those years ago. He had a soft spot for the company long after he sold his shares to your grandmother, and so do I.’ Sir Ronald smiled wryly, and finished, ‘I must admit, I do feel rather sentimental about it.’

Paula placed an elegant, beautifully manicured hand on Sir Ronald’s arm, squeezed it affectionately. ‘But Alexander has no reason to sell that division … at least, not one I can think of, Uncle Ronnie. His sister’s been running it successfully for a number of years now.’ Her arched black brows drew together in a small frown. ‘Besides, what would she do if he sold Lady Hamilton? Amanda would be out of a job, and Sandy would always take that into consideration. You know how he fusses about her.’