To Be the Best. Barbara Taylor Bradford
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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.
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