Marriage In Mind. Jessica Steele
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for Ronald Cummings; the near criminal investment you calculated for him—forgetting completely to mention that he stood to lose his home, his property if he…’
‘I would have told him that!’ Astra exclaimed hotly—it would have been second nature to do so. ‘I…’
‘Where?’ Baxendale demanded. ‘It’s not written anywhere!’
Wasn’t it? She couldn’t remember. ‘You have the advantage over me, you’ve seen the paperwork recently. I’ll have to check…’
‘And when you do check also that there wasn’t a better deal you could have sold him.’
How dared he? Putting financial deals together was her job! What did he know about it? ‘You’re saying you know that there is?’ she challenged, angry sparks flashing in her wide green eyes.
Sayre Baxendale stared at her for long moments before he crisply replied. ‘I wouldn’t presume to know anything of the sort.’ Though, before she could take any comfort from that, he was going on toughly, ‘According to my finance people, not only have you advised this man extremely badly, you have also overlooked the fact that, though not yielding such a handsome commission, but bearing in mind the full knowledge you have of the man and his circumstances, there was a much more suitable package you could have sold him.’
Astra stared at him in disbelief, that offensive ‘handsome commission’ remark barely touching her. Without question, Baxendale’s finance people would be on top of the job, but… ‘I doubt very much that your finance section have all the details,’ she defended bravely—of course they had all the details; Veronica Edwards was the man’s daughter; she’d have shown them completely everything. ‘But I’ll check it out.’
‘Good!’ Baxendale retorted. ‘And when you’ve checked perhaps you’ll come back and tell me what you intend to do about it.’
Astra read three distinct messages in that last sentence. One, she had just been dismissed from this interview. Two, this man was convinced that he was right and that she was wrong. Three—and there was a threat there—that if she didn’t check it out he would be on to her employers, the highly respected Yarroll Finance Company, tout de suite.
To that, Astra added a fourth. She did not take kindly to being threatened. Nor did she take kindly to the way this man had spoken to her. Never had any man spoken to her the way Baxendale had. Her pride was up in arms. My word, had she been right to wonder why he had asked to see her in connection with some private finance—all too clearly, that had never been his intention!
She stared once more into those dark, dissecting eyes, and tilted her chin a proud fraction. Then, without saying another word, she caught hold of her briefcase and headed to the door. Four—if that swine of a man was waiting for her to come back and report to him, would he have one hell of a long wait. She hoped he held his breath!
CHAPTER TWO
ASTRA’S anger against Sayre Baxendale was still on the boil when she reached her office. Oh, how she was going to enjoy sending him the sweetest of business letters telling him how she had re-checked on what was suited to Mr Cummings’s circumstances at the time of their negotiations, but she could only confirm that her advice to her client had been first-class. If Mr Baxendale would care to check himself, or perhaps get his finance people to do so—she liked that line; it suggested, politely of course, that Baxendale was brain-dead in the figure department—they would see that Mr Cummings could not have been better advised. So put that in your trumpet and blow it!
She realised she would have to itemise certain details of Ronald Cummings’s current finances, and to include such confidential matter went against all her instincts. But, since the man’s daughter had obviously already fully discussed her father’s financial standing with Sayre Baxendale and his finance department, she didn’t think it could be termed as breaking client confidentiality.
Nothing if not thorough, Astra found the Ronald Cummings file on her computer, did a cursory scan and then printed out everything she had. That done, she surrounded herself with facts, figures and details of any scheme that might be even vaguely relevant to her client’s circumstances. She then went back to her very first note in her dealings with him. From there, methodically, she carefully worked her way through page by page, note by note.
It had not been one of her easiest of negotiations. The man had dithered, changed his mind a number of times. She had a note to say she had suggested to him that perhaps he might like to leave it for a short time while he thought over the several options she had suggested.
She also had a note to say no, he was adamant, he would be fifty-one in November, he thought he’d better get something arranged now. She had, in fact, she saw, many notes about what had taken place between her and her client.
Her first shock in making her in-depth scrutiny of what had taken place, however, was to find that, while she was absolutely positive she must have told Ronald Cummings that if he continued on the plan he had chosen his property might be at risk, she hadn’t made a note of it. Nowhere could she find in the many letters she had written to him any note of that most important warning.
Astra’s second shock came when she started fitting Ronald Cummings’s details to all of the plans available at that time. Though, initially, it had seemed that nothing fitted his circumstances, in actual fact there was something that did. It was then, with thundering disbelief, she realised that, yes, there was a much better package she could have put to him! A package that would have been much more beneficial to him.
It was a staggering shock, and at first Astra just couldn’t believe she had overlooked the much better plan. But—she had!
Because she just couldn’t believe it—she was usually so methodical, so on top of her job—she double-and triple-checked out every fine detail. But, galling though it was, Sayre Baxendale had been right! In the light of this other plan, her client had been very badly advised! How could she have made such a dreadful mistake? Normally she was so clear-headed.
Astra thought back to the time when her negotiations with Ronald Cummings had started to take shape. And then she realised how her normal diligence with regard to her work must have slipped. It had been around that time that her much loved cousin Yancie had been involved in a car accident. Yancie hadn’t been seriously hurt, but neither Astra nor Astra’s equally much loved cousin Fennia had known that when they’d dropped everything and in a terrified panic had raced to the hospital.
They had barely recovered from that fright when Yancie had announced that she was getting married and, because neither she nor Thomson had wanted to wait very long, her two intended bridesmaids had to drop everything and help her out! What with having to take time off for rushed dress fittings and everything else, Astra now realised that for the first time ever she hadn’t given full attention to her job.
It was no good blaming it on the excitement of Yancie getting married, or, Astra realised, to make the excuse that surely she was entitled to a little time off. There was no excuse. Nor could she use the excuse that Ronald Cummings had changed his mind so many times, there was every probability that she had put forward the better proposal but that he had rejected it—she didn’t have a note of it. And anyhow having clients who were unsure what they really wanted was all part and parcel of the job. It was her job to help, to advise—and she had fallen down very, very badly.
Astra took a deep breath, and, the facts staring her in the face, she accepted what she had to do. She picked up the phone and rang Norman Davis’s extension. ‘Is it convenient to see you straight away?’ she enquired.
‘Rather!’ he answered jovially—and to Astra it seemed as if her boss had been sitting there just waiting for her to get in touch to tell him how her meeting with Sayre Baxendale had gone.
Armed with a sheaf of papers, Astra left her desk knowing that she was going to have to own up to negligence. There were thousands of pounds at stake here—it was up to her to put it right.
Norman Davis was on his feet when she