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  She walked into the reception area, noting the oil portrait of old Sam Trevellyan, in his high collar and black coat, a pair of fearsome sideburns descending his face. Opposite was a more modern oil sketch of her father, catching him in three-quarter profile, his mouth downturned and his blue eyes a little bulbous. He did not look happy to have inherited Samuel’s success story.

  He never looked happy, Poppy thought sadly. I wonder if he and Mummy are together now?

  She felt a pang of affection as she looked at her father’s face. He may not have been the perfect father, but she’d still loved him. Her earliest memories were of his distance and inapproachability; for a while when she was very little, she’d thought that the nanny was her real mother and that her parents were some kind of owners of the house whom she had to be nice to. Of course, she’d realised soon enough that Cecil and Yolanda were her father and mother, but for years she received little affection from them in comparison to what the nanny gave her. That quickly changed after Poppy’s illness. She’d become the favourite from then on, and was given a lot more attention by both her parents. While Cecil was never exactly demonstrative, she’d come to realise that he loved his daughters dearly. In return, she had loved and trusted him. He became a source of support when relations with Yolanda grew strained as the girls became teenagers.

  His real failing, thought Poppy, looking up at the portrait, was that he hadn’t been able to hold the family together. He hadn’t been able to save them from Jecca.

  Poppy approached the desk. The receptionist behind it raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes?’ she said frostily, eying Poppy’s shorts and patent boots. ‘Can I help you?’

  Poppy took off her sunglasses. ‘I’m Poppy Trevellyan. I believe I’m expected?’

  The receptionist leapt to her feet, flustered. ‘Yes, yes, of course, welcome, Miss Trevellyan. Lady Calthorpe and Mrs Pearson are already here. Please follow me and I’ll show you to the boardroom.’

  Poppy followed her along a corridor and into the boardroom. Tara was sitting at one end, poring over some files, while Jemima was standing at the window talking quietly into the phone she had jammed to her ear. Victor Goldblatt was rifling through papers in his briefcase and other lawyers and directors were sitting about sipping coffee and chatting discreetly among themselves. Poppy noticed a striking young man who she remembered seeing chatting to Jemima at the wake. So he was a Trevellyan man. She’d assumed he was one of her sister’s society pals. He wasn’t cut from the usual Trevellyan business cloth, that was for sure.

  Tara looked up. ‘Darling, you’re here. Wonderful. Now we can start. Would you like some water or coffee or something?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ Poppy put her bag down on the table and sank into a chair.

  ‘As soon as Mimi’s off the phone, we can begin,’ Tara said, standing up and shuffling some papers. She was looking quietly chic as usual. Poppy knew that Tara was a favourite with her personal shoppers not only because money was no object but because her skinny frame made clothes look fabulous on her. Today she was wearing an Alberta Ferretti black wool tulip skirt that only someone with fantastic legs could carry off. She’d teamed it with black Chanel heels and an ivory silk blouse with a hint of padded shoulder, giving her a strong, businesslike silhouette.

  Jemima, meanwhile, had obviously had enough of dressing up and was wearing dark Paul & Joe jeans, a cashmere striped T-shirt and a vintage YSL jacket in navy blue, along with a big pair of Tom Ford sunglasses. There was a tension about her that made it seem as though something might be wrong. She finished her call and dropped her phone into her bag, a yolk-yellow oversized clutch.

  ‘Right,’ she said, turning to the table. ‘Oh, you’re here, Poppy. Good. Perhaps we can get started. I’ve driven all the way from Dorset this morning, and had to cancel a very hard-to-get appointment with Dr Thraksi, so I’d like to get on with things.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Victor Goldblatt smoothly, looking at her over the top of his glasses. ‘Please sit down, Lady Calthorpe, and we’ll begin.’

  The three sisters sat next to each other along one side of the conference table, facing the solemn-faced, suited men on the other.

  One of the elderly men Poppy had also seen at the funeral cleared his throat and began to talk. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have the pleasure of knowing you ladies very well. I’ve met Mrs Pearson’ – he bowed to Tara – ‘but not you, Lady Calthorpe, or you, Miss Trevellyan. So I think some introductions may be in order. You know Victor Goldblatt, of course, the head of Goldblatt Mindenhall, whose relationship with Trevellyan goes back many years. They have ably represented and advised us for a long while. With him is Ali Tendulka, a very talented young lawyer who has recently joined Goldblatt Mindenhall and whom we are very happy to have as part of our team.’

  So that’s who he is, Poppy thought. Not really Trevellyan after all. She noticed that Ali Tendulka was glancing over at Jemima, who didn’t seem to be aware of him at all.

  The older man continued, ‘On my left here is Simon Vestey, the head of finance and to his left is our accounts director, Paul Glanville. Also, on my right, from our marketing and sales departments, William McKay and Ian Kendall. Our head of publicity hasn’t been able to join us today unfortunately.’

  As their names were mentioned, each man murmured and nodded.

  It’s like the war of the sexes, thought Poppy. Typical for a boardroom to be full of men.

  ‘Simply lovely to meet you all,’ said Jemima in a smooth voice, the kind that Poppy recognised as meaning trouble. ‘The only thing is – who the hell are you?’ She pulled off her glasses and eyed the old man at the head of the table with a steely grey gaze.

  ‘Of course, of course, I should have said at once. I’m Duncan Ingliss, the managing director of Trevellyan.’

  ‘The man in charge.’ Jemima stared at him, twirling her glasses between her thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Yes, my dear. It has been an honour to navigate this splendid old company through the last two decades.’ He smiled condescendingly at Jemima. ‘I hope you will see fit not to rock the boat and to allow me to continue at the helm of this dear old girl, as your father would have wanted.’

  ‘Well, Mr Ingliss, I’m sure you’re more than well aware by now that our mother clearly did not want any such arrangement and consequently this ship has just got a new captain. Three captains, to be precise. So, you’d better forget about steering anything and tell us exactly what’s going on, because I, for one, want to know why on earth we’d suddenly be expected to take over the running of a company that’s supposedly doing so well under its current management!’

  Poppy bit her lip, realising suddenly that Jemima had just put in a nutshell what had been bothering her since the reading of the will. This task could not possibly be an easy one, or what was the point of setting it? She felt a tingle of panic as she considered that it might not just be difficult – it might be nigh on impossible.

  Tara shot Jemima a warning look. ‘This has come as quite a shock to all of us,’ she said calmly. ‘As far as we understand it from the terms of our mother’s will, we are now joint chairmen and chief executives of Trevellyan.’

  ‘That is correct,’ Victor put in.

  ‘Well, there are several questions that come to mind at once, not least what our financial liabilities are in respect of this inheritance …’

  ‘We have the company accountant here,’ interrupted Ingliss. ‘I’m sure he can answer any questions that you have.’

  ‘Well, I’m not an inheritance tax expert,’ said Paul Glanville, looking nervous. ‘I’m mainly concerned with the financial aspects of Trevellyan on a day-today basis …’ He trailed off under the pressure of Jemima’s expectant glare.

  Tara seemed impatient. ‘Look, we all know that there are breaks on capital gains tax for businesses who are restructuring. I’m sure there are plenty of ways that stock can be reassigned in order to maximise efficiency. But my question is whether the company counts as part of my
mother’s estate or not.’

  Much to Paul Glanville’s obvious relief, Victor Goldblatt leaned forward to respond. ‘The intricacies of your mother’s personal affairs were looked after by Sebastian Fenwick. He is joining us later. I’ve already discussed the matter with Sebastian, and he has told me that tax will not be an issue here. The requisite trusts and offshore holding companies were set up years ago to make sure that liabilities would be limited. Besides which, you and your sisters have been directors of Trevellyan for some significant time.’

  ‘We have?’ Jemima looked startled.

  ‘Yes, indeed. You receive an annual package of salary and share options and bonuses. Each of you joined the board of Trevellyan on your twenty-first birthdays.’

  ‘You mean that piece of paper Daddy got me to sign in the library?’ asked Poppy. She looked puzzled. ‘He didn’t say anything about my becoming a director of the company.’

  ‘Or me,’ said Jemima, frowning. ‘He told me it was in order that I could get my cash, but not that I’d be a director.’

  ‘I knew,’ Tara said quietly. ‘At least, I knew I was a director. He had to tell me, when I was made a partner at Curzons. I had to be aware of my professional position so that I could declare any possible conflicts of interest.’

  ‘You knew and you didn’t tell us?’ Jemima turned to her sister.

  ‘Well, I knew about me … I wasn’t sure about you. Besides, what did it matter? As far as I was concerned, it was simply a standard procedure to keep tax liabilities down and smooth the way for the Trevellyan money to come to us. I had no idea it was ever going to have any significance.’

  ‘What did you think would happen when Mummy and Daddy died?’ Poppy demanded, her face flushing as she realised all too late that they were on the brink of sounding like a bickering, childish threesome. She could feel the patronising condescension of the businessmen opposite.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Tara’s voice faltered. ‘I suppose I left it to them to make the decisions. After all, they never asked my advice or told me anything about the company.’

  Jemima stared down at the table and said, ‘I don’t know how I feel about having been a director without knowing it.’

  ‘Your parents didn’t wish to bother you with the daily intricacies of running a company,’ Ingliss said, clearly enjoying how quickly Jemima had fallen off her high horse.

  ‘Well, they’ve damn well bothered me with it now,’ Jemima snapped. ‘The reality is, Mr Ingliss, that it falls to us to increase Trevellyan’s sales, and not just increase them, but triple them in one calendar year, or the tap stops running, just like that. So I’d like to know exactly what the position here at Trevellyan is. What kind of mountain are we facing?’

  Ingliss looked over at his finance director, who coughed and stood up.

  ‘Ladies, I’m Simon Vestey and I’m going to give you a quick overview of the current status of Trevellyan. Could we dim the lights please?’

  The lights were lowered. A wooden panel on the back wall slid smoothly away to reveal a plasma screen which instantly lit up. The word ‘Trevellyan’ appeared in the trademark flowing gold script on a dark blue background and a rush of romantic violin strings soared upwards.

  ‘Trevellyan,’ breathed a female voice in an American accent. ‘The home of luxurious fragrance for more than one hundred and fifty years.’

  A montage of film followed, lingering lovingly on the Mayfair shop and its gentlemanly good taste.

  ‘For decades, connoisseurs have come to Trevellyan for the most sumptuous scents and exclusive grooming accessories in the world,’ purred the narrator. ‘From its birth in a Piccadilly barber shop in 1848 to today’s international success story’ – there were shots of Trevellyan concessions in the celebrated department stores of London, Paris, New York and Tokyo – ‘Trevellyan has always been a byword for quality. Favoured by royalty and stars alike, it is one of the most recognised and admired brands in the world of luxury.’

  A bottle of Trevellyan’s Tea Rose appeared on a plain blue background. The narrator began to talk about the history of the perfume and its long life as a favourite scent across the world.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, turn this crap off, please!’ Jemima jumped to her feet. Someone flicked off the film and the lights came up. ‘Spare me the goddamn PowerPoint presentation! Do you think we don’t know this shit? It’s been drummed into us since birth.’

  Ingliss smiled and made a soothing gesture. ‘Now, now, Lady Calthorpe, please keep calm. Of course, you have more reason than any of us to know about the great heritage of Trevellyan. I simply wanted to make the point that we too, the current board and team of directors, know and understand the brand as well as you do. I want to reassure you that it is in safe hands and that we are going to do all we can to make sure that sales continue to rise. Of course, the increase you’re talking about it is … hmm … well, I’ll make no bones about it – it’s ambitious. It’ll be a momentous achievement for us all. But I’m confident that we can do it, and that Trevellyan will remain in family hands for a good many years to come. Now, if you’ll let Simon continue, he has some excellent results to share with us.’

  Sensing that Jemima was about to take no further nonsense from Ingliss, Tara quickly stood up too. ‘Now, now, gentlemen,’ she said coolly. ‘I hope you aren’t going to underestimate us.’

  There was a pause as the businessmen exchanged glances.

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’ Ingliss stared up at the two sisters, his eyebrows raised, his expression disingenuous.

  ‘I’m not sure exactly what you know about us but I’m a partner in Curzons Private Equities. I manage a portfolio worth billions of pounds. I’m used to analysing companies and their markets, and I’m used to following my instinct and betting on winners. That’s why Curzons is one of the leading hedge fund managers in the world. Now my sisters and I came here today to get a lucid picture of the state of Trevellyan. We all know my mother was not about to ask us to raise the sales of this company by a wildly astronomical figure if the company was doing just fine. I want to know about the bottom line and I want to know about it now. I don’t expect to be fed a load of corporate PR bullshit. Do you understand?’

  She sat down gracefully and cocked her head expectantly. Jemima followed her example, sitting down and fixing the directors with her best icy stare. Duncan Ingliss looked uncomfortable. ‘Of course, Mrs Pearson,’ he said, and coughed. ‘In that case, I’ll ask Ian to report on sales.’

  Ian Kendall nodded importantly, his bald head glimmering in the boardroom light. He blinked at the women sitting opposite him.

  ‘No fucking PowerPoint, please,’ muttered Jemima. ‘Just tell it like it is.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. Now …’ He shuffled papers in front of him and then fingered his tie nervously. ‘Right. OK, the overall sales position this year appears to be … er … continuing the trend we observed last year in that … er … well, home sales have followed the … um … current fashion in a year-on-year decline and export sales have also suffered owing to the strength of the pound against other major world currencies, particularly in our core markets of the United States, Europe and Japan. So … um, overall, the current picture is … disappointing.’

  ‘How disappointing?’ snapped Tara.

  ‘We’re not making a loss, are we?’ asked Jemima disbelievingly.

  Ian Kendall shuffled some more papers. ‘Um … no. No, we’re not making a loss but … well, further significant cutbacks will be necessary, perhaps in our operational costs and overheads, if we’re … um … if we’re to stay in the game.’

  There was a long silence as the sisters absorbed the news.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse me,’ said Poppy in a small voice. ‘I really don’t understand how business works. Are you saying that things are bad? That Trevellyan isn’t selling any more?’

  ‘It looks like it, Poppy,’ said Tara. ‘I’ll need to examine the figures in detail but the kind of language our head o
f sales here is using is not what you hear when the pie is full of cherries.’

  There was a movement at the side of the boardroom table. It was Ali Tendulka, leaning back in his chair. ‘May I interrupt for a second?’

  All eyes turned to him. He let them stare at him for a long moment. His dark brown eyes met Jemima’s surprised gaze for an instant – they both knew that she had been studiously ignoring him but now she was forced to acknowledge him – then he said, ‘Gentlemen, when I was brought in by Victor to work on the Trevellyan account, I made it my business to do some very thorough research. And I mean, thorough. I’m fully aware of the situation this company finds itself in and I suggest you stop dicking these ladies around and start putting them in the picture. Because if you won’t, I will.’

  The tension in the room ratcheted up several notches as Ali’s words sank in. The sisters glanced at each other. Only Tara appeared calm and unruffled. Jemima looked bewildered and Poppy scared. Ingliss took off his spectacles and began to rub them with a soft cloth. ‘Very well. We won’t beat about the bush, ladies …’

  ‘You’re not beating anything near my bush,’ murmured Jemima under her breath.

  ‘… things are looking difficult for Trevellyan. In fact, we have been seeing a pattern of decline for some years now. Even while your father was in charge, it was evident that the world was changing and that it was turning its back on Trevellyan. Things are even worse now. Your mother did all she could to keep the company going, and there are still lucrative sales pockets in our global market. But here, sales are down forty per cent on last year. We can carry on supplying our core market but we are unlikely to see any further growth, as things stand. In those terms, the brand is almost dead.’

  ‘Dead?’ echoed Jemima.

  ‘What does that mean, exactly?’ demanded Tara. ‘And how has the company managed to last so long if it was in decline when our father was alive?’

  ‘Simple. Trevellyan owned sites in some of the most exclusive premium retail areas in the world. We have sold them off, one by one, as and when we needed a cash injection. That is why there are no longer any Trevellyan shops – bar the one we are sitting above, of course. We moved to concessions. We are stocked in the best department stores in the world, and have luxury outlets in most major airports. We cut our overheads massively that way. There have also been substantial cost-cutting exercises here at headquarters and at the factory.’