Chapter Nine
The following morning, the sisters gathered in the dining room. Each woman was surrounded by piles of folders and laptops in varying degrees. Clem had samples of fabrics and an artist’s portfolio folder with sheets of loose papers spilling out. Glimpses of sketches promised another exciting collection. Nick had two laptops, Paddy had a pink iMac, Ari was almost swamped by folders and portfolios. Aster had a phone.
Partners and children were occupied elsewhere. Tomorrow they would decamp to London for the official board meeting, but today it was just the sisters thrashing things out.
‘Okay,’ began Ari. ‘Let’s start at the top. The charity is running smoothly. I’ll give a more detailed account tomorrow, but I think I would like to spend another year at our current pace, make sure everything is actually running smoothly then increase our reach. Thoughts?’
All eyes turned to the twins. Nick held the purse strings and Paddy had been responsible for setting up the Cornish retreat in the family house at Tregiskey.
‘Sounds smart to me,’ said Paddy, smiling. ‘Michelle will give a complete brief in tomorrow’s meeting but I can say it is truly wonderful watching people come for a week and properly relax. Aster, your idea of employing a counsellor was inspired.’
Aster shrugged. She’d had another bad night’s sleep compounded by her behaviour yesterday. Ari hadn’t said another word, but she knew she had behaved unforgivably and was desperate to apologise. The problem was she couldn’t think of a way to do it that didn’t bring up the whole spiking incident again. For now, though, she would focus on contributing to the meeting and putting her personal issues to one side. ‘People seem to want to talk. Especially when they’re struggling.’
The idea of sharing her innermost concerns with a stranger was anathema to her, but she was partial to a spot of confession. Growing up, she had quickly cottoned on to the fact that she could tell the priest anything and he couldn’t blab about it to anyone. Since then, she made a habit to offload her concerns whenever she passed a church. She knew it wasn’t what the Catholic Church had in mind when they established the sacrament of confession, but she had always adapted any situation to suit her needs. It would never occur to her to talk to someone who could then rat her out or judge her. She could barely talk to her sisters, but a priest was fine.
‘Well, it’s going down a dream,’ said Paddy. ‘For some people, all they needed was a sympathetic ear. For others, we’ve been able to set them up with ongoing counselling when they get back home.’
‘So long as the counsellors aren’t stringing things out,’ muttered Aster. Talking was fine, but there was no need to go on.
‘They’re not,’ said Nick. ‘We only hire counsellors with the most professional of attitudes. That said, Ari, I think the idea of consolidating this year is a good idea. The inner-city schemes are running well, as is the Cornish one. The Indian division is still getting settled and I don’t want to rush that one along.’
‘We’ve been damned lucky with the new government trade tariffs,’ said Ari, looking at the figures.
‘Well, I would normally say it’s not luck if you plan for it, but yes, that was unexpected.’
‘Hal says Jones has a bad reputation for being a bully in his private circles,’ said Paddy, passing on her husband’s wisdom. Not only was Hal well connected, he was also an awful gossip and loved to get the lowdown wherever he went.
‘He may well be,’ continued Nick, ‘but if the Foreign Secretary wants to start making beneficial trades deals between the Commonwealth countries and we happen to have a business in India, then three cheers for Anthony Jones, I say. The business is really beginning to flourish. Clem, have you got more to say on that?’
Aster watched Clem’s face pinch and felt her suspicions confirmed. She was not the right person to be involved in this scheme, but Nick had been determined to ignore Aster’s warning, saying that Clem was more than capable of monitoring the venture.
‘It seems to be okay. Like I said, I am busy with my own job. Although these knock-off fabrics aren’t helping.’
‘What knock-off fabrics?’ asked Ari. ‘You haven’t mentioned them before?’
‘I have. Look, I’ve brought some samples.’
Ari frowned, but before she could respond, Clem leant down and pulled out several lengths of muslin from her bag. Tossing them across the table, the sisters pulled various samples towards themselves.
‘The ones with the red felt marker pen are not from our supply.’
Aster pulled them close towards her and compared the two samples.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m bloody sure. I bought them, didn’t I?’
‘But they look identical?’
‘They aren’t, trust me.’
‘Hang on,’ said Ari, cutting Clem and Aster off. ‘I thought we were the only manufacturers. Surely we have complete control over the supply line. Nick?’
Nick nodded, confirming Ari’s statement as Aster continued to study the two fabrics.
‘So, what’s happened?’ asked Aster, still comparing the two.
Two years ago, Ari had found a seed archive in the attics. They were for various plants that the family’s fabric business was based on. Flax, cotton, linen. She had been listing all the seeds to Clem when she had mentioned Gossypium arboreum var.neglecta , written out in beautiful copperplate and Clem screamed down the phone. This was the seed that grew a particular cotton responsible for the fabled and apparently extinct Dhaka muslin of the nineteenth century. It only grew in northern India and Bangladesh and was responsible for the world’s finest muslin. However, it was so fine that it undercut the British muslin market and the East India Company suppressed trade until the Bengali industry suffered and collapsed. Even worse, the plant fell out of production and was lost to the mists of time. Subsequent attempts to revive the plant had failed as no seeds had ever been saved. Until Ariana found them in the family archives.
‘We don’t own the patent on the seeds,’ said Nick sourly. ‘Now that the plant has been reintroduced, anyone can grow the seeds and raise a harvest.’
‘But we paid for the workers to harvest the crop and the spinners to turn it into fabric?’
‘Yes, we own several hectares. But we gifted the seeds to the people of the region.’ There was some muttering and Ari laughed. ‘There’s no use you grumbling at me, Nick. You know it was the right decision. We are reintroducing a top-quality product into the world. The region can take pride in their reclaimed industry. And we support moving the region out of poverty.’
It was their new charitable enterprise that Ari was really proud of. So far, they had built a school and a new doctor’s surgery beyond the small factory and had launched the fabric to critical acclaim.
‘I think it would have been reasonable to ask for exclusivity.’
‘Nick. We’ve been over this. They’re our seeds and our technology that created the plants, but it’s their climate and landscape that grow the cotton. Plus we have got a two-year head start on any other producer.’
Ideally Ari had wanted to base the business in Bangladesh by the Meghna River, where the plant had originally grown, but Nick said the red tape was killing her and felt that financially it would be better to try India first. If the crop failed, then she would try Bangladesh again. However, they had chosen a location close to the border and the plant had flourished and the business was literally blooming.
‘Except we clearly haven’t,’ said Clem as she waved the piece of fabric with the red marker on it. ‘This is every bit as good as ours.’
Ari sighed. ‘Well, that’s disappointing, obviously.’
‘No, it’s worse than that. We wholesale this fabric to only one stockist at seven hundred pounds a yard. I bought these on the open market for one hundred pounds a yard.’
‘Bloody hell,’ swore Nick. ‘Who the hell is selling it at that price?’
‘Several companies. I bought from a few different companies, assuming they were trading on the name but delivering an inferior product. But it’s clearly the same product.’
‘Clem, you should have raised this sooner,’ said Ari in alarm.
‘I told you, I did.’
‘You didn’t. I’d have remembered something this bad. We won’t be able to sell the fabric at our price, and if we can’t do that, we’ll struggle to support the village through profits alone. We’ll have to tap into our own reserves.’
‘That’s not in the budget.’
‘Because that’s what matters,’ needled Clem.
‘Yes, it is what matters,’ continued Nick. ‘My forecasts are all carefully regulated. If we have to take money to support the Indian enterprise, I may need to make adjustments elsewhere.’
‘Well, sell the bloody London house then. Aster can live somewhere else.’
Aster had been quietly listening to her sisters spit back and forth. Unsurprisingly, Paddy had been quiet throughout. She loathed arguments and hated to be dragged onto one side or the other. As Aster watched, Paddy had been furiously doodling on her jotter and now almost a full side was covered. If she turned the page over, Aster knew Nick would lose it with Clem. It was time to intervene.
‘Clem, have you looked into the sellers of this fabric?’
‘Hardly, I do have deadlines-’
‘Of course,’ said Aster, cutting her off quickly. ‘How about I look into this? I’ll see who these sellers are, find out their distribution lines. See if our product has been stolen along the way. If I have no success in the UK, I’ll fly out to India.’ She looked around the room. ‘How does that sound?’ Aster was keen to offer a tangible solution and one that put her squarely back in charge of helping the family business, not distracting from it.
Nick and Clem were still glowering, Paddy was smiling and Ari blew out a sigh of relief.
‘That sounds like a good plan, thanks. Okay, moving on. Estate management. Paddy, how’s the new road working out?’
‘Like a dream. Can we officially thank Mary in tomorrow’s meeting? She was fabulous at keeping planning and paperwork on track. It’s only been a month, but already the one-way system is working like a dream.’
‘And the upper carpark?’
‘Too soon to tell, but so far so good. People seem to be dropping off and then heading up to the top to park and walk down the hill.’
‘And the impact to the villagers?’ asked Ari.
‘Some grumbles that it’s going to spoil the village, but mostly positive.’
‘Grumbling because?’
‘Because I think Dave really only knows how to grumble.’
As the meeting went on, the tension seemed to dissipate. Clem once more mentioned selling the London townhouse. As Paddy prepared to turn her sheet over to start on a fresh set of doodles, Aster jumped in again.
‘Coffee?’