Fire in the Wind (36 page)

Victoria Station was named and decorated after the railway station of that name in London. Vanessa had never been to England, and she supposed the décor was more like something from 1890 than modern-day England, but she liked the atmosphere, the sense of foreignness. And, as David had promised, the restaurant had some quiet corners.

"David, have you ever heard of
the fifth estate
?" she asked, when they were settled in one of the corners and had ordered their meal, and he was looking expectantly at her.

David wrinkled his forehead. "You mean the TV program?"

"The TV program! I don't—is
that
what it is?"

David shrugged. "There's a program called 'the fifth estate' on CBC. Where did you hear the name?"

"I read it—written down with an address. Could that be it?"

"I don't see what else it could be. The address can always be checked out."

This was too confusing, Vanessa thought. What on earth would a TV program have to do with her?

Abruptly her eyes were wide with a sudden thought. "What kind of a show is it?" she asked, but the answer was already forming inside her own brain.

"Oh, an investigative-journalism, public-crucifixion kind of thing," David replied. "I suppose you could call it Canada's answer to '60 Minutes'."

Vanessa blinked. "Public crucifixion," she repeated softly. "I wonder what's worse—being accused and getting your day in court or just being accused?"

"As a lawyer," David smiled, "I naturally want everyone to have their day in court. Either way, however, a little mud sticks a long time. Is someone siccing 'the fifth estate' onto you?"

"I think so," said Vanessa. "Or the law; I'm not sure which." She paused as the waiter brought their salads and then told David about the sub-contractors and the home sewers. She didn't tell him about the file from Jake's desk or all the other ways in which he was threatening her livelihood. She would have to later, if she wanted his advice on the contract and the lease, but just now it was unnecessary. This was much more urgent.

When she was through, David shook his head.

"All right," he said, "first things first: you aren't in contravention of the minimum-wage laws. You contract the work out, Vanessa. The sub-contractors are self-employed, not employees, and legally, what you pay them isn't a wage. Even if your sub-contractor were stupid enough to hire the home sewers as
his
employees, which I can guarantee you he is not, they would still be
his
employees, not yours. But you can take it as read that he contracts the work out to them, and if they disclose that income on their income tax—which again is highly unlikely, especially if, as you say, most are on welfare—if they do, it's as self-employed income. So you aren't doing anything illegal."

Vanessa was suddenly a lot hungrier than she had been a few minutes ago. She attacked her salad with a smile of relief.

"However," David went on after a moment, "'the fifth estate' is another matter. They deal in ethics and public morals as much as in legality. You're pretty small potatoes, it seems to me, to make an interesting story: one little manufacturer doing the kind of thing everyone does to survive. I imagine 'the fifth estate' would want to go after someone much bigger than you in a story like that: they'd want evidence that the government or a crown corporation or a big well-known business was knowingly involved in this sort of stuff.

"Where it seems to me that you might be vulnerable—and I'm getting out of my field here—is with your union. Are your plant workers unionised?"

Vanessa nodded.

"Yeah," said David. "Well, one thing that unions don't like is non-unionised home labour. It threatens their jobs. Am I right?"

He was right, and this aspect of the affair had not struck her before. She, Robert and Ted had certainly not advertised the fact that they were sub-contracting, either to the plant workers or to the union representative, who called so frequently at Number 24 that Robert complained she thought it was her home. If the union found out....

"If your union finds out about it," David said aloud in nearly perfect time with her thoughts, "you could have troubles."

"Yeah," breathed Vanessa.

"It sounds to me," said David, "as though this didn't just happen. It sounds as though you've got an enemy around stirring up trouble. Otherwise, why 'the fifth estate'? Why not merely come to you and demand changes?"

She was glad he was so quick to pick up on that; she wouldn't feel so embarrassed, perhaps, when she had to tell him the whole story of the enemy who wanted to destroy her.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I have an enemy. I'm trying to figure out what weak spot he'll attack next."

"Who is it, the competition?"

Well, not exactly. Vanessa gave a little laugh. "David, the—I don't... I'd like to discuss the rest of it with you, but it's not necessary right now. This was urgent. I was afraid I was going to be arrested. Could I call you at the office for an appointment?"

"Sure," said David. "Give me a call Monday."

They slipped into another conversation with the arrival of the main course. David had an afternoon engagement, so after Vanessa had paid the check, he drove her down to the Granville Mall and dropped her.

"Thanks for lunch," he said, pulling away. "I'll call you if you don't call me."

The sight of blue-and-white police cars no longer made her jump as Vanessa wandered lazily through the speciality shops looking for buttons and lace. The relief of knowing she wouldn't be arrested at any moment lightened her spirit so much she felt she could fly. Anything else was a molehill compared to that. Union troubles, investigative journalists—she could take on the world as long as the police weren't after her.

She found a beautiful gold lace for her costume, that even Richard Lovelace would have loved, and chose antique gold buttons and gold lacing with the satisfaction of knowing the costume would be very striking against her russet hair.

At four o'clock she caught the bus home. Walking from the bus stop, her ponytail swinging jauntily from shoulder to shoulder, Vanessa felt full of energy and vitality. She was free. No one was going to take that from her. As Barney ran across the lawn toward her, mewing a welcome, she ran up the front steps and inside the house.

Barney raced up the stairs ahead of her, but Vanessa wasn't far behind. At the top of the stairs she flung her shoulder bag and packages onto the small hall table and spread out her arms.

"Home!" she exclaimed happily, and it was her safe haven again.

Chapter 17

"All right." David Latham leaned back in his leather chair and patted the flat of one hand on the desk. "Some of what Jake Conrad is threatening you with is bluff, and some of it has real teeth in it."

David's office was only moderately luxurious, but he was a partner in what she had learned was one of the more prestigious legal firms in Vancouver. She had also learned, from Ilona, that Q.C. meant Queen's Counsel, which was a crown appointment in Canada, as in England, and meant that David had both impressive talents and contacts. Lou Standish would have been proud of her: this was no "hole-in-the-wall kid." David Latham was a real legal eagle.

"Let's deal with the simple things first," said David. "You can stop worrying about your lease. If you're given notice under the provisions of clause thirteen or fourteen, you just sit tight. If Conrad wants to evict you, he can take you to court. Any strike would be over before it got before a judge. If necessary, we can tie it up in court forever. He won't get you out against your will."

Vanessa's eyes sparkled. "Really?" she demanded. "But Jake would be bound to know that—why would he bother?"

"From what you've told me, I would say, in the interests of simple harassment. He can cause you discomfort pretty effectively—but we'll just cause him a little more, make him think twice about what he's doing." He smiled. Every time David used the word "we" Vanessa felt a lightening of her spirits.

"The same thing is true of the Fairway contract. They could try to pull something of the sort Conrad outlined to you—if someone in there is stupid enough to get the company tied up in a legal battle merely as a favour to Jake Conrad, but I doubt very much if anyone is. Your contract with Fairway is cut and dried. The worst thing you have to worry about is that they might not renew the order with you when this one is filled. You know better than I do what effect that will have on Number 24."

"We can do without them," said Vanessa, thanking God she had stuck to her guns so that that statement was true.

"Fine. Now about 'the fifth estate': on further consideration, I thought you should bear in mind the possibility that you might be included in a broader investigation, say, of the garment industry as a whole. So if you do get a call, you stonewall it. Refuse to comment—if that doesn't work, refer them to me."

"Thank you, David," she said, wanting to laugh in Jake's face.

"In the meantime, can you stop using sub-contractors?"

Vanessa shook her head. Her discussion with Robert on the subject had been their first really vituperative argument since they had started working together. "We're into it now, Vanessa. Against my advice, let me remind you, but it's too late now. It boils down to this," he had said finally. "Do you want to survive or not?" And that had clinched the argument: they were tied into sub-contracting for two seasons at least.

"All right," said David easily, dismissing it with a wave. "Now, your visa: as you've realized yourself, it's no problem. You're your own employer. The laws are there to prevent foreigners from taking jobs away from Canadians.
You
are creating fifty or sixty jobs. The government isn't going to push those fifty or sixty Canadians into the ranks of the unemployed to please Jake Conrad, believe me. Just go down and get a permanent visa at your leisure."

There was a pause then, and Vanessa took a deep breath. "What's the bad news, David?"

He told her that Jake was in a position to call the debenture at any time and that the only way she could avoid bankruptcy if he did so would be to refinance the company. Because it was a very young company with no track record, in David's opinion there would be almost no chance of her finding a bank willing to undertake the refinancing. Did she have any financial backing of her own, anyone who might lend her the money to buy up the debenture?

There was one, of course. There had always been one.

"Well, there's a possibility," she said. As long as it was a loan, a business loan that would earn them interest like any other investment, that would be different, wouldn't it? "More than a possibility," she amended. "Almost a certainty, if I want to ask."

David said bluntly, "I advise you to ask. Having your own backing would put you out of reach of Conrad's power, Vanessa—the other things he's threatened, such as picking off your salesmen, you'll be able to ride through if you have the backing."

She said, "I've got to think about it. Is there any other alternative?"

"There's doing what you're doing now—wondering when, where and if the axe is going to fall."

She picked that up. "Where else can it fall?"

"I'm afraid this is where you start to feel the teeth. In your management contract you agreed to a restraint of trade for five years in any area where you'd be in direct competition with the company you've built. He can probably hold you to that."

Vanessa blanched. "When I signed it I thought I'd be marketing only in Vancouver. Does that mean I couldn't sell anywhere in Canada?"

"There's been legal controversy lately about whether anyone can be prevented from pursuing their gainful occupation, but the chances are Conrad could get an injunction to prevent your working anywhere in Canada."

Vanessa took a deep breath. Where it really counted, it seemed, Jake had the power. "What about in the States?" she asked, brushing a tendril of hair from her forehead with fingertips that felt cool.

"That depends on a lot of things." David sat forward and tapped his fingers on the desk. "If the U.S. manufacturer who hires you has a sizeable market anywhere in Canada where he'd be in competition with Number 24, at the very least Conrad could take it to court. If you wanted to start up your own business, he'd probably get an injunction preventing you from entering the Canadian market. In any case, Vanessa, he has the power to make your life miserable if you abandon Number 24 now. Unless, of course, you also abandon the design of ladies' wear and go into a different branch of the field."