To Be the Best (19 page)

‘I am sorry,’ Paula murmured, giving her a small, sympathetic smile, touching her arm lightly. ‘I thought everything was working well between the two of you. At least that’s the impression you gave, the last time we spoke about him when you were in London.’

‘It was then, and he’s a nice guy in many ways. But there’s such a lot of conflict between us. I think he resents me these days, and resents my career.’ Madelana shook her head. ‘There’s no future in it as far as I can see.’

Paula was silent, remembering words of Emma’s, words uttered at a time when she had been where Madelana was today. She said quietly, ‘Many years ago, when I was having great difficulties in my first marriage, my grandmother gave me a bit of advice that I’ve never forgotten. She said, “If something’s not working, then don’t be afraid to end it whilst you’re still young enough to start again, to find happiness with someone else.” Grandy was a very wise woman. And I can only reiterate those words of hers to you, Maddy, and add that you must trust your own instincts. From what I know of you, they’ve never let you down yet.’

Paula paused, gave her a quick, penetrating look, went on, ‘Personally, I think you’re about to do the right thing. The best thing for you.’

‘I know I am. And thanks for caring, Paula. I’ll break up with Jack today, make it clean and swift. And then I want to concentrate on my career.’

It rose up against the azure sky like some great monolith, an immense, unyielding structure of black glass and steel. It was a statement of wealth and privilege, prestige and power, and a glittering monument to the founding fathers of a gargantuan business empire.

The McGill Tower was its name, and it dominated the skyline of Sydney.

The man who had conceived this extraordinary and quite beautiful edifice, and caused it to be built, occupied the tower in the manner of a great magnate from a time long past, completely in control, overseeing and operating all that he owned from this stylish, modern command post, and doing so with a shrewdness, wisdom and fairness that went far beyond his years.

The black glass tower was his true domain.

He worked there from early morning until late at night, and during the business week he frequently lived there. His executive offices and his penthouse flat were situated one above the other, and occupied the entire two top floors of the building.

Late on this Monday afternoon, the man stood with his back to the immense sweep of plate glass which formed the window-wall at one end of his private office, and which offered a panoramic view of Sydney Harbour and the city. With his head tilted to one side, his eyes narrowed in concentration, he was listening attentively to his visitor, a young American businessman.

Always the most handsome of Emma Harte’s grandsons, at thirty-five Philip McGill Amory was in his prime and at his full power. He had magnetism and a mystique in international
business circles, and with the press and to many people he was something of an enigma. Like his mother and his sister, he had inherited Paul McGill’s colouring. His hair was the same glossy black and his eyes were that uncanny blue which was almost violet, and he possessed the vitality and virile looks and height which had made his grandfather such an arresting man.

Today he was wearing a stone-coloured light gabardine suit that was fashionably-cut, and he was perfectly groomed from the collar of his deep-blue shirt to the tip of his dark brown loafers that gleamed like highly-polished glass.

‘And so,’ his visitor was saying, ‘that’s the story. And before I put up a couple of million dollars – US dollars that is – I thought I’d better high-tail it over here and get your advice. Shane told me, before I left London, that if I felt the need, I
should
come and talk things over with you, because you know more about opal mining than anybody else.’

Philip let out a deep chuckle.

‘Not quite, Mr Carlson. I’m afraid my brother-in-law tends to exaggerate, but I’m fairly knowledgeable, yes. We’ve been mining opals for years – among other things. One of our subsidiaries, McGill Mining, was founded by my great-grandfather in 1906, a few years after the famous black opal field at Lightning Ridge was discovered around 1903. But to get back to your situation, from what you’ve told me so far, I don’t believe you’ve been getting the best guidance. If I were you, I’d move with some caution, think twice before putting your money into this syndicate you’ve been telling me about.’

Steve Carlson sat up straighter, gave Philip a questioning look. ‘You don’t think it’s some sort of scam, do you?’ he asked, his voice rising nervously, sudden anxiety filling his eyes.

Philip shook his head. ‘No, no, not at all,’ he answered swiftly and emphatically. ‘But we’ve heard of Jarvis Lanner,
and whilst he’s honest enough, as far as we’ve been able to ascertain, he’s hardly the right man to be advising you about opal mining in the outback.’

‘That’s not the way he presents himself, and – ’

‘Maybe not. But he’s a pommy Jackeroo, for God’s sake!’

Carlson looked baffled.
‘Pommy jackeroo.
What’s that?’

Philip tried, unsuccessfully, to smother a laugh. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be confusing you by using Australian slang. It means an English immigrant who’s a greenhorn.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Carlson nodded. ‘It did strike me, a few days ago, that Jarvis Lanner didn’t know as much as he professed, that’s why I came running to you, I guess.’

Philip made no comment. He strolled over to his desk, stood behind it, regarding the young man for a moment, feeling sorry for him. Now here was a jackeroo, if ever he’d seen one. Wanting to help him, and also to bring the meeting to a close, Philip now said, ‘I think the best thing I can do for you, Mr Carlson, is to put you in touch with a couple of reputable mining experts and some leading geologists. They’ll be able to steer you in the right direction. Would you like me to do that?’

‘Well, gee, yes, I guess so, and I really appreciate that you’ve taken the time and trouble to see me. But just as a matter of interest, what’s
your
opinion of Queensland, as far as opals are concerned? Don’t you think it offers as much as I’ve been led to believe?’

‘I wouldn’t say that, no.’

Philip sat down, pulled a pad towards him, reached for his gold pen. ‘A lot of prospectors and miners will tell you that the Queensland fields still have a lot to offer, and I suppose that’s true, in certain ways. But I doubt you’ll find much precious opal there. That’s very rare. Plenty of common opal, of course, in the Queensland fields. Jarvis Lanner was not lying to you, when he told you that. But I do stress
common
opal. You indicated to me that you want to mine
quality
stones.’

‘Yes.’ Carlson got up off the sofa, meandered over to the desk, took the chair facing it. ‘Where do
you
think I should do my mining, Mr Amory?’

‘There are any number of places,’ Philip responded with a light shrug of his shoulders, not wanting to be drawn on this one, or held responsible for making a recommendation that might turn out to be the wrong one for young Carlson. But he had no wish to appear discourteous either, and so he said, ‘Our company’s still mining at Lightning Ridge in New South Wales, and also at Coober Pedy. That’s actually Australia’s largest opal centre where we get our exquisite light opal from. Then there’s Mintabie, in South Australia. Prospectors have been mining there very successfully since about 1976.’

‘So it’s a new field.’

‘No, it was discovered in 1931, but lack of water, very harsh conditions, and bloody awful equipment made it hard to coax the opal out of the ground, prevented proper mining for many, many years. Today’s modern machinery has opened it up pretty good. In any case, let me give you the names and phone numbers of the experts I mentioned. Go and talk to them. I’m confident they’ll put you on the right track. They’ll also be able to tell you whether or not you should invest in the syndicate Lanner recommended to you.’

‘Do you think that group might be A-Okay then?’

‘I never said there was anything wrong with the syndicate, merely that you should think twice about investing your money with it,’ Philip was swift to remind the other man. ‘And I pointed out that you’d not received the best advice from Lanner.’ Philip smiled faintly, and not giving Carlson a chance to say anything, he murmured, ‘Excuse me,’ picked up the gold pen for the second time, and began to write in his neat, rapid hand.

‘Sure, go ahead,’ Steve Carlson said, somewhat after the fact, and sat back in the chair, his scrutiny keen. He was
impressed with this man who had agreed to see him so quickly and without fuss. Admittedly, he’d had the best introduction. On the other hand, tycoons of Amory’s calibre and power were hard to get to personally, even when members of the family opened the door. They were usually too busy, up to their eyeballs in high finance and balance sheets, to be bothered with strangers wanting advice. Invariably they had assistants stand in for them. But not this cowboy, who seemed like a decent enough guy, unaffected, with no bullshit about him. He’d been struck dumb when he’d first met him an hour ago. Philip McGill Amory was so goddamned good looking he ought to be in front of a movie camera in Hollywood, for God’s sake, not behind a desk. That handsome face, those mesmerizing blue eyes, the gleaming teeth, and the very deep tan had to be seen to be believed. And what about the fabulous suit he was wearing and the custom-made voile shirt, not to mention the sapphire cuff links? Why, this guy was larger than life, more like a superstar than a businessman. He hadn’t expected Amory to have a moustache though. He decided it was dashing, gave the tycoon the look of a riverboat gambler…no, a buccaneer.

Steve Carlson suppressed the laughter rising in his throat, thinking that there were surely plenty of pirates around these days – all sailing the waters of Big Business. But Amory didn’t have the reputation for being a predator, one of those modern-day corporate raiders who swooped down on other companies and commandeered them for their own ends. Amory didn’t need to raid anybody, did he? Not with a conglomerate the size of The McGill Corporation to play with, and keep him busy. It was worth millions, no, billions.

Carlson shifted in his chair, gave Philip a glance that was full of speculation. I bet this cowboy has one helluva private life, a real ball, the young American thought with a stab of envy tinged with admiration. With his physique and looks,
all that power, all that dough, women probably drool all over him. Boy, oh boy, what I wouldn’t give to be in that pair of handmade Italian loafers just for one night.

Philip flipped the intercom. ‘Maggie?’

‘Yes?’

‘Mr Carlson is about to leave. I’m giving him a list of names. Please affix the appropriate telephone numbers, will you?’

‘Certainly.’

Philip strode around the desk.

Carlson jumped up, took the sheet of paper being offered, walked with him to the door.

Philip shook the young man’s hand firmly. ‘Lots of luck, Mr Carlson. I’m certain it’ll all pan out.’

‘Gee, thanks, Mr Amory. I sure am grateful for your time, and the advice you’ve given me.’

‘My pleasure,’ Philip answered, and motioned to his secretary, who was standing waiting near her desk. ‘Look after Mr Carlson, would you please, Maggie?’ he added before stepping back into his inner sanctum and closing the door firmly behind him.

Alone at last, and glad to be, Philip ambled over to the plate glass window-wall and looked out towards the harbour. It was the beginning of spring and the weather had been glorious all day. Any number of sailboats were out there on the bright water, racing in front of the wind, their multi-coloured spinnakers billowing straight out, the mainsails set out wide over the sides, catching every bit of the wind following behind them.

What a beautiful sight it was…Sydney Harbour Bridge so majestic in the distance, the white racing yachts and their colourful spinnakers, the glittering, sunlit sea, and, off to the side, the Opera House with its unique roof of curved white demi-domes that from this angle looked like the giant sails of a galleon set against the edge of the sea and the powder-blue sky.

A smile touched Philip’s eyes. He had loved this city since he was a boy, and to him there was no sight in the world quite like Sydney Harbour. It never failed to give him pleasure, especially when he surveyed it from this vantage point.

As he turned away from the window, he made a mental note to have the spinnaker on his own racing yacht checked. The big parachute was made of gossamer-thin nylon and attention had to be paid to it and to the other sails. He smiled wryly to himself. Yacht racing was an expensive hobby these days. A full suit of sails, ranging from the light-weather spinnaker to heavyweight Kevlar for a storm mainsail, cost just under a million Australian dollars.

There was a knock on the door. It opened, and Barry Graves, his personal assistant, poked his head around it, grinning. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Sure,’ Philip said, walking over to his desk.

‘Got kangaroos in his top paddock then, has he?’ Barry asked, a brow lifting eloquently.

The two men exchanged knowing looks and then they both started to laugh.

‘No,’ Philip said, ‘he’s not crazy. Carlson’s just young and inexperienced. He’s been bitten by the adventure bug, I guess. Apparently he heard somewhere that Australia supplies ninety-five per cent of the world’s opals, and he decided to come over here, try his luck, and invest his inheritance in opal mining.’

‘Another jackeroo,’ Barry sighed. ‘Poor sod. Oh, well, I guess there’s one born every minute. What’s he to Shane?’

‘Nothing really. Carlson’s brother-in-law is one of Shane’s top executives at O’Neill International in New York, and Shane was just trying to do the guy a favour. The kid went to see him in London and Shane told him to check with me before he did anything wild.’

‘Good thing he did, too.’ Barry hovered at the side of the desk, went on rapidly. ‘I just came in to say goodnight,
Philip. If you don’t need me for anything else, I’d like to push off. Committee meeting at the tennis club tonight.’