The Emma Harte 7-Book Collection: A Woman of Substance, Hold the Dream, To Be the Best, Emma’s Secret, Unexpected Blessings, Just Rewards, Breaking the Rules. Barbara Taylor BradfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
wrong. Nobody outsmarts me. Ever!’
Joe was staring at her askance. ‘Don’t you think you’re biting off more than you can chew?’ he cried.
‘What do you mean?’ she asked in surprise.
‘Between the store, the Gregson Warehouse, and Lady Hamilton Clothes it seems to me that you have enough to keep you busy twenty-four hours a day, without that blasted mill.’
She laughed. ‘I’m not going to be running the mill, Joe.’
‘Knowing you, Emma, you’ll want to take an active interest in the administration. You never leave anything to chance, and you’d have to be involved out of necessity. From what I hear, Layton’s needs reorganizing, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, it does. But I’ve thought everything out well in advance. I’ll get a good manager.’
‘Who? They’re hard to come by, you know.’
‘Ben Andrews. I’ve—’
‘Ben Andrews! Good God, Emma, he’s been at Thompson’s mill for donkey’s years. You’ll never get him to leave.’
‘That’s where you’re mistaken, Joe. I’ve had several meetings with Ben and he wants to leave Thompson’s. I only have to say the word. He hasn’t been too happy there since the new owners took over four years ago. He’s itching to get out, if you want to know the truth.’
Joe grinned. ‘I’ve got to take my hat off to you, Emma. You certainly know how to pick ’em. Ben is a hell of a good man. The best in the woollen business. He’s made Thompson’s, that’s a certainty.’
Emma nodded. ‘I know. And that’s the secret of my success. Finding the right people and being willing to delegate authority to those who are capable of handling it. I’m also very generous. I made Ben an offer Thompson’s would never match, even if he wanted to stay with them!’
Observing her with grudging approbation, Joe saw her delighted smile turn into one of triumph. He could not help laughing. Shaking his head, he said, ‘I suppose it tickles you to death to be in a position to employ Ben Andrews, considering he was your boss when you worked at Thompson’s. I can’t say I blame you.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Emma said softly and in all truthfulness. It was the idea of luring Ben Andrews, three top foremen, and twenty of the best weavers away from Thompson’s that intoxicated her. Without Ben’s superior management and those experienced workers, Thompson’s output would be crippled and the mill would be in disastrous trouble. A thrill of pure elation ran through her. She had just made her first move against the Fairleys, owners of J. P. Thompson and Son.
‘Congratulations, Emma. You’re a millowner at last.’
‘Don’t congratulate me yet, Joe!’ Emma exclaimed. ‘I’m superstitious about celebrating before a transaction is final.’
‘Oh, it will be, Emma. I don’t doubt that for one minute,’ he said with an odd smile. ‘You always get what you want, don’t you? There’s no stopping you once you’ve made up your mind. You rush in, sweeping everybody to one side, so intent on your purpose you don’t care who gets trampled underfoot.’
Emma looked at Joe, surprised at his harsh words and the sarcastic edge to his voice. Normally she disregarded his taunts, but now she could not help saying angrily, ‘You make me sound ruthless and hard. And I’m not. I’m simply a good businesswoman. Furthermore, nobody has ever handed me anything on a plate. I’ve had to work like a dog for everything I own, Joe.’
‘I can’t deny that. Work is your consuming passion, though, isn’t it?’ His eyes were as hard as pebbles, and condemning.
Emma sighed. She began to shuffle her papers, impatient for him to leave and in no mood to joust. ‘Why are you in town so early this morning?’ she asked gently, changing the subject.
‘I’m going to the office. I’m behind with some of the ledgers for the properties,’ he said off handedly, and stood up. ‘Then I’m meeting Blackie for lunch at the Metropole. I want to talk to him about putting new roofing on the tannery and reinforcing the top floor. He’s been too overwhelmed with building contracts to attend to the work before now, but both jobs are long overdue.’
‘Give him my love and tell him I’ll come to see Laura on Sunday.’ Emma’s face changed, softening as she spoke of her friend. ‘I’m worried about Laura, Joe. She hasn’t seemed at all strong since the last miscarriage. She needs building up. I wish there was something I could do to—’
‘There’s nothing you can do,’ Joe exclaimed. ‘That’s Blackie’s problem. He should exercise a little self-control and stop getting her—’ He bit off his sentence, flushing.
‘In the family way,’ Emma finished for him with chilly disdain. ‘Look who’s talking!’
Joe dismissed this dig with a wave of his hand, although his flush deepened. ‘Besides, you do enough for Laura as it is, Emma. Why, the way you dote on that woman anybody would think she’s a member of the family.’
‘She is!’ Emma snapped. ‘She’s like my sister, my dearest friend. I would do anything for Laura. Anything in this world.’
‘That I know!’ He strode to the door. ‘I’ll see you at home, Emma. Bye.’
‘Goodbye, Joe.’
After he had left, Emma stared at the door he had so harshly banged behind him, shaking her head. He’s got a bee in his bonnet this morning, she thought wearily. She did not have time to worry about Joe and his infantile bursts of petulance. She picked up the ledgers and carried them to the safe where she always kept them and locked them away securely. She walked back to her desk, a spring in her step, her head held high. She was about to become a millowner and stick a knife in Gerald Fairley’s back at the same time. She laughed aloud. The idea of being able to enhance her business enterprises whilst damaging the Fairleys appealed to her sense of irony. She looked at the photograph of her eight-year-old daughter reposing in a silver frame on her desk. ‘That’s called poetic justice, Edwina,’ she said to the photograph. ‘Justice for both of us. And it’s just the beginning.’
Emma rested her head against the chair. Once again she contemplated the war, endeavouring to gauge the effect it would have on commerce and industry. Her considered reflections prompted her to make a sudden decision. She would definitely discontinue selling certain types of merchandise to other retailers. She was undoubtedly going to need most of the warehouse stock for Harte’s in time, and she had no alternative but curtail the activities of the two remaining commercial travellers to a degree, and enforce limitations on their supplies. She began to selectively tick off the goods she could readily dispose of in her own store. Good old Gregson’s, she muttered under her breath. It’s the best investment I ever made.
And indeed it was. In 1910, a few months after her marriage to Joe, Emma had learned that the Gregson Warehouse, a wholesale company acting as the middleman between the manufacturers and the retailers was in in trouble and up for sale for a song.
Emma wanted it. More accurately, she craved it passionately. And she determined to have it, recognizing its enormous potential as a moneymaker of no mean proportions. It was also the vehicle she had been seeking, one that would enable her to implement two of her most potent schemes – rapid expansion for a small investment and volume buying from the manufacturers to obtain quality merchandise at low prices. She purchased Gregson’s for two thousand pounds and, with her own brand of initiative and expediency, smartly divested herself of its dated and second-rate goods with lightning speed. Her technique was simple but foolproof. She slashed prices drastically and sold everything to local stores that were in constant need of bargains for their semi-annual sales.
As she had shrewdly suspected, she actually made money from the stocks. With this money, and by persuading the manufacturers to give her extended credit, she bought in bulk. Some of the smaller clothing manufacturers even began to produce solely