When they had finished their tea, Lara made sure their cups were replenished.
Howard Keller, Lara’s associate, came into the room. He was in his fifties, pale and thin, with sandy hair, wearing a rumpled suit, and managing to look as though he had just got out of bed. Lara made the introductions. Keller passed around copies of the investment proposal.
‘As you can see, gentlemen’ Lara said, ‘we already have a first mortgage commitment. The complex will contain seven hundred and twenty guest units, approximately thirty thousand square feet of meeting space, and a one-thousand car parking garage. …’
Lara’s voice was charged with energy. The Japanese bankers were studying the investment proposal, fighting to stay awake.
The meeting was over in less than two hours and it was a complete success. Lara had learned long ago that it was easier to make a hundred-million-dollar deal than it was to try to borrow fifty thousand dollars.
As soon as the Japanese delegation left, Lara had her meeting with Jerry Townsend. The tall, hyper, ex-Hollywood publicity man was in charge of public relations for Cameron Enterprises.
‘That was a great interview on “Good Morning America” this morning. I’ve been getting a lot of calls.’
‘What about
Forbes?’
‘All set.
People has you on the cover next week. Did you see the
New Yorker article on you? Wasn’t it great?’
Lara walked over to her desk. ‘Not bad.’
‘The
Fortune interview is set for this afternoon.’
‘I changed it.’
He looked surprised. ‘Why?’
‘I’m having their reporter here for lunch.’
‘Soften him up a little?’
Lara pressed down the intercom button. ‘Come in, Kathy.’
A disembodied voice said, ‘Yes, Miss Cameron.’
Lara Cameron looked up. ‘That’s all, Jerry. I want you and your staff to concentrate on Cameron Towers.’
‘We’re already doing . . .’
‘Let’s do more. I want it written about in every newspaper and magazine there is. For God’s sake, it’s going to be the tallest building in the world.
In the world! I want people talking about it. By the time we open, I want people to be
begging to get into those apartments and shops.’
Jerry Townsend got to his feet. ‘Right.’
Kathy, Lara’s executive assistant, came into the office. She was an attractive, neatly dressed black woman in her early thirties.
‘Did you find out what he likes to eat?’
‘The man’s a gourmet. He likes French food. I called Le Cirque and asked Sirio to cater a lunch here for two.’
‘Good. We’ll eat in my private dining room.’
‘Do you know how long the interview will take? You have a two thirty with the Metropolitan bankers downtown.’
‘Push it to three o’clock, and have them come here.’
Kathy made a note. ‘Do you want me to read you your messages?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘The Children’s Foundation wants you to be their guest of honour on the twenty-eighth.’
‘No. Tell them I’m flattered. Send them a cheque (=
Am. check).’
‘Your meeting has been arranged in Tulsa for Tuesday at . . .’
‘Cancel it.’
‘You’re invited to a luncheon next Friday for a Manhattan Women’s Group.’
‘No. If they’re asking for money, send them a cheque.’
‘The Coalition for Literacy would like you to speak at a luncheon on the fourth.’
‘See if we can work it out.’
‘There’s an invitation to be guest of honour at a fund-raiser for muscular dystrophy, but there's a conflict in dates. You’ll be in San Francisco.’
‘Send them a cheque.’
‘The Srbs are giving a dinner party next Saturday.’
‘I’ll try to make that,’ Lara said. Kristian and Deborah Srb were amusing, and good friends, and she enjoyed being with them.
‘Kathy, how many of me do you see?’
‘What?’
‘Take a good look.’
Kathy looked at her. ‘One of you, Miss Cameron.’
‘That’s right. There’s only one of me. How did you expect me to meet with the bankers from Metropolitan at two thirty today, the Zoning Commission at four, then meet with the mayor at five, the architects at six fifteen, the housing commission at six thirty, have a cocktail party at seven thirty and my birthday dinner at eight? The next time you make up a schedule, try using your brain.’
‘I’m sorry. You wanted me to . . .’
‘I wanted you to
think. I don’t need stupid people around me. Reschedule the appointments with the architects and the housing commission.’
‘Right,’ Kathy said stiffly.
‘How’s the baby?’
The question caught the secretary by surprise. ‘David? He’s . . . he’s fine.’
‘He must be getting big by now.’
‘He’s almost two.’
‘Have you thought about a school for him?’
‘Not yet. It’s too early to . . .’
‘You’re wrong. If you want to get him into a decent school in New York, you start before he’s born.’
Lara made a note on a desk pad. ‘I know the principal at Dalton. I’ll arrange to have David registered there.’
‘I ... thank you.’
Lara did not bother to look up. ‘That’s all.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Kathy walked out of the office not knowing whether to love her boss or hate her. When Kathy had first come to work at Cameron Enterprises, she had been warned about Lara Cameron. ‘The Iron Butterfly is a bitch on wheels,’ she had been told. ‘Her secretaries don’t figure their employment there by the calendar – they use stopwatches. She’ll eat you alive.’
Kathy remembered her first interview with her. She had seen pictures of Lara Cameron in half a dozen magazines, but none of them had done her justice. In person, the woman was breathtakingly beautiful.
Lara Cameron had been reading Kathy’s resume. She looked up and said, ‘Sit down, Kathy.’ Her voice was husky and vibrant. There was an energy about her that was almost overpowering.
‘This is quite a resume.’
‘Thank you.’
‘How much of it is real?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Most of the ones that come across my desk are fiction. Are you good at what you do?’
‘I’m very good at what I do, Miss Cameron.’
‘Two of my secretaries just quit. Everything’s snowballing around here. Can you handle pressure?’
‘I think so.’
‘This isn't a guessing contest. Can you handle pressure or can’t you?’
At that moment Kathy was not sure she wanted the job. ‘Yes, I can.’
‘Good. You’re on a one-week trial. You’ll have to sign a form saying that at no time will you discuss me or your work here at Cameron Enterprises. That means no interviews, no books, nothing. Everything that happens here is confidential.’
‘I understand.’
‘Fine.’
That was how it had begun five years earlier. During that time Kathy had learned to love, hate, admire and despise her boss. In the beginning Kathy’s husband had asked, ‘What is the legend like?’
It was a difficult question. ‘She’s larger than life,’ Kathy had said. ‘She’s drop-dead beautiful. She works harder than anyone I’ve ever known. God only knows when she sleeps. She’s a perfectionist, so she makes everyone around her miserable. In her own way, she’s a genius. She can be petty and vengeful and incredibly generous.’
Her husband had smiled. ‘In other words, she’s a woman.’
Kathy had looked at him and said, unsmiling, ‘I don’t know what she is. Sometimes she scares me.’
‘Come on, honey, you're exaggerating.’
‘No. I honestly believe that if someone stood in Lara Cameron’s way . . . she would kill.’
When Lara finished with the faxes and overseas calls, she buzzed Charlie Hunter, the ambitious young man in charge of accounting. ‘Come in, Charlie.’
‘Yes, Miss Cameron.’
A minute later, he entered her office.
‘Yes, Miss Cameron?’
‘I read the interview you gave in the
New York Times this morning,’ Lara said.
He brightened. ‘I haven’t seen it yet. How was it?’
‘You talked about Cameron Enterprises and about some of the problems we’re having.’
He frowned. ‘Well, you know, that reporter fellow probably misquoted some of my . . .’
‘You’re fired.’
‘What? Why? I . . .’
‘When you were hired, you signed a paper agreeing not to give any interviews. I’ll expect you out of here this morning.’
‘I ... you can’t do that. Who would take my place?’
‘I’ve already arranged that,’ Lara told him.
The luncheon was almost over. The
Fortune reporter, Hugh Thompson, was an intense, intellectual-looking man with sharp brown eyes behind black horn-rimmed glasses.
‘It was a great lunch,’ he said. ‘All my favourite (=
Am. favorite) dishes. Thanks.’
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’
‘You really didn’t have to go to all that trouble for me.’
‘No trouble at all,’ Lara smiled. ‘My father always told me that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach.’
‘And you wanted to get to my heart before we started the interview?'
Lara smiled. ‘Exactly.’
‘How much trouble is your company really in?’
Lara’s smile faded. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Come on. You can’t keep a thing like that quiet. The word on the street is that some of your properties are on the verge of collapse because of the principal payments due on your junk bonds. You've done a lot of leveraging, and with the market down, Cameron Enterprises has to be pretty overextended.’
Lara laughed. ‘Is that what the street says? Believe me, Mr Thompson, you’d be wise not to listen to silly rumours (=
Am. rumors). I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll send you a copy of my financials to set the record straight. Fair enough?’
‘Fair enough. By the way, I didn’t see your husband at the opening of the new hotel.’
Lara sighed. ‘Philip wanted so much to be there, but unfortunately he had to be away on a concert tour.’
‘I went to one of his recitals once about three years ago. He’s brilliant. You have been married a year now, haven’t you?’
‘Yes – the happiest year of my life. I’m a very lucky woman. I travel a lot, and so does Philip, but when I’m away from him, I can listen to his recordings wherever I am.’
Thompson smiled. ‘And he can see your buildings wherever he is.’
Lara laughed. ‘You flatter me.’
‘It’s pretty true, isn’t it? You’ve put up buildings all over this fair country of ours. You own apartment buildings, office buildings, a hotel chain . . . How do you do it?’
She smiled. ‘With mirrors.’
‘You’re a puzzle.’
‘Am I? Why?’
‘At this moment, you’re arguably the most successful builder in New York. Your name is plastered on half the real estate in this town. You’re putting up the world’s tallest skyscraper. Your competitors call you the Iron Butterfly. You’ve made it big in a business traditionally dominated by men.’
‘Does that bother you, Mr Thompson?’
‘No. What bothers me, Miss Cameron, is that I can’t figure out who you are. When I ask two people about you, I get three opinions. Everyone grants that you’re a brilliant businesswoman. I mean . . . you didn’t fall off a hay wagon and become a success. I know a lot about construction crews – they’re a rough, tough bunch of men. How does a woman like you keep them in line?’
She smiled. ‘There
are no women like me. Seriously, I simply hire the best people for the job, and I pay them well.’
Too simplistic, Thompson thought.
Much too simplistic. The real story is what she’s not telling me. He decided to change the direction of the interview.
‘Every magazine on the stands has written about how successful you are. I’d like to do a more personal story. There’s been very little printed about your background.’
‘I’m very proud of my background.’
‘Good. Let’s talk about that. How did you get started in the real estate business?’
Lara smiled and he could see that her smile was genuine. She suddenly looked like a little girl.
‘Genes.’
‘Your genes?’
‘My father’s.’ She pointed to a portrait on a wall behind her. It showed a handsome-looking man with a leonine head of silver hair. That’s my father – James Hugh Cameron.’ Her voice was soft. ‘He’s responsible for my success. I’m an only child. My mother died when I was very young, and my father brought me up. My family left Scotland a long time ago, Mr Thompson, and emigrated to Nova Scotia – New Scotland, Glace Bay.’
‘Glace Bay?’
‘It’s a fishing village in the north-east part of Cape Breton, on the Atlantic shore. It was named by early French explorers. It means ice bay. More coffee?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘My grandfather owned a great deal of land in Scotland and my father acquired more. He was a very wealthy man. We still have our castle there near Loch Morlich. When I was eight years old, I had my own horse, my dresses were bought in London, we lived in an enormous house with a lot of servants. It was a fairytale life for a little girl.’ Her voice was alive with echoes of long-ago memories.
‘We would go ice skating in the winter, and watch hockey games, and go swimming at Big Glace Bay Lake in the summer. And there were dances at the Forum and the Venetian Gardens.’
The reporter was busily making notes.
‘My father put up buildings in Edmonton, and Calgary, and Ontario. Real estate was like a game to him, and he loved it. When I was very young, he taught me the game, and I learned to love it, too.’
Her voice was filled with passion. ‘You must understand something, Mr Thompson. What I do has nothing to do with the money or the bricks and steel that make a building. It’s the people who matter. I’m able to give them a comfortable place to work or to live, a place where they can raise families and have decent lives. That’s what was important to my father, and it became important to me.’
Hugh Thompson looked up. ‘Do you remember your first real estate venture?’
Lara leaned forward. ‘Of course. On my eighteenth birthday, my father asked me what I would like as a gift. A lot of newcomers were arriving in Glace Bay and it was getting crowded. I felt the town needed more places for them to live. I told my father I wanted to build a small apartment house. He gave me the money as a present, but two years later, I was able to pay him back. Then I borrowed money from a bank to put up a second building. By the time I was twenty-one, I owned three buildings, and they were all successful.’
‘Your father must have been very proud of you.’
There was that warm smile again. ‘He was. He named me Lara. It’s an old Scottish name that comes from the Latin. It means “well known” or “famous”. From the time I was a little girl, my father always told me I would be famous one day.’ Her smile faded. ‘He died of a heart attack, much too young.’ She paused. ‘I go to Scotland to visit his grave every year. I ... I found it very difficult to stay on in the house without him. I decided to move to Chicago. I had an idea for small boutique hotels, and I persuaded a banker there to finance me. The hotels were a success.’ She shrugged. ‘And the rest, as the cliche goes, is history. I suppose that a psychiatrist would say that I haven’t created this empire just for myself. In a way, it’s a tribute to my father. James Cameron was the most wonderful man I’ve ever known.’
‘You must have loved him a lot.’
‘I did. And he loved me a lot.’ A smile touched her lips. ‘I’ve heard that on the day I was born, my father bought every man in Glace Bay a drink.’
‘So, really,’ Thompson said, ‘everything started in Glace Bay.’
‘That’s right,’ Lara said softly, ‘everything started in Glace Bay. That’s where it all began, almost forty years ago . . .’
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