The Women in His Life. Barbara Taylor Bradford

voice. ‘Rather, I ask myself how much can I lose?’

      ‘Oh I’m certain you wouldn’t lose,’ John asserted, sounding confident. ‘I would like to give you some relevant information regarding Lister Newspapers, a few facts and figures.’

      ‘Go ahead.’ Maxim settled back in the chair, ready to listen.

      At this juncture, Alan Trenton rose.

      ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll attend to a bit of my own business,’ he murmured and went to the far side of the office where he sat down behind his desk. He studied the faxes and telexes from New York, which had come in earlier, wrote succinct replies to be dispatched in the morning, perused other urgent papers, making notations on them.

      Once he had finished, he looked at Maxim and John Vale. He saw they were still deep in conversation, decided to leave them to their own devices for a short while longer. There was nothing pertinent he could say, little he could contribute to their discussion. It was best he remain out of it altogether.

      Swivelling the desk chair, Alan sat gazing out of the window which overlooked Berkeley Square. His thoughts drifted aimlessly for a few seconds, and then inevitably they settled on Maximilian West, as they generally did when Maxim was in close proximity. It was difficult not to focus on him, so powerful was his charisma and his presence.

      It delighted Alan to see him in such great form, such good spirits. If one judged him by his appearance, Maxim looked as if he led a life of ease and pleasure in one of his many beautiful houses or on his floating palace of a yacht. Nothing was farther from the truth. He worked around the clock, was never off a plane, kept up the most killing pace – and yet somehow managed to remain remarkably unscathed. In fact, Alan often thought that Maxim thrived on it all. In the past nine years Maxim had been under excessive pressure and not so readily available socially, travelling the world at large as he did. Also, London was more of a stopping off point for him these days, even though he had his head office here and the house in Mayfair. Greener fields, in the shape of Manhattan, beckoned most beguilingly.

      And Alan sorely missed Maxim.

      He wished he saw more of him. They spoke frequently on the telephone, grabbed a quick bite or a drink together occasionally, but this was not quite the same as lunching and dining in a leisurely fashion, the way they had in the past. They had been inseparable as boys, equally close in their teens, and their friendship had continued into full manhood.

      Best friends ’til the day we die, they had sworn at boarding school, and curiously enough this boyhood vow was holding true. And that’s all that matters in the long run, Alan thought. To know in our hearts that we’re always there for each other, that we can rely on each other no matter what the circumstances.

      Spinning the chair again, Alan peered the length of his office, fixed his eyes on Maxim, observed him carefully for a few seconds. His old friend appeared to be quizzing John Vale, asking some hard questions, no doubt. Vale was responding alertly, looking suitably impressed by his inquisitor. But then there was nothing unique about that. Everyone was impressed by Maximilian West. Startled, too, more often than not, when they first met him. He was never what anyone expected him to be. Nor did he ever do what people anticipated he would do. He had always been a maverick.

      In his mind’s eye Alan suddenly saw Maxim as he had been at fifteen, remembered that ghastly day when two boys from another school, bullies both, had picked on Maxim, sneered at him, called him filthy names, been immeasurably cruel as only the young can be cruel. Maxim, ashen-faced, his dark eyes blazing with rage, had instantly turned combative, had raised his hands like a boxer about to go on the attack. Ready to do battle for his best friend, he had brought his hands up too, wanting to fight at Maxim’s side. And then the unexpected, the unanticipated, had happened, startling the crowd of boys, and him most of all. Maxim had dropped his arms to his sides and had walked away without uttering a word, his head held high, his immense pride, his uncommon dignity forming an unassailable shield around him. The group of boys who had been watching and jeering had fallen silent, had parted ranks with docility to let him pass, intimidated by the cold, implacable expression on Maxim’s face, his lofty demeanour.

      Alan recalled how he had run after Maxim, wanting to give him comfort, to make him feel better. But Maxim had not needed sympathy; he had even refused to discuss the matter, had turned morose and moody for the rest of the day. It was only later that night, after lights-out in the dormitory, that Maxim had finally mentioned the incident. As if in answer to Alan’s unspoken question, he had hissed in the dark, ‘I walked away because those cowards weren’t worth fighting! I didn’t even want to soil my hands by touching them!’ He had expressed his contempt and disgust for the likes of the two bullies, and had gone on to proclaim, ‘One day I’ll be cock of the walk, just you wait and see, Stubby.’ And then in a fierce whisper he had added vehemently, ‘I’m nobody now! I have nothing now! But no matter how long it takes, I promise you I’m going to be somebody. And I’m going to have everything.’

      He was. And he did. He had made it come true, perhaps beyond even his own wildest dreams.

      Maximilian West was a man with the world in his arms.

      Consequently he was envied by most men. Alan did not envy him. He was filled only with admiration for Maxim. He knew what a hard and difficult road he had travelled, the enormous leaps he had made, the chances he had taken. His was an extraordinary success story, an epic story, really, quite fantastical. He was a great magnate, his name was one to be truly reckoned with on the international business scene, and in the last fifteen years he had gone from millionaire to multi-millionaire to billionaire.

      And only a couple of weeks ago, on the last day of December, the Queen’s New Year Honours List had been announced. Among those titles and honours put forward by the Prime Minister for the Queen’s approval was a knighthood for Maxim. It was for his enormous contributions to British industry at home and abroad, and he was now Sir Maximilian West, and could be thus addressed, even though his investiture at Buckingham Palace was not for three more months to come, in March.

      Cock of the bloody walk indeed, Alan thought. And smiled. It was a deep smile, one of genuine pride and the greatest satisfaction. He revelled in Maxim’s successes and triumphs, was always there on the sidelines, applauding. Maxim had been his hero at school. In a way, he still was. Alan supposed he always would be.

      He glanced at Maxim again, and admiringly so. How wonderful his dear old friend looked. No, he doesn’t, Trenton suddenly thought, startling himself, sitting up with a little jolt. He peered harder at Maxim. The dazzling facade was intact, but now, instinctively, he knew there was something terribly wrong. It was not possible to be close to a man for nigh on forty-seven years and not know him inside out. There was a shadow at the back of Maxim’s eyes that he had not seen there for years; he wondered why he hadn’t noticed it when Maxim first arrived. Perhaps because he’d been too busy congratulating him on his knighthood. Maxim’s got trouble, serious trouble, Stubby decided. Is it the women? I hope to God not, he’s had enough trouble with women to last him a lifetime. Well, whatever’s wrong, and there is something, I’ll offer to help. That’s what a best friend is for.

      Now Alan looked quickly at the watch on his wrist, the gold Patek Philippe which Maxim had given him last year for his fifty-fourth birthday. He saw that it was exactly nine-fifteen. Earlier, on the phone, Maxim had said he would have to leave by nine-twenty. Alan knew that in one second, certainly not much longer, Maxim would stand up, make his goodbyes and be gone. He was precise in many ways, and punctuality was one of his strongest suits.

      Anticipating Maxim’s imminent departure, Alan rose, went over to join him and Vale, as Maxim was saying to John Vale, ‘The figures you’ve given me are interesting. However, I’m still uncertain whether or not I want to jump into the fray, make a counter offer for Lister. I really will have to give the matter some thought.’

      Vale swallowed hard, striving to hide his deep disappointment that this meeting had not been more conclusive. ‘Yes, of course, I understand perfectly, and I’m sure you understand that speed is of the essence. Lister are wide open right at this moment, exposed in so many ways. They’re a sitting target for other corporate raiders. That’s what