Honeycote by Veronica Henry Read Free Book Online Page B

that was drawn up from underground wells and the mighty engine that drove all the pumps and machinery: the purity and simplicity of the operation showed itself in the perfection of its brew. It was a dream formula for the millennium, with its harking back to all things bucolic and nostalgic; the sort of venture that over-driven high-flyers dreamed of escaping to when they felt the first naggings of an ulcer.
    Yes, Honeycote Ales was a very viable proposition indeed. Put it on the open market and it would be snapped up, if not by one of the predatory larger breweries whose hungry jaws it had done well to avoid thus far, then by a moneyed entrepreneur who fancied playing at having his own pubs. No doubt that would result in some of its less charming rough edges being smoothed off – several of the pubs, for example, still only had outside toilets – but there would be a concomitant rise in profit.
    It was Cowley’s job today to point this out to Mickey Liddiard as diplomatically as possible. He’d therefore felt the need to put their meeting on a more formal level than usual, and had asked Mickey to come into the bank. He wanted to feel confident and have the upper hand, and he knew that meeting at the brewery held too many distractions; that he would be too easily seduced by his surroundings and the notorious Liddiard charm.
    Of course, unauthorized overdrafts were not uncommon in these days of sticky cash flow. The bank generally sent out a letter advising the culprit of their overdrawn amount and the charge that would be added to their account on a daily basis until the debt was cleared. This was usually enough for the culprits either to clear the amount or come in to arrange an official loan. He’d sent Mickey five reminding letters to date.
    Cowley knew there was trouble by the nonchalant way Mickey kept assuring him there wasn’t. His confident smile, the airy wave of the hand, his pseudo-exasperated references to late-payers all pointed to what Cowley thought of as the reverse ostrich syndrome – trying to stick his head in the sand. But anyone who thought they could fool Cowley had got him all wrong. His slow, deliberate manner and seemingly cautious way of thinking did not mean he could not spot trouble on the horizon. What he needed to establish today was whether Mickey’s own head was in the sand, too – whether he knew the extent of his problems or if they were going to run away with him. Cowley was very good at shutting the barn door before the horse bolted.
    Getting Mickey to come clean on their first meeting would be well nigh impossible, but at least Cowley would be able to start putting the pressure on gently by reassuring him that the bank would be there for Honeycote Ales as long as he played by their rules. Any funny business these days and the rug was pulled out, no questions asked. Meanwhile, he’d worked out two solutions to the brewery’s problems, neither of which Mickey would like.
    He broached the first and less controversial over a mediocre cup of coffee, which he was interested to see Mickey did not touch. Was it really that disgusting, or was the hangover from which he was obviously suffering so bad that liquid intake was not yet possible? Cowley felt in a stronger position immediately and plunged straight in.
    ‘Why don’t you sell off one of your tied houses? It would give you a cash injection, which you obviously badly need, and a bit left over for general improvements. Some considered investment…’
    Mickey looked at him as if he had suggested selling one of his own children. ‘This is just a temporary cash flow problem – ’
    Cowley smiled, and Mickey was startled to notice a wintry chill in his eyes. The placebo was having no effect.
    ‘I think you should consider it.’
    He wasn’t to know Mickey had been agonizing over this very possibility for weeks, and had finally concluded it was out of the question. He couldn’t bring himself to do it.
    ‘And in the meantime, can I