Jonathan had always been an expert at switching gears, and tonight was no exception. Whereas his brother had the single mindedness to follow every decision through to completion, Jonathan’s brain was wired differently. While he was still mulling over how best to sort out Caroline’s issue with Stone with one part of his mind, another had already switched to trying to talk to his father about the Buckthorn takeover. The proposal was now severely time limited, and Jonathan’s gut instinct told him that if they took it seriously, it would move Carter’s Cider to a whole new level. Turning the key in the lock to Orchard Cottage, he braced himself to raise it with his father again.
‘Your brother’s just rung,’ Jack said as Jonathan came through to the kitchen. Jonathan had to stifle a smile as he saw Jack, checked shirt and tan corduroys partly covered by one of his late wife’s floral aprons, cooking fried eggs on the hob. ‘Said there was some issue at the restaurant that needed sorting.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Jonathan said. ‘It’s in hand.’ Or it soon will be, he thought. ‘Have you got a minute to talk about Buckthorn?’
‘Not again, Jonathan,’ Jack said, brow creasing in irritation as he spooned oil over the two eggs in the pan. ‘I’ve told you. I’m not willing to discuss it until all three of us are round the table.’
Jonathan sighed. ‘I know that. But we’ve had the paperwork for months now. They’re going to need an answer one way or the other.’
‘They can wait a bit longer.’ Jack flipped the eggs out of the pan and onto the toast he’d prepared. ‘Want one of these?’
‘No, Dad. I want to talk about Buckthorn.’
‘I’ve said all I’m going to say for tonight,’ Jack said. ‘Now make yourself useful and pour me a glass of red wine to go with these eggs.’
‘The deal makes perfect sense, Dad!’ Jonathan knew he was raising his voice but his frustration with his father’s obstinacy was getting the better of him. ‘Buckthorn have had their eye on us for years; they reach markets we could never hope to. Why won’t you at least take a look at the figures and think about it?
‘I will not hand over this business to some faceless multinational,’ Jack said firmly. He stood up from his chair by the fireplace and walked over to the window. ‘Four generations of this family have lived their lives building this business. I won’t just give it all up for a quick profit. We have a workforce, responsibilities.’
‘And the workforce would be taken care of,’ Jonathan joined his father at the window.
‘Don’t be so stupid, Jonathan!’ Jack’s voice was uncharacteristically harsh. The light in the kitchen gave a grey cast to the old man’s face, throwing the lines and shadows into harsh relief. ‘You know as well as I do that it doesn’t work like that. They’ll decommission this site before you can blink and put half the village out of a job.’
‘They’ve committed to keeping the site open and keeping on seventy-five per cent of the workforce,’ Jonathan countered. ‘They’re going to need people to maintain the orchards and a lot of other things.’
‘They’ve got an infrastructure of their own that will preclude that,’ Jack replied. ‘What about our drivers, our canners and keggers, our packers, our marketing and sales teams?’
‘They’ve said that anyone they can’t integrate, they’ll offer a decent redundancy package.’
‘They’ll say anything to get us on board,’ Jack dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. ‘The minute we sign the contract, people like Eli, the night watchman, will be pensioned off without so much as a by your leave. And all the people we’ve worked so hard to keep in employment in the village, Joel, Trevor, Sophie and David, all those people will be out on their ears.’ Jack shook his head. ‘I won’t put my name to it.’
‘Things are changing, Dad.’ Jonathan took a deep breath. ‘We’re OK at the moment, but markets can become volatile, uncertain. This will secure the future of the company; make sure we can keep employing locals.’
‘No.’ Jack was resolute. ‘It won’t. Your great grandfather would be turning in his grave at the prospect of selling this business to a concern like Buckthorn. I won’t sign it.’
‘You might not have a choice, Dad,’ Jonathan said gently. ‘Matthew and I hold the majority share in this company. We can go ahead without you.’
Jack sighed, long, low and resigned. ‘I’ve no doubt you can.’ He turned and looked his younger son straight in the eyes. ‘But you have to ask yourself, Jonathan, and make sure you think carefully about this, should you do it?’
Jonathan dropped his gaze first. He understood his father’s concerns, of course he did, but he also knew that Carter’s had to move with the times. And times were changing. Much like in the mid 1990s when it had been a case of embracing technology and the internet age or go under, now might well be the time to sell to the biggest cider producer in the country.
‘I’ll leave it with you,’ Jonathan said quietly.
‘What does your brother say?’ Jack asked.
‘He’s still making up his mind,’ Jonathan replied. That wasn’t strictly true; Matthew was on the verge of rejecting the takeover out of hand, but the company had taken a huge hit when Tesco had decided not to stock their products any more. Even though Matthew knew a takeover made financial sense, he was still reluctant to let go of the reins.
‘Jonathan. Son.’ Jack suddenly looked very, very tired and very, very old. ‘You know you can push this through without my say so. But I am asking you one more time. Think about it. Think about the people we employ. Think about what a merger with Buckthorn truly means. Everything we hold dear, everything four generations of this family has worked for, will be subsumed in a corporation that cares less about quality than it does about volume. Aren’t we big enough? We don’t need this.’
Jonathan nodded. ‘I promise I’ll give it some serious thought, Dad. But in return, can you at least look at what they’re proposing.’
Jack nodded back. ‘Go and get the paperwork from my study. I’ll take a look later.’
‘Thank you.’ Jonathan reached out a hand and briefly touched his father’s upper arm. ‘I promise you, it makes sense Dad.’
‘Perhaps on paper,’ Jack touched Jonathan’s hand with the tips of his fingers. ‘But you need to realise that sometimes there’s more to business than numbers on a page.’
They sat that evening in companionable silence. Before Jonathan went to bed, he dug out Jack’s copy of the Buckthorn paperwork and left it on his side table by his armchair in the lounge, hoping that his father would see sense.