The Book Publisher's Son

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 4

The two attorneys did a round of hand-shaking before Steiner showed them out.

"In the lounge," Mother commanded, and we obeyed as if time had stood still. A mother hen again with her chicks. "Meg, go and get your brother."

She returned almost immediately, Lukas following, his face flushed, clenching and unclenching his fists. I remember the gesture from earlier times. He was containing one of his famous tantrums.

The architects had built the L-shaped living room around a corner of the house, splitting it into two halves. Mother led the way into the smaller, more private section. "Come, Lukas."

He suddenly turned on her, angry. "HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME!" he bellowed. "YOU KNEW. YOU BLOODY WELL KNEW."

She patted the sofa next to her. "Sit here ... please." Her voice soft. Reasonable.

Slowly, almost cautiously, he moved towards her and sat down, his arms folded, glowering.

"Let me answer your question, darling," Mother said to him and took his hand in hers. "This has nothing to do with you personally. Your father had no choice. The last few years were very difficult for us. The book market is changing. A new epoch in production and selling of books is breaking over us. Electronic Publishing and digitisation is changing the way we do things. Our readership will change, too. Works with four to five hundred pages will be a thing of the past. The reader's span of concentration is getting smaller. You see the same trend on popular television. It's now spreading to our markets."

Lukas's sullen expression said none of this concerned him.

"Believe me, our situation is critical.”

"I don't understand that,” Lukas objected. “We are still a leader in our fields in Germany and the German-speaking countries.”

“But our sales and market share is on the decline." She looked across at Liz who was in charge of the literary fiction departments "Aren't I right, my dear?"

She nodded. "In some areas sales are down dramatically. And the drift is continuing."

Lukas sneered. “It's just a passing phase. Dad said so. Many of our business partners say so, too. We have suffered rough times before.” He turned to Mother. “We survived and came out of the recession stronger. So what went wrong this time?"

“This is different ...” she began, but he cut her off.

"I have to move with my competitors," he snarled. "If they undercut me, I either lose the business or I have to match their prices and selling conditions." He switched to Liz. "Don't tell me you never do that?"

"Of course," Liz retaliated scornfully, "we're having to compete against the new ways of producing and selling books. The big eight global publishing houses are cornering the markets, buying up the competition. And ebooks are on the march and hurting our prices. EP hasn't touched your areas yet. Non-fiction is still traditional and profitable. But that will change unless we adapt ahead of it. Unless we are ready. Are you?"

"That'll do, Liz," Mother interjected.

"But it's true, dammit," she countered. "Lukas prefers to play the sonny boy with the trade associations, hobnobbing with politicians and lobbyists. Entertaining like money grew on trees ... He was never on the same wavelength as the rest of us. And still isn't."

"Somebody has to do it," he protested angrily. "It took pressure off Dad. He didn't like socialising, as you well know ... Come on, I can't be everywhere at once, can I?" He looked over at Mother. "Was I doing something wrong, Mum?"

"No dear, it's just that ... Oh, damn, this is not what I wanted to talk about. It's too late now for remorse. We can't change the past ... And your father is dead. We can't hold him responsible ..."

An uncomfortable, introspective silence fell over the room. I could hear the eighteenth-century Grandfather clock ticking. As if signalling that time was running out.

As I sat in my chair, watching this pathetic piece of theatre unroll, my mind wandered back to the last time I had seen my father alive. In the hospital. Shortly before his death. And the reason I was sitting here now, listening to all this passing of the buck.

The hospital room was as devoid of comfort as I was of hope for him. It was semi-dark inside although beyond the Venetian blind the sun was trying to shine through. A blue light lit up the instruments and apparatus he was connected to – IVs, heart monitors, oxygen mask. The nurse who had brought me up to his private room stood by the door as if guarding it.

On my previous visit, he had begun to show his seventy-five years, though there were no outward signs of his illness. Now, he looked grey and haggard, but he managed to crack a smile when he saw me.

He told me to take the chair at his bedside. His voice, though, was as strong as ever.

His nurse offered me a refreshment. I asked for mineral water. He sipped his green tea until she returned with a glass of water for me and then sent her away.

"I'm glad you came, Tom," he began after we were alone. "We don't see much of you these days."

"I'm living and working in South Africa, Dad."

"It's a pity you didn't come into the family business ..."

"You know why I didn't."

"And now?"

"I haven't changed my mind."

He took a sip of his tea. "What is your opinion of Lukas?" he asked.

"Why are you asking?" I probed, wondering what he was getting at.

"You know why, Tom. I've never had a deputy, and Lukas was never in the picking ..."

"Dad, we've been through this before. I wasn't meant to become a publisher like you."

"That is nonsense," he bellowed and wound up in a coughing fit.

I grabbed the hand towel lying on the bed cover and wiped up the bloody phlegm he had spat out. There were more traces of blood on the towel. He snatched it away and tucked it under the cover.

"You ... you have everything I never had, Tom. Education, opportunity … And look what I managed to achieve. You could take the firm to heights I could only dream of."

"Let's not go into that again, Dad. I made my decision – and that's it."

"Look, my boy, when you told me you wouldn't enter the business, I was sorely disappointed. You were my chosen successor, you know that. Even if I never said so in so many words. But I accepted your decision although I never agreed with it. You realise that?"

I nodded.

"Nonetheless, I gave you a perfect start in life, including a first-class university education. Now is the time to give back, Tom. I need you. Desperately."

He took a big gulp of his tea, spilling some of it down his front. He smiled at me self-consciously.

"Dad, there are more important things now. You're ill. You can't go on like this. You must rest until you recover."

He shook his head. "Don't you start, Tom. I have enough of this from your mother and your sisters."

I attempted to take a sip of water and realised that my water glass was empty. I'd been drinking without noticing it.

He pressed a bell, and the nurse returned. We waited in silence while she refilled my glass and straightened his bedding. She also replaced the soiled towel.

He shooed her away. After she left, he continued,

"It took me a lifetime to get where we are today," he murmured, his thoughts still in the past, “and now I'm about to leave my work unfinished.”

“That's not true, Dad. You ...”

He raised a protesting hand, and I saw from the hurt in his eyes that he was about to say something unpleasant. I was right. I listened, stunned, as he told me about the difficulties the firm was in, the problems they were facing, the fear that his lifework could wind up as an imprint on some global publisher books list.

This couldn't be true. I didn't want to believe him. But these weren't the mumblings of an old man. But those of a dying man. A desperate man. A man concerned about leaving a firm in ruins behind.

Taking my hand in his, he went on, "I'm not asking for much, Tom. There is still time for you to straighten things out. For me, time has run out. If anybody can rescue my business, you can. And I'll know I have the best man doing it. My eldest son. That would put my mind at rest. Allow me to go in peace."

"Look, Dad …"

"You can do it,” he insisted, his eyes pleading. “I know you can. And I need you."

"But ... But I'm a consultant banker. Not a publisher."

He shook his head. "Most successful publishers came to publishing late in life. More importantly, you have the qualities necessary to succeed in the business. We need objectivity and a person at the head of the firm and family with experience which none of your siblings possesses. Like a strong financial and business background … And being a banker, you know how to manage money. That is the key to success in these times. Not how to sell books.”

He began to cough and took a gulp from his teacup. I took a sip of water. We then sat staring at each other. I wanted to refuse, say no, walk away. But I couldn't. His desperate eyes willed me to do what he considered my duty.

“How bad is it?” I asked, referring to the state of the company.

“Not good, but you can turn it around. I know you can. And I've got nobody else I can trust." He grabbed my hand again and squeezed it tightly. The strength and energy in his grip surprised me. However, the desperation in his eyes and the blood on his lips told me a different story. That he would soon be dead.

At that moment, I knew I couldn't bring myself to refuse a dying man his last wish. Even if it meant I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.

Lukas's sarcastic tone jerked me back to the present.

"So you think bringing a man like Tom in now will help, eh?" he spat out, breaking the silence, fixing Mother. "An outsider. He doesn't know our business. s**t, I doubt whether he ever reads books."

"What was the last book you read, brother dear?" Liz mocked.

"Now listen ..." he began aggressively, then caught himself. "Maybe I'm not a bookworm like you. I lead my people from the front. I'm out there ..."

"That's enough, both of you," Mother said and turned to me. "Well, Thomas, I expect this discussion will be a good introduction to your new responsibilities."

I was about to reply but didn't get the chance.

"Bloody hell, why him?" Lukas growled.

He just couldn't let go.

Mother replied as if I weren't there. And in a way, I wasn't. I had moved over to the window and stood with my back to the light. Invisible.

"Your father decided to recall Tom only a few weeks before his death,” she said, her voice pointed. “Once he knew the full extent of the firm's problems.”

Lukas shook his head at me. "I don't buy that. Jesus Christ, how can Tom achieve anything? He has no connections. No network."

Liz groaned theatrically. "None of that helped us much in the recent past, did it?"

"Rubbish, it's the heart of the business," he grumbled. "Mark my words, we'll be bankrupt before he knows how to organise a book promotion."

Mother shook her head as if at an obstinate child. Lukas turned back to me, sneering. "So, and you are this Superman, right?"

I continued to say nothing, but all eyes were on me.

"You knew of his intentions, didn't you?" he snarled at me. "What tricks did you use to get Dad to appoint you in his place? Or," he said, turning to Liz, "did you do some arm twisting? You were always his favourite."

"Think about what you're saying, Lukas," she warned him. "And don't overlook, it must say something about you if he chose to confide in me and not you."

Bang, that shut him up. He returned to sulking.

But before anyone could react I moved closer to the group, walking purposefully, and stopped close to him. He cringed in his chair. I was head and shoulders taller than him and, standing so near, I must have seemed like a giant. With intent, of course. I hadn't been around the corridors of power in a global bank without learning something about posturing.

"Listen, nobody twisted anybody's arm. Dad chose me of his own free will. The firm is in a serious way. He had neither the time left nor the energy to make radical changes. He asked me for help. I knew I could help. Had to help. And I agreed to take a Sabbath from my present employer and do what I could."

Lukas's eyes lit up. "Er ... Hey, are you saying you'll leave again afterwards? Go back to South Africa."

"Perhaps."

"Is any of this in writing?" he said to Mother, almost in an accusing tone.

"That is no concern of his," I snapped. "Our understanding was between Dad, you and me."

"Aha. That means you can fire him if he messes up, right?" Lukas declared, eyeing her.

"I don't intend to mess up," I shot back. "I'm here to do a job, and do it I will." I felt like Mark Anthony on the Senate steps. But I was trying to keep my cool, not to allow him to gain points by taunting me.

His eyes narrowed. "To me, you were taking advantage of a dying man. A man mentally unsound." He sprang to his feet, standing close, glaring. "Well, for my part, I plan to contest the will. It was the work of an insane man. Or," he grinned fiendishly. "Or the work of backstabbers."

Mother was suddenly on her feet. "Lukas, you will apologise to Thomas immediately. And to the others in this room."

"The hell I will. Let him defend himself in court."

Liz jumped up, too, her fists clenched. "You are despicable," she hissed. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Tom is here to help."

Lukas's breathing became jerky. "You all have robbed me of my birthright, yes you have," he cried. "I'll see you pay for it."

He stomped out of the room.

This was more like what I had expected from him. Disappointment. But I didn't reckon with the hatred bottled up inside him. Hatred for me.