"It's not for sale at that price, you say. It isn't negotiable!" Xavier grounded at Mr. Smith who could only keep his eyes down as his master exploded on him. "Tell one of our managers to set up a meeting with him and I will personally attend it. Although I heavily dislike the man, I ought to put him in place."
Looking over from the dining table, Oscar sighed to see his brother pacing back and forth so angrily. He tried to focus on his meal but with Xavier being buried so deep into a matter early in the morning, it was hard for him to even have an appetite for it anymore. It had only been half a day since the two of them had gotten back from the last business trip but once again it felt like they had barely any time for themselves. Here they were, and he was once again being pulled into his whole business world.
A decade ago, Xavier was obligated to take over the family business because in the wake of the tuberculosis plague, both of their parents had passed away. Oscar was thirteen and Antonia, the eldest of them all, had only just gotten married. In becoming head of the house, Xavier made it clear that no matter how things got between them, they were to stick together and uphold their family name as their parents would have wanted.
He was determined to raise his sibling just like his parents had raised him and his sister and felt responsible for every action any of them portrayed. In addition to educating himself and Oscar, Xavier was mentored by Mr. Smith to learn the tricks of the trade.
The young Xavier did not expect to be in a position of power, but had great expectations to live up to. Their father was a hard-working man but, unlike him, he was not ruthless, and the factory never reached its full potential. In Xavier's hands, the business thrived and, whilst he had no children to look after, he enjoyed making money. Unlike most other businessmen, travel didn't interest him much and he was somewhat consumed with gaining power in a male dominated industry.
The Hendrixes owned several factories in the East of England, mostly focused on communication and mass productions. They had a large network, hence, a large distribution. As their manufacturing companies grew, they organised themselves along lines similar to the communication business– railroads. More corporations were formed to build bigger factories and equip them with state-of-the-art machinery.
Professional managers were hired to operate departments, each of which employed hundreds if not thousands of workers, dedicated to purchasing, manufacturing, repair, shipping, sales, and accounting. General managers and their staff made sure that the various departments worked together in harmony, thus guaranteeing the steady flow of finished products to the public.
In this endeavour they were greatly aided by the railroads, which speedily delivered raw materials and finished goods, and modern communications, which eliminated delay in placing, processing, and delivering orders making the Hendrix brand one of the bests out there.
Sometimes Oscar truly hated his brother for not being able to forget a call for once, but it didn't take him long to rethink and understand that it was his way of things. Without him, they wouldn't be able to enjoy the luxurious quality of life they had started to get used to. Hearing him sigh, Oscar understood that just like him, Xavier was tired of his own work.
"Allow me to close the deal, brother," Oscar spoke up, cutting off Xavier's rant about their newest business plan. With the expansion of the Hendrix enterprise, Oscar knew his brother needed aid with the family business and he was old enough to start taking matters into his own hands. He was tired of sitting on the sidelines with the excuse being he was too young.
"Absolutely not," Mr. Smith pointed at him, recovering from the interruption quickly and immediately switching to scolding him, "you're absolutely not going."
Xavier ambled towards the window and leaned against the frame. A few large, white clouds lingered in the pale, washed out blue of the sky. He glanced at the clock– fifteen minutes to seven.
"I don't see why not," Xavier cut in, turning to look at his younger brother. "Oscar knows the trade just as well as I do. I'm sure they would not mind if he took over for just a day. He too shall learn by experience. You have taught him well, yes, Mr. Smith?"
The two brothers had teamed up against Mr. Smith. The elderly man sighed in defeat and nodded, "I'll send a notice immediately." He scurried away, leaving the siblings alone. It was Oscar who looked at him.
"There he is again, standing by the window, feeding his fitoor," he teased in mock disdain.
Xavier snapped his attention to his brother. "What?" he asked.
His younger brother was well-versed in seven languages– English, French, Mandarin, Tamil, Spanish, Arabic, and Hindi as well. Oscar wiped the corner of his lips with the napkin. "Fitoor. I believe it means 'obsession' in her language."
Over the past week, that has been the case every day. Xavier would come in at the same time around half past six, and once he had finished eating, he would stand by the windowsill and wait for her arrival from the same far distance. As it happened, her morning routine included sitting on the family boat by the lake and occasionally even playing chess if she felt like it. The fact that she always checked around first before taking a seat confirmed her lack of knowledge about the boat's owner. Today, like any of the other days, she would come out and do the exact same.
The first few days, their houseboy, Gabriel, would ask if he needed to send her away knowing how immensely Xavier felt aversion towards those who even went near the boat but the aristocrat would spurn, with the reason being that he wished to see the look on her face as he caught her red-handed.
"I do not have an obsession with her, if that's what you're implying," he defended.
"That's exactly what I'm implying," Oscar smiled, before divulging his breakfast.
Xavier glanced outside the window again.
And there she was.
The young lady walked over to the boat. The breeze gently played with the white dress that adorned her figure, giving it the same pulse as the ripples on the lake. As always, she carried a sketchbook and pencil in her hand. In the wash of the new light, her face took on the appearance of an old photograph, one of nostalgia. He watched as it brought her skin into focus, not yet animated with the warmth of who she was.
Aditi Veer.
The grace to his guilty pleasure.
YOU ARE READING
Fitoor: The Obsession
Lãng mạnBeing a wife at mere twelve, it was hard for Aditi Veer to imagine a life of freedom. When her husband died a few years later, it was as if the gates had sprung wide open for her to conquer the world; one canvas at a time. She paints her way to bein...
