North-western Tasmania.
Beside the Arthur River that cuts through the north-western Tasmanian wilderness, a few simple log cabins stand where the vast farmland meets the dense forest. Simon and Janette have been staying here the past few days.
Of course, they weren't alone; plenty of staff were with them.
The kidnapping of the Heineken president six years ago had shocked the world and made every tycoon far more cautious about security. Simon, who had never felt truly safe, was no exception. Having lived two lives, he knew too well how much unexpected malice the world could hold.
The cabins had been built when Simon first bought the surrounding farm and woodland. He would have preferred solid brick or stone, but that would have jarred with the pristine wilderness, so he settled for wood.
Many rich men claim that past a certain point money is just numbers; Simon found the remark precious.
More money buys greater freedom to enjoy every resource society offers. The gulf between a millionaire and a billionaire is astronomical.
Under Janette's strict supervision Simon had left all work behind, and for the past few days the two of them had enjoyed, on this backward island at the end of the world, luxuries normally found only at the planet's top resorts.
While the northern hemisphere was still in deep winter, New York had just been hit by a blizzard, Australia was in high summer. Tasmania's mild maritime climate kept the island free of summer heat; it was a perfect refuge from the warmth.
Their retreat lay less than thirty kilometres from the sea. They had rafted down the Arthur, spent a day on the Johnston Family yacht, then led a party along the river to search for platypus.
They actually caught one, but no one knew how to cook it, so they let it go.
On the last day of February Simon and Janette took a helicopter to a vineyard in central Tasmania.
Tasmania is an excellent wine region; only its remoteness keeps it from rivalling Europe's great wine industries.
Janette had meant to buy a château in Europe but found nothing suitable, so she carved out a twenty-hectare vineyard here instead, transplanting top-grade Pinot Noir vines from France.
The grapes were almost ready; though harvesting would wait another month, Simon and Janette tried every step from picking to pressing.
Sophia Fessey had flown in from Europe a few days earlier, worried by Simon's recent collapse and by Gucci business. Janette had kept her in Melbourne until today's winery visit, when she was summoned as adviser.
The three spent the whole day at the vineyard and flew back to their north-west retreat at dusk.
After landing they walked toward the cabins. Sophia was still talking wine: "Tasmanian wines are unique; with the right marketing they could become a strong brand. Unfortunately, viticulture and winemaking here lag far behind Europe. Climate matters, but technique is crucial".
"If you think it's worth a shot, try it", Simon said, walking between the two women. "But no top winemaker will live this far out, the whole island has only a few hundred thousand people".
Before Sophia could answer Janette cut in: "Sophia, I've only just dragged Simon away from work. Let's not talk shop".
"All right", Curious, she asked, "By the way, what really happened the other day?"
Janette flushed and looked away.
Simon smiled. "Nothing, just tired".
At the cabin door the chef who had come along asked what everyone wanted for dinner; fresh seafood had just been flown in from Melbourne.
Simon left the choice to Janette and went inside.
After the long day he wanted only a shower.
The cabin had two floors; outside it looked rough and some logs were sprouting shoots, but inside it was refined and fully equipped.
Simon showered upstairs, changed, and came down refreshed.
The living room was empty; sounds came from the kitchen. He found Sophia making coffee. After a day in the fields she still looked immaculate in her customary business suit, as though she had spent the day at a desk.
Janette could still be girlish; Sophia's age, figure and manner radiated a quietly lethal, mature charm.
Leaning in the doorway, Simon admired her shapely silhouette and felt desire stir.
Probably because Janette had kept him celibate the past few days.
She blamed herself for tiring him into collapse that night and had barred further intimacies.
Women sense male attention; Sophia endured it a moment, then turned, cheeks faintly pink. "Boss, don't you think staring is rather rude?"
Though she had hinted she wouldn't mind something happening, she had always thought Simon barely noticed her. Now she felt something almost dangerous.
The young man in the doorway was fighting the urge to shove her against the counter, roughly.
Simon barely heard her; his gaze remained frank. Outside, Janette's laugh with a staff member broke the charged moment.
His eyes cleared. He pointed at the pot. "Ready?"
Sensing his sudden retreat, Sophia felt an odd disappointment. She nodded. "Yes".
"One cup, no sugar".
He turned back to the living room.
Sophia stood still, then took a cup, poured, and on impulse dropped in a sugar cube. Regretting it, she poured a second cup and carried both out.
Simon lay sprawled across the living-room sofa, propped against a cushion, turning the pages of a book.
Sophia set a cup of coffee on the side table beside him and settled into a single armchair opposite, glancing at the volume in his hands, Walden. She dimly recalled it was a celebrated collection of essays, though she'd never read it herself.
She was still casting about for something to say when Simon spoke. "You could go upstairs and take a shower".
Instinctively Sophia shook her head. "No, that's all right".
The thought flashed through her mind: what if you barge in?
"Then tell me about Gucci".
A short while earlier Sophia had secured 63 % of Gucci for a total outlay of $170 million.
Simon would have preferred to buy the house outright; with his resources, raising the extra cash would have been effortless. Yet although the family had already agreed to surrender absolute control, most of them clearly hoped to keep a stake so they could share in any future rebound.
Sophia glanced toward the doorway. "Jenny just said we weren't supposed to talk business".
Simon turned a page lazily. "You have to understand, forcing a heavy smoker to quit overnight does more harm than good".
Sophia found the analogy amusing, smiled, and let the subject drop. "Things are… messy".
"Oh?"
"Gucci's problems are worse than I thought, chaotic finances, over-licensing, brand dilution. Maurizio Gucci, Paolo Gucci and the rest are regulars on the gossip pages; the heirs are a disaster. If we want to rebuild the brand, the family itself is a major obstacle".
"Hardly surprising. Gucci has a pedigree to match Dior or LV. Both of those brands are already worth over a billion. If Gucci's troubles weren't so deep, we couldn't have grabbed this stake at a sub-$300 million valuation". Simon glanced sideways. "Don't tell me you've no idea what to do next?"
Sophia avoided his gaze for a second, then met it. "I need money—at least twenty million".
"Reason?"
"I had a $176 million in ready funds. $170 million went to buy the shares, leaving barely $6 million. Gucci is badly wounded. I plan to prune the lines, but some products, once axed, are almost impossible to revive; we'll keep them even at a loss. That takes cash. Then there's Maurizio, he lived like a king, hollowed out the company to fund his lifestyle, and left hidden debts. Most can be worked off over time, but some have to be cleared at once".
Simon nodded. "Details. All I want to know is: what's your next move?"
"While keeping the core lines running, I'll start with the fashion division, womenswear in particular. Once that pulses back to life, the rest of the brand will follow. I've shortlisted several creative directors; I'll meet them as soon as we leave Melbourne".
"And signing them still takes money, right?"
"Exactly. Right now top designers are wary of Gucci; to land them we have to show muscle".
"What else?"
"Once the new creative director is in place, I'll focus on the autumn fashion weeks. That will be Gucci's relaunch. I'll want media backing from Daenerys Entertainment".
"No problem. I'll mention it to Amy".
"Actually, Simon, after 'Batman' wraps I'd like you to come to Italy and give your thoughts, and if possible shoot an ad campaign for us in the autumn".
Simon shook his head. "I don't know fashion and don't intend to waste energy on it. Sophia, you shouldn't either. Put capable people in charge; you steer the ship. Don't fear having subordinates who outshine you, make sure they do. Once Gucci is healthy I'll pump in more money so you can buy additional brands and turn Melisandre into a full luxury group. If you let yourself be chained to this single label, I'll find someone else to run the company".
"I understand, Simon, but it can't be rushed. I need Gucci to teach me how the whole luxury business works." She paused. "So the money and the campaign?"
Simon offered no guarantees. "You'll get the cash. As for the ads, if I'm free I'll do it; if not, find someone else".
As they spoke, Janette walked in, caught the tail end, and promptly dragged Simon off the sofa. "Dad's sent live Antarctic krill, still jumping!"
Simon let himself be pulled along.
Sophia watched them go, then followed.
The group stayed on Tasmania one more night, rested a full week, and flew back to Melbourne the next day.
'Batman' couldn't stay on hiatus forever. March 1st dawned, a new month, and Simon returned to set.
Janette had meant to fly back to North America after Simon's birthday, but since his collapse she stayed on to run Cersei Capital for him.