Conversations With Mr. Prain by Joan Taylor Page B

the response. “I am a fortunate man to have a career ready-made and waiting for me, and one that suits my temperament. I’ve taken Coymans from being a cosy little outfit with a staff of twenty-seven to the firm it is today. It’s been challenging, stimulating, rewarding and I have no regrets.”
    “But supposing you had the choice back when—”
    “I would have chosen to be a publisher. At any rate, in some respects I did have a choice. I mean, I could have sold out years ago. At one stage it was either that or modernise.Coymans was a small fish against the conglomerates, and we had to take the risk and expand, go for a more commercial image, or else we were liable to be consumed by bigger fry. We’re still in danger, as I said. The threat of becoming just another imprint is perennial.”
    “But you’ve gobbled up small publishers yourself, haven’t you? There was Abracadabra and—”
    “They asked us. They couldn’t survive. Airy-fairy ideas about pleasing the literati are not going to ensure a sound economic basis for your business when there isn’t a bread-and-butter product as well. You need to understand the whims of the average reader.”
    “And then the average reader dictates what you publish.”
    He shook his head. “As I said earlier, not necessarily. But Coymans is still not large enough and secure enough to resist the whales: Harper Collins, Penguin, Random House, Hachette. They’ve made offers.”
    “So you could have sold out and retired.”
    “Quite. But instead I’ve played the game and built up Coymans to withstand attack, as much as possible. My grandfather did well enough from publishing, but my father didn’t put much into the firm and there were hardly any profits to speak of. I sometimes wonder if it was more of a hobby to him than a business, but he was a sentimental man, and he hoped I might do something to restore its credibility.”
    “I gather your family didn’t make its money, originally, from books.”
    “Good Lord, no.” He genuinely scoffed at the suggestion.
    “From what, then?”
    He smiled, sardonic. “Tea.”
    “Your ancestors were tea importers?”
    “My ancestors brought tea from India. They were Dutch, but settled in England with the entourage of William of Orange. All those portraits I showed you downstairs—they were Kooijmans.” He pronounced the name in what I presumed to be a Dutch accent. “They anglicised it to Coymans. They were all tea people, but then they became landed gentry, I suppose, and land and horses were ever since the foundations of the family. My grandmother was the only heiress to all and she married, out of love, George Gordon Prain, a marriage a touch beneath her. My grandfather liked books, and set up Coymans. He spent the next thirty-five years working tirelessly in publishing, and left all the concerns of hearth and home to my grandmother. When my father took over, I think he saw himself as a bridge between my grandfather and me.”
    “And what will happen after you? Don’t you feel you have to produce an heir?”
    He smiled. “You make me sound like the King of England.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry.” I had said what had entered my head.
    “No, I don’t mind answering. Quite frankly, the firm has a life of its own. Someone will take over, someone else who loves the business. I wouldn’t want a son just to march in my footsteps, poor fellow.”
    “But what about all this?” I looked around, indicating the house, contents, grounds, and whatever fortune I had yet to hear about.
    “If I don’t have a child, it’ll go to my niece and nephew. Death duty will take some of it anyway. Or perhaps I’ll give everything to the Arts and become a knight in the process. That would be rather interesting.”
    “You could still marry,” I said.
    He threw me a glance that seemed impenetrable and slightly hostile. Had he no faith in love? I felt uneasy, because in that glance I detected there was recrimination against me. You do find me