The bruiser who fought his way back

History will regard Gerald Ronson as the man who withstood the humiliation of a high-profile trial and conviction, took his punishment without flinching, and returned quietly to his métier of making millions. Speaking from the comfort of his boardroom at Heron, his family’s property empire, the 70-year-old tycoon says, ‘Did I get a black eye, yes; did I take it, yes; and did I come back better than anyone else in the Guinness case? Yes.’

The circumstances were very different when I first met Ronson. This was in 1990, between sessions at Southwark Crown Court. We happened to be travelling in the same lift, he to meet his lawyers, me to file a story. His burly frame was pressed into an ill- fitting suit. He stared fixedly into the distance. He did not speak, nor move, nor make eye contact. He was a haunted man. Shortly afterwards he would be convicted of fraud.

The Guinness trial was a cause célèbre that hogged the headlines in a manner not dissimilar to today’s political expenses row. Ronson was one of the country’s most prominent businessmen. The Guinness trial was used to show that the Thatcher government could be tough on new-rich entrepreneurs of his ilk if they crossed the line of propriety. Ronson says, ‘I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn’t do anything that was dishonest, I wouldn’t have been able to rebuild my reputation and be where I am today if people thought I was dishonest. I am black and white. With me, what you see is what you get. I am very upfront about things.’

This very private operator had wheeled and dealed a fortune out of modern Britain. In his early days he introduced Britain’s first self-service petrol stations, touring them in his Rolls-Royce on Saturday mornings to make sure they were up to scratch.