Be Careful What You Wish For

16

SEBASTIAN OPENED the door to allow Mr Morita and his two colleagues to enter the chairman’s office.

As he walked across to greet them, Cedric felt tall for the first time in his life. He was just about to bow when Mr Morita thrust out his hand.

‘I’m delighted to meet you,’ said Cedric, shaking hands while preparing to bow a second time, but Morita turned and said, ‘May I introduce my managing director, Mr Ueyama.’ He stepped forward and also shook hands with Cedric. The chairman would have shaken hands with Mr Ono too, if he hadn’t been clutching a large box in both hands.

‘Do have a seat,’ said Cedric, trying to get back on script.

‘Thank you,’ said Morita. ‘But first, it is an honourable Japanese tradition to exchange gifts with a new friend.’ The private secretary stepped forward and handed the box to Mr Morita, who passed it to Cedric.

‘How very kind of you,’ said Cedric, looking faintly embarrassed as all three of his visitors remained standing, clearly waiting for him to open the gift.

He took his time, first removing the blue ribbon, so carefully tied in a bow, and then the gold paper, as he tried to think of something he could give Morita in return. Would he have to sacrifice his Henry Moore? He glanced at Sebastian, more in hope than expectation, but he was looking equally embarrassed. The traditional exchange of gifts must have been covered in one of the few lessons he’d missed.

Cedric removed the lid from the box, and gasped as he gently lifted out a beautiful, delicate vase of turquoise and black. Sebastian, standing at the back of the room, took a pace forward, but said nothing.

‘Magnificent,’ said Cedric. He removed a bowl of flowers from his desk and put the exquisite oval vase in its place. ‘Whenever you come to my office in future, Mr Morita, you will always find your vase on my desk.’

‘I am greatly honoured,’ said Morita, bowing for the first time.

Sebastian took another step forward, until he was only a foot away from Mr Morita. He turned to face the chairman.

‘Do I have your permission to ask our honoured guest a question, sir?’

‘Of course,’ said Cedric, hoping he was about to be rescued.

‘May I be allowed to know the name of the potter, Morita San?’

Mr Morita smiled. ‘Shoji Hamada,’ he replied.

‘It is a great honour to receive a gift crafted by one of your nation’s living national treasures. Had the chairman known, he would have offered a similar gift by one of our finest English potters, who has written a book on Mr Hamada’s work.’ All the endless hours of chatter with Jessica were finally proving useful.

‘Mr Bernard Leach,’ said Morita. ‘I am fortunate enough to have three of his pieces in my collection.’

‘However, our gift, selected by my chairman, although not as worthy, is nevertheless given in the same spirit of friendship.’

Cedric smiled. He couldn’t wait to find out what his gift was.

‘The chairman has obtained three tickets for tonight’s performance of My Fair Lady at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. With your permission, I will collect you from your hotel at seven o’clock, and escort you to the theatre, where the curtain rises at seven thirty.’

‘One cannot think of a more agreeable gift,’ said Mr Morita. Turning to Cedric, he added, ‘I am humbled by your thoughtful generosity.’

Cedric bowed, but realized this wasn’t the time to let Sebastian know that he’d already called the theatre, only to be told it was sold out for the next fortnight. A languid voice had informed him, ‘You can always join the queue for returns,’ which was exactly what Sebastian would be doing for the rest of the day.

‘Do have a seat, Mr Morita,’ said Cedric, trying to recover. ‘Perhaps you would like some tea?’

‘No, thank you, but, if possible, a cup of coffee.’

Cedric thought ruefully about the six different blends of tea from India, Ceylon and Malaya he’d selected at Carwardine’s earlier in the week, which had all been rejected in a sentence. He pressed a button on his phone, and prayed that his secretary drank coffee.

‘Some coffee, please, Miss Clough. I do hope you had a pleasant flight,’ he said after he’d put the phone back down.

‘Too many stopovers, I fear. I look forward to the day when you can fly from Tokyo to London non-stop.’

‘What a thought,’ said Cedric. ‘And I hope your hotel is comfortable?’

‘I only ever stay at the Savoy. So convenient for the City.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Cedric. Wrong-footed again.

Mr Morita leant forward, looked at the photograph on Cedric’s desk and said, ‘Your wife and son?’

‘Yes,’ said Cedric, unsure if he should elaborate.

‘Wife a milk monitor, son a QC.’

‘Yes,’ said Cedric helplessly.

‘My sons,’ said Morita, removing a wallet from an inside pocket and taking out two photographs, which he placed on the desk in front of Cedric. ‘Hideo and Masao are at school in Tokyo.’

Cedric studied the photographs, and realized the time had come to tear up the script. ‘And your wife?’

‘Mrs Morita was unable to visit England this time, because our young daughter, Naoko, has chicken pox.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Cedric, as there was a gentle tap on the door and Miss Clough entered carrying a tray of coffee and shortbread biscuits. Cedric was about to take his first sip, and was wondering what he could possibly talk about next, when Morita suggested, ‘Perhaps the time has come to discuss business?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Cedric, putting his cup down. He opened a file on his desk and reminded himself of the salient points he’d highlighted the night before. ‘I’d like to say from the outset, Mr Morita, that coupon loans is not the field in which Farthings has made its reputation. However, as we wish to build a long-term relationship with your distinguished company, I hope you will allow us the opportunity to prove ourselves.’ Morita nodded. ‘Remembering that the amount you require is ten million pounds, with a short-term payback coupon of five years, and having studied your most recent cash-flow figures, while assessing the current exchange rate of the yen, we consider a realistic percentage . . .’

Now that he was back on familiar ground, Cedric relaxed for the first time. Forty minutes later, he had presented his ideas and answered every one of Mr Morita’s questions. Sebastian felt his boss couldn’t have done much better.

‘May I suggest you draw up a contract, Mr Hardcastle? I was in no doubt that you were the right man for this job long before I left Tokyo. After your presentation, I am even more convinced. I do have appointments with two other banks, but that is simply to assure my shareholders that I am considering alternatives. Take care of the rin, and the yen will take care of themselves.’

Both men laughed.

‘If you are free,’ said Cedric, ‘perhaps you would care to join me for lunch? A Japanese restaurant has recently opened in the City, and has received excellent reviews, so I thought—’

‘And you can think again, Mr Hardcastle, because I didn’t travel six thousand miles in search of a Japanese restaurant. No, I will take you to Rules, and we will enjoy roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, appropriate for a man from Huddersfield, I think.’ Both men burst out laughing again.

When they left the office a few minutes later, Cedric held back and whispered in Sebastian’s ear, ‘Good thinking, but as there are no tickets available for tonight’s performance of My Fair Lady, you’re going to have to spend the rest of the day in the returns queue. Just let’s hope it doesn’t rain, or you’ll be soaked again,’ he added before joining Mr Morita in the corridor.

Sebastian bowed low as Cedric and his guests stepped into the lift and disappeared down to the ground floor. He hung around on the fifth floor for a few more minutes but didn’t call for the lift until he felt certain they would be well on their way to the restaurant.

Once Sebastian had left the bank, he hailed a taxi. ‘Theatre Royal, Drury Lane,’ he said, and when they pulled up outside the theatre twenty minutes later, the first thing he noticed was just how long the queue for returns was. He paid the cabbie, strolled into the theatre and went straight up to the box office.

‘I don’t suppose you have three tickets for tonight?’ he pleaded.

‘You suppose correctly, my dear,’ said the woman sitting in the booth. ‘You could of course join the returns queue, but frankly not many of them will get in before Christmas. Someone has to die before this show gets returns.’

‘I don’t care what it costs.’

‘That’s what they all say, dear. We’ve got people in the queue who claim it’s their twenty-first birthday, their fiftieth wedding anniversary . . . one of them was so desperate he proposed to me.’

Sebastian walked out of the theatre and stood on the pavement. He took one more look at the queue, which seemed to have grown even longer in the past few minutes, and tried to work out what he could possibly do next. He then recalled something he’d once read in one of his father’s novels. He decided he would try to find out if it would work for him as well as it had for William Warwick.

He jogged down the hill towards the Strand, dodging in and out of the afternoon traffic, arriving back in Savoy Place a few minutes later. He went straight to the front desk and asked the receptionist for the name of the head porter.

‘Albert Southgate,’ she replied.

Sebastian thanked her and strolled across to the concierge’s desk, as if he were a guest.

‘Is Albert around?’ he asked the porter.

‘I think he’s gone to lunch, sir, but I’ll just check.’ The man disappeared into a back room.

‘Bert, there’s a gentleman asking for you.’

Sebastian didn’t have long to wait before an older man appeared in a long blue coat adorned with gold braid on the cuffs, shiny gold buttons and two rows of campaign medals, one of which he recognized. He gave Sebastian a wary look, and asked, ‘How can I help you?’

‘I have a problem,’ said Sebastian, still wondering if he could risk it. ‘My uncle, Sir Giles Barrington, once told me that if I was ever staying at the Savoy and needed anything, to have a word with Albert.’

‘The gentleman what won the MC at Tobruk?’

‘Yes,’ said Sebastian, taken by surprise.

‘Not many survived that one. Nasty business. How can I help?’

‘Sir Giles needs three tickets for My Fair Lady.’

‘When?’

‘Tonight.’

‘You must be joking.’

‘And he doesn’t care what it costs.’

‘Hang about. I’ll see what I can do.’

Sebastian watched as Albert marched out of the hotel, crossed the road and disappeared in the direction of the Theatre Royal. He paced up and down the foyer, occasionally looking anxiously out on to the Strand, but it was another half an hour before the head porter reappeared, clutching an envelope. He walked back into the hotel and handed the envelope to Sebastian.

‘Three house seats, row F, centre stalls.’

‘Fantastic. How much do I owe you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Sebastian.

‘Box office manager asked to be remembered to Sir Giles – his brother, Sergeant Harris, was killed at Tobruk.’

Sebastian felt ashamed.

‘Well done, Seb, you saved the day. Now the only task you have left today is to make sure the Daimler remains outside the Savoy until we know Mr Morita and his colleagues are safely tucked up in bed.’

‘But it’s only a couple of hundred yards from the hotel to the theatre.’

‘That can be a long way if it’s raining, as your brief encounter with Professor Marsh’s wife should have taught you. Besides, if we don’t make the effort, you can be sure someone else will.’

Sebastian got out of the car and entered the Savoy at 6.30 p.m. He walked across to the lift and waited patiently. Just after seven, Mr Morita and his two colleagues appeared. Sebastian bowed low and handed them an envelope containing three tickets.

‘Thank you, young man,’ said Mr Morita. They made their way across the foyer, through the swing doors and out of the hotel.

‘The chairman’s car will take you to the Theatre Royal,’ said Sebastian as Tom opened the back door of the Daimler.

‘No, thank you,’ said Morita, ‘the walk will do us good.’ Without another word, the three men set off in the direction of the theatre. Sebastian bowed low once again, before joining Tom in the front of the car.

‘Why don’t you go home?’ said Tom. ‘No need to hang about, and if it starts to rain, I’ll drive up to the theatre and pick them up.’

‘But they might want to go to dinner after the show, or to a nightclub. Do you know any nightclubs?’

‘Depends what they’re lookin’ for.’

‘Not that, I suspect. But either way, I’m staying put until, to quote Mr Hardcastle, they’re safely tucked up in bed.’

It didn’t rain, not a drop, and by ten o’clock Sebastian knew everything there was to know about Tom’s life, including where he’d been to school, where he’d been billeted during the war and where he’d worked before becoming Mr Hardcastle’s chauffeur. Tom was chatting about his wife wanting to go to Marbella on their next holiday, when Sebastian said, ‘Oh my God,’ and slithered down the seat and out of sight as two smartly dressed men walked past the front of the car and strode into the hotel.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Avoiding someone I’d hoped never to see again.’

‘Looks as if the curtain’s come down,’ said Tom, as hordes of chattering theatregoers began to pour out on to the Strand. A few minutes later, Sebastian spotted his three charges making their way back to the hotel. Just before Mr Morita reached the entrance, Sebastian got out of the car and bowed low.

‘I hope you enjoyed the show, Morita San.’

‘Couldn’t have been better,’ Morita responded. ‘I haven’t laughed so much in years, and the music was wonderful. I will thank Mr Hardcastle personally when I see him tomorrow morning. Please go home, Mr Clifton, because I won’t need the car again tonight. Sorry to have kept you up.’

‘My pleasure, Morita San,’ said Sebastian. He remained on the pavement, and watched the three of them enter the hotel, cross the foyer and head towards the bank of lifts. His heart began to beat faster when he saw two men step forward, bow and then shake hands with Mr Morita. Sebastian remained rooted to the spot. The two men spoke to Morita for a few moments. He then dismissed his colleagues and accompanied the two men into the American Bar. Sebastian wanted desperately to go into the hotel and take a closer look, but he knew he couldn’t risk it. Instead, he reluctantly slipped back into the car.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Tom. ‘You’re as white as a sheet.’

‘What time does Mr Hardcastle go to bed?’

‘Eleven, eleven thirty, depends. But you can always tell if he’s still up, because his study light will be on.’

Sebastian checked his watch. 10.43 p.m. ‘Then let’s go and find out if he’s still awake.’

Tom drove out on to the Strand, crossed Trafalgar Square, continued on down the Mall to Hyde Park Corner, and arrived outside 37 Cadogan Place just after eleven. The study light was still burning. No doubt the chairman was triple-checking the contract he was anticipating the Japanese would be signing in the morning.

Sebastian got slowly out of the car, climbed the steps and rang the front door bell. A few moments later the hall light went on and Cedric opened the door.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you at this late hour, chairman, but we’ve got a problem.’