Be Careful What You Wish For

30

‘BUT WHY WOULD he want to sell his art collection?’ asked Cedric.

‘He must need the money.’

‘That much is obvious, Seb, but what I can’t work out is why he needs the money.’ Cedric continued to flick through the pages of the catalogue, but was none the wiser by the time he’d reached A Fair at l’Hermitage near Pontoise by Camille Pissarro, illustrated on the back page. ‘Perhaps the time has come to call in a favour.’

‘What do you have in mind?’

‘Who, not what,’ said Cedric. ‘A Mr Stephen Ledbury, the manager of the Midland Bank, St James’s.’

‘What’s so special about him?’ asked Sebastian.

‘He’s Martinez’s bank manager.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘When you’ve sat next to Major Fisher at board meetings for over five years, it’s amazing what you pick up if you’re patient and willing to listen to a lonely man.’ Cedric buzzed through to his secretary. ‘Can you get me Stephen Ledbury at the Midland?’ He turned back to Sebastian. ‘Ever since I discovered he was Martinez’s bank manager I’ve been tossing Ledbury the odd bone. Perhaps the time has come for him to fetch one back.’

The phone on Cedric’s desk rang. ‘Mr Ledbury on line one.’

‘Thank you,’ said Cedric, then waited for the click before pressing the loudspeaker button. ‘Good afternoon, Stephen.’

‘Good afternoon, Cedric. What can I do for you?’

‘I think it’s more what I can do for you, old chap.’

‘Another good tip?’ said Ledbury, sounding hopeful.

‘This is more in the helping-to-cover-your-backside category. I hear that one of your less salubrious clients is putting his entire art collection up for sale at Agnew’s in Bond Street. As the catalogue describes the collection as “the property of a gentleman”, which is a misnomer by any standards, I assume that for some reason he doesn’t want you to find out about it.’

‘What makes you think this particular gentleman has an account at West End central?’

‘I sit next to his representative on the board of Barrington’s Shipping.’

There was a long pause before Ledbury said, ‘Ah, and you say he’s put his entire collection up for sale at Agnew’s?’

‘From Manet to Rodin. I’m looking at the catalogue now, and I find it hard to believe that there can be anything left on his walls at Eaton Square. Would you like me to send the catalogue round to you?’

‘No, don’t bother, Cedric. Agnew’s is only a couple of hundred yards up the road, so I’ll pop over and pick one up myself. It was very good of you to let me know, and it leaves me in your debt once again. If there’s anything I can ever do to repay you . . .’

‘Well, now you mention it, Stephen, there is one small favour I might ask while I’ve got you on the line.’

‘Just name it.’

‘Should your “gentleman” ever decide to dispose of his shares in Barrington’s Shipping, I have a customer who just might be interested.’

There followed a long silence before Ledbury asked, ‘Might that customer possibly be a member of the Barrington or Clifton families?’

‘No, I don’t represent either of them. I think you’ll find they bank with Barclays in Bristol, whereas my client comes from the north of England.’

Another long silence. ‘Where will you be at nine o’clock on Monday the seventeenth of August?’

‘At my desk,’ said Cedric.

‘Good. I might just call you at one minute past nine that morning, and I may be able to repay several of your favours.’

‘That’s good of you, Stephen, but on to more important matters – how’s your golf handicap?’

‘It’s still eleven, but I have a feeling it will be twelve by the beginning of next season. I’m not getting any younger.’

‘None of us are,’ said Cedric. ‘Have a good round at the weekend and I’ll look forward to hearing from you – ’ he checked his calendar – ‘in ten days’ time.’ He pressed the button on the side of his phone and looked across the desk at his youngest associate director. ‘Tell me what you learnt from that, Seb.’

‘That Martinez might well be putting all his Barrington’s shares on the market at nine o’clock on August seventeenth.’

‘Exactly one week before your mother will be chairing the company’s AGM.’

‘Oh hell,’ said Sebastian.

‘I’m glad you’ve worked out what Martinez is up to. But never forget, Seb, that in any conversation, it’s often something that seems quite insignificant at the time that gives you the piece of information you’re looking for. Mr Ledbury kindly supplied me with two such little gems.’

‘What was the first?’

Cedric looked down at his pad and read out, ‘Don’t bother, Cedric, Agnew’s is only a couple of hundred yards up the road, so I’ll pop over and pick one up myself. What does that tell us?’

‘That he didn’t realize Martinez’s collection was up for sale.’

‘Yes, that’s for sure, but more importantly, it tells us that for some reason the fact that it’s up for sale worries him, otherwise he’d have sent a member of his staff to pick up the catalogue, but no, I’ll pick one up myself.’

‘And the second thing?’

‘He asked if the bank represented either the Clifton or the Barrington families.’

‘Why is that significant?’

‘Because if I’d said yes, the conversation would have ended there and then. I’m sure Ledbury has received instructions to put the shares up for sale on the seventeenth, but not to a member of the family.’

‘And why is that so important?’

‘Martinez clearly doesn’t want the family to know what he’s up to. He’s obviously hoping to recoup most of his investment in Barrington’s during the run-up to the AGM, by which time he seems to be confident that the share price will have collapsed without him having lost too much of his own money. If he gets his timing right, every stockbroker will be trying to dump their Barrington’s shares, which will ensure that the AGM is hijacked by journalists wanting to know if the company is facing bankruptcy. In which case, it won’t be the news that the naming of the Buckingham will be carried out by the Queen Mother that will make the front pages the following day.’

‘Can we do anything to prevent that?’ asked Sebastian.

‘Yes, but we’ll have to make sure our timing is even better than Martinez’s.’

‘But something isn’t quite right. If Martinez is likely to get most of his money back on the sale of the shares, why does he also need to sell his art collection?’

‘I agree that is a mystery. And I have a feeling that once we’ve solved it, everything else will fall neatly into place. It’s also just possible that if you ask the young lady who’s taking you to supper tomorrow night the right question, we might be able to fit one or two more pieces of the jigsaw into place. But remember what I’ve just said: an unguarded comment often proves every bit as valuable as a response to a direct question. By the way, what’s the young lady’s name?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Sebastian.

Susan Fisher sat in the fifth row of a packed audience and listened attentively to what Emma Clifton had to say about her life as the chairman of a major shipping company, when she addressed the annual meeting of the Red Maids’ Old Girls’ Association. Although Emma was still a fine-looking woman, Susan saw that little lines had begun to appear around her eyes, and the head of thick black hair that had been the envy of her classmates now needed a little help to retain its natural dark sheen and not reveal the toll grief and stress must surely have taken.

Susan always attended school reunions, and had been particularly looking forward to this one, as she was a great admirer of Emma Barrington, as she remembered her. She had been head girl, had won a place at Oxford and had become the first woman chairman of a public company.

However, one thing puzzled her about Emma’s address. Alex’s resignation letter suggested that the company had made a series of bad decisions and could be facing bankruptcy, whereas Emma gave the impression that as the first booking period for the Buckingham had been an unqualified success, Barrington’s could look forward to a bright future. They couldn’t both be right, and she wasn’t in any doubt who she wanted to believe.

During the reception that was held after the speech, it was impossible to get anywhere near the speaker, who was surrounded by old friends and new admirers. Susan didn’t bother to wait in line, but decided to catch up with some of her contemporaries. Whenever the subject arose, she tried to avoid answering any questions about Alex. After an hour, Susan decided to leave as she’d promised to be back at Burnham-on-Sea in time to cook supper for her mother. She was just leaving the school hall when someone behind her said, ‘Hello, Susan.’ She looked back, surprised to see Emma Clifton walking towards her.

‘I wouldn’t have been able to make that speech if it hadn’t been for you. It was very brave, because I can only imagine what Alex had to say when he got home that afternoon.’

‘I didn’t wait to find out,’ said Susan, ‘because I’d already made up my mind to leave him. And now I know how well the company is doing, I’m even more pleased I supported you.’

‘We’ve still got a testing six months ahead of us,’ admitted Emma, ‘but if we get through that, I’ll feel a lot more confident.’

‘And I’m sure you will,’ said Susan. ‘I’m only sorry that Alex is considering resigning at such an important moment in the company’s history.’

Emma stopped just as she was about to get into the car and turned back to face her. ‘Alex is thinking of resigning?’

‘I assumed you knew about it.’

‘I had no idea,’ said Emma. ‘When did he tell you this?’

‘He didn’t. I just happened to see a letter on his desk tendering his resignation, which surprised me because I know how much he enjoys being on the board. But as the letter was dated August the twenty-first, perhaps he still hasn’t made up his mind.’

‘I’d better have a word with him.’

‘No, please don’t,’ pleaded Susan. ‘I wasn’t meant to see the letter.’

‘Then I won’t say a word. But can you remember the reason he gave?’

‘I can’t recall his exact words, but there was something about his first duty being to the shareholders and that, as a matter of principle, someone had to let them know that the company could be facing bankruptcy. But now I’ve heard your speech, that doesn’t make sense.’

‘When will you be seeing Alex again?’

‘I hope never,’ said Susan.

‘Then can we keep this between ourselves?’

‘Yes, please. I wouldn’t want him to find out that I’d talked to you about the letter.’

‘Neither would I,’ said Emma.

‘Where will you be at nine a.m. on Monday the seventeenth?’

‘Where you’ll find me at nine o’clock every morning, keeping an eye on the two thousand jars of fish paste as they come off the line every hour. But where would you like me to be?’

‘Close to a phone, because I’ll be calling to advise you to make a substantial investment in a shipping company.’

‘So your little plan is falling into place.’

‘Not quite yet,’ replied Cedric. ‘There’s still some fine-tuning to be done, and even then I’ll need to get my timing spot on.’

‘If you do, will Lady Virginia be angry?’

‘She’ll be absolutely livid, my darling.’

Bingham laughed. ‘Then I’ll be standing by the phone at one minute to nine on Monday,’ he checked his diary, ‘the seventeenth of August.’

‘Did you pick the cheapest thing on the menu because I’m paying the bill?’

‘No, of course not,’ said Sebastian. ‘Tomato soup and a lettuce leaf have always been my favourites.’

‘Then let me try and guess what your second favourites might be,’ said Samantha, looking up at the waiter. ‘We’ll both have the San Daniele with melon followed by two steaks.’

‘How would you like your steak, madam?’

‘Medium rare, please.’

‘And you, sir?’

‘How would I like my steak done, madam?’ Sebastian mimicked, smiling across at her.

‘He’s also medium rare.’

‘So—’

‘How—’

‘No, you first,’ she said.

‘So what brings an American girl to London?’

‘My father’s in the diplomatic service, and he’s recently been posted here, so I thought it would be fun to spend a year in London.’

‘And your mother, what does she do, Samantha?’

‘Sam, everyone except my mother calls me Sam. My father was hoping for a boy.’

‘Well, he failed spectacularly.’

‘You’re such a flirt.’

‘And your mother?’ Sebastian repeated.

‘She’s old-fashioned, just takes care of my father.’

‘I’m looking for someone like that.’

‘I wish you luck.’

‘Why an art gallery?’

‘I studied art history at Georgetown, and then decided to take a year off.’

‘So what do you plan to do next?’

‘I start work on my PhD in September.’

‘What’s the subject going to be?’

‘Rubens: Artist or Diplomat?’

‘Wasn’t he both?’

‘You’re going to have to wait a couple of years to find out.’

‘Which university?’ said Sebastian, hoping she wouldn’t be returning to America in a few weeks’ time.

‘London or Princeton. I’ve been offered a place at both but haven’t made my mind up yet. And you?’

‘I haven’t been offered a place at either.’

‘No, stupid, what do you do?’

‘I joined the bank after taking a year off,’ he said as the waiter returned and placed two plates of ham and melon in front of them.

‘So you didn’t go to university?’

‘It’s a long story,’ said Sebastian. ‘Another time perhaps,’ he added as he waited for her to pick up her knife and fork.

‘Ah, so you’re confident there’ll be another time.’

‘Absolutely. I’ve got to come in to the gallery on Thursday to pick up Jess’s paintings, and the following Monday you’ve invited me to the opening of the unknown gentleman’s art collection. Or do we now know who he is?’

‘No, only Mr Agnew knows that. All I can tell you is that he’s not coming to the opening.’

‘He clearly doesn’t want anyone to find out who he is.’

‘Or where he is,’ said Sam. ‘We can’t even contact him to let him know how the opening went, because he’ll be away for a few days, shooting in Scotland.’

‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ said Sebastian, as their empty plates were whisked away.

‘So what does your father do?’

‘He’s a storyteller.’

‘Aren’t most men?’

‘Yes, but he gets paid for it.’

‘Then he must be very successful.’

‘Number one on the New York Times bestseller list,’ said Sebastian proudly.

‘Harry Clifton, of course!’

‘You’ve read my father’s books?’

‘No, I must confess I haven’t, but my mother devours them. In fact, I gave her William Warwick and the Double-edged Sword for Christmas,’ she said as two steaks were placed in front of them. ‘Damn,’ she added. ‘I forgot to order any wine.’

‘Water is just fine,’ said Sebastian.

Sam ignored him. ‘Half a bottle of Fleurie,’ she said to the waiter.

‘You’re so bossy.’

‘Why is a woman always described as bossy, when if a man did the same thing he’d be thought of as decisive, commanding, and displaying qualities of leadership?’

‘You’re a feminist!’

‘And why shouldn’t I be,’ said Samantha, ‘after what you lot have been up to for the past thousand years?’

‘Have you ever read The Taming of the Shrew?’ asked Seb with a grin.

‘Written by a man four hundred years ago, when a woman wasn’t even allowed to play the lead. And if Kate were alive today she’d probably be prime minister.’

Sebastian burst out laughing. ‘You should meet my mother, Samantha. She’s every bit as bossy, sorry, decisive, as you.’

‘I told you, only my mother ever calls me Samantha, and my father when he’s cross with me.’

‘I already like your mother.’

‘And your mother?’

‘I adore my mother.’

‘No, silly, what does she do?’

‘She works for a shipping company.’

‘Sounds interesting. What kind of work?’

‘She works in the chairman’s office,’ he said as Samantha tasted the wine.

‘Just what he wanted,’ she told the waiter, who poured two glasses. She raised hers. ‘What do the English say?’

‘Cheers,’ said Sebastian. ‘And the Americans?’

‘Here’s looking at you, kid.’

‘If that was meant to be a Humphrey Bogart impression, it was dreadful.’

‘So tell me about Jessica. Was it always obvious how talented she was?’

‘No, not really, because to begin with, there wasn’t anyone to compare her with. Well, not until she got to the Slade.’

‘I don’t think that changed even then,’ said Sam.

‘Have you always been interested in art?’

‘I started out wanting to be an artist, but the gods decided otherwise. Did you always want to be a banker?’

‘No. I’d planned to go into the diplomatic corps like your father, but it didn’t work out.’

The waiter returned to their table. ‘Would you care for a dessert, madam?’ he asked as he picked up their empty plates.

‘No, thank you,’ said Sebastian. ‘She can’t afford it.’

‘But I just might like—’

‘She just might like the bill,’ said Sebastian.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now who’s being bossy?’ said Samantha.

‘Don’t you think conversations on first dates are weird?’

‘Is this a first date?’

‘I hope so,’ said Sebastian, wondering if he dared to touch her hand.

Samantha gave him such a warm smile that he felt confident enough to say, ‘Can I ask you a personal question?’

‘Yes, of course, Seb.’

‘Do you have a boyfriend?’

‘Yes I do,’ she replied, sounding rather serious.

Sebastian couldn’t hide his disappointment. ‘Tell me about him,’ he managed, as the waiter returned with the bill.

‘He’s coming into the gallery on Thursday to pick up some pictures, and I’ve invited him to attend the opening of Mr Mystery Man’s exhibition the following Monday. By then, I’m rather hoping,’ she said as she checked the bill, ‘he’ll have enough in his bank account to take me out to dinner.’

Sebastian blushed as she handed the waiter two pounds and said, ‘Keep the change.’

‘This is a first for me,’ admitted Sebastian.

Samantha smiled, leant across the table and took his hand. ‘Me too.’