Be Careful What You Wish For

42

‘GOOD MORNING. Thomas Cook and Son. How can I assist you?’

‘It’s Lord Glenarthur. I was hoping you’d be able to help me with a personal matter.’

‘I’ll do my best, sir.’

‘I’m a family friend of the Barringtons and the Cliftons, and I told Harry Clifton that sadly I wouldn’t be able to join them on the Buckingham’s maiden voyage to New York due to business commitments. Those commitments have now fallen through, and I thought it would be rather fun not to tell them I’d be on board. A sort of surprise, if you get my drift.’

‘I certainly do, my lord.’

‘So I was calling to find out if it might be possible to book a cabin somewhere near the family.’

‘I’ll see what I can do, if you’d be kind enough to hold the line for a moment.’ The man on the other end of the line took a sip of Jameson’s and waited. ‘My lord, there are still two first-class cabins available on the upper deck, numbers three and five.’

‘I’d like to be as close to the family as possible.’

‘Well, Sir Giles Barrington is in cabin number two.’

‘And Emma?’

‘Emma?’

‘I do apologize. Mrs Clifton.’

‘She’s in cabin number one.’

‘Then I’ll take cabin number three. I’m most grateful for your assistance.’

‘My pleasure, sir. I hope you have a pleasant trip. May I ask where we should send the tickets?’

‘No, don’t bother yourself. I’ll get my chauffeur to collect them.’

Don Pedro unlocked the safe in his study and removed what was left of his money. He placed bundles of five-pound notes in neat stacks of ten thousand, until they took up every inch of his desk. He returned £23,645 to the safe and locked it, then double-checked the remaining £250,000 before placing the money in the rucksack they had provided. He sat down at his desk, picked up the morning paper and waited.

Ten days had passed before the chauffeur returned his call, to say the operation had been sanctioned, but only if he was willing to pay £500,000. When he’d queried the amount, it was pointed out to him that considerable risks were involved, because if any of the lads were caught, they would probably spend the rest of their days in Crumlin Road, or even worse.

He didn’t bother to bargain. After all, he had no intention of paying the second instalment, as he doubted that there were many IRA sympathizers in Buenos Aires.

‘Good morning, Thomas Cook and Son.’

‘I’d like to book a first-class cabin for the Buckingham’s maiden voyage to New York.’

‘Yes, of course, madam, I’ll put you through.’

‘First-class reservations, how can I help you?’

‘It’s Lady Virginia Fenwick. I’d like to book a cabin for the maiden voyage.’

‘Could you repeat your name please?’

‘Lady Virginia Fenwick,’ she said slowly, as if addressing a foreigner.

A long silence followed, which Virginia assumed meant the booking clerk was checking availability.

‘I’m so sorry, Lady Virginia, but unfortunately first class is completely sold out. Shall I put you through to cabin class?’

‘Certainly not. Don’t you realize who I am?’

The clerk would have liked to say yes, I know exactly who you are, because your name has been pinned to the bulletin board for the past month with clear instructions to all sales clerks what to do if that particular lady phoned to make a booking, but instead he said, sticking to his script, ‘I am sorry, my lady, but there is nothing I can do.’

‘But I am a personal friend of the chairman of Barrington’s Shipping,’ said Virginia. ‘Surely that makes a difference?’

‘It most certainly does,’ replied the booking clerk. ‘We do have one first-class cabin still available, but it can only be released on the express order of the chairman. So if you’d be kind enough to give Mrs Clifton a call, I’ll hold the cabin in your name, and release it immediately I hear back from her.’

They never heard back from her.

When Don Pedro heard the sound of a car horn, he folded his newspaper, placed it on the desk, picked up the rucksack and made his way out of the house.

The chauffeur touched his cap and said, ‘Good morning, sir,’ before placing the rucksack in the boot of the Mercedes.

Don Pedro got into the back seat, closed the door and waited. When the chauffeur climbed behind the wheel, he didn’t ask where Don Pedro wanted to go because he’d already selected the route. They turned left out of Eaton Square and headed towards Hyde Park Corner.

‘I’m assuming the agreed amount is in the rucksack,’ said the chauffeur as they passed the hospital on the corner of Hyde Park.

‘Two hundred and fifty thousand pounds in cash,’ said Don Pedro.

‘And we will expect the other half to be paid in full within twenty-four hours of carrying out our part of the agreement.’

‘That is what I agreed,’ said Don Pedro, as he thought about the £23,645 left in the safe in his office; all the money he possessed. Even the house was no longer in his name.

‘You do realize the consequences if you don’t pay the second instalment?’

‘You’ve reminded me often enough,’ Don Pedro said as the car proceeded up Park Lane, not exceeding the forty mile an hour speed limit.

‘In normal circumstances, should you fail to pay on time, we would have killed one of your sons, but as they are both now safely back in Buenos Aires, and Herr Lunsdorf is no longer among us, that only leaves you,’ said the chauffeur as he drove around Marble Arch.

Don Pedro remained silent as they proceeded down the other side of Park Lane, then stopped at a set of traffic lights. ‘But what if you don’t carry out your side of the bargain?’ he demanded.

‘Then you won’t have to pay the other two hundred and fifty thousand, will you?’ said the chauffeur as he drew up outside the Dorchester.

A doorman dressed in a long green coat rushed up to the car and opened the back door to allow Don Pedro to step out.

‘I need a taxi,’ said Don Pedro as the chauffeur drove off to rejoin the morning traffic on Park Lane.

‘Yes, sir,’ said the doorman, raising an arm and letting out a piercing whistle.

When Don Pedro climbed into the back of the taxi and said, ‘Forty-four Eaton Square,’ the doorman was puzzled. Why would the gentleman need a taxi when he already had a chauffeur?

‘Thomas Cook and Son, how may I help you?’

‘I’d like to book four cabins on the Buckingham for its maiden voyage to New York.’

‘First class or cabin, sir?’

‘Cabin.’

‘I’ll put you through.’

‘Good morning, cabin-class reservations for the Buckingham.’

‘I’d like to book four single cabins for the voyage to New York on October the twenty-ninth.’

‘May I take the names of the passengers?’ Colonel Scott-Hopkins gave his name and those of his three colleagues. ‘The tickets will be thirty-two pounds each. Where shall I send the invoice, sir?’

SAS headquarters, Chelsea Barracks, King’s Road, London, he could have said, as they were paying the bill, but instead he gave the booking clerk his home address.