Mightier than the Sword

15

“I’ll see if her ladyship is at home,” said the butler.

What a ridiculous remark, thought Lady Virginia. Morton knows only too well that I’m at home. What he actually means is, I’ll find out if her ladyship wants to talk to you.

“Who is it, Morton?” she asked as the butler entered the room.

“Mrs. Priscilla Bingham, my lady.”

“Of course I’m at home to Mrs. Bingham,” said Virginia, picking up the phone by her side. “Priscilla, darling.”

“Virginia, darling.”

“It’s been so long.”

“Far too long, and I’ve so much to tell you.”

“Why don’t you pop up and spend a few days in London? It will be just like old times. We can go shopping, catch a show, try out one or two new restaurants, and even visit Annabel’s, where one just has to be seen, darling.”

“Sounds terrific. I’ll check my diary and ring you back.”

Virginia put down the phone and thought about her friend. They hadn’t seen much of each other since her last visit to Mablethorpe Hall, when Priscilla’s husband Robert had behaved so badly. And worse, since then, Robert had gone over to the other side and joined the enemy. He not only sat on the board of Barrington Shipping but had played a part in ensuring that Major Fisher, Virginia’s representative, had been summarily dismissed from the board. To make matters worse, he’d insisted that Priscilla accompany him on the Buckingham’s maiden voyage to New York, despite Virginia telling her that she had been refused a first-class cabin.

When Priscilla returned home a fortnight later, she told Virginia that something had gone badly wrong on the first night of the voyage, but Robert refused to confide in her. Virginia vowed to get to the bottom of it, but that would have to wait because for the moment it was not Emma Clifton she had in her sights, but Bob Bingham.

When Priscilla turned up at Virginia’s flat a few days later, she recited a litany of disasters that had taken place during the voyage, including a dreadful dinner she’d had to endure with that frightful social climber, Emma Clifton. The food was inedible, the wine was corked, and the staff might as well have come from Butlin’s. However, Priscilla assured Virginia that on more than one occasion she had put Mrs. Clifton firmly in her place.

“And did you find out what really happened on the first night?” asked Virginia.

“No, but I did hear Robert say to one of the other directors that if the truth ever got out, the chairman would have to resign and the company could even face bankruptcy. That would certainly help with your libel trial.”

Virginia hadn’t told her friend that the case was on hold because her extremely expensive lawyers considered her chances of winning not much better than fifty-fifty, and her latest bank statement reminded her that she wasn’t in a strong enough financial position to risk that. However, what she had planned for Bob Bingham was not fifty-fifty. He would end up having to part with at least half of his entire fortune, with a twist. And once she’d dealt with him, Virginia would then turn her attention to Emma Clifton and the Home Fleet incident. But if her plan for Bob Bingham was to succeed, she would once again have to enlist the services of Major Alex Fisher, someone who hated the Barrington family almost as much as she did.

Bob Bingham was not pleased when Priscilla announced she would be staying at their house in The Boltons for a few days so she could spend some time with Virginia. He sensed that that woman was up to something, and it wasn’t too difficult to work out what she might have in mind.

The only good thing about Priscilla being away for a week was that it would give him a chance to invite Clive to join him for a few days at Mablethorpe Hall. Clive had recently been promoted and no longer relied on Bob to subsidize him. In fact, Jessica’s tragic death may have been the reason he had become so fiercely independent. Bob had seen too little of his son since that dreadful night when Jessica Clifton had taken her own life, and it would never have happened if Priscilla hadn’t invited that conniving woman to spend the weekend with them. It was only later that his wife admitted that Virginia had originally turned down the invitation, but had changed her mind when she heard that Jessica Clifton would be among the guests, and that Clive was planning to propose to her that weekend.

Bob tried to push that vile woman out of his mind as he wanted to concentrate on the minutes of Barrington’s most recent board meeting. He agreed with young Sebastian — he must stop thinking of him in those terms — after all, he had already proved himself to be a capable director, and few of the board doubted that, in time, he would become the next chairman of the company. And if his new lifestyle was anything to go by, he was clearly doing well at Kaufman’s, even if his father had hinted that his personal life was a mess.

Bob Bingham and Harry Clifton had become friends during the past few years, which had seemed unlikely, considering how little they had in common other than Jessica. Harry was a renaissance man, a man of letters, whose constant stand on behalf of Anatoly Babakov had captured the public’s imagination. Bob, on the other hand, was a man of business, of balance sheets, who only ever read a book when he was on holiday. Perhaps it was simply the game of cricket that brought the two men together, except on those occasions when Gloucestershire played Yorkshire.

Bob turned his attention to a paper that was to be presented by Sebastian, setting out why he felt the company shouldn’t be investing in a new luxury liner at the present time.

“Major Fisher,” intoned the butler before closing the door.

“Alex, it’s good to see you again,” said Virginia as she poured him a double gin and tonic. “I do hope things are going well for you.”

“Up and down like Tower Bridge,” said Alex as she passed him his drink, all too aware that Lady Virginia only ever invited him to visit her when she wanted something. Not that he could complain; he wasn’t exactly flush since he’d lost his place on the board of Barrington’s. Virginia wasted no time coming to the point.

“Do you recall our successful little sortie with Bob Bingham a couple of years ago?”

“Could I ever forget?” said Alex. “Mind you, it’s not something I’d ever want to repeat,” he added quickly.

“No, that wasn’t what I had in mind. But I do need you to do a little digging for me. I’d like to know how much Bingham is worth. His company, his shareholdings, properties, particularly the properties, and any other source of income he may have that he wouldn’t want the taxman to know about. Dig deep and spare no details, however insignificant they might seem.”

“And...”

“You’ll be paid five pounds an hour plus expenses, and a bonus of twenty-five pounds if I’m satisfied with your work.”

Alex smiled. Virginia had never once in the past paid the promised bonus, and her idea of expenses was to travel third class and not stay overnight. But given his present circumstances, he wasn’t able to scoff at five pounds an hour.

“When do you need my report?”

“In ten days’ time, Alex. And then I may well have another job for you, nearer home.”

Virginia had planned Priscilla Bingham’s visit to London with military precision. Nothing was left to chance.

On the Monday, the two of them were driven to Epsom, where they joined Lord Malmsbury in his private box on the finishing line. Priscilla clearly enjoyed having a badge for the royal enclosure, where several men complimented her on her Hartnell outfit and “Jackie Kennedy” pillbox hat. She hadn’t received so much attention in years.

On Tuesday, following a light lunch at Simpson’s, they dropped into a drinks reception at the Banqueting House before going on to a gala dinner at the Savoy in aid of the Red Cross, where Matt Monro serenaded the guests.

On Wednesday, it was the turn of the Queen’s Club, where they watched a polo match between a Windsor team captained by the young Prince Charles, and a visiting Argentinian side, most of whom Priscilla couldn’t take her eyes off. In the evening, they had house seats for Funny Girl, a new musical with its original Broadway star, Barbra Streisand, which had queues for returns that were the envy of every other West End theater.

On Thursday, and heaven knows how Virginia fixed the tickets, they attended a royal garden party at Buckingham Palace, where Priscilla was presented to Princess Alexandra. In the evening, they dined with the Duke of Bridgwater and his eldest son, Bofie, who couldn’t take his eyes off Priscilla. In fact, Virginia had to warn him that despite her encouragement, he just might be overdoing it.

On Friday, Priscilla was so exhausted she spent the morning in bed, and was only just up in time to keep an appointment with her hairdresser, before going on in the evening to Covent Garden to see a production of Giselle.

On Saturday morning, they attended trooping the color, watching the ceremony from the Scottish Office overlooking Horse Guards. In the evening they had a quiet supper à deux at Virginia’s flat. “No one in London would dream of venturing out on a Saturday night,” she explained. “The streets are full of foreigners and visiting football hooligans.” But then Virginia had always intended to use that night to sow the first seeds of doubt in her friend’s mind.

“What a week,” said Priscilla as they sat down for supper. “What fun, and to think that tomorrow I have to go back to Mablethorpe.”

“You don’t have to go back,” said Virginia.

“But Robert is expecting me.”

“Is he? Frankly, would he even notice if you were to spend a few more days in London?”

Priscilla put down her knife and fork, clearly considering the proposition. In truth, Virginia didn’t want her to remain in London a day longer, as she was exhausted and had nothing planned for the following week.

“Have you ever thought about leaving Robert?” asked Virginia as Morton refilled Priscilla’s wine glass.

“Regularly. But how could I possibly survive without him?”

“Rather well, I suspect. After all, you have a lovely home in The Boltons, not to mention—”

“But it’s not mine.”

“It could be,” said Virginia, warming to her task.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you read that article about Robert in the business section of the Telegraph a couple of weeks ago?”

“I never read the business section of any paper.”

“Well, it was most illuminating. It seems that Bingham’s Fish Paste is valued at around fifteen million, with no debts and healthy cash reserves.”

“But if I left Robert, I wouldn’t want anything to do with the company.”

“You wouldn’t have to have anything to do with it. Mablethorpe Hall, The Boltons, and your villa in the South of France, not to mention the three million sitting in the company’s bank account, would still be less than fifty percent of what he’s worth. And fifty percent is what you could expect after twenty-six years of marriage and a son you virtually brought up on your own because of all those hours your husband spent away from home, pursuing his career.”

“How do you know there’s three million in the company’s account?”

“It’s listed for anyone to see at Companies House. £3,142,900 to be exact.”

“I had no idea.”

“Still, whatever you decide, my darling, I’ll always be here to support you.”

Even Virginia was surprised to receive a tearful call from Mablethorpe Hall on the following Friday.

“I’m so lonely,” Priscilla moaned, “and there’s just nothing for me to do up here.”

“Then why don’t you come down to London and visit me for a few days, darling? Bofie Bridgwater was only asking me yesterday when you were expected back in town.”

When Priscilla turned up on Virginia’s doorstep the following afternoon, the first thing she said was, “Do you know a good divorce lawyer?”

“The best,” Virginia replied. “After all, she’s acted for me on two occasions.”

Twenty-two days later, Robert Bingham was served with a divorce writ. But Major Fisher still didn’t get his bonus.

Everyone rose as Mrs. Justice Havers entered the courtroom. The judge took her place and peered down at the two warring parties. She had read both submissions carefully and, after a thousand divorces, knew exactly what she was looking for.

“Mrs. Everitt.”

Priscilla’s counsel immediately rose from her place. “My lady,” she said.

“I understand that a settlement has been reached between the two parties, and I wonder if you’d be kind enough to outline the terms for me.”

“Certainly, my lady. In this case I represent the plaintiff, Mrs. Priscilla Bingham, while my learned friend Mr. Brooke represents the defendant, Mr. Robert Bingham. My lady, Mrs. Bingham, has been married to the defendant for the past twenty-six years. During that time, she has been a faithful, loyal, and dutiful wife. She bore a son, Clive, who, because of her husband’s various business commitments, she had to raise virtually single-handed.”

“With the help of a nanny, a cook, a maid, and a cleaner,” whispered Bob, which his counsel duly noted.

“Even during the school holidays, my lady, it was rare for Mr. Bingham to spend more than a week with his wife and child, always wanting to get back to his factory in Grimsby. We are therefore proposing,” continued learned counsel, “that Mrs. Bingham should retain the family home in which she has lived for the past twenty-six years, along with the house in London, and the villa near Cap Ferrat in the South of France, where she and her son always spent the long summer vacation together. Mrs. Bingham would also ask the court for the sum of three million pounds in order that she can maintain the three houses and continue to live in a style to which she has grown accustomed. I should point out, my lady, that this is far less than fifty percent of Mr. Bingham’s considerable fortune.” Mrs. Everitt sat down.

“And is Mr. Bingham agreeable to these terms, Mr. Brooke?”

Robert’s attorney rose slowly to his feet, tugged the lapels of his gown, and said, “Indeed, my lady. Mr. Bingham will retain the family company, Bingham’s Fish Paste, which was founded by his grandfather over a hundred years ago. He makes no other demands.”

“So be it,” said the judge, “but before final settlement is agreed, I always like both parties to confirm they are satisfied with the division, so there can be no recriminations at some later date, or any suggestion that they didn’t fully understand what had been proposed. Mr. Bingham—” Robert’s counsel nudged him and Bob jumped up. “Are you satisfied with this division of your goods and chattels?”

“I am, my lady.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bingham.” Turning her attention to the other side of the courtroom, the judge asked Mrs. Bingham the same question.

Priscilla rose to her feet, smiled up at the judge, and said, “I am satisfied. Indeed, I am happy for my ex-husband to select whichever of the two packages he would prefer.”

“How very magnanimous of you,” declared the judge, as consternation appeared on the faces of both counsel, who had been quite unprepared for this unrehearsed intervention. Although it would surely make no difference to the outcome, counsel never likes to be taken by surprise.

“Then I will put the question to Mr. Bingham once again,” said the judge. “But as it deserves careful consideration, I will allow Mr. Bingham to consider his position overnight. Court is adjourned until ten a.m. tomorrow.”

Bob was quickly on his feet. “That’s most kind of you, my lady, but I have already made up—”

Bob’s counsel pulled him back down, because Mrs. Justice Havers had already left the court.

If that was the first surprise of the day for Bob, the second was to see Sebastian Clifton sitting quietly at the back of the courtroom taking notes. He was even more surprised when Seb asked if he was free to join him for dinner.

“Well, I had planned to go back to Lincolnshire tonight, but now that I have to make a short reappearance in court tomorrow morning, I’d be delighted to take up your offer.”

They both watched as Priscilla left the courtroom on Virginia’s arm. She was sobbing quietly.

“I could kill that woman,” said Bob, “and happily serve a life sentence.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Seb. “I think I’ve come up with a far better solution for dealing with Lady Virginia.”

At ten o’clock the following morning, everyone was back in their places when Mrs. Justice Havers entered the courtroom. Once she had settled herself, she looked down at the counsels’ bench and said, “Only one matter remains to be resolved, and that is which of the two packages Mr. Bingham has settled on.”

Bob rose from his place. “I would like to thank you, my lady, for giving me the opportunity to reflect on my decision overnight, because I have decided to choose the three properties along with the three million pounds. I’d like to thank my wife for her most magnanimous gesture, and to wish her every success with running the company.”

Uproar broke out in court. Apart from Bob Bingham, only two other people didn’t look surprised: the judge and Sebastian Clifton.

16

“What possessed you to do something quite so stupid?” said Virginia.

“I just wanted Robert to know how fair I considered the settlement was.”

“Well, that backfired spectacularly.”

“But I never thought for a moment he’d let go of his beloved company.”

“And I’m not convinced he has,” said Virginia. “Those two are up to something.”

“Those two?”

“Yes, I should have realized that Sebastian Clifton would have an ulterior motive for being in court. He may have taken me by surprise this time, but he won’t get away with it again.”

“But he’s only a child.”

“A child who is fast gaining a reputation in the City as a whiz kid. And never forget, he’s the son of Emma and Harry Clifton, so he’s not to be trusted.”

“But what’s in it for him?”

“I haven’t worked that out yet, but you can be sure he’s after something. However, we can still stop them both in their tracks if we move quickly.”

“But what can I do, now I’m penniless and homeless?”

“Pull yourself together, Priscilla. You own a company worth fifteen million pounds that only last year declared a profit of over a million.”

“But for how much longer, now Robert’s no longer around to manage it?”

“You needn’t worry about that. I know exactly the right person to take his place. He has considerable experience of management, has served as the director of a public company, and, more important, he’s available at short notice.”

Sebastian, Bob, and Clive Bingham met in Seb’s office later that morning to discuss what needed to be done next.

“The first part of our plan went smoothly enough,” said Seb. “But it won’t be long before Virginia works out what we’re up to. So we’re going to have to move quickly, very quickly, if we’re to get all the pieces off the chessboard in time.”

“Then I’ll have to drive up to Grimsby this afternoon,” said Bob.

“It can’t be too soon,” said Seb, “because you need to be back in London by tomorrow evening at the latest. I want everyone at Bingham’s, from the management to the factory workers, and all of its customers up and down the country, to think the only reason you’re visiting the factory is to say good-bye to the staff and wish them luck under the new management. Just before you leave, Clive will issue the press statement he’s been working on.”

Clive opened his briefcase and took out two sheets of foolscap paper.

“The statement needs to be short, unequivocal, and to the point,” he said, passing a copy to his father and Seb. “I won’t release it until I know Dad’s on his way back to London, when I’ll send a copy to the Grimsby Evening Telegraph. It’s sure to make the front page. After that, I’ll release it to every business correspondent in Fleet Street.”

Bob read through the statement slowly, and was impressed by what his son had come up with. However, he realized that a lot more needed to be done if the public, and not least Lady Virginia, were to believe he meant what he said.

“And once I’m back in London, what do I do then?”

“Fly to Nice, go straight to the house at Cap Ferrat, and stay put,” said Seb.

“And after that?” asked Bob. “I’ve never lasted more than a few days in the South of France before I was bored out of my mind and had to fly home.”

“Well, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that,” said Clive, “if you’re going to convince the world how much you’re enjoying early retirement, and that you have absolutely no interest in returning to Grimsby.”

“Mind you, most people won’t find that too hard to believe,” said Seb.

“Retirement?” said Bob, ignoring Seb’s comment. “I’d die rather than retire. And as for enjoying myself, I wasn’t built for leisure, so perhaps you can tell me, Seb, how I’m supposed to pass the time of day?”

“Perhaps the occasional round of golf, followed by a long lunch at one of the many Michelin-starred restaurants along the Riviera, topped off by a visit to one of Nice’s more exotic nightclubs?”

“And where will I find a pint of Bateman’s, and cod and chips served in newspaper?”

“I don’t think you’ll find too many fish and chip shops at Cap Ferrat,” admitted Seb.

“And there’s not much demand for mushy peas on the Riviera,” added Clive.

The three of them burst out laughing.

“I feel sorry for your mother, Clive,” said Bob. “She’s about to discover just how close a friend Lady Virginia Fenwick really is.”

“Well, at least this time, major, you’ll be chairman of a company that doesn’t have a board, or anyone else you have to answer to. You can start with a blank sheet of paper and set your own ground rules.”

“Possibly. But you will have noticed that the company’s shares collapsed yesterday following Bingham’s press statement.”

“What statement?” said Virginia.

Fisher picked up a copy of the Times from the coffee table and turned to the lead story in the business section. Virginia stared at a photograph of Bob shaking hands with some members of the factory staff following his farewell speech, then carefully read his statement: “Of course I’m sad to be leaving the company my grandfather founded in 1857, especially after serving as its chairman for the past twenty-three years. But I have no fear for the future of Bingham’s while it’s in the capable hands of my former wife, Priscilla. I hope everyone will continue to support her, as they have always supported me. However, it’s time for me to retire to my beautiful home in the South of France and enjoy a well-earned rest.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Virginia. “So the sooner you get yourself off to Grimsby, the better, major. It’s going to take all your skills and experience as an army officer to keep those people in their place.”

When Clive drove his father to Heathrow later that evening, he couldn’t get a word out of him.

“What’s the problem, Dad?” he asked eventually.

“Some of the staff were in tears when I left. People I’ve worked with for over twenty years. It took all my willpower not to roll up my sleeves and start loading the lorries.”

“I understand how you feel, Dad, but believe me, you’ve made the right decision.”

“I hope so,” said Bob, as they came to a halt outside the terminal.

“And don’t forget, if you spot a photographer, just smile and look relaxed. We don’t want the press thinking you’re unhappy, because then Lady Virginia will work out exactly what we’re up to.”

“I’ll bet she already has.”

“Dad, we can beat her, as long as you don’t lose your nerve.”

“Please make my imprisonment as short as possible,” he pleaded after he’d checked his one bag in and given his son a hug.

“I’ll phone every day,” said Clive, “and bring you up to date with everything that’s going on at this end.”

“And keep an eye on your mother. It’s going to come as a dreadful shock when she meets up with the real Virginia for the first time.”

By the time the major stepped on to the platform at Grimsby station, he knew exactly what needed to be done. His plan was foolproof, and his strategy honed to the finest detail.

He already knew a great deal about Robert Bingham and the way he had run the company from the research he’d carried out for Lady Virginia. And on this occasion she hadn’t even tried to bargain with him. She had met all his demands: £20,000 a year plus expenses, including a suite of rooms at the Royal Hotel whenever he had to stay in Grimsby.

Fisher felt there wasn’t a moment to lose and instructed the taxi driver to take him straight to the factory. During the journey he went over the speech he’d prepared, which wouldn’t leave the workers in any doubt who was the boss. It shouldn’t be too difficult to run a fish-paste factory. After all, he’d commanded a company in Tobruk with the Germans snapping at his heels.

The taxi dropped him outside the factory. A scruffy man wearing a peaked cap, open-necked shirt, and greasy overalls peered at the major from the other side of the locked gates.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“I’m Major Fisher, the new chairman of the company, so open up immediately, my good man.”

The man touched the peak of his cap and pulled the gate open.

“Where’s the chairman’s office?” demanded Fisher.

“Bob never had what you’d call an office, but management are at the top of those steps,” the man said, pointing to the other side of the yard.

The major marched across the yard, a little surprised by the lack of activity because he knew the factory employed over two hundred full-time workers, with another hundred part-time. He climbed the iron steps up to the first floor and pushed open the door to be greeted by a large open-plan office with a dozen desks, only two of which were occupied.

A young man leapt to his feet. “You must be Major Fisher,” he said as if he’d been expecting him. “I’m Dave Perry, the assistant manager. I was told to show you around the factory and answer any questions you might have.”

“I was rather hoping to have a meeting with the managing director so I could be brought up to speed as quickly as possible.”

“Ah, you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Mr. Jopling handed in his notice yesterday. Told me that as he only had a couple of years before he retired, this might be a good time for someone else to fill his boots.”

“And are you that someone else?” asked Fisher.

“Not on your nelly,” said Perry. “I’ve only been here a few months. And in any case, I don’t fancy any more responsibility.”

“Then it will have to be Pollock, the works manager,” said Fisher. “Where’s he?”

“Mr. Jopling sacked him yesterday, for insubordination. It was almost the last decision he made before he resigned. Mind you, Steve Pollock can’t complain. He’s been sent home on full pay until the union completes its investigations. No one doubts that he’ll be reinstated. The only trouble is, the committee usually takes a couple of months before they come to a decision.”

“But he must have had a deputy?” said Fisher, unable to hide his frustration.

“Yes, Les Simkins. But he’s on a time-and-motion course at Hull Poly. Waste of time and not a lot of motion, if you ask me.”

Fisher strode across the room and looked down onto the factory floor. “Why isn’t the machinery working? Isn’t this meant to be a twenty-four-hour nonstop operation?” he said, staring down at a dozen workers who were standing around, hands in pockets, idly chatting, while one of them rolled a cigarette.

“We usually work an eight-hour-shift system,” said Perry, “but you need a statutory number of qualified workers before the machinery can be turned on — regulations, you understand — and unfortunately an unusually large number of the lads are on sick leave this week.” The phone on his desk began to ring. He picked it up and listened for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir, but our new chairman has just arrived, so I’ll pass you over to him.” Perry covered the mouthpiece and said, “It’s the harbor master, Captain Borwick. Seems to have a problem.”

“Good morning, Borwick, it’s Major Fisher, the chairman of the company. How can I help?”

“Good morning, major. It’s quite simple really, you’ve got three days’ supply of cod piled up on my dockside, which I’d like picked up as soon as possible.”

“I’ll get on to it straightaway.”

“Thank you, major, because if it hasn’t been removed by four o’clock I’ll have no choice but to dump it back in the sea.” The phone went dead.

“Where are the lorries that pick up the morning catch?”

“The drivers hung around until midday, but as no one had the authority to give the order for them to go to the harbor, they packed up for the day and went home. You only missed them by a few minutes, major. They’ll be back at six tomorrow morning. Bob was always here first thing. Liked to go down to the docks and supervise the loading himself. That way, he could be sure no one palmed him off with yesterday’s catch.”

Fisher slumped into a chair and stared at a pile of unopened letters addressed to Mr. Bingham. “Do I have a secretary, by any chance?” he asked.

“Val. There’s nothing she doesn’t know about this place.”

Fisher managed a weak smile. “So where is she?”

“On maternity leave, and not expected back for some months. But I know she put an ad in the Grimsby Evening Telegraph for a temp,” he added as a man who looked like a heavyweight boxer stomped into the room.

“Which one of you’s in charge?” he demanded.

Perry pointed to the major.

“We need some help with the unloading, guv.”

“Unloading what?”

“’Undred and forty-eight crates of fish paste jars. Same time every Tuesday. If you haven’t got anyone to unload them, we’ll have to take them back to Doncaster, and that’ll cost you.”

“Perhaps you could give them a hand, Perry.”

“I’m management, major. The unions would down tools if I so much as looked at a crate.”

That was when Fisher realized that every one of them was singing from the same hymn sheet, and he wasn’t the choirmaster.

The major lasted for three days, during which time, not one pot of Bingham’s fish paste left the factory. On balance, he decided that doing battle with the Germans in North Africa was far easier than trying to work with a bunch of bolshie shop stewards on Humberside.

On Friday night, after the workers — all two hundred of them — had collected their wage packets and gone home, the curtain finally came down. The major checked out of the Humber Royal Hotel and took the last train back to London.

“Bingham’s shares have fallen another ten percent,” said Seb.

“What’s the spot price?” asked Bob.

Seb checked the ticker-tape machine in his office. “Seven shillings and sixpence. No, seven shillings and fourpence.”

“But they were a pound only a week ago.”

“I know, but that was before the major beat a hasty retreat back to London.”

“Then it must be time for me to come back and sort the place out,” said Bob.

“Not quite yet. But be sure to have the number of a local travel agent handy.”

“So what am I expected to do in the meantime?” growled Bob.

“Canasta?”

Virginia and Priscilla had barely been on speaking terms for the past week, and a chance remark over breakfast started a row that had been simmering for some time.

“Bofie Bridgwater was telling me last night that—”

“Bofie Bridgwater is a chinless wonder and a prize ass,” snapped Priscilla.

“Who just happens to have a title, and thousands of acres.”

“I’m not interested in his title, and before all this happened I had thousands of acres.”

“And you still would have,” said Virginia, “if you hadn’t made such a fool of yourself in court.”

“How was I to know Robert would be willing to let go of the company? I was simply trying to show how generous I thought he’d been, and now I don’t even have a roof over my head.”

“Well, you can stay here for a little longer,” said Virginia, “but perhaps it might be wise to start looking for a place of your own. After all, I can hardly be expected to go on subsidizing you forever.”

“But you said I could always rely on your support.”

“I don’t remember saying always,” said Virginia, as she dropped a slice of lemon in her tea.

Priscilla stood up, folded her napkin, and placed it on the table. She left the room without another word, walked upstairs to the guest bedroom, and began to pack.

“Dad, you can catch the next plane home.”

“At last. But why now?”

“Mum’s finally come to her senses. She walked out of Lady Virginia’s flat about an hour ago.”

“What makes you think she won’t walk back in again?”

“Because she was lugging three suitcases, and took a taxi to the Mulberry Hotel in Pimlico.”

“I’m on my way to the airport,” said Bob.

Clive put the phone down. “Should I pick Dad up at Heathrow and drive him to the Mulberry?”

“I don’t think so,” said Seb. “You’ll only get in the way. Wait until he calls you.”

Clive joined his mother and father later that evening for a drink at the Savoy.

“So romantic,” said Priscilla, who was holding Bob’s hand. “Your father has booked the same suite where we spent the first night of our honeymoon.”

“But you’ll be living in sin,” mocked Clive.

“Not for long,” said Priscilla. “We’re off to see Mrs. Justice Havers in the morning. Our counsel seems to think she can sort things out.”

“I have a feeling her ladyship won’t be all that surprised,” said Clive.

“When did you suddenly become so wise?” asked Bob.

“When you left me with no choice but to stand on my own two feet.”

“There’s a Mr. Bingham on the phone for you,” said the switchboard operator.

“Bob, are you still in London?” asked Seb. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

“No, I’m back in Grimsby, reemploying most of my staff. They seem to have enjoyed their extended holiday about as much as I did.”

“I see the share price is up a couple of pence.”

“Yes, but it will be some time before everything’s up and running smoothly again. Perhaps you ought to buy a few shares while the price is so low.”

“I’ve been buying them for the past month,” said Seb. “I now own about four percent of Bingham’s Fish Paste.”

“If I had a board,” said Bob, “I’d put you on it. However, I’m still in your debt, not least for your role as matchmaker. So why don’t you send me a hefty bill for your professional services.”

“Now that we’ve vanquished Lady Virginia, I’d rather seek your advice on another problem I’m facing.”

“Virginia Fenwick won’t be vanquished until she’s six foot under. But how can I help?”

“I want to take over Farthings Bank and remove Adrian Sloane once and for all. But I can’t hope to pull it off without your help.”

“You can’t win them all,” said Lady Virginia, “but as Wellington reminded us after Waterloo, it’s only the final battle that really matters.”

“And who’s playing Napoleon on this particular battlefield?”

“None other than Emma Clifton.”

“And what will my role be?” asked Fisher.

“I need you to find out what really happened on the first night of the Buckingham’s maiden voyage because clearly the Home Fleet story was nothing more than a smoke screen. Priscilla Bingham overheard one of the directors telling her husband that if the truth ever got out, Emma Clifton would have to resign and the company might even go bankrupt. Nothing would suit me better because that would leave our precious chairman with no choice but to settle the action and pay my costs.”

Fisher remained silent for some time, before he said, “There are a couple of directors on the board who’ve recently had a run-in with Mrs. Clifton, and one of them has a tendency to drink a little too much, especially when he’s not paying. Do we have anything to offer him in return, should he decide to resign?”

“A place on the board of Farthings Bank.”

“That would swing it, but what makes you think you can pull it off?”

“The chairman, Adrian Sloane, has every reason to loathe Sebastian Clifton, and will do anything to bring him down.”

“How do you know that?”

“It’s amazing what you can pick up at dinner parties, especially when your host thinks women couldn’t possibly begin to understand what goes on in the City.”