Mightier than the Sword

28

“I would like to open this meeting,” said Adrian Sloane, “by offering my heartiest congratulations to Major Fisher on being elected as a Member of Parliament.”

“Hear, hear,” said Desmond Mellor, patting the new MP on the back.

“Thank you,” said Fisher. “May I say that I consider it an added bonus that it was Giles Barrington I defeated.”

“And if I have my way,” said Sloane, “he won’t be the only Barrington who’s about to suffer a loss. But first, I’m going to ask Desmond to tell us how his meeting with Arnold Hardcastle went.”

“Not well, to begin with, because he clearly wasn’t interested in selling his mother’s shares, even at the inflated price of three pounds nine shillings. But when I told him that my first action as the majority shareholder would be to sack Adrian and remove him from the board, his whole attitude changed.”

“He took the bait?” said Fisher.

“Of course he did,” said Sloane. “He hates me as much as you hate Emma Clifton and Giles Barrington, perhaps even more.”

“That’s not possible,” said Lady Virginia.

“But the clincher,” said Mellor, “was when I told him who I intended to appoint as chairman of Farthings in Adrian’s place.” Mellor couldn’t resist pausing for as long as he felt he could get away with, before saying, “Ross Buchanan.”

“But one phone call to Buchanan, and he’ll know...”

“You’ve forgotten, major, that Hardcastle signed a confidentiality agreement, so he won’t be phoning anyone. And I’d love to see his face when he discovers that we’re changing the name of the bank from Farthings to Sloane’s.”

“Can he still change his mind if someone makes him a better offer for the shares?” asked Lady Virginia.

“It’s too late,” said Mellor. “He’s already signed the share transfer certificates, so as long as I pay up within twenty-one days, the stock is mine.”

“And you’ll only be out of pocket for a short time,” said Sloane, “before Hakim Bishara buys the shares, giving you a handsome profit.”

“But if Bishara doesn’t pay up, we’ll all be left in the lurch,” Virginia reminded them.

“He’s been on the phone twice a day wanting updates on everything that’s going on. He even postponed a visit to Beirut for a meeting with the Lebanese president. In fact, I’m thinking of upping the price from five pounds to six, but not until the last moment.”

“Isn’t that a bit of a risk?” asked Fisher.

“Believe me, he’s so desperate to get his hands on Farthings, he’ll agree to almost anything. Let’s move on to the second part of our plan, which involves you, Lady Virginia, and the timing of your trial, which is crucial.”

“Emma Clifton will be served with pleadings next week, and my lawyers have told me they anticipate the trial will begin some time in November.”

“That couldn’t be better,” said Mellor, checking his diary, “because the next Barrington’s board meeting is in three weeks’ time, and I’ll insist that Mrs. Clifton stands down as chairman, for the good of the company, at least until the trial is over.”

“And there are no prizes for guessing who will take her place during that time,” said Sloane.

“Once I’m in the chair,” said Mellor, “I will consider it nothing less than my fiduciary duty to let the shareholders know what really happened on the first night of the Buckingham’s maiden voyage.”

“But that’s always been shrouded in mystery,” said Fisher, looking a little uneasy.

“Not for much longer it won’t be. When I first joined the board of Barrington’s, Jim Knowles hinted that all had not gone well on that voyage, but however much I pressed him he wouldn’t elaborate. Of course, I checked the minutes of the board meeting that was held on the ship later that morning, but all I could find was an apology from the captain for an explosion that took place in the early hours, which he blamed on the Home Fleet, who he claimed were carrying out night exercises in the North Atlantic. One look at the Admiralty records and you’ll quickly discover that the Home Fleet was anchored off Gibraltar at the time.”

“So what really happened?” asked Fisher. “Because I tried to get the truth out of Knowles myself, and even after a few drams he remained tight-lipped.”

“The only thing I could find out,” said Mellor, “was that he and the other board members had signed a confidentiality agreement. I thought I’d come to a dead end until last month’s board meeting when Mrs. Clifton made a rash decision without realizing its potential consequences.”

No one asked the obvious question.

“The Buckingham’s captain had reported to the board that during its latest voyage the third officer, a Mr. Jessel, was found drunk while serving on the bridge, and had been confined to his quarters for the rest of the crossing. Admiral Summers demanded that Jessel be sacked immediately without severance pay or a reference. I supported him because, like all the other board members, he’d forgotten that Jessel was the junior flag officer of the watch on the first night of the maiden voyage, and must have witnessed everything that took place.”

Fisher dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief.

“It wasn’t difficult,” continued Mellor, “to track down Jessel, who is not only out of work, but admitted to being three months behind with his rent. I took him off to the local pub, and it didn’t take long to discover that he was still angry and bitter about his dismissal. He went on to claim that he knew things that would bring the company down. A few rums later and he began to elaborate on what those things were, assuming that I’d been sent to make sure he kept his mouth shut, which only made him open it even more. He told me that he saw Harry Clifton and Giles Barrington carrying a large vase of flowers up from one of the first-class cabins to the upper deck. They managed to throw it overboard just moments before it exploded. The following morning three Irishmen were arrested and the captain apologized to the passengers, giving them the Home Fleet story, whereas in truth they were only seconds away from a major disaster that could have killed heaven knows how many people and, quite literally, sunk the company without trace.”

“But why didn’t the IRA publicize what really happened?” demanded Fisher nervously.

“Jessel told me that the three Irishmen were arrested later that morning and transported back to Belfast on a Royal Navy ship before being locked up in a Belfast prison on other charges. They’ve recently been released, and one of their bail conditions is that if they say a word about the Buckingham they’ll be back in solitary the same day. And let’s face it, the IRA don’t talk a lot about their failures.”

“But if the IRA are in no position to corroborate the story, and our only witness is a drunk who was dismissed from his post, why would anyone be interested nearly six years later?” asked Fisher. “And how often,” he added, “have we read headlines claiming the IRA planned to bomb Buckingham Palace, the Bank of England, or the House of Commons?”

“I agree with you, major,” said Mellor, “but the press may take a very different attitude when, as the new chairman of Barrington’s, I decide to put the record straight just weeks before the launch of the Balmoral and the announcement of the date of its maiden voyage.”

“But the share price would collapse overnight.”

“And we’ll pick them up for almost nothing with the profit we make on the bank deal. With a new board in place and a change of name, we’ll soon get the company back to its former status.”

“A change of name?” queried Lady Virginia.

Desmond smiled. “Mellor Shipping. Adrian gets the bank, and I get a shipping company.”

“And what do I get?” said Virginia.

“Exactly what you always wanted, Virginia, the pleasure of bringing the Barrington family to their knees. And you still have a vital role to play, because timing will be everything. Another piece of information I picked up at the last board meeting was that Harry and Emma Clifton will be visiting New York next month, which as chairman she does every year. That will be the perfect time for you to let your friends in the press know what they can look forward to at the trial. It’s important that you get your side of the story over while she’s stuck in the middle of the Atlantic. So by the time Mrs. Clifton returns, she’ll have to defend herself on two fronts: the shareholders will want to know why, as chairman of a public company, she failed to let them know what really happened that night, and at the same time she’ll be having to deal with Virginia’s libel case. I predict it won’t be long before she joins her father as a footnote in the company’s history.”

“One snag,” said Virginia. “My lawyers only give me a fifty-fifty chance of winning the case.”

“By the time the trial opens,” said Sloane, “Emma Clifton will have lost whatever credibility she ever had. The jury will be on your side from the moment you enter the witness box.”

“But if I don’t win, I’ll end up with a hefty legal bill,” persisted Virginia.

“After Mrs. Clifton resigns as chairman of Barrington’s, I can’t see how you lose the case. But in that unlikely eventuality, the bank will happily cover all your costs. Pennies in the grand scheme of things.”

“That doesn’t solve the problem of Sebastian Clifton and his six percent,” chipped in Major Fisher. “Because if he gets a place on the board, he’ll know everything we...”

“I’ve got that covered,” said Sloane. “I’m going to call Clifton and suggest we meet.”

“Perhaps he’ll refuse to see you.”

“He won’t be able to resist, and when I offer him five pounds a share for his stock, giving him a hundred percent profit, he’ll roll over. From what I remember of that boy, he forgets any other commitments the moment he sees a chance to make a killing.”

“But if he were to turn down your offer,” said Fisher.

“Then it’s plan B,” said Sloane. “I don’t care either way.”

“As I explained when we first met, Lady Virginia, in my professional opinion, your chances of winning this case are no better than fifty-fifty, so perhaps it might be wise to drop the action.”

“Thank you for your advice, Sir Edward, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“So be it,” replied her silk. “But I felt it necessary to place my opinion on the record, so there can be no misunderstanding at a later date.”

“You’ve made your position abundantly clear, Sir Edward.”

“Then let’s begin by looking at the facts of the case as objectively as we can. You either did, or did not, sell, and later buy back, a large number of Barrington’s shares with the sole purpose of harming the company.”

“Why would I want to harm the company?”

“Why indeed. I should mention at this juncture that it will be the other side’s responsibility to prove that you did, and not ours to prove that you didn’t. Nevertheless, on three separate occasions, which coincided with the company having to announce bad news, you sold shares at their peak, and then ten days later when they had fallen in price you returned to the market and repurchased them. Is that a fair assessment?”

“Yes. But I only did so after taking Major Fisher’s advice.”

“I think you should avoid mentioning Major Fisher when you’re in the witness box.”

“But he’s a Member of Parliament.”

“Perhaps this is the time to remind you, Lady Virginia, that lawyers, estate agents, and MPs are only just behind tax collectors in the opinion of most jurors.”

“But why shouldn’t I mention it, when it’s the truth?”

“Because Major Fisher was a director of Barrington’s at the time you sold and repurchased the shares, and as he was your representative on the board, the jury won’t be in any doubt where you were getting your information from. With that in mind, I shall be advising you not to call Major Fisher, although it might be wise for you to alert him to the possibility of his being called by opposing counsel. If I were them, I would subpoena him.”

Virginia looked anxious for the first time.

“And then, at a later date,” continued Sir Edward, “you purchased a large holding in Barrington’s in order to take your place on the board, at a time when the company was selecting a new chairman.”

“Yes. Major Fisher was my choice to chair the board.”

“That’s something else I must advise you against mentioning in the witness box.”

“But why? I thought Major Fisher would make a better chairman.”

“Possibly, but a jury of twelve ordinary citizens selected at random may well feel you were pursuing a vendetta against Mrs. Clifton, which would suggest that your original purpose in buying and selling the shares was indeed to harm her and the company.”

“I simply wanted the best-qualified person as chairman. In any case, I still don’t think a woman is capable of doing the job.”

“Lady Virginia, try to remember that it’s likely half the jury will be women, and such an observation will not exactly endear you to them.”

“This is beginning to sound more like a beauty contest than a trial.”

“If you think along those lines, Lady Virginia, you won’t go far wrong. Now, we must also assume that the other side will call your former husband Sir Giles Barrington as a witness.”

“Why? He wasn’t involved in any way.”

“Except that all these transactions took place after your divorce, and your choice for chairman just happened to be the man who twice stood against him at general elections, which the jury may feel is one coincidence too many.”

“But even if they did call Giles, how can he possibly help their cause? He’s an ex-husband, an ex-MP, and an ex-minister. He hasn’t exactly got a lot going for him.”

“All that may well be true,” said Sir Edward, “but I have a feeling he would still impress the jury.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He has a great deal of experience as a public speaker, and the dispatch box prepares one well for the witness box. So we can’t afford to underestimate him.”

“But the man’s a loser,” said Virginia, unable to control her feelings.

“I must stress that any personal attacks on the other side will play into their hands, so please remember to remain calm when you’re giving evidence, and play to your strengths. You are the injured party, someone who doesn’t understand the ways of the City and who wouldn’t have the first idea how to bring a company down.”

“But that will make me appear weak.”

“No,” said Sir Edward firmly, “that will make you appear vulnerable, which will work in your favor when the jury see you’re up against a shrewd, tough businesswoman.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“I’m on your side, Lady Virginia, but it is my responsibility to be absolutely sure that you know what you’re up against. With that in mind, I must ask you once again, are you certain you want to go ahead with this case?”

“Yes, I most certainly am, because there’s one piece of evidence that I haven’t told you about, Sir Edward, and once it becomes public, I don’t think this case will ever get to court.”

29

“Mr. Sloane called while you were at lunch,” said Rachel.

“Did he say what he wanted?” asked Seb.

“No, other than that it was a personal matter.”

“I’m sure it is. He’s worked out that I’ve got nearly six percent of Farthings’ stock, so it’s suddenly very personal.”

“He suggested you meet at his office at eleven tomorrow. There’s space in your diary.”

“Forget it. If he wants to see me, he can damn well come here.”

“I’ll ring and find out if that’s convenient.”

“I have a feeling it will be, because this time I’m in the driving seat.” Rachel didn’t comment, and turned to leave the room. “You’re not convinced, are you, Rachel?” said Seb before she reached the door. She turned back, but before she could offer an opinion he asked, “What would Cedric have done?”

“He would have given Sloane the impression that he was falling in with his plans, so he would lower his guard.”

“Would he?” said Seb. “Then tell Sloane to expect me at eleven tomorrow morning, and add how much I’m looking forward to seeing him.”

“No, that would be overdoing it. But don’t be late.”

“Why not?”

“Gives him back the advantage.”

Giles wasn’t looking forward to returning to the House of Commons for the first time since he’d lost his seat. The policeman at the St. Stephen’s entrance saluted him.

“Nice to see you, sir. Hope it won’t be long before you’re back.”

“Thank you,” said Giles as he walked into the building, past Westminster Hall, and along the corridor where members of the public wait patiently, hoping to be allocated a seat in the Strangers’ Gallery so they can follow the business of the day. Giles marched on past them into Central Lobby, walking briskly so as not to be held up by former colleagues offering their commiserations and adding platitudes they rarely meant.

Passing another policeman, he stepped on to the thick green carpet he’d trodden for so many years. He glanced at the ticker-tape machine that kept members up to date with what was happening around the world, but didn’t stop to check the latest headline. On past the members’ library, dreading he might bump into one particular member he didn’t want to see. He took a left when he reached the office of the Leader of the House, and came to a halt outside a room he hadn’t entered for years. He knocked on the door of Her Majesty’s Leader of the Opposition, and walked in to find seated at their desks the same two secretaries who had served the former prime minister when he was in Downing Street.

“Nice to see you again, Sir Giles. You can go straight in, Mr. Wilson is expecting you.”

Another knock on another door, and he entered the room to see the familiar sight of a man attempting to light his pipe. He gave up when he saw Giles.

“Giles, I’ve been looking forward to this all day. It’s good to see you.”

“And it’s good to see you, Harold,” responded Giles, not shaking hands with his colleague in the Palace of Westminster, maintaining a tradition that had been upheld for centuries.

“Such bad luck to lose by only twenty-one votes,” said Wilson. “I can’t pretend I care much for your successor.”

“This place will find him out,” said Giles. “It always does.”

“And how are you coping with the postelection blues?”

“Not that well. I’m bound to admit, I miss the place.”

“I was sorry to hear about you and Gwyneth. I hope you’ll find it possible to remain friends.”

“I hope so too, because I’m to blame. I’m afraid we’d begun to drift apart some time ago.”

“This place doesn’t help,” said Harold. “You need a very understanding wife when you’re rarely home before ten o’clock most nights.”

“And what about you, Harold. How are you taking to being Leader of the Opposition again?”

“Like you, not that well. So tell me, what’s it like out there in the real world?”

“I’m not enjoying it, and I won’t pretend otherwise. When you’ve been in politics for a quarter of a century, you’re not really qualified to do much else.”

“Then why don’t we do something about it,” said Wilson, finally managing to light his pipe. “I need a front-bench spokesman on foreign affairs in the House of Lords, and I can’t think of a better person for the job.”

“I’m flattered, Harold, and I thought that might be the reason you wanted to see me. I’ve given it a great deal of thought, and I wondered if I might ask you a question before I make a decision.”

“Of course.”

“I don’t think Ted Heath is proving to be any better in government than he was in opposition. The voters’ view of him as the grocer rather sums it up. And more important, I’m convinced we still have an excellent chance of winning the next election.”

“As my Jewish friends would say, from your lips to God’s ears.”

“And if I’m right, it won’t be that long before you’re back in Number Ten.”

“Amen to that.”

“And both of us know that the real power is in the Commons, not the Lords. Frankly, it’s a deluxe old people’s retirement home, a reward for party hacks with a record of long service and good conduct.”

“With the possible exception of those who sit on the front bench and revise regulation,” suggested Wilson.

“But I’m only fifty, Harold, and I’m not sure I want to spend the rest of my life waiting to be called to an even higher place.”

“I’d put you to work,” said Wilson, “and you’d have a place in the shadow cabinet.”

“I’m not sure that’s enough, Harold. So I need to ask you, if I contested Bristol Docklands at the next election, and the local association is pressing me to do so, and you formed the next government, would I have a chance of becoming foreign secretary?”

Wilson puffed away on his pipe for a few moments, something he often did if he needed a little time to consider. “No, not immediately, Giles. That wouldn’t be fair on Denis, who as you know is shadowing the post at the moment. But I can guarantee you would be offered a senior Cabinet post, and if you did well, you’d be among the front-runners if the job became available. Whereas if you took up my offer, at least you’d be back in the House. And if you’re right, and we win the election, it’s no secret that I’d be looking for a Leader of the Lords.”

“I’m a Commons man, Harold, and I don’t think I’m quite ready yet to be put out to grass. So it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“I salute your resolve,” said Wilson. “And now it’s my turn to thank you, because I know you wouldn’t be willing to take that risk unless you believed not only that you can win back your seat, but that I have a good chance of returning to Number Ten. However, should you change your mind, just let me know, and then, like your grandfather, you’ll be sitting on the red benches as Lord Barrington of...”

“Bristol Docklands,” said Giles.

Sebastian entered Farthings Bank for the first time since he’d resigned five years before. He walked up to the reception desk and gave the duty clerk his name.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Clifton,” the man said checking his list. “The chairman is expecting you.”

When he said “the chairman,” Seb’s immediate thought was of Cedric Hardcastle, and not of the usurper who’d been the reason he resigned. “Would you be kind enough to sign the visitors’ book?”

Seb took a pen from an inside pocket of his jacket and slowly unscrewed the cap, giving himself a little time to study the list of those who’d recently visited the chairman. His eye ran quickly down two columns of names, most of which meant nothing to him. But two of them might as well have had flashing neon lights next to them: Desmond Mellor, who Seb knew Sloane had recently appointed as deputy chairman, so that came as no surprise, but what possible reason could Major Alex Fisher MP have had for visiting the chairman of Farthings? One thing was certain, Sloane wasn’t going to tell him. The only other name that caught his eye was that of Hakim Bishara. He was sure he’d read something about Mr. Bishara in the Financial Times recently, but couldn’t remember what.

“The chairman will see you now, sir. His office is on—”

“The top floor,” said Seb. “Many thanks.”

When Seb stepped out of the lift on the executive floor, he walked slowly down the corridor toward Cedric’s old office. He recognized no one, and no one recognized him, but then he knew Sloane hadn’t wasted any time in purging Farthings of all Cedric’s lieutenants.

He didn’t have to knock on Sloane’s door because it swung open when he was a couple of paces away.

“Good to see you, Seb,” said Sloane. “It’s been too long,” he added before he ushered him into his office, but didn’t risk offering to shake his hand.

The first thing that struck Seb as he entered the chairman’s office was that there was no sign of Cedric. No acknowledgement of his thirty years’ stewardship of the bank. No portrait, no photograph, no plaque to remind the next generation of his achievements. Sloane had not only replaced him, but had airbrushed him out of existence, like a Soviet politician who’d fallen from favor.

“Have a seat,” said Sloane, as if he was addressing one of the bank’s junior clerks.

Seb took a closer look at his adversary. He’d put on a few pounds since they’d last met, but it was cleverly masked by a well-tailored double-breasted suit. One thing that hadn’t changed was the insincere smile of a man most people in the City were reluctant to do business with.

Sloane took his seat behind the chairman’s desk and didn’t waste any more time with banalities.

“Seb, someone as bright as you will already have worked out why I wanted to see you.”

“I assumed you were going to offer me a place on the board of Farthings.”

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind.” The false laugh followed, to accompany the insincere smile. “However, it’s been clear for some time that you’ve been buying the bank’s stock on the open market, and you now only need another twenty-two thousand shares to cross the threshold that would allow you to automatically take a place on the board, or to nominate someone else to represent you.”

“Be assured, I’ll be representing myself.”

“Which is why I wanted to talk to you. It’s no secret that we didn’t get on well when you worked under me—”

“Which is why I resigned.”

“It’s also why I feel it would be inappropriate for you to be involved in the day-to-day running of the bank.”

“I have absolutely no interest in the day-to-day running of the bank. I assume you have capable staff to carry out that job. That was never my intention.”

“Then what is your intention?” demanded Sloane, barely able to hide his irritation.

“To play a role in ensuring that this bank returns to the high standards it enjoyed under your predecessor, and to be sure that the shareholders are kept informed of what goes on in their name.” Seb decided to roll a small hand grenade across the table and see if it exploded when it reached the other side. “Because it’s clear to me, after reading the minutes of past board meetings, that you are not telling stockholders the whole story.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Sloane, a little too quickly.

“I think you know all too well what I mean.”

“Perhaps we can make a deal. After all, you always were a brilliant dealer.”

From bully to flatterer with hardly a moment’s pause in between. Maurice Swann would have cast Sloane as Richard III, and he could have played it without a script.

“What sort of deal do you have in mind?” asked Seb.

“Over the past five years you must have paid an average of around two pounds ten shillings per share. I’m prepared to double that, and offer you five pounds a share, which I’m sure you’ll agree is generous.”

Far too generous, thought Seb. Three pounds should have been his opening bid, and four his closing. Why was Sloane so keen to keep him off the board?

“More than generous,” Seb replied. “But I still intend to take my place on the board. You see, with me it’s personal.”

“Then I shall have to make an official complaint to the Bank of England, pointing out that you have no interest in supporting the bank’s long-term aims.”

“Frankly, I’m only interested in finding out what Farthings’ long-term aims are. Which is why I visited the Bank of England last week and had a long chat with Mr. Craig, the chief compliance officer. He was kind enough to check the bank’s statutes, and has confirmed in writing that as long as I have a stockholding of six percent, I’m entitled to a place on the board. But do by all means give him a call.”

If Sloane had been a dragon, flames would have been belching out of his nostrils. “And if I were to offer you ten pounds a share?”

Sloane was clearly out of control, so Seb decided to lob a second grenade. “Then I’d begin to think the rumors were true.”

“What rumors?” demanded Sloane.

Did he dare risk taking another pin out? “Why don’t you ask Desmond Mellor and Alex Fisher what they’ve been up to behind your back?”

“How did you know—”

The hand grenade had exploded in Sloane’s face, but Seb couldn’t resist one more sortie. “You have a lot of enemies in the Square Mile, Sloane, and even one or two in your own office.”

“It’s time for you to leave, Clifton.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. But I look forward to seeing you and your colleagues at next month’s board meeting. I have so many questions for them, particularly for Mr. Mellor, who seems quite happy to open the batting for both teams.”

Sloane didn’t move, but the flush in his cheeks showed another hand grenade had exploded.

Seb smiled for the first time, rose from his place, and turned to leave, when Sloane lobbed his own hand grenade.

“I fear I won’t be seeing you again for some time, Sebastian.”

“Why not?” demanded Seb, swinging round.

“Because at the last board meeting we passed a resolution stating that any outsider who wished to join the board in future would be required to own ten percent of the company’s stock.”

“You can’t do that,” said Seb, defiantly.

“I can and I have,” said Sloane, “and I feel sure you’ll be pleased to hear that Mr. Craig, the chief compliance officer at the Bank of England, has given our unanimous resolution his blessing. So I’ll see you in about five years’ time. But don’t hold your breath, Seb, because if you did get hold of ten percent, we would just have to pass another resolution.”

30

“How long do you think you’ll be in Russia?” Giles asked Harry as he rose from the dining table and led his guests through to the drawing room for coffee.

“Just a few hours, at most overnight.”

“What takes you back there? No one visits that place a second time without a damn good reason.”

“I’m going shopping.”

“Paris, Rome, New York...” said Giles, “but no one goes shopping in Russia, other than the locals.”

“Unless there’s something they have in Russia you can’t buy in Paris, Rome, or New York?” suggested Emma, as she poured her brother a coffee.

“Ah, how slow of me. I should have remembered that Harry’s just returned from the States, and Harold Guinzburg wasn’t the only person he visited. That’s a clue Inspector Warwick wouldn’t have missed.”

“I would have put off the trip until after Emma’s trial,” said Harry, ignoring Giles’s deduction, “but my visa runs out in a couple of weeks, and the Russian Embassy’s warned me there could be a six-month delay before they issue me with a new one.”

“Just be careful,” said Giles. “The Russians may have their own Inspector Warwick, who could be sitting waiting for you.” After his own experience in East Berlin, Giles doubted if Harry would get beyond customs but he accepted there was no way he could ever hope to dissuade his brother-in-law once he’d made up his mind.

“I’ll be in and out before they realize it,” said Harry, “so there’s nothing for you to be anxious about. In fact, I’m far more worried about the problems Emma’s facing.”

“What in particular?” asked Giles as he handed Harry a brandy.

“Desmond Mellor is standing for deputy chairman at next month’s board meeting,” said Emma.

“Are you telling me that charlatan’s found two directors who are willing to propose and second him?” said Giles.

“Yes, his old friend Jim Knowles, assisted by his even older friend Clive Anscott.”

“But if they fail to get him elected,” said Giles, “surely all three of them will have to resign? So this could turn out to be a blessing in disguise.”

“Not much of a blessing if they do get him elected,” said Harry.

“Why? What’s the worst Mellor can do, even if he does become deputy chairman?” said Giles.

“He could suggest that I stand down until the trial is over,” said Emma, “‘for the good of the company.’”

“And then the deputy chairman would become acting chairman.”

“But only for a few weeks,” said Harry. “You’d return once the trial was over.”

“You can’t afford to give Mellor that much rope,” said Giles. “Once you’re no longer able to attend board meetings, he’ll find a way of making temporary become permanent, believe me.”

“But you could refuse to stand down, Emma, even if he does become your deputy,” suggested Harry.

“I won’t be given a lot of choice if I have to spend the best part of a month stuck in the High Court, defending myself.”

“But once you win...” said Giles.

“If I win.”

“I can’t wait to get in the witness box and tell the jury some home truths about Virginia.”

“We won’t be calling you, Giles,” said Emma quietly.

“But I know more about Virginia than—”

“That’s exactly what my barrister is worried about. After a few well-chosen words from her ex-husband, the jury might even end up feeling sorry for her, and Mr. Trelford, my barrister, says Sir Edward Makepeace, her silk, won’t be shy about raising the subject of your second divorce, and what caused it.”

“So who are you going to call?”

“Major Alex Fisher MP.”

“But won’t he be a defense witness?”

“Mr. Trelford doesn’t think so. Fisher could well be as much of a liability for them as you might be for us.”

“Then perhaps the other side will call me?” said Giles, sounding hopeful.

“Let’s hope not.”

“I’d pay good money to see Fisher in the witness box,” said Giles, ignoring his sister’s barb. “Remind Mr. Trelford that he’s got a very short fuse, especially if he’s not treated with the respect he feels he deserves, and that was true even before he became an MP.”

“The same can be said of Virginia,” said Harry. “She won’t be able to resist reminding everyone that she’s the daughter of an earl. And there won’t be too many of those on the jury.”

“However,” said Giles, “it would be equally foolish to underestimate Sir Edward. If I may quote Trollope when describing another advocate, he is ‘as bright as a diamond, and as cutting, and also as unimpressionable.’”

“And I may need those same qualities at next month’s board meeting when I climb into the ring with Mellor.”

“I have a feeling that Mellor and Virginia must be working together,” said Giles. “The timing’s just a little too convenient.”

“Not to mention Fisher,” added Harry.

“Have you decided yet if you’re going to stand against him at the next election?” asked Emma.

“Perhaps it’s time to tell you that Harold Wilson has offered me a seat in the Lords.”

“Congratulations!” said Emma, leaping up from her chair and throwing her arms around her brother. “Some good news at last.”

“And I turned him down.”

“You did what?”

“I turned him down. I told him I wanted one more crack at Bristol Docklands.”

“And one more crack at Fisher, no doubt,” said Harry.

“That would be part of the reason,” admitted Giles. “But if he beats me again, I’ll call it a day.”

“I think you’re out of your mind,” said Emma.

“Which is exactly what you said when I first told you twenty-five years ago that I was going to stand for Parliament.”

“As a socialist,” Emma reminded him.

“If it makes you feel any better,” said Giles, “Sebastian agrees with you.”

“Does that mean you’ve seen him since he got back from New York?” asked Harry.

“Yes, and before you ask, he clammed up the moment I raised the subject.”

“A pity,” said Harry. “Such a remarkable girl.”

“But what I can tell you is that when I dropped into his office before taking him out to lunch, I spotted a child’s painting on the wall behind his desk that I’d never seen before. It was called My Mom, and I could have sworn it was Jessica’s hand.”

“A painting of me?” asked Emma.

“No, that’s the strange thing,” said Giles. “It was of Samantha.”

“Sloane offered you ten pounds a share?” said Ross Buchanan. “But that doesn’t make any sense. Farthings are trading at two pounds eight shillings this morning.”

“He was simply trying to find out what my limit was,” said Seb. “Once he realized I wasn’t interested, he threw in the towel and lost his temper.”

“That shouldn’t have come as a surprise. But why’s he so desperate to get his hands on your six percent?”

“And where do Mellor and Fisher fit in?”

“An unholy alliance that’s up to no good, that’s for sure.”

“There was another name in the visitors’ book that just might provide the answer. Have you ever come across someone called Hakim Bishara?”

“I’ve never met him,” said Ross. “But I attended a lecture he gave at the London School of Economics, and I was mightily impressed. He’s Turkish, but was educated in Beirut. He came top in the entrance exam for Oxford, but they didn’t offer him a place.”

“Why?”

“It was assumed he must have cheated. After all, how could a boy called Hakim Bishara, the son of a Turkish carpet trader and a Syrian prostitute, possibly beat the cream of the English public school system? So he went to Yale instead, and after he’d graduated he won a scholarship to Harvard Business School, where he’s now a visiting professor.”

“So he’s an academic?”

“Far from it. Bishara practices what he preaches. When he was twenty-nine he mounted an audacious coup to take over the Beirut Commerce and Trading Bank. It’s now one of the most respected financial institutions in the Middle East.”

“So what’s he doing in England?”

“For some time now he’s been trying to get the Bank of England to grant him a licence to open a branch of BC and T in London, but so far they’ve always turned him down.”

“Why?”

“The Bank of England doesn’t have to give a reason, and don’t forget, its committee is made up of the same breed of chinless wonders who prevented Bishara from going to Oxford. But he’s not a man who gives up easily. I recently read in the Questor column of the Telegraph that he now intends to bypass the committee and take over an English bank. And what bank could be riper for takeover than Farthings?”

“It was staring me in the face, and I didn’t spot it,” said Seb.

“When you put two and two together, they usually make four,” said Ross. “But it still doesn’t make a lot of sense to me, because Bishara is happily married, a devout Muslim, who’s spent years building a reputation for scrupulous honesty and straight dealing, not unlike Cedric. So why would he be willing to deal with Sloane, who’s built a reputation for being unscrupulous and dishonest, and deals from the bottom of the pile?”

“There’s only one way I’m going to find out,” said Seb, “and that’s to meet him. Any ideas?”

“Not unless you’re a world-class backgammon player, because that’s his hobby.”

“I know what to do with a six and a one on the opening throw, but not much more.”

“Well, whenever he’s in London he plays regularly at the Clermont Club. He’s part of the ‘Clermont set’ — Goldsmith, Aspinall, Lucan. Loners, like him, who don’t fit easily into London society. But don’t take him on, Seb, unless you want to lose the shirt off your back. Frankly, where Bishara’s concerned you don’t have a lot going for you.”

“I’ve got one thing going for me,” said Seb. “We have something in common.”

“If I were a betting man, Mrs. Clifton, the answer to your question would be even money, but the one imponderable in any trial is how people perform once they’re in the witness box.”

“Perform? But shouldn’t one just be oneself, and tell the truth?”

“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Trelford. “However, I don’t want the jury to feel they are members of a committee that’s being chaired by you.”

“But that’s what I do,” said Emma.

“Not while you’re in the witness box you don’t. I want all the men on the jury to fall in love with you, and, if possible, the judge as well.”

“And the women?”

“They must feel you had to struggle to achieve your amazing success.”

“Well, at least that’s true. Do you think Sir Edward will be giving Virginia the same advice?”

“Undoubtedly. He’ll want to portray her as a damsel in distress, lost in the cruel world of commerce and finance, and trodden on by a bully who’s used to having her own way.”

“But that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“I think we’ll have to leave the twelve jurors to decide what the truth is, Mrs. Clifton. But for now, let’s look at the facts in the cold light of day. The first part of your response to Lady Virginia’s question at a well-attended public meeting, and as recorded in the company’s minutes, we will plead as justification. We will point out that Major Fisher was not only Lady Virginia’s chosen vessel on the board, but that it was his inside knowledge as a director of the company that made it possible for her to buy and sell shares to her advantage. Sir Edward will find that hard to refute, and will pass over it as quickly as possible and concentrate on what you added as she was leaving the hall: ‘If it was your intention to bring the company down, Lady Virginia, then you have failed, and failed lamentably, because you were defeated by decent ordinary people who want the company to be a success.’ ‘Decent ordinary people’ is our problem, because that’s how the jury will see themselves, and Sir Edward will claim that not only is his client a decent, ordinary person, but that the reason she continued to buy Barrington shares was that she had faith in the company, and the last thing she would have wanted was to bring it down.”

“But every time Virginia sold her shares she made a vast profit and put the stability of the company at risk.”

“Indeed, that may well be the case, and I’m hoping that Lady Virginia will attempt to present herself as an innocent when it comes to business matters, and try to persuade the jury that all along she was relying on the expertise of her professional advisor, Major Alexander Fisher.”

“But they were working as a team to bring the company down.”

“Quite possibly, but when she’s in the witness box Sir Edward will ask Lady Virginia the one question you avoided answering. ‘Who were you referring to, Lady Virginia, when you said’—” Mr. Trelford pushed his half-moon spectacles up his nose and checked the exact words — “‘is it true that one of your directors sold his vast shareholding over the weekend, in an attempt to bring the company down?’”

“But Cedric Hardcastle wasn’t trying to bring the company down. The exact opposite. He was attempting to save it, as he would have explained himself had he been able to take his place in the witness box.”

“I’ll word this as delicately as I can in the circumstances, Mrs. Clifton, but I am relieved that the other side can’t call Mr. Hardcastle, because we certainly wouldn’t have.”

“But why not, when he was a thoroughly decent and honest man?”

“Of that I have no doubt. But Sir Edward will point out that Mr. Hardcastle was doing exactly the same thing as you are accusing Lady Virginia of.”

“With the intention of saving the company, not bringing it to its knees.”

“Possibly, but by then you will have lost both the argument and the case.”

“I still wish he were alive today,” said Emma.

“Now, I need you to remember the way you delivered those words, Mrs. Clifton, because that’s exactly how I want the jury to think of you when they are considering their verdict.”

“I’m not looking forward to this,” admitted Emma.

“Then perhaps it might be wise for you to consider settling the action.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To avoid a high-profile trial with all the attendant publicity, and to get back to your normal life.”

“But that would be admitting she was in the right.”

“Your statement would be worded carefully — ‘the heat of the moment, possibly a little injudicious at the time, and we offer our sincere apologies.’”

“And the financial implications?”

“You would have to pay her costs, my fees, and a small donation to the charity of her choice.”

“Believe me,” said Emma, “if we were to go down that road, Virginia would see it as a sign of weakness and would be even more determined to go ahead with the action. She doesn’t want the case to go away quietly, she wants to be vindicated in court, as well as in the press, preferably with headlines that will humiliate me, day after day.”

“Possibly, but it would be Sir Edward’s professional responsibility also to put the alternative to her: that if she loses the case, she will end up paying your costs as well as his, and, I assure you, there’s nothing cheap about Sir Edward Makepeace.”

“She’ll ignore his advice. Virginia doesn’t believe it’s possible she might lose, and I can prove it.” Mr. Trelford sat back and listened carefully to what his client had to say. When she had finished, he believed for the first time that they just might have a chance.

31

Sebastian got out of the car and handed the doorman his keys and a pound note. As he walked up the steps to the entrance of the Clermont, the door was opened for him and he parted with a second.

“Are you a member, sir?” asked the elegantly dressed man standing behind the front desk.

“No,” said Seb, this time slipping the man a five-pound note.

“Just sign here, sir,” the man said, swiveling a form around.

Seb signed where the finger rested and received a temporary membership card. “The main gaming room is at the top of the stairs on your left, sir.”

Seb walked up the sweeping marble staircase, admiring the dazzling chandelier, the oil paintings, and the thick plush carpet. Millionaires must be made to feel at home, he concluded, otherwise they wouldn’t be willing to part with their money.

He entered the gaming room but didn’t look around, as he wanted the onlookers to believe this was his natural habitat. He strolled across to the bar and climbed onto a leather stool.

“What can I get you, sir?” asked the barman.

“A Campari and soda,” said Seb, as this clearly wasn’t a club that served draft ale.

When the drink was placed in front of him, he took out his wallet and placed a pound on the bar.

“There’s no charge, sir.”

Establishments that don’t charge for drinks have to be making up for the loss in some other ways, thought Seb, leaving the note where it lay. “Thank you, sir,” said the barman, as Seb swiveled around and slowly took in the “some other ways.”

Two roulette tables stood next to each other on the far side of the room, and from the large pile of chips in front of each of the players, and their expressionless faces, Seb assumed they were regulars. Hadn’t anyone explained to them that they were paying for the marble staircase, the oil paintings, the chandelier, and the free drinks? His eyes moved on to the blackjack tables. At least there the odds were slightly better, because if you could count the court cards, it was even possible to beat the house — but only once, because after that, you’d never be allowed to darken the club’s doors again. Casinos like winners, but not consistent ones.

His gaze moved on to two men playing backgammon. One was sipping a black coffee, the other a brandy. Seb turned back to the barman. “Is that Hakim Bishara playing backgammon?”

The barman looked up. “Yes, it is, sir.”

Seb took a closer look at the short, pursy, red-cheeked man who looked as if he had to make regular visits to his tailor. He was bald, and his double chin suggested a greater interest in food and drink than weight training or running. A tall, lithe blonde stood by his side, a hand resting on his shoulder. Seb suspected she was less attracted by the deep lines on his forehead than by the thick wallet in his inside pocket. He wasn’t surprised that he kept being rejected by the English establishment. His younger opponent looked like a lamb about to be devoured by a python.

Seb turned back to the barman. “How do I get a game with Bishara?”

“It’s not that difficult if you’ve got a hundred pounds to throw away.”

“He plays for money?”

“No, for amusement.”

“But the hundred pounds?”

“It’s an admission fee that you donate to his favorite charity.”

“Any tips?”

“Yes, sir, you’d be better off giving me fifty quid and going home.”

“But what if I beat him?”

“Then I’ll give you fifty quid and I’ll go home. Mind you, you’ll enjoy his company for the few minutes the game lasts. And if you were to win, he’ll donate a thousand pounds to the charity of your choice. He’s a real gentleman.”

Despite appearances, thought Seb as he ordered a second drink. He occasionally glanced around at the backgammon table, but it was another twenty minutes before the barman whispered, “He’s free now, sir, waiting for his next victim.”

Seb swung around to see the stout man heave himself out of his chair and begin to walk away with the young woman on his arm.

“But I thought...” He looked more closely at the lamb that had devoured the python. He could hear Cedric saying, “What did you learn from that, young man?” Bishara looked around forty, perhaps a little older, but his tanned good looks and athletic build suggested that he wouldn’t have to continually empty his wallet to attract a beautiful woman. He had thick, wavy black hair and dark penetrating eyes. Had he been penniless, you might have thought he was an out-of-work actor.

Seb slipped off the stool and walked slowly toward him, hoping he looked relaxed and in control, because he wasn’t.

“Good evening, Mr. Bishara, I wondered if you were free for a game?”

“Not free,” he said, giving Seb a warm smile. “In fact, rather expensive.”

“Yes, the barman warned me about your terms. But I still want to play you.”

“Good, then have a seat.” Bishara rolled one die out onto the board.

Seb was painfully aware after the first half a dozen moves that this man was quite simply in another class. It only took a few minutes before Bishara began removing his counters from the board.

“Tell me, Mr....”

“Clifton, Sebastian Clifton.”

Bishara reset the board. “As you are clearly not even a respectable pub player, you must have had a good reason for wanting to give away a hundred pounds.”

“Yes, I did,” said Seb, taking out his check book. “I needed an excuse to meet you.”

“And why, may I ask?”

“Because we have several things in common, one in particular.”

“Clearly not backgammon.”

“True,” said Seb. “Who should I make the check out to?”

“The Polio Society. You haven’t answered my question.”

“I thought we might trade information.”

“What makes you think you have any information I might be interested in?”

“Because I saw your name in a visitors’ book and thought you just might like to know that I own six percent of Farthings Bank.”

Seb could tell nothing from the expression on Bishara’s face. “How much did you pay for your shares, Mr. Clifton?”

“I’ve been purchasing Farthings’ stock regularly over the past five years, and the price has averaged out at around two pounds.”

“Then it has proved a worthwhile investment, Mr. Clifton. Am I to assume you now wish to sell your shares?”

“No. Mr. Sloane has already made me an offer of five pounds a share, which I turned down.”

“But you would have made a handsome profit.”

“Only in the short term.”

“And if I were to offer you more?”

“It would be of no interest to me. I still intend to take my place on the board.”

“Why?”

“Because I began my working life at Farthings as Cedric Hardcastle’s personal assistant. After his death, I resigned, and joined Kaufman’s.”

“Shrewd old bugger, Saul Kaufman, and a smart operator. Why did you leave Farthings?”

“Let’s just say there was a difference of opinion over who should attend funerals.”

“So Sloane wouldn’t be happy if you were to join the board?”

“If murder was legal, I’d be dead.”

Bishara took out his check book and asked, “What’s your favorite charity?” That was one question Seb hadn’t been prepared for.

“The Boy Scouts.”

“Yes, I can believe that,” said Bishara, smiling as he wrote out a check, not for a hundred pounds, but for a thousand. “A pleasure to have met you, Mr. Clifton,” he said, as he handed it over. “I have a feeling we may meet again.”

Seb shook his outstretched hand and was about to leave when Bishara added, “What was the one thing in particular we have in common?”

“The oldest profession. Except in my case, it was my grandmother, not my mother.”

“What’s Sir Edward’s opinion of your chances of winning the case?” asked the major as Virginia poured him a second gin and tonic.

“He’s a hundred percent certain we can’t lose, open-and-shut case were his exact words, and he’s convinced the jury will award me substantial damages, possibly as much as fifty thousand.”

“That’s good news,” said Fisher. “Will he be calling me as a witness?”

“No, he says he doesn’t need you, although he thinks there’s an outside chance the other side may call you. But it’s unlikely.”

“That could prove embarrassing.”

“Not if you stick to the simple line that you were my professional advisor when it came to stocks and shares, and that I didn’t show a great deal of interest in the details, as I trusted your judgement.”

“But if I were to do that, someone might suggest it was me who was trying to bring the company down.”

“If they were stupid enough to try that line of questioning, Sir Edward would remind the judge that it’s not you who’s on trial, and because you’re a Member of Parliament, Mr. Trelford would quickly back off.”

“And you say Sir Edward is certain you can’t lose?” asked Fisher, not sounding convinced.

“As long as we all stick to the party line, he says we’re home and dry.”

“And he doesn’t think it’s likely they’ll call me?”

“He’d be surprised if they did. But I do feel,” continued Virginia, “that if, as Sir Edward suggested, I’m likely to be awarded fifty thousand, we should split it down the middle. I’ve asked my lawyers to draw up an agreement to that effect.”

“That’s most generous, Virginia.”

“No more than you deserve, Alex.”

32

Sebastian was sitting in the bath when the phone rang. Only one person would have considered calling him at that hour in the morning. Should he jump out of the bath and run into the hall, leaving a small stream in his wake, or should he get on with washing himself, as his mother was sure to call again in a few minutes’ time? He stayed put.

He was right, the phone went again while he was in the middle of shaving. This time he walked out into the hall and picked up the receiver. “Good morning, Mother,” he said, before she’d had a chance to speak.

“Sorry to call you so early, Seb, but I need your advice. How do you think I should vote when Desmond Mellor stands for deputy chairman?”

“I haven’t changed my mind since we discussed this subject last night, mother. If you vote against Mellor and he wins, that will undermine your position. If you abstain and the vote’s tied, you’ll still have the casting vote. But if you vote for him—”

“I would never do that.”

“Then you have two choices. Personally I’d vote against, so that he if loses he’ll have no choice but to resign. By the way, Ross Buchanan doesn’t agree with me. He thinks you should abstain and keep your options open. But I don’t have to remind you what happened the last time you did that, when Fisher stood for chairman.”

“It’s different this time. Mellor’s given me his word that he won’t vote for himself.”

“In writing?”

“No,” admitted Emma.

“Then it’s not a word I’d rely on.”

“Yes, but if I—”

“Mum, if I don’t finish shaving, you won’t even get my vote.”

“Yes, sorry. I’ll think about what you said. See you at the board meeting.”

Seb smiled as he put the phone down. What a complete waste of time that was when he knew she’d already decided to abstain. He checked his watch. Just enough time to grab a bowl of muesli and boil himself an egg.

“What did he say?” asked Harry as he passed his wife a cup of tea.

“He said I should vote against, but that Ross thinks I should abstain. So I’m none the wiser.”

“But only last night you told me you were confident of winning.”

“By six votes to four, even if I abstain.”

“Then I think you should abstain.”

“Why?”

“Because I agree with Ross. If you vote against Mellor and lose, it would make your position untenable. However, I’m beginning to think I should postpone my trip to Leningrad until we know the outcome.”

“But if you don’t go today,” said Emma, “you’ll have to wait at least six months before you can get another visa. Whereas if you go now, you’ll be back well in time for the trial.”

“But if you were to lose the vote today...”

“I’m not going to lose, Harry. Six of the directors have given me their word, so there’s nothing to worry about. And you gave your word to Mrs. Babakov, so you must keep it. In any case, it will be nothing less than a personal triumph when you come home with a copy of Uncle Joe under your arm. So start packing.”

Sebastian was putting on his jacket and heading for the door when the phone rang for a third time. He looked at his watch, 7:56, and thought about ignoring it, but turned back, grabbed the phone, and said, “I haven’t got time, Mother.”

“It’s not your mother,” said Rachel. “I thought you ought to know that I had a call just after you left the office last night, and I wouldn’t have bothered you if she hadn’t said it was urgent. I’ve already called a couple of times this morning, but you were engaged.”

“She?” said Seb.

“A woman called Dr. Rosemary Wolfe, phoning from the States. Said you’d know who she was.”

“I most certainly do. Did she leave any message?”

“No, just a number, 202 555 0319. But, Seb, don’t forget, they’re five hours behind us, so it’s only three in the morning in Washington.”

“Thanks, Rachel. Got to dash or I’ll be late for the Barrington’s board meeting.”

Jim Knowles joined Desmond Mellor for breakfast at the Avon Gorge Hotel.

“It’s going to be close,” said Knowles as he sat down opposite Mellor, who stopped speaking while a waitress poured him a coffee. “My latest calculation is five votes each.”

“Who’s changed their mind since yesterday?” asked Mellor.

“Carrick. I convinced him of the importance of having a deputy chairman in place while Mrs. Clifton is tied up in a trial that could last for a month, perhaps even longer.”

“Is her vote included in the five?”

“No, because I’m fairly sure she’ll abstain.”

“I wouldn’t, if I were in her position. And if we win the first vote, what about the second?”

“The second should be easier, as long as you stick to the line that you think it will be for no more than a month. Even the waverers should go along with that.”

“A month will be more than enough to make sure she never returns.”

“But if she loses the trial, it all becomes academic, because then she’ll have to resign. Either way, my bet is you’ll be chairman a month from today.”

“In which case, Jim, you’ll be my deputy.”

“Any news from Virginia on how her case is shaping up?” asked Knowles.

“She rang me yesterday evening. Apparently her barrister has assured her that she can’t possibly lose.”

“I’ve never known a barrister say that before,” said Knowles, “especially when Alex Fisher might be called as a witness, because I can tell you from past experience, he’s not good under fire.”

“Virginia tells me that Sir Edward doesn’t intend to call him.”

“Rather proving my point. But once she’s won the case, everything should fall neatly into place. That’s assuming you’ve paid Arnold Hardcastle for his mother’s shares.”

“Not yet. I don’t intend to cough up until the last possible moment. Even I can’t afford that sort of outlay for any longer than necessary.”

“Why not ask Sloane to advance you a short-term loan to cover it?”

“I wish I could, but it’s against the law for a bank to make a loan for the purpose of buying its own shares. No, I’ll get all my money back and make a handsome profit once Bishara completes his part of the deal. If Sloane gets his timing right, it will be a double whammy, because he’ll stay on as chairman of the bank and I’ll be the new chairman of Barrington’s.”

“That’s assuming we win today,” said Knowles.

Once Sebastian had escaped the rush-hour traffic and turned on to the A40, he checked the clock on his dashboard. He still had a couple of hours to spare, but he didn’t need any more holdups. At that moment a red light on the dashboard came on and the petrol indicator began to flicker, which meant he was down to his last gallon. A road sign informed him the next service station was 21 miles away. He knew there was something he’d meant to do last night.

He moved across to the inside lane and maintained a steady fifty miles an hour so he could eke out every last drop of what was left in the tank. He began to pray. Surely the gods weren’t on Mellor’s side?

“Who are you calling?” asked Harry as he zipped up his overnight bag.

“Giles. I’d like to see if he agrees with Ross or Seb. After all, he’s still the largest shareholder in the company.”

Harry wondered if he should unpack.

“And don’t forget your overcoat,” said Emma.

“Sir Giles Barrington’s office.”

“Good morning, Polly. It’s Emma Clifton. Could I have a word with my brother?”

“I’m afraid not, Mrs. Clifton. He’s abroad at the moment.”

“Somewhere exciting, I hope?”

“Not exactly,” said Polly. “East Berlin.”

Seb began to relax when he came off the motorway and drove up the ramp into the petrol station. Once he’d filled up, he realized just how close it must have been. He handed over a ten-pound note for the twelve gallons, and waited for his change.

He was back on the motorway at nine thirty-six. The first sign to Bristol read 61 miles, so he was confident he would still make it with time to spare.

He moved into the outside lane, pleased to see a long stretch of open road ahead of him. His mind drifted from Dr. Wolfe, and what could possibly be urgent enough for her to phone him, to his mother, and how she would vote, to Desmond Mellor and what last minute tricks he would stoop to, and then back to Samantha. Was it possible...

When he heard the siren, he assumed it was an ambulance and quickly moved across to the inside lane, but when he looked in his rearview mirror he saw a police car with lights flashing bearing down on him. He slowed down, willing it to shoot past, but it drew up alongside him and the driver indicated that he should pull over onto the hard shoulder. Reluctantly, he obeyed.

The police car pulled up in front of him and two policemen climbed out and walked slowly toward him. The first was carrying a thick leather notebook, the second what looked like a briefcase. Seb wound down the window and smiled.

“Good morning, officers.”

“Good morning, sir. Were you aware that you were traveling at almost ninety miles an hour?”

“No, I wasn’t,” admitted Seb. “I’m very sorry.”

“Could I see your driving license, sir?”

Seb opened the glove compartment, took out his license, and handed it to the policeman, who studied it for some time before saying, “Would you be kind enough to step out of the car, sir.”

Seb got out as the other policeman opened his briefcase and extracted a large yellow balloon-like bag attached to a tube. “This is a Breathalyzer, sir, and I have to ask if you are willing to be tested to see if you are above the legal limit.”

“At ten o’clock in the morning?”

“It’s standard procedure for a speeding offense. If you choose not to do so, I shall have to ask you to accompany me to the nearest police station.”

“That won’t be necessary, officer, I’m quite happy to take the test.”

He carried out the instructions to the letter, well aware that he’d only had two Campari and sodas the previous night. Once he’d blown into the tube twice — evidently he didn’t blow hard enough the first time — the two officers studied the orange indicator for some time, before one of them pronounced, “No problem there, sir, you’re well below the limit.”

“Thank God for that,” said Seb, climbing back into his car.

“Just a moment, sir, we’re not quite finished. We still have a couple of forms to fill in. Your name, please, sir?”

“But I’m in a hurry,” said Seb, regretting his words the moment he’d said them.

“We’d gathered that, sir.”

“Sebastian Clifton.”

“Home address?”

When the officer had finally filled in the answer to the last question, he handed Seb a speeding ticket, saluted, and said, “Have a good day, sir, and please drive more carefully in the future.”

Sebastian glanced desperately at the little clock on the dashboard, but it faithfully recorded the correct time. In forty minutes, his mother would be calling the board meeting to order, and he couldn’t help remembering that the election of a new deputy chairman was the first item on the agenda.

Lady Virginia took her time telling Sir Edward what really happened on the first morning of the Buckingham’s maiden voyage.

“Fascinating,” he said. “But it’s not something we can use in evidence.”

“Why not? Mrs. Clifton wouldn’t be able to deny it, and then she’d have to resign as chairman of Barrington’s and we couldn’t lose the case.”

“Possibly not, but the judge would rule the evidence as inadmissible. And that’s not the only reason we couldn’t use it.”

“What more do you need?” asked Virginia.

“A witness who wasn’t dismissed for being drunk on duty, and who clearly bears a grudge against the company, and a director who would be willing to stand in the witness box and give evidence under oath.”

“But it’s no more than the truth.”

“It may well be, but tell me, Lady Virginia, have you read Harry Clifton’s latest novel?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then be thankful that I have, because in Inspector Warwick and the Time Bomb you will find almost word for word the story you’ve just told me. And you can be sure that at least one or two members of the jury will also have read it.”

“But surely that would only strengthen our case?”

“More likely we’d be laughed out of court.”

Emma looked slowly around the table. Every director was in place except Sebastian. But never in her eleven years as chairman of Barrington’s had she failed to begin a meeting on time.

Philip Webster, the company secretary, opened proceedings by reading the minutes of the previous meeting. Far too quickly in Emma’s opinion. “Are there any matters arising from the minutes?” she asked hopefully. There were none.

“So let us move on, to item number one, the election of a deputy chairman. Desmond Mellor has been proposed by Jim Knowles and seconded by Clive Anscott. Before I call for a vote, does anyone have any questions?”

Mellor shook his head and Knowles said nothing, both well aware that Sebastian Clifton might appear at any moment. Emma stared hopefully at the admiral, but he looked as if he’d fallen asleep.

“I think we’ve all had more than enough time to consider our position,” said Anscott.

“I agree,” said Knowles. “Let’s get on with the vote.”

“Before we do so,” said Emma, “perhaps Mr. Mellor would care to address the board on why he feels he’s the right man to be deputy chairman of Barrington’s.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Mellor, who had spent some considerable time preparing a speech, which he now had no intention of delivering. “I leave my record to speak for itself.”

As Emma had now run out of delaying tactics, she was left with no choice but to call on the company secretary to carry out the roll call.

Webster rose from his place and read out the names of each director, starting with the chairman, Mrs. Clifton.

“I shall abstain,” said Emma.

“Mr. Maynard?”

“For.”

“Mr. Dixon?”

“Against.”

“Mr. Anscott?”

“For.”

“Mr. Knowles?”

“For.”

“Mr. Dobbs?”

“Against.”

He too had kept his word. Emma kept looking toward the door.

“Mr. Carrick?”

“For.”

Emma looked surprised. The last time they’d spoken, Carrick had given her his assurance that he wouldn’t be supporting Mellor. Who had been the last person to sit on that particular cushion, she wondered.

“Admiral Summers?”

“Against.”

Not a man to desert his friends.

“Mr. Clifton?”

Webster looked around the table and, satisfied that Sebastian wasn’t present, wrote Absent by his name.

“Mr. Bingham?”

“Against.”

No surprise. He disliked Mellor almost as much as she did.

Emma smiled. Four all. As chairman, she wouldn’t hesitate to exercise her casting vote to stop Mellor becoming deputy chairman.

“And finally, Mr. Mellor?” said the company secretary.

“For,” he said firmly.

Emma was momentarily stunned. But turning to Mellor, she eventually managed, “You told me only yesterday that you would be abstaining, which is why I did so myself. Had I known of this change of heart—”

“Since I spoke to you yesterday evening,” said Mellor, “one or two of my colleagues have pointed out that the company’s statutes allow a board member to vote for himself when standing for office. Reluctantly, I allowed them to convince me that I should do so.”

“But you gave me your word.”

“I did call you at home, several times this morning, chairman, but the line was always busy.”

Not something Emma was able to contradict. She sank back into her chair.

Mr. Webster carefully double-checked the list, but Emma already knew the result and its consequences.

“By a vote of five to four, Mr. Mellor is elected deputy chairman.”

Some people around the table smiled and said, “Hear, hear.” Others remained silent.

Seb had been right. She should have voted against Mellor in the first place, and then she could have defeated him with her casting vote. But where was Seb, whose vote would have made that unnecessary? How could he have let her down when she most needed him? And then she froze, and stopped being the chairman of a public company and reverted to being a mother. Was it possible her son had been involved in another dreadful accident? Emma couldn’t bear the thought of going through all that again. She’d far rather lose the vote than...

“Item number two,” said the company secretary. “To select a launch date for the MV Balmoral, and for the opening of the first booking period for her maiden voyage to New York.”

“Before we move on to item two,” said Mellor, rising from his place to deliver a speech that had also been well prepared, “I consider it nothing less than my duty to remind the board that Mrs. Clifton is about to face a most unpleasant trial that has already attracted considerable media attention. Of course, we all hope, and expect, that our chairman will be able to dismiss the serious charges levelled against her. However, should Lady Virginia Fenwick succeed in proving her case, obviously Mrs. Clifton would have to consider her position. With that in mind, it might be prudent for her to temporarily, and I stress the word temporarily, step down as chairman until the trial is over.” He paused for a moment and looked at each of his fellow directors in turn before adding, “I hope it won’t be necessary to call a vote on this occasion.”

Emma could sense that if it was put to a vote, the board were, with one or two exceptions, broadly in agreement with the new deputy chairman’s proposal. She gathered up her things and quietly left the room.

Mellor was about to move into her chair when Admiral Summers rose from his place, and fixed him with a stare as if he were a German U boat commander, before saying, “This is not the board I joined twenty years ago, and I no longer care to be a member of it.”

As he left the room, Bob Bingham and David Dixon joined him.

When the door closed behind them, Mellor turned to Knowles and said, “That’s a bonus I hadn’t anticipated.”