by Janet Neel
‘This is not yet a project Mr Blackshaw — you are kind, Henry, if I may — in the sense that the Department has not yet been formally asked for assistance, and so we are not yet doing a case paper. It is just a cloud on the horizon. There is a textile company in Yorkshire called Britex Fabrics which we know to be in difficulty. It employs 1400 people, Yorkshire is an Assisted Area, so theoretically we have power to give financial assistance to preserve or safeguard those jobs.’ She paused, courteously, to make sure he was following. Henry decided it must be his surroundings that somehow made Yorkshire sound like the headwaters of the Amazon, but nonetheless found himself irritated.
‘I know them,’ he said shortly.
‘Oh, good. Well that will help. We hoped you might, since to be honest, we are all a bit out of our depth.’
‘How do you know they are in trouble? I am sure they are, but it’s my trade. How did you find out?’
‘We have a branch which is supposed to know everything about the textile industry, and it has heard rumours. We really know because the company appeared on the Bank of England’s list which we get every month.’
‘What is the Bank of England list?’ Henry was beginning to feel and sound dogged.
‘Ah. If a clearing bank gets worried about a big loan — say £5m plus — it goes and whinges to a couple of chaps in the Bank of England, who then put the company on their “At Risk” list. We get a copy; so does the Treasury.’ Henry waited for further elucidation but Francesca appeared to feel she had told him all anyone could wish to know. Martin gave him a look of cautious sympathy but did not seem inclined to speak so Henry tried again.
‘What do you do with this list?’
Rajiv stirred from his elegant languor. ‘No, no, Henry, we don’t do anything, except open a file — which is all Francesca and Martin have so far done. The real point is simply that we know where there is a problem. It enables us, and our Ministers, to say that yes, this company has been causing them serious anxiety. And until we are asked to intervene, we can’t do anything. One can’t really creep up on chairmen of companies and ask if they would like a little assistance, special rates for you only.’
‘Is it worth even having the information?’
‘Henry, you are impugning every principle on which HM Government service is based with that question. We can Be Prepared.’
‘Not very prepared,’ Francesca pointed out fair-mindedly. ‘All Martin and I have been able to assemble so far is five years published accounts, an Extel card, and a brokers’ circular now nearly a year out of date. I suppose it is better than not being prepared at all. Oh, and half a page on market conditions from the sponsoring branch. Roughly speaking, they say it’s all terrible.’
‘That’s about right.’ Henry spoke evenly, and the blue eyes widened.
‘I beg your pardon, Henry, I forgot it was your trade and it must be miserable for you. Sorry Mary?’ This last was addressed to Henry’s secretary who was hovering.
‘The Private Office would like to speak urgently with Mr Sengupta or Miss Wilson.’
Francesca nodded, and went out to the outer office, leaving Martin to show the other two the accounts they had collected. She reappeared, looking very slightly harassed. ‘Here we go. The Chairman and Managing Director of Britex plus two MPs are booked in to see the Minister at 3.30. He was nobbled in the House this morning. Please can he have a brief and suitable official support. I’ll do the brief; it won’t take ten minutes to recite every single fact we know about Britex from the files. Who goes — Rajiv, Henry and which of us?’
Henry held up his hand. ‘The Minister is not capable of seeing these people by himself?’
‘Goodness, no!’ Both civil servants spoke at once. Rajiv silenced Francesca with a look and went on. ‘The polite way to put it is to say that it is simply inefficient for a Minister to see them alone, because he isn’t going to work on the case, officials are. It also wouldn’t be safe. All politicians are eager to please — it goes with the job — and get themselves into frightful messes promising things they can’t deliver. I think Henry and Martin should both go. You can go, Fran; you don’t need me unless the Secretary of State is intending to come?’
‘No, he ducked.’ She caught Henry’s eye. ‘By convention, Henry, the Secretary of State in this Department would expect to have an Assistant Secretary or above present at his meetings. A Minister or a Parliamentary Secretary is expected to be prepared to put up with a Principal. Since you rank to Deputy Secretary you are really a bit too good for this meeting, but you need to meet the Minister.’
Henry nodded, feeling dizzily that the morning had really gone on quite long enough. He noticed that Francesca seemed to share his thought, and was visibly fidgeting.
‘Could I go and get the brief done?’ she asked. ‘If it will fit in, I am committed to go and have lunch with my brother.’
‘Is Perry in a mess again?’ Rajiv asked, carefully.
‘Yes, the poor idiot. I need to get round there to make sure he and that bunch of comprehensive-school dropouts which constitutes his backing group don’t come up with anything really silly. He is sending The Car, however.’ She vanished economically from Henry’s room, leaving him blinking slightly.
‘Tell me about Francesca’s family,’ he said to Rajiv.
‘Mother is a widow, and there are four boys younger than Francesca. Father died young.’
‘Are they all like Francesca.’
‘They are precisely not all like Francesca. All four of the boys are trouble one way or the other. The one she was sorting out on the telephone is Peregrine, who is a pop star.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, an embryo pop star. He is a superb tenor, and before that was a superb treble — the St Joseph’s Cathedral choir treble to be precise. People have been getting very excited about him since he was about eight. Recently he recorded a couple of ballads and one of them stands third in the best-sellers’ list now. Called “The Wrong Road”, or similar; musically trivial as Perry would confirm; but I believe he is just about to get a Golden Disc. He is splendidly good looking, idle to a degree, and not nearly as clever as Francesca. The youngest two are twins, and have both been asked to leave at least two schools despite their splendid singing voices. The next in age to Francesca, Charlie, is the most nearly normal and he keeps a bit clear of all this lot. Francesca has been up to her ears in trouble with those boys since she was about ten.’
Henry regarded him curiously. ‘You’ve known her a long time?’
‘Ten years. I taught her at Cambridge. And no, Henry, I do not feel the urge to rescue her. I like them a bit feminine and clinging, and Francesca is neither. In addition to her good degree at Cambridge, achieved by doing three hours’ work a day, if that, the dear girl has, as far as I can see, the stamina and emotional temperament of a granite cliff. I love her, but it would take a stronger man than I. Ah, I believe that is The Car. In keeping with Perry’s new status, the recording company to whom he is contracted has provided a car and driver for his use. Look.’
Opposite the Department’s building, on the other side of Victoria Street, a vast brown Rolls Royce, being driven like a Mini, bumped two wheels on to the kerb and halted just in front of a bus. A head as dark as Francesca’s appeared out of the back window.
‘He’s come to fetch me himself, the good boy,’ Francesca observed from the door with sisterly complacency, her earlier strictures evidently forgotten. ‘I’ve dictated the brief and Martin is going to check it for me so it can go up. Come and see Perry, Rajiv. Do come too, Henry, you need to go down to the canteen anyway.’ She beamed on Henry, evidently pleased to be conferring this treat. In practice, he thought, following her down the corridor, she did right to be confident. Even after only a morning of Francesca he had to see what a younger brother looked like, particularly one who moved in such raffish circles.
Coming face to face with Perry in the Department’s glass entrance hall, he sustained a small shock. Perry, he reco
gnized, was a dazzler. Not all that tall, perhaps three inches more than his sister, and graceful with it, he had Francesca’s straight severe features in a longer face, Francesca’s wide blue eyes set further apart than hers, with eyelashes a good deal thicker and longer than hers. While Francesca was dressed in a good grey Jaeger suit, in a style too severe for her, and a plain white blouse, Perry wore perfectly cut navy leather trousers and a pale blue silk shirt under a slightly darker cashmere sweater with two thin gold chains at his neck. They would have been recognizable anywhere as brother and sister, but they were as different as a kingfisher and his subfusc mate. Perry greeted him with courtesy and even with warmth, and Henry was charmed, though deciding that the boy was just a bit too conscious of those wonderful looks. He felt a pang for Francesca, so overshadowed.
‘What you been at then?’ the object of his pity was demanding, with affection. ‘I’ll have you know, Peregrine, we’ve always kept ourselves respectable, never had the police in the house till now.’
‘Well I know,’ Perry agreed, looking gracefully helpless. ‘I suppose it was that sort of thought that made me hesitate to call them.’
‘The fact that the chap from whose bed you have removed her is her husband must have given you pause as well.’
‘Frannie,’ Perry said indignantly, and glanced towards Henry and Rajiv both of whom were blinking at this trenchant approach. ‘You’re hardly one to talk, come to think of it.’ He looked severely at Francesca who was slowly reddening.
‘Children, children,’ Rajiv intervened, and Henry hastily took his leave of them, reminding Francesca that he would need to talk to her that afternoon before they saw the Minister. He watched for a moment as the two graceful creatures left hand in hand, and scrambled into the back of the Rolls.
‘Rajiv, whose husband did Francesca steal?’
‘That’s not very fair of Perry. The cases are not analogous. Fran had a very much publicized affair with a US senator while she was over there, but there was no question of his leaving his wife. Perry, as I understand it, has actually abstracted a top model who is married to someone else, and has moved her into his house. Her husband seems to have taken exception to this and threatened retaliation. As we both heard, Fran has advised calling in the police.’
‘And has gone along to hold his hand while he does it?’
‘Evidently.’
Henry followed Rajiv down to the canteen, deciding reluctantly that it would be in poor taste to ask more questions, but that it was all a very long way from the vicissitudes of the textile industry.
5
At Edgware Road police station, three miles away from where Henry Blackshaw was being introduced to his new colleagues, McLeish and Davidson were organizing their day.
‘Right then, Bruce, let’s go through the card for this morning. Peter Hampton, the Managing Director: he was in London on Monday and he told me that he saw Fireman at 5 p.m. and had a chat with him. The next candidate, William Blackett, was also in London. But they are the only two people from the company who were, is that right?’
‘Yes. Two more Board members were at a Round Table dinner in Towneley with their wives, nae bother there. The Chairman and the local solicitor were both at a Hunt Ball.’
‘Right. And we’re visiting these two characters for a friendly at their London offices, just by Paddington?’
Davidson explained that it had seemed easier than inviting them to the station and McLeish agreed.
They were shown straight up to Hampton’s office on their arrival, and offered coffee.
‘I’m not sure how I can help you,’ Hampton said discouragingly, passing the sugar. ‘As I said on the phone, we finished our meeting around 6 p.m. and Bill went off — to get some dinner in, I assumed. I never saw him again.’
‘I just need some background. Can you tell me why Mr Fireman was in London at all? Was he often here?’
‘No, in fact hardly ever. He’d come down to talk to a possible new supplier — as you know, he was in charge of our purchasing function — and he came on to talk to me after he had seen them. He arrived about 5 and left at just after 6. I am sure about the later time; I’d been trying to get him out of the office for half an hour.’
‘What were you talking about.’
‘Oh, Christ. He was boring on — I’m sorry to say that but it’s true — about whether he should give this new supplier a chance.’ He hesitated. ‘I imagine all this is strictly confidential? The reason it was a bore is that the company is going through a very bad patch and we’re having all the trouble we can handle keeping the suppliers we have. It just isn’t realistic to take on a new supplier in our circumstances, but I could not make old Bill see it. Of course, to be fair, he doesn’t — didn’t – quite know the full strength. He isn’t on the Board, and I thought they should be told before anyone else.’
‘So it was a nuisance that he wanted to change suppliers?’
‘Yes, but it wasn’t going to happen unless I said so. Anyway, I daresay he would have gone on for another hour, but William Blackett came in.’
‘Does Mr Blackett take an active part in the company?’
‘Not really, he is non-executive here. He is the Sales Director of one of our suppliers, and of course he is full time there. I don’t see a great deal of him in the ordinary way.’
‘What did you talk about?’ McLeish was working through a routine, his mind not wholly engaged, but his attention was snagged by the slight pause before the answer.
‘I can’t really remember — nothing important, it was the end of the day. We just chatted. I wasn’t going to tell him too much about our difficulties until I could talk to the whole Board. Giving non-executive directors bits and pieces of information is always a bad idea, in my experience.’
McLeish went patiently on, eliciting the information that Blackett had left about 6.30 and Hampton about 7 p.m., vouched for by the building’s security man.
‘What time did you say Bill was killed?’ Hampton asked, suddenly.
‘He was found at 7.45, but the girl who found him was too upset to be clear as to whether he was dead then. He wasn’t long gone when the ambulance got there. He was probably killed around 7.30.’
‘You haven’t asked me, but I went to the McDonald’s on the corner about 7 p.m. — it was crowded and I had to queue, and I should think I got out about 7.45. I was back in Towneley by 11 p.m., and it’s a three-hour drive. I can prove that, because I had a drink with a mate. I’ll give you his name.’
McLeish sighed inwardly, reckoning the chances of anyone in a crowded McDonald’s remembering an individual customer. He considered Hampton again, and decided however that it was just possible that one of the girls would have remembered him. Hampton was a good-looking bloke, and his height made him distinctive as well. As McLeish rose to leave he realized that Hampton was much the same height.
‘I’m sorry to hear of your business problems,’ he said politely.
‘Oh them. Well, we are in trouble and that’s why I’m in London again. I’m not usually up and down like a monkey on a stick, but we have to see a lot of people this week. You must excuse me if I’ve seemed a bit rushed.’
McLeish made civil, comprehending noises, and removed himself and Davidson into an underfurnished, slightly dusty meeting-room next door to Hampton’s office, where William Blackett was reading the Daily Telegraph. As he and Davidson introduced themselves, McLeish felt a familiar tightening of the nerves; Blackett was sweating slightly, his voice was a little too loud in the small room, and he licked his lips nervously before he spoke. McLeish took him patiently through his day, which had seemed to consist largely of lunch at the In and Out starting at 12.30 and ending around 4 p.m.
‘Business, you know. That’s how you sell,’ Blackett explained importantly, the twitching hands steadier now. ‘Anyway I then went off to see Simon Ketterick, one of my salesmen for Alutex — we supply for Britex — and I came here about 6 p.m. to have a word with Peter Hampton, take a dri
nk off him, you know.’
Probably much needed, McLeish thought. ‘What were you having a word about?’
‘Eh? Oh, nothing in particularly. It was the end of the day, you know, and we just chatted.’
‘And when did you leave?’
‘Half six. The security man will tell you.’
‘And where did you go then?’
‘You’re asking about my alibi.’ Blackett tried a booming laugh which didn’t quite come off. ‘I went to the cinema. Alone.’
‘Which cinema?’
Blackett hesitated, turned red, but looked him defiantly in the eye. ‘Place in Soho. Blue films, you know.’
McLeish, who did indeed know, patiently extracted the name of the cinema, the false name under which Blackett had entered himself as a member, and the fact that he thought he had arrived about 8.15 but perhaps the chap there would remember. McLeish, reflecting that nothing could be less likely, accepted this hypothesis for the purpose of the interview.
‘I suppose I could have killed Bill Fireman — I mean Pindar Street is only round the corner here,’ he said, with bravado, but he was, McLeish observed, less nervous now that he had brought himself to reveal the evening’s programme. McLeish made a suitably non-committal noise, and rose to go.
‘I expect you’ll be very busy just now?’ he remarked, making use of one of the useful phrases of farewell collected from his first mentor in the Force.
‘Oh, you know about all that?’ Blackett asked sharply. ‘Yes, we’ll be seeing the Minister this afternoon, heaven help us.’
McLeish and Davidson withdrew in good order and sat in the car to compare notes.
‘They have a Minister for duff companies?’ McLeish wondered aloud.
‘Maybe it is a Minister of religion he is thinking of?’
Both policemen considered the likelihood of a pray-in for collapsing companies, and gave it up.
‘Well, that’s it finished anyway,’ McLeish said. ‘The rest of the Board are placed in Yorkshire at the relevant time, and so are all the deceased’s family. No one remotely connected to him, except for Hampton and Blackett, was here on Monday.’