Mad Dogs and Englishmen (The Brigandshaw Chronicles Book 3)

by Peter Rimmer

  “I want to live in Africa. Come on. You’re wasting time.” Intentionally, she had made her voice sound husky.

  Harry Brigandshaw was well aware the shares of Colonial Shipping were undervalued. That whoever received an allocation and sold them after the listing would make a handsome profit. It had been his intention. Why all the staff were offered shares to be paid for out of their salaries and wages over five years. Harry hoped the staff would hold onto their shares and watch their value grow, giving them an incentive to make the company even more profitable. To make the staff part of the family. He was also aware C E Porter through bank nominees had allocated himself a hundred thousand shares.

  Grainger’s investigation had been thorough and accurate. Well before Harry appointed C E Porter the sole sponsoring stockbroker. As had been the report on building a cold storage facility into two of their ships.

  Harry and Grainger had spoken in April, soon after Grainger came back from Birmingham.

  “He’s sharp, Mr Brigandshaw. But not dishonest. So far as the law goes he is always within the law. Every company he has taken public has been a success. When he goes through the accounts and doesn’t like what he sees he tells the client to look for another stockbroker. When the shares eventually list through another sponsoring broker, he sells the shares short and from what I hear almost always makes a killing.”

  “So he knows how to value a company.”

  “And knows what the market wants. What the market will pay for a share. The future value of the company… There are five banks. All listed in my report. If all five banks apply for our shares, their applications will stick out like a sore thumb. Porter doesn’t think anyone knows about his nominee buying. Buys the same number of shares through each bank. So if all five banks ask for say twenty thousand shares we’ll know it’s Porter.”

  “Not if the bank is asked to buy our shares by other clients?”

  “I think we will see a pattern.”

  “Do you recommend we use Porter?”

  “Yes. He will make the flotation a success if he takes it on.”

  “And make himself a fortune.”

  “It is the way of business in the City, Mr Brigandshaw. If I may say so they are mostly only gentleman on the surface. An Englishman’s word as his bond can mean many things… Once I know a man’s modus operandi I can do business. The man who says he has never stolen a penny in his life is the one to watch. A man who says that in the City is a liar. In the City of London there are more ways to steal than you can possibly imagine. Why we are the centre of world finance and at the heart of the largest empire on God’s earth… We need a sharp stockbroker to stop the rest of them in the City doing us harm. You set a crook to stop a crook, Mr Brigandshaw. Never be fooled by a man’s public school accent.”

  “You think Porter a crook?”

  “He will always be just within the law.”

  “Then some of the laws need changing.”

  “That they do. Business evolution. Each side looking to get ahead, with the government of the day claiming they are legislating fair play. And that one is usually a lie. Governments are run by vested interests.”

  “You are saying the City of London is a house of dishonesty.”

  “Not at all. What I am saying is if you don’t know the rules and the ways round the rules you will never become rich in the City of London.”

  “Then we will have to use the services of Mr Porter.”

  “I am glad you agree, Mr Brigandshaw. Better the devil we have found out about than the devil we don’t know.”

  “How many shares are you going for yourself?”

  “As many as you will offer me.”

  “Thank you, Grainger. That is the best reason so far for using Porter. I was not sure at first. Now I know we are going to get on. I will, of course, make sure you are not working for Mr Porter before we go ahead.”

  “You have learnt fast, Mr Brigandshaw.”

  “We also have predators in Africa, Grainger… Will you have lunch with me today in my dining room?”

  “It will be an honour.”

  “Did my grandfather ever entertain you in the managing director’s private dining room?”

  “No, sir. I was never given that honour. Only the ships’ captains ate with the Captain.”

  By the time Tina Pringle was lying to Barnaby St Clair about Harry going round to visit her flat in St John’s Wood at eight o’clock in the evening, Harry knew that institutions and the public had asked to be allocated five and a half times more shares in Colonial Shipping than were on offer. He was also considering Percy Grainger for the job of managing director when he finally went home to Africa and Elephant Walk. Though C E Porter had given him a list from outside the company, Harry’s instinct was to promote from within. Grainger would watch Porter who would have Harry’s proxy at directors’ meetings and be able to vote Harry’s share at the annual shareholders meetings. Porter would watch Grainger. There would be a balance of power.

  Harry was going to introduce a third safety precaution and the one he considered most important. When the ships of the company arrived in Beira on their round trips of Africa, Harry would fly himself down to the Mozambique port from Elephant Walk. He was going to build himself a grass airstrip on his farm. He was going to buy a twin aircraft in England and send it to Cape Town on one of his ships in crates. Harry would take the train to Cape Town and fly the aircraft to Rhodesia.

  A system with the Rhodesian post office would be put in place to get cables to Elephant Walk within three hours of their arrival at the Salisbury post office. Harry was determined to have the best of both worlds. He was going to live where he wanted and still keep his finger on the pulse.

  When aeroplanes grew bigger with a longer range, he would introduce a commercial airline to fly from Cape Town and Johannesburg direct to London with fuel stops on the way. He had begun talks with the Sunderland aircraft company to build an amphibious passenger plane that could land on the great lakes and rivers of Africa so he could hop his passengers up and down Africa. They had looked at him amazed but said they would see what could be done. Even in 1922, four years after the end of the war against Germany, Harry was still respected in aviation circles. Harry had smiled to himself. It was the only time he could remember when he had used his fame from the war to get himself something that he wanted.

  Flying boats. They were going to build him flying boats.

  Straight after the first lunch with Percy Grainger in the managing director’s private dining room, at which they had talked more than eaten, Harry found a use for the chauffeur that drove the managing director’s Rolls-Royce. For weeks the man had had nothing to do. Harry had bought himself a 350 cc BSA motorcycle and some old flying clothes. The one-bedroom flat off Regent Street was used during the week. During the weekends, Harry rode the bike into the countryside to get away from the noise and other people. The driver had sat twiddling his thumbs. Now each time an Empire Castle ship arrived at Southampton, the driver was sent with the car to bring the ships’ captains to London for lunch in the managing director’s private dining room, a tradition started by Harry’s grandfather that Harry reintroduced. The navy and the air force had a lot in common. Most of the time they liked each other and Harry found out what he wanted to know about the business he had inherited from his Uncle James.

  The private, one-to-one lunches had triggered his idea to buy himself an aircraft. To talk to Sunderland. To think ahead to the new world of travel he was certain would come whether the people of the world liked it or not. The world was going to shrink, and he was going to help it to shrink. For moments, Harry even found he was enjoying himself being in business. There were now so many new things, he could do.

  At nine o’clock that night Harry drove his motorcycle to the small flat he rented off Regent Street in Regent Mews. The Mews had not so long ago stabled horses. Harry had rented his flat over one of the stables and Harry parked his motorcycle in it. Even in May he needed the long lea
ther flying jacket to keep out the cold. Even the slightest cold penetrated Harry’s thin blood. It was an ongoing story in his head with himself to explain his dislike for the English weather.

  He wanted an early night. Harry found mental exercise more tiring than walking the bush all day with a rifle over his shoulder and the dogs at his heels. Harry stopped. When he thought of the dogs, he could still feel the loss of Fletcher, killed defending his Grandfather Manderville from an old lion. Even after five years… Harry could still remember every dog he had ever owned.

  “Evening, Harry. Thought you were going to visit Tina tonight?”

  “What are you doing here, Barnaby? Why would I want to visit Tina tonight? Where did you get that idea?”

  “Straight from the horse’s mouth. Tina Pringle.”

  “She wants to make you jealous. You have my word I have no interest in your girlfriend other than as a casual friend I meet on the social rounds of London. A round frankly I could do without but Brett insists. She has a new part by the way. Some play by Somerset Maugham they are putting on at the Adelphi. Quite a good part. Seeing you are here, you’d better come in for one drink. Then I’m going to bed. I’m dog-tired… What do you want?”

  “How do you know I want something?”

  “Either you were spying on me to see if I was visiting Tina which makes no sense or you would be outside her flat in St John’s Wood. Or you want something.”

  “You know me too well, brother-in-law.”

  “Yes I do,” said Harry wearily. They had climbed the outside stairs to his Mews flat and Harry was putting the key into the door.

  “You can afford something better than this, Harry. Why the motorcycle?”

  “Come in, Barnaby. Pour yourself a drink. The drinks are in the sideboard. How’d you find my flat? People don’t come here often.”

  “Brett told me.”

  “Did she? I must tell Brett not to broadcast my hideaway. Now, what do you want?”

  “An allocation of Colonial Shipping shares before Monday.”

  “You have one thousand already allocated.”

  “How do you know that? The allocation is in the name of my bankers.”

  “Who are Cox’s and King’s? Why does the whole of the City imagine we colonials are all fools? That only someone born to it can know what’s going on here. We help fight your wars and you still look at us down your noses. Irritating, Barnaby.”

  “A thousand isn’t nearly enough.”

  “Why? The shares can list below the offer price and then you lose money. We’ll all only know that on Monday.”

  “They’ll go up in the first hour of trading.”

  Harry watched Barnaby pour himself a whisky from the decanter he had found in the sideboard before turning to offer Harry the decanter.

  “Not for me. I’m not going to eat.”

  Barnaby turned back to his drink and with his finger stirred the water he had poured into his whisky. It looked to Harry as if he was thinking as fast as his brain could think. Then he turned round with his best smile spread gently over his handsome face. As usual when Barnaby wanted something he was trying to turn all his charm on Harry. Harry smiled back.

  “My father is not wealthy, Harry. It worries me. Even with Merlin buying him that pedigree herd of cows he still doesn’t have any real money. I want to use the money I have made since coming back from Africa to help my father and mother. I thought you might want to help. I’m prepared to risk my money to buy Lord St Clair as many shares as you’re able to offer him.”

  “You want the shares in your father’s name,” said Harry in surprise.

  “No. He wouldn’t understand that. And if they went down, he would think he owed me the money. The shortfall. No. Better the shares are allocated to me and I give my father the profit when I sell.”

  “All the profit, Barnaby? This is Harry you are talking to.”

  “Shall we say half the profits?”

  “I want that in writing from you, Barnaby. Now.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “You still owe Jim Bowman ten pounds. You conned him out of lunch and ten pounds. You also stole from the officers’ mess fund in Cairo which was why you were not asked to stay on in the army after the war. The British Army rightly forgave you after you put back the money. You were brave during the war blowing up Turkish trains. Getting off was your reward instead of a medal. You are also known to wear an old Harrovian tie to which you perfectly well know you are not entitled as you did not attend Harrow School.”

  “Is this a lecture?” The blue eyes had gone cold. Dangerous.

  “Sort of. You are my brother-in-law. You are much younger than me. If you want me to make you some more easy money, I want you to know the truth. Not everyone is fooled by the charm of the Honourable Barnaby St Clair. We are not all fools. Fact is, I like your idea. I would very much like to give your mother and father some money in a way they will accept. They gave me Lucinda, and I lost them Lucinda when she was in my charge. When I was meant to be looking after her with my life… I will allocate to you one hundred thousand shares in your own name. If your bankers will not extend to you an overdraft to cover the purchase for the short while before you sell the shares at a profit, I will guarantee your overdraft at Cox’s and King’s. For making the trade, you will receive ten per cent of the profit. The balance will be deposited to your father’s bank account. If it is not within seven days of receiving your profit cheque from your stockbroker, I will run you out of London. Run you out of England. The financial world will be told who you really are.”

  “You’re a bastard, Harry.”

  “On that one you are perfectly right. Do we agree on the details?”

  “Every one of them. Ten per cent is better than nothing. How long can I wait? Before I sell?”

  “A month. One month from Monday. There’s a writing desk over there. Go and write down what we have agreed.”

  “May I tell Mother and Father how it was?”

  “No. They think you are wonderful. You may take the credit.”

  “What will the one pound shares go to, Harry?”

  “Our last guess is twenty-five shillings. Now, sign right now and I’ll have one drink with you and pretend the ugly part of this conversation never took place. I am not your enemy Barnaby. I’m still your friend. Try to remember that.”

  On Saturday morning at first light, Harry wheeled the heavy motorcycle out of the stable under his flat and kick-started the engine. He was wearing his long leather flying jacket. Large goggles hid most of his face. On his hands were gloves that came halfway up to his elbows. Birds were singing in the plane trees that had attracted Harry to the flat in the Mews. He was whistling to himself. Everything had gone as well as he hoped. On Monday they would find out the price the market would pay for his shares. All the allocations were in place. The unsuccessful had been sent back their money in the post. The day the morning after Barnaby’s petulant visit to his flat, had been most satisfactory. It was the first time Harry had seen C E Porter’s face drop. The first time the smooth confidence had vanished for a moment, replaced by a fear Harry recognised in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Harry, but Barnaby can’t be given one hundred thousand shares.”

  “Why not, C E?”

  Harry had taken the time to go to the offices of C E Porter. He wanted to look at the man so they would understand each other in the future, not just talk to him over the phone.

  “The institutions have been told their allotments by telephone. The return cheques are in the envelopes and will be posted tonight. We are oversubscribed five point seven times. There are no more shares we can allocate.”

  “Institutions. The banks, for instance. They can be phoned again. The transactions will only be finalised once the shares are listed by you on Monday morning.”

  “But everything is finalised, Harry.”

  “Maybe not, C E. The banks buying shares for their clients as nominees will only inform their clients w
hen they receive the share certificate in two weeks’ time. It doesn’t really matter to the banks which of their clients are lucky. They applied for shares on behalf of their clients to hide their clients’ names from our share register. So we as Colonial Shipping don’t actually know the names of some of our shareholders. Personally, I think that is a practice that should be changed. It has an air of dishonesty even if it is perfectly legal. You kindly gave me a list of allocations where the number of shares was over ten thousand shares, other than staff shares, where the list covered everyone. I was pleased you remembered my request to treble the allocation of one Samuel Adams… Now I have my own small list of allocated shares that we will change. There are five of them. Each twenty thousand shares. Barnaby St Clair will receive their allocations instead of the banks. We don’t even know the real buyers so it doesn’t matter to us.”

  Harry handed C E Porter the list and watched him carefully as he read the names of the five London banks. Harry watched the colour drain from C E Porter’s face. The man had gone white. Then he had looked up at Harry. They finally understood each other.

  “Of course, any bank nominee shares will do, C E,” Harry said sweetly. “These just add up so nicely to one hundred thousand shares.”

  “You know these are for me, don’t you Harry?”

  “Yes I do.”

  “How did you find out? It’s quite legal, you know.”

  “I think a big, personal investment, out in the open, of my sponsoring broker would have been nice. But you have your reasons. Better let the banks have those shares then and find a hundred thousand somewhere else. Here is Barnaby’s application form and his cheque. Just to put your mind at rest, I had him ask Cox’s and King’s to guarantee the cheque. The bank has agreed on the back of the cheque.”

  “I’m glad I did not fly in combat against you, Harry.”

  “Now that everything is finalised, I would like to thank you for a splendid job well done. Which is why I’m here in your office. I will be at the London Stock Exchange on Monday morning when they ring the bell. Keep your fingers crossed for a good opening price. I want my staff to see an immediate profit… Did anyone sell short as far as you know?” Harry was at the door of C E Porter’s office when he turned back to smile. Barnaby had told him C E Porter’s scheme to make Barnaby broke. Again C E Porter went white.