Chapter 17
Those who were stewing were ten minutes away in the old Port of London Authority building in Trinity Square. The location was apt. The building was in the grand Edwardian style with an enormous statute of Neptune which matched the self-image of the occupants.
In the office of City First Brokers, a blonde receptionist was on her way to conference room two with a message.
“David, Spiro Thanakis rang you again and wants to speak to you urgently. That’s the fourth time this morning and it’s only nine o’clock.”
“Right, ta Emma.”
No-one in the room noticed the sly wink Wellbourne gave her as she left. When the door was shut after the wink was returned, Wellbourne leapt out of his chair and began pacing the room.
“Do you see what I mean ? The bloke is out for blood and I can tell you, it ain’t going to be mine. He’s worked up because I left a message for him yesterday that Rob Ashby was in town.”
The display of nervousness was ignored by Stuart Grant, the head of City First’s marine business in Europe. He was their main contact in Athens for shipping business and had set up the marine policy for the Captain Stratos with Stirling.
With them was Frances Keen, one of the team of lawyers representing Hellas Global Shipping, the Greek shipowners of the Captain Stratos. The owners’ London agent was Spiro Thanakis.
All of them viewed Robert Ashby’s return to London as a good omen. Perhaps they might resolve the claim instead of fighting it out in court. While none of them knew their adversary well, only Wellbourne had met him once or twice when Ashby was training as an underwriter. Yet, somehow they were convinced that he would be more approachable than his father whose reputation for hard-headedness was legendary.
Like Thanakis, Grant was vexed with Wellbourne. To preserve his position in the corporate hierarchy, Grant always took the client’s side against his less ‘experienced’ colleagues. And although it is impossible to ‘own’ a client, some, like Grant, would disagree – especially, if the client was an extremely lucrative one which happened to be the case here.
“Oh, do come along, David – why can’t you see it from the client’s perspective ? The poor chap has been waiting over two years for his money since the Stratos went down. You can’t blame him if he’s walking barefoot on red hot coals a week before the hearing. There’s a lot at stake for him. I’m sure Miss Keen agrees with me.”
“It’s alright for you,” responded Wellbourne. “You don’t have to babysit him when he turns up here, asking us to force Plantation to somehow pay up when we’re bogged down in the court system.”
Frances Keen was quick to dismiss any idea that the court case may have dragged on for too long or that the hearing wouldn’t go smoothly. She was a junior solicitor in her mid twenties and eye-catching. In City law firms, this was de rigeur : all the male partners were public school, Oxbridge types who only employed attractive women. There were rare exceptions if plain-looking women lawyers had their own clients. These were almost tolerated, especially if there was the chance of encouraging the clients to move sideways to those more ‘experienced’.
In the office and to clients, Frances Keen was known as ‘Miss Keen’ and she insisted on the formal title as a way of fending off male associates, partners, clients or barristers who might have had the wrong idea. Unsurprisingly, both Grant and Wellbourne perpetually had the wrong idea but were tactfully repulsed.
“Mr Thanakis isn’t worried about the hearing,” she said. “He’s just had enough. There’s been a lot of mud slung at him, you know, by old Ashby. No-one likes being called a crook, do they ? And all of that muck-raking about the antics of the Captain and criminal activity and so on. Judges don’t like to hear that sort of thing when it isn’t true.”
“Yes, of course, Miss Keen. Well, we for our part, made absolutely certain that the policy with Stirling and Plantation was as tight as a drum so Spiro needn’t worry on that score…..Anyway, shall we get on to the main point ? How are we going to break the ice with Robert Ashby ? He’s bound to be the decision-maker now that his father’s gone and they’ve suddenly called him back from Houston. David, do we know anyone at the Texas Fire & Guaranty ? Anyone at all. Find out this morning, will you ? We must know someone there. Good Lord, both of us are American companies after all. Get onto Candie in our New York office, perhaps she can point us in the right direction. Right, then what do we know about Ashby at the moment ? What sort of a person is he ? Can we schmooze him over drinks and dinner ? Do you think he’d go for that ?”
Wellbourne frowned. “I doubt it and anyway, I don’t know him that well. There’ll be someone in the East India Company at lunchtime who does though. Trouble is, Ashby’s one of the new crowd of underwriters – Imperial College….business school….then qualified as an underwriter with the Guild and was sent straight off to the States. He didn’t work his way up in the business,” said Wellbourne while surveying Grant in his loud, chalk striped suit and the solicitor in her pin-striped twin-set. Unlike Whittingham, Wellbourne was levelling the score with two sons at public school in a leafy part of Essex – and the fees were crippling him.
Grant wanted to push for a meeting with Ashby.
“We shouldn’t lose any time getting to see him. We don’t want to look as if we’re worried about our chances. But at the same time, we want to him to think that we’ll deal with it amicably. The trouble is, Jim Ashby refused point blank to talk to us all the way through this mess since it first started.”
“Precisely,” said Frances Keen, “yet we have a solid case against them. They’re the ones who should be worrying. So, who do you think should attend from our side ?”
Grant said he would tell Thanakis that the meeting should be kept as simple as possible. That would mean no lawyers, no baggage, no teams of note takers or assistants three-deep ; perhaps a one-on-one chat between Robert Ashby and him, at least to start off with, to see the lie of the land and what prospects there were of ending the dispute.
“You’ll have your work cut out getting Thanakis to stay away,” scoffed Wellbourne.
“Just leave that to me. Try and set something up with Rob Ashby for tomorrow or the day after – preferably at our office – better to have it on home turf – and in the meantime, find out what you can about him. As much detail as possible, even down to the colour of his socks and what he likes for breakfast.”
“You and I should also speak with Mr Thanakis about any discount on the claim,” said Frances Keen.
Grant laughed derisively. “He won’t like it but Plantation will be looking for more than fifty per cent. Everyone knows they’re looking shaky – and if the shipowners can get away with half of the claim, paid up front and in the hand, then that’s better than wasting our time in a four day court hearing, with the judge awarding them a hundred per cent, then they get nothing as an unsecured creditor when Plantation is liquidated.”
“It’s a real dilemma for them,” sighed Frances Keen, “but we’ve had several conferences where the risks have been spelt out so they know what to expect. Yes,” she said ruefully, “I don’t envy them.”
She was also thinking of the four or five letters written by her in the name of the partner in charge of her department : the Greeks had been told they might not recover anything from Plantation which could already be technically insolvent. If the shipowners wanted the trial to proceed, they would have to pay the lawyers one hundred and twenty five thousand pounds up front to cover all the trial expenses. A deadline for payment had expired over a week ago. So far, only a third of that amount had been received. The lawyers were pushing them daily to pay the rest while implying that the hearing might be cancelled.
Grant glanced at Frances Keen and read her thoughts.
“No wonder Jim Ashby refused to parlay before he died. Plantation has nothing to lose by rejecting talks. He was no fool, was he ?”
Plantation A Legal Thriller Page 17