Cometh the Hour

by Jeffrey Archer

“It most certainly is, but I wish the conversation had been taped, so I could replay it—” he paused—“again and again.”

  “Sloane wasn’t the only person who abandoned what some assumed was a sinking ship. You won’t be surprised to hear that one or two old customers are now trying to climb back on board. ‘I was never in any doubt, old boy.’”

  “I hope you made those old boys walk the plank, one by one,” said Hakim with feeling.

  “I didn’t go quite that far, chairman. However, I made it clear that they might not be offered quite the same advantageous terms they’d enjoyed in the past.”

  Hakim burst out laughing. “You know, Ross, there are times when I could do with a modicum of your wisdom and diplomacy.” The chairman’s tone of voice changed. “Dare I ask if we’re any nearer to finding out who paid the stewardess to plant the heroin in my bag?”

  “Barry Hammond says he’s got it down to a short list of three.”

  “I presume one of them has to be Desmond Mellor.”

  “Aided and abetted by Adrian Sloane and Jim Knowles. But Barry’s warned me that it won’t be easy to prove.”

  “It would have been impossible without the help of Mr. Collier, who could so easily have chosen to say nothing, and save face. I’m indebted to him. Perhaps we should send him and his wife on a Barrington’s cruise to the Bahamas.”

  “I don’t think so, chairman. David Collier plays everything by the book. Even when Barry took him to lunch to thank him for all he’d done, he insisted on splitting the bill. No, I suggest a letter of thanks and, as he’s a huge Dickens fan, perhaps a complete Nonesuch edition?”

  “What a brilliant idea.”

  “Not mine. Once again you can thank Barry Hammond for that particular insight. Those two have become thick as thieves and go to watch Wasps together every Saturday afternoon.”

  “Wasps?” asked Hakim, looking puzzled.

  “A London rugby club they’ve both supported for years.”

  “What do you suggest I do about thanking Barry properly?

  “I’ve already paid him the bonus you agreed, if you were found innocent, and he’s still working on who arranged for the stewardess to plant those drugs in your bag. But he refuses to give me any details until he’s nailed the bastard.”

  “Typical Barry.”

  “He also tells me that you’ve asked him to make further enquiries about Kristina Bergström, which puzzled me, chairman, because I was convinced she was telling the truth, and I can’t see any purpose in—”

  “Now that you’re no longer chairman, Ross, what are your immediate plans?”

  Although the sudden change of subject wasn’t subtle, Ross played along. “Jean and I are going on holiday to Burma, a country we’ve always wanted to visit. And when we get back to Scotland, we intend to spend the rest of our days in a cottage near Gullane that has stunning views over the Firth of Forth, and just happens to be adjoining Muirfield golf course, where I will spend many happy hours working on my handicap.”

  “I’m not following you, Ross.”

  “Which is a good thing, chairman, because you’d only end up in the deep rough. Equally importantly, Gullane is on the south shore of the Firth, where the trout are about to discover I’m back with a vengeance.”

  “So am I to understand there’s nothing I can say to persuade you to stay on the board?”

  “Not a hope. You’ve already had my letter of resignation, and if I’m not on the Flying Scotsman this evening I don’t know which one of us Jean will kill first.”

  “You I can handle, but not Jean. Does that mean you’ve closed the deal on that idyllic cottage you told me about?”

  “Almost,” said Ross. “I still have to sell my flat in Edinburgh before I can sign the contract.”

  “Please give Jean my love and tell her how grateful I am that she allowed you to come out of retirement for five months. Have a wonderful time in Burma, and thank you once again.” Ross was about to shake hands with the chairman when Hakim threw his arms around him and gave him a bear hug, something the Scotsman had never experienced before.

  Once Ross had left, Hakim walked across to the window and waited until he saw him leave the building and hail a taxi. He then returned to his desk and asked his secretary to get Mr. Vaughan of Savills on the line.

  “Mr. Bishara, good to hear from you. Can I possibly interest you in a duplex flat in Mayfair, prime location, excellent park views—”

  “No, Mr. Vaughan, you cannot. But you could sell me a flat in Edinburgh that I know has been on your books for several months.”

  “We’ve already got a bid for Mr. Buchanan’s property in Argyll Street, but it’s still a couple of thousand shy of the asking price.”

  “Fine, then take it off the market, sell it to the underbidder and I’ll cover the shortfall.”

  “We’re talking a couple of thousand pounds, Mr. Bishara.”

  “Cheap at double the price,” said Hakim.

  GILES BARRINGTON

  1976–1977

  39

  THE GOVERNOR’S OFFICE

  June 12th, 1976

  Dear Lord Barrington

  You may not remember me but we met some twelve years ago, on the Buckingham’s maiden voyage to New York. At that time I was a congressman for the eleventh district of Louisiana, better known as Baton Rouge. Since then, I’ve become State Governor, and have recently been reelected to serve a second term. May I congratulate you on your own return to the Cabinet as Leader of the Lords.

  I’m writing to let you know that I will be in London for a few days toward the end of July, and wondered if you could spare the time to see me on a private matter, concerning a close friend, constituent and major backer of my party.

  My friend had an unfortunate experience with a certain Lady Virginia Fenwick when visiting London some five years ago, who I subsequently discovered is your former wife. The matter I wish to seek your advice on does not reflect well on Lady Virginia, with whom you may still be on good terms. If that is the case, I will of course understand, and will seek to resolve the problem in some other way.

  I look forward to hearing from you.

  Yours sincerely

  The Honorable Hayden Rankin

  Giles remembered the governor only too well. His shrewd advice and discretion had helped to avert a major catastrophe when the IRA attempted to sink the Buckingham on her maiden voyage, and he certainly hadn’t forgotten Hayden Rankin’s parting words on the subject, “You owe me one.”

  Giles wrote back immediately to say he would be delighted to see Hayden when he was in London. Not least—which he didn’t say in his letter—because he couldn’t wait to find out how his ex-wife could possibly have come across one of the governor of Louisiana’s closest friends. And it might also finally solve the mystery of little Freddie.

  He was delighted that Hayden had been reelected for a second term but didn’t feel as confident about his own party’s chances of success at the next election, even though he wasn’t willing to admit as much, especially to Emma.

  Following the surprise resignation of Harold Wilson in April 1976, the new prime minister, Jim Callaghan, had asked Giles to once again take charge of the marginal seat campaign, and for the past two months he had been visiting constituencies as far-flung as Aberdeen and Plymouth. When Callaghan asked Giles for his realistic assessment of what the next election result would be, he had warned “Lucky Jim” that they might not be quite as lucky this time.

  * * *

  “Can I speak to Sebastian Clifton please?”

  “This is Sebastian Clifton.”

  “Mr. Clifton, I’m ringing from the United States. Will you accept a reverse charge call from a Miss Jessica Clifton?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “Hi, Pops.”

  “Hi, Jessie, how are you?”

  “Great, thanks.”

  “And your mother?”

  “I’m still working on her, but I was calling to make sure you’ll be jo
ining us in Rome next month.”

  “I’m already booked into the Albergo del Senato, in the Piazza della Rotonda. It’s just opposite the Pantheon. Where will you be staying?”

  “With my grandparents at the American Embassy. I can’t remember if you’ve ever met Grandpops, he’s super cool.”

  “Yes, I have. In fact I visited him when he was the chef de mission at the Embassy in Grosvenor Square, and asked his permission to marry your mother.”

  “How beautifully old-fashioned of you, Pops, but you needn’t bother to ask him again, because I’ve already got his approval, and I can’t think of a more romantic city than Rome in which to propose to Mom.”

  “Please don’t tell me you phone the ambassador in Rome and reverse the charges!”

  “Yes, but only once a week. I can’t wait to meet Grandpops Harry and Great-uncle Giles. Then I can add them to my list and let them know you’re planning to propose to Mom.”

  “Should I presume you’ve already picked the date, the time and the place?”

  “Yes, of course. It will have to be on Thursday, when we have tickets for the Borghese Gallery. I know Mom’s looking forward to seeing the Berninis, and Canova’s Paolina Borghese.”

  “Did you know that the gallery is named after Napoleon’s sister?”

  “I didn’t know you’d been to Rome, Pops.”

  “It may come as a surprise to you, Jessie, but there were people roaming the earth before 1965.”

  “Yes, I knew that. I’ve read about them in my history books.”

  “You wouldn’t like to run a bank, by any chance?”

  “No thanks, Pops, I just haven’t got the time, what with preparing for my next exhibition and trying to organize you two.”

  “I can’t imagine how we survived before you came along.”

  “Not very well, by all accounts. By the way, have you ever come across a man called Maurice Swann, from Shifnal in Shropshire?”

  “Yes, but surely he can’t still be alive.”

  “And kicking, it would seem, because he’s invited Mom to open his school theatre. What’s that all about?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Seb.

  * * *

  Desmond Mellor was a few minutes late and, once Virginia had poured him a whisky, he got straight to the point.

  “I’ve kept my word, and the time has come for you to keep yours.” Virginia didn’t comment. “I’ve made a lot of money over the years, Virginia, and I’ve recently had a serious offer for Mellor Travel, that might even make it possible for me to gain a controlling interest in Farthings Bank.”

  Virginia refilled his glass with Glen Fenwick. “So, what can I do for you?”

  “The long and short of it is, I want that knighthood you promised you could fix when you needed my help to convince those American detectives that you were legit.”

  Virginia was well aware that the very idea of Desmond Mellor being offered a knighthood was preposterous, but she had already seen a way of turning this to her advantage. “Frankly, Desmond, I’m surprised you haven’t been nominated for an honor already.”

  “Is that how it works?” said Mellor. “Someone has to nominate me?”

  “Yes, the honors committee, a select group of the great and the good, receive recommendations and, if they feel it appropriate, give the nod.”

  “Do you know anyone on that committee by any chance?”

  “No one is meant to know who sits on the honors committee. It’s a closely guarded secret. Otherwise they’d never stop being bothered with recommendations from completely unsuitable people.”

  “So what hope have I got?” said Mellor.

  “Better than most,” said Virginia, “because the chairman of the committee just happens to be an old family friend.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “If I tell you, you must swear to keep it secret, because if he thought even for a moment you knew, that would scupper your chances of ever being knighted.”

  “You have my word, Virginia.”

  “The duke of Hertford—Peregrine to his friends—has been chairman of the committee for the past ten years.”

  “How in hell’s name will I ever get to meet a duke?”

  “As I said, he’s a personal friend, so I’ll invite him around to a cocktail party, which will be an opportunity for him to get to know you. But we’ve still got a lot of work to do before that can happen.”

  “Like what?”

  “First you’ll need to mount a major campaign if you want to be taken seriously.”

  “What kind of campaign?”

  “Articles about your company and how successful it’s been over the years, with particular emphasis on your export record, will need to appear regularly in the business sections of the press. The honors committee always respond favorably to the word ‘exports.’”

  “That shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange. Mellor Travel has branches all over the globe.”

  “They also like the word ‘charity.’ You’ll have to be seen to be supporting a range of worthy local and national causes, with regular photo ops that will attract their attention, so that when your name comes up in front of the committee, someone will say, ‘Does a lot of charity work, you know.’”

  “You seem to know an awful lot about this, Virginia.”

  “I would hope so. We’ve been at it for over four hundred years.”

  “So will you help me? Obviously I wouldn’t be able to put myself up.”

  “I would be only too happy to help in normal circumstances, Desmond, but as you know better than anyone, I am no longer a lady of leisure.”

  “But you gave me your word.”

  “And indeed I will honor my commitment. But if it is to be done properly, Desmond, I would have to spend a great deal of my time making sure you are invited to all the right society balls, asked to make speeches at the appropriate business conferences, while arranging for you to meet—without anyone knowing, of course—certain members of the honors committee, including the duke.”

  “Shall we say five hundred pounds a month, to make it happen?”

  “Plus expenses. I’m going to have to wine and dine some very influential people.”

  “You’ve got a deal, Virginia. I’ll arrange a standing order for five hundred a month to be transferred to your bank today. And as I’ve always believed in incentives, you’ll get a bonus of ten thousand the day Her Majesty’s sword taps me on the shoulder.”

  A bonus Virginia accepted she was never going to bank.

  When Mellor finally left, Virginia breathed a sigh of relief. It was true that she was an old friend of the duke of Hertford, but she knew only too well that he wasn’t a member of the honors committee. Still, no harm in inviting Peregrine to a cocktail party so she could introduce him to Mellor if it kept his hopes alive, while at the same time ensuring she received a monthly check, plus expenses.

  Virginia began to think of other suitable candidates for the honors committee she could also introduce to Mellor. It fascinated her that someone who was normally so shrewd and calculating, when taken out of their natural environment could be so naive and gullible. Mind you, Virginia accepted that she couldn’t afford to overplay her hand.

  40

  BY THE TIME the negotiations had been completed and the contracts signed, Sebastian was both exhilarated and exhausted. The French are never the easiest people to do business with, he considered, not least because they pretend they can’t speak English whenever they don’t want to reply to an awkward question.

  When he got back to his hotel, all he wanted was a light supper, a hot shower and an early night, as he was booked on the first flight out of Charles De Gaulle in the morning. He was studying the room-service menu when the phone rang.

  “Concierge desk, sir. We wondered if you would like to take advantage of our massage service?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “We offer this service to all our premium guests, sir, and there is no extra charge.�
�

  “All right, you’ve convinced me. Send him up.”

  “Actually, it’s a woman, sir. She’s Chinese and an excellent masseuse, but I’m afraid her English is a little limited.”

  Seb got undressed, put on a hotel dressing gown and waited. A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. He opened it, to be greeted by a woman in a white tracksuit, carrying a folded massage table in one hand and a small suitcase in the other.

  “Mai Ling,” she said, and bowed low.

  “Please come in,” said Seb, but she did not respond. He watched as she set up the massage table in the middle of the room before disappearing into the bathroom and returning a few moments later with two large towels. She then opened her hold all and extracted several bottles of oils and creams.

  She bowed again, and indicated that Seb should lie facedown on the table. He took off his dressing gown, feeling a little self-conscious clad only in his boxer shorts, and climbed onto the table.

  After a couple of minutes of pummeling, she located an old squash injury in his left calf, and moments later, a recent torn muscle in his shoulder. She dug deep, and Seb soon relaxed, feeling he was in the hands of a professional.

  Mai Ling was working on his neck when the phone rang. Seb knew it would be the chairman wanting to find out how the French deal had gone. He was just about to reluctantly climb off the table and answer the call but, before he could move, Mai Ling had picked up the receiver and placed it by his ear. He heard a voice say, “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir, but there’s a Mr. Bishara on the line.”

  “Please put him through.”

  “How did it go?” were the chairman’s first words.

  “We agreed on a coupon of 3.8 percent per annum,” said Seb as Mai Ling dug deeper into his shoulder blade and found the exact spot. “But only on condition that the French franc doesn’t fall below its current rate against the pound of 9.42.”

  “Well done, Seb, because if I remember correctly, you would have settled at 3.4 percent and even allowed the franc to be devalued by a further 10 percent.”

  “That’s right, but after a bit of negotiating and several bottles of rather good wine, they came around. I’ve got the contract in French and English.”