“Can we do anything to prevent that?” asked Sebastian.
“Yes, but we’ll have to make sure our timing is even better than Martinez’s.”
“But something isn’t quite right. If Martinez is likely to get most of his money back on the sale of the shares, why does he also need to sell his art collection?”
“I agree that is a mystery. And I have a feeling that once we’ve solved it, everything else will fall neatly into place. It’s also just possible that if you ask the young lady who’s taking you to supper tomorrow night the right question, we might be able to fit one or two more pieces of the jigsaw into place. But remember what I’ve just said: an unguarded comment often proves every bit as valuable as a response to a direct question. By the way, what’s the young lady’s name?”
“I don’t know,” said Sebastian.
* * *
Susan Fisher sat in the fifth row of a packed audience and listened attentively to what Emma Clifton had to say about her life as the chairman of a major shipping company, when she addressed the annual meeting of the Red Maids’ Old Girls’ Association. Although Emma was still a fine-looking woman, Susan saw that little lines had begun to appear around her eyes, and the head of thick black hair that had been the envy of her classmates now needed a little help to retain its natural dark sheen and not reveal the toll grief and stress must surely have taken.
Susan always attended school reunions, and had been particularly looking forward to this one, as she was a great admirer of Emma Barrington, as she remembered her. She had been head girl, had won a place at Oxford and had become the first woman chairman of a public company.
However, one thing puzzled her about Emma’s address. Alex’s resignation letter suggested that the company had made a series of bad decisions and could be facing bankruptcy, whereas Emma gave the impression that as the first booking period for the Buckingham had been an unqualified success, Barrington’s could look forward to a bright future. They couldn’t both be right, and she wasn’t in any doubt who she wanted to believe.
During the reception that was held after the speech, it was impossible to get anywhere near the speaker, who was surrounded by old friends and new admirers. Susan didn’t bother to wait in line, but decided to catch up with some of her contemporaries. Whenever the subject arose, she tried to avoid answering any questions about Alex. After an hour, Susan decided to leave as she’d promised to be back at Burnham-on-Sea in time to cook supper for her mother. She was just leaving the school hall when someone behind her said, “Hello, Susan.” She looked back, surprised to see Emma Clifton walking toward her.
“I wouldn’t have been able to make that speech if it hadn’t been for you. It was very brave, because I can only imagine what Alex had to say when he got home that afternoon.”
“I didn’t wait to find out,” said Susan, “because I’d already made up my mind to leave him. And now I know how well the company is doing, I’m even more pleased I supported you.”
“We’ve still got a testing six months ahead of us,” admitted Emma, “but if we get through that, I’ll feel a lot more confident.”
“And I’m sure you will,” said Susan. “I’m only sorry that Alex is considering resigning at such an important moment in the company’s history.”
Emma stopped just as she was about to get into the car and turned back to face her. “Alex is thinking of resigning?”
“I assumed you knew about it.”
“I had no idea,” said Emma. “When did he tell you this?”
“He didn’t. I just happened to see a letter on his desk tendering his resignation, which surprised me because I know how much he enjoys being on the board. But as the letter was dated August the twenty-first, perhaps he still hasn’t made up his mind.”
“I’d better have a word with him.”
“No, please don’t,” pleaded Susan. “I wasn’t meant to see the letter.”
“Then I won’t say a word. But can you remember the reason he gave?”
“I can’t recall his exact words, but there was something about his first duty being to the shareholders and that, as a matter of principle, someone had to let them know that the company could be facing bankruptcy. But now I’ve heard your speech, that doesn’t make sense.”
“When will you be seeing Alex again?”
“I hope never,” said Susan.
“Then can we keep this between ourselves?”
“Yes, please. I wouldn’t want him to find out that I’d talked to you about the letter.”
“Neither would I,” said Emma.
* * *
“Where will you be at nine a.m. on Monday the seventeenth?”
“Where you’ll find me at nine o’clock every morning, keeping an eye on the two thousand jars of fish paste as they came off the line every hour. But where would you like me to be?”
“Close to a phone, because I’ll be calling to advise you to make a substantial investment in a shipping company.”
“So your little plan is falling into place.”
“Not quite yet,” replied Cedric. “There’s still some fine-tuning to be done, and even then I’ll need to get my timing spot on.”
“If you do, will Lady Virginia be angry?”
“She’ll be absolutely livid, my darling.”
Bingham laughed. “Then I’ll be standing by the phone at one minute to nine on Monday,” he checked his diary, “the seventeenth of August.”
* * *
“Did you pick the cheapest thing on the menu because I’m paying the bill?”
“No, of course not,” said Sebastian. “Tomato soup and a lettuce leaf have always been my favorites.”
“Then let me try and guess what your second favorites might be,” said Samantha, looking up at the waiter. “We’ll both have the San Daniele with melon followed by two steaks.”
“How would you like your steak, madam?”
“Medium rare, please.”
“And you, sir?”
“How would I like my steak done, madam?” Sebastian mimicked, smiling across at her.
“He’s also medium rare.”
“So—”
“How—”
“No, you first,” she said.
“So what brings an American girl to London?”
“My father’s in the diplomatic service, and he’s recently been posted here, so I thought it would be fun to spend a year in London.”
“And your mother, what does she do, Samantha?”
“Sam, everyone except my mother calls me Sam. My father was hoping for a boy.”
“Well, he failed spectacularly.”
“You’re such a flirt.”
“And your mother?” Sebastian repeated.
“She’s old-fashioned, just takes care of my father.”
“I’m looking for someone like that.”
“I wish you luck.”
“Why an art gallery?”
“I studied art history at Georgetown, and then decided to take a year off.”
“So what do you plan to do next?”
“I start work on my PhD in September.”
“What’s the subject going to be?”
“Rubens: Artist or Diplomat?”
“Wasn’t he both?”
“You’re going to have to wait a couple of years to find out.”
“Which university?” said Sebastian, hoping she wouldn’t be returning to America in a few weeks’ time.
“London or Princeton. I’ve been offered a place at both but haven’t made my mind up yet. And you?”
“I haven’t been offered a place at either.”
“No, stupid, what do you do?”
“I joined the bank after taking a year off,” he said as the waiter returned and placed two plates of ham and melon in front of them.
“So you didn’t go to university?”
“It’s a long story,” said Sebastian. “Another time perhaps,” he added as he waited for her to pick up her knife and fork.
“Ah, so you’re confident there’ll be another time.”
“Absolutely. I’ve got to come in to the gallery on Thursday to pick up Jess’s paintings, and the following Monday you’ve invited me to the opening of the unknown gentleman’s art collection. Or do we now know who he is?”
“No, only Mr. Agnew knows that. All I can tell you is that he’s not coming to the opening.”
“He clearly doesn’t want anyone to find out who he is.”
“Or where he is,” said Sam. “We can’t even contact him to let him know how the opening went, because he’ll be away for a few days, shooting in Scotland.”
“Curiouser and curiouser,” said Sebastian, as their empty plates were whisked away.
“So what does your father do?”
“He’s a storyteller.”
“Aren’t most men?”
“Yes, but he gets paid for it.”
“Then he must be very successful.”
“Number one on the New York Times bestseller list,” said Sebastian proudly.
“Harry Clifton, of course!”
“You’ve read my father’s books?”
“No, I must confess I haven’t, but my mother devours them. In fact, I gave her William Warwick and the Double-edged Sword for Christmas,” she said as two steaks were placed in front of them. “Damn,” she added. “I forgot to order any wine.”
“Water is just fine,” said Sebastian.
Sam ignored him. “Half a bottle of Fleurie,” she said to the waiter.
“You’re so bossy.”
“Why is a woman always described as bossy, when if a man did the same thing he’d be thought of as decisive, commanding and displaying qualities of leadership?”
“You’re a feminist!”
“And why shouldn’t I be,” said Samantha, “after what you lot have been up to for the past thousand years?”
“Have you ever read The Taming of the Shrew?” asked Seb with a grin.
“Written by a man four hundred years ago, when a woman wasn’t even allowed to play the lead. And if Kate were alive today she’d probably be prime minister.”
Sebastian burst out laughing. “You should meet my mother, Samantha. She’s every bit as bossy, sorry, decisive, as you.”
“I told you, only my mother ever calls me Samantha, and my father when he’s cross with me.”
“I already like your mother.”
“And your mother?”
“I adore my mother.”
“No, silly, what does she do?”
“She works for a shipping company.”
“Sounds interesting. What kind of work?”
“She works in the chairman’s office,” he said as Samantha tasted the wine.
“Just what he wanted,” she told the waiter, who poured two glasses. She raised hers. “What do the English say?”
“Cheers,” said Sebastian. “And the Americans?”
“Here’s looking at you, kid.”
“If that was meant to be a Humphrey Bogart impression, it was dreadful.”
“So tell me about Jessica. Was it always obvious how talented she was?”
“No, not really, because to begin with, there wasn’t anyone to compare her with. Well, not until she got to the Slade.”
“I don’t think that changed even then,” said Sam.
“Have you always been interested in art?”
“I started out wanting to be an artist, but the gods decided otherwise. Did you always want to be a banker?”
“No. I’d planned to go into the diplomatic corps like your father, but it didn’t work out.”
The waiter returned to their table. “Would you care for a dessert, madam?” he asked as he picked up their empty plates.
“No, thank you,” said Sebastian. “She can’t afford it.”
“But I just might like—”
“She just might like the bill,” said Sebastian.
“Yes, sir.”
“Now who’s being bossy?” said Samantha.
“Don’t you think conversations on first dates are weird?”
“Is this a first date?”
“I hope so,” said Sebastian, wondering if he dared to touch her hand.
Samantha gave him such a warm smile that he felt confident enough to say, “Can I ask you a personal question?”
“Yes, of course, Seb.”
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“Yes, I do,” she replied, sounding rather serious.
Sebastian couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Tell me about him,” he managed, as the waiter returned with the bill.
“He’s coming into the gallery on Thursday to pick up some pictures, and I’ve invited him to attend the opening of Mr. Mystery Man’s exhibition the following Monday. By then, I’m rather hoping,” she said as she checked the bill, “he’ll have enough in his bank account to take me out to dinner.”
Sebastian blushed as she handed the waiter £2 and said, “Keep the change.”
“This is a first for me,” admitted Sebastian.
Samantha smiled, leaned across the table and took his hand. “Me too.”
SEBASTIAN CLIFTON
1964
31
Sunday evening
CEDRIC LOOKED AROUND the table, but didn’t speak until everyone had settled.
“I’m sorry to drag you all in at such short notice, but Martinez has left me with no choice.” Suddenly everyone was fully alert. “I have good reason to believe,” he continued, “that Martinez is planning to offload his entire shareholding in Barrington’s when the Stock Exchange opens a week tomorrow. He’s hoping to get as much of his original investment back as possible while the shares are riding high, and at the same time to bring the company to its knees. He’ll be doing this exactly one week before the AGM, at the very time when we most need the public to have confidence in us. If he were to pull it off, Barrington’s could be bankrupt in a matter of days.”
“Is that legal?” asked Harry.
Cedric turned to his son, who was sitting on his right. “He would only be breaking the law,” said Arnold, “if he intends to buy the shares back at a lower price, and that clearly isn’t his game plan.”
“But could the share price really be hit that badly? After all, it’s only one person who’s putting his stock on the market.”
“If any shareholder who had a representative on a company’s board were to put over a million of its shares on the market without warning or explanation, the City would assume the worst, and there would be a stampede to get out of the stock. The share price could halve in a matter of hours, even minutes.” Cedric waited for the implications of his words to sink in before he added, “However, we are not beaten yet, because we have one thing going for us.”
“And what might that be?” asked Emma, trying to remain calm.
“We know exactly what he’s up to, so we can play him at his own game. But if we are to do that, we’ll have to move fast, and we can’t hope to succeed unless everyone around this table is willing to accept my recommendations and the risks that go with them.”
“Before you tell us what you have in mind,” said Emma, “I should warn you, that’s not the only thing Martinez has planned for that week.” Cedric sat back. “Alex Fisher is going to resign as a non-executive director on the Friday, just three days before the AGM.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” asked Giles. “After all, Fisher has never really supported you or the company.”
“In normal circumstances I’d agree with you, Giles, but in his resignation letter, which I haven’t yet received, although I know it’s dated the Friday before the AGM, Fisher claims he’s been left with no choice but to resign, because he believes the company is facing bankruptcy, and his only responsibility is to protect the interests of the shareholders.”
“That will be a first,” said Giles. “In any case, it’s simply not true, and should be easy to refute.”
“You’d have thought so, Giles,�
�� said Emma. “But how many of your colleagues in the House of Commons still believe you had a heart attack in Brussels, despite you denying it a thousand times?” Giles didn’t respond.
“How do you know Fisher is going to resign if you haven’t received the letter?” asked Cedric.
“I can’t answer that question, but I can assure you that my source is impeccable.”
“So Martinez plans to hit us on Monday week when he sells his stock,” said Cedric, “and to follow it up on the following Friday with Fisher’s resignation.”
“Which would leave me with no choice,” said Emma, “but to postpone the naming ceremony with the Queen Mother, not to mention the date of the maiden voyage.”
“Game, set and match Martinez,” said Sebastian.
“What are you advising we should do, Cedric?” asked Emma, ignoring her son.
“Kick him in the balls,” said Giles, “and preferably when he’s not looking.”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Cedric, “and frankly, that’s exactly what I have in mind. Let us assume that Martinez is planning to place all his shares on the market in eight days’ time, and then follow it up four days later with Fisher’s resignation, which he hopes will be a double-whammy that will both bring the company down and cause Emma to resign. In order to counter this, we must land the first punch, and it has to be a sucker punch delivered when he least expects it. With that in mind, I plan to sell all my own shares, three hundred and eighty thousand of them, this Friday, for whatever price I can get.”
“But how will that help?” asked Giles.
“I’m hoping that I will have caused the shares to collapse by the following Monday, so that when Martinez’s stock comes on the market at nine o’clock that morning, he’ll stand to lose a fortune. That’s when I intend to kick him in the balls, because I already have a buyer lined up for his million shares at the new low price, so they shouldn’t be on the market for more than a few minutes.”
Be Careful What You Wish For Page 23