“You’re voting for the motion, is that it?” Henry Strode’s voice was bleak.
Whimbrill hesitated. Then he nodded. “Yes,” he said and raised his hand.
Henry Strode sat without moving for a moment. He had lost and there was an expression almost of disbelief on his face as he stared round the table. Finally his gaze fastened on me and his face contracted, a spasm of quite uncontrolled rage. “First you talk my brother into giving you a job in Strode House. Then you persuade an old dotard to give you his shares, get yourself appointed to the board. You’re the real instigator of these—these shoddy manoeuvres.” He took a deep breath, struggling to control himself. “Now we know your background I can promise you this,” he said, his voice trembling. “Strode Orient will be placed beyond your reach.” And then he got to his feet and stood for a moment looking vaguely round the room, much as Deacon had done that last time he had left the wheelhouse. “Are you coming, Adrian?” Crane nodded, pushing back his chair. “Julian?” Henry Strode was looking down at le Fleming. But like Whimbrill, le Fleming had been brought into the business by old Henry Strode. He held other directorships in the City and he liked to be on the winning side. He didn’t answer, and after staring at him a moment longer, Henry Strode walked out of the room followed by Crane.
There was a moment of complete silence as the door closed behind them. Then Whimbrill turned to Peter. “I assume you wish to take over the chair and the office of managing director?” His voice sounded tired and strained.
But Peter shook his head. “I know far too little about the day-to-day management of the company and if things go as I hope I shall be out of the country most of the time.” Instead, he proposed that le Fleming be elected chairman and Whimbrill managing director. It was a shrewd move, particularly the appointment of le Fleming as chairman. He then put his original proposal to the meeting. But I was against it. So were Whimbrill and le Fleming; Ida, too. This wasn’t the moment to drive the Strodes into a corner. They had too many friends in the City. And with all his faults George Strode at least had energy and drive. Given something to get his teeth into I thought he might serve us very well. Moreover, there was the matter of the Strode Trader. “There’s no point in alienating George Strode,” I said. “If we can get his co-operation—and I think ultimately he might be persuaded—then the whole venture becomes much simpler, particularly the organization of the shipping side of it.” This was the first of many occasions that I was to find myself in disagreement with Peter, forced to counter his impetuosity and seek a compromise to avoid creating enemies. It was just one more thing that Turner had foreseen. In the end it was agreed to shelve the matter and Peter sat there, furious at being balked, whilst we went on to consider a proposal from Whimbrill for the formation of a new operating company. This was in case we failed to get Felden’s support and lost control of Strode Orient. Whimbrill also wanted authority to place an order with a Japanese yard for a 60,000-ton ore carrier.
We were still discussing these points when George Strode burst into the room, his heavy face blazing with anger. “I was out or I’d have been in to see you before. My brother has just told me.” He stared at le Fleming. “You’ve taken over the chair, have you?”
Le Fleming was momentarily caught off balance. He looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, George. Henry had a majority against him.”
“So I understand. After all these years …” George Strode’s eyes fastened on Peter. “You won’t get away with this,” he said. “Not if I can help it. And let me tell you this, all of you. You take any decision affecting the operation of this company without Henry present and we’ll sue you for damages on the grounds of mismanagement.”
“Henry resigned,” le Fleming said.
“He may have threatened to resign. He certainly walked out. I’d have walked out myself. But he didn’t resign.” He hunched his shoulders aggressively. “Until you have a letter of resignation from him Henry is still a director. Meantime, if you take any decision materially affecting the company or its shareholders we’ll sue you each and individually. This we’re entitled to do. Henry’s been on to our lawyers. He’s also been on to Jacob Hinchcliffe. He’s with us and so is Adrian Crane.” And with that he turned and stamped out of the room.
It was almost lunchtime before le Fleming declared the meeting closed. Nothing had been decided. George Strode’s threat of court action had effectively killed all initiative. “Culpable negligence on the part of a director or the directors of a company isn’t an easy thing to prove,” le Fleming said. “But the position of a new board taking over is never a strong one and in the circumstances …” In the circumstances he thought it best to wait until after the meeting with Felden, and to that Whimbrill agreed.
Le Fleming went with Peter to that meeting. It was inconclusive. Felden listened to what they had to say, asked a few questions and agreed to consult his clients. Meantime, I had seen George Strode. I had to, for he had called a Press conference for the following morning. As I had expected Reece, now back in England, had reached the same conclusion about his navigational error that Deacon and I had—a faulty compass. “You can’t prove that,” I said, “any more than I can prove Reece was given instructions to leave us stranded on the island.” George Strode didn’t say anything, but I knew he had taken the point.
Neither of the Strodes had any experience of dealing with the Press. Publicity to them meant telling the public what they wanted it to know and that usually through the medium of a chairman’s speech advertised in the more sober papers. To hold a Press conference so soon after the Strode Venturer’s re-discovery of the island was a fatal mistake. It merely drew attention to Peter’s return, adding fuel to the fire already smouldering under them. Instead of City correspondents they were faced with a large number of Fleet Street journalists and broadcasting men, all of them interested in a much wider story and in the personalities involved. They listened politely to what the Strode brothers had to say and then sought Peter out. TV cameras rolled, the pencils flew, and women reporters got hold of Ida, intrigued by the fact that one of their own sex had become involved in a boardroom squabble. The result was a great deal of publicity for Ran-a-Maari and the venture on which we were embarked, all within the framework of the story of a brother and sister fighting for their rights against the entrenched power of the older generation of Strodes. And I came into it, too—the story of the Bailey Oriental crash dredged from the files.
Felden came to us two days later. He wanted an undertaking that we would not form a new operating company. “My clients,” he said in his prim, careful voice, “are holders of Strode Orient shares and their interest is, therefore, limited solely to that company. So long as it is understood that the transport of all ore from the island is in the hands of Strode Orient I am instructed to tell you that you have their support.”
We had an effective majority then and the resolution that would have meant the end of Strode Orient was defeated. We were free to go ahead. We had an operating company with ships to transport the ore and the cash to finance the mining of it. Henry Strode retired, a golden handshake that was in effect a pension for life. George stayed on as chairman of Strode Orient whilst I took over the management of the company.
Nine months later Ida and I took the two children half across the world, and in a foreign yard, with Dick Whimbrill beside her, Mary stood in a drizzle of rain facing the towering bows of a new ore carrier. In a small, clear, English voice she said, “I name this ship the Strode Venturer—and I wish her and all who sail in her good fortune.” And then she pulled the lever and the high bows slid away from us.
The old Strode Venturer—Deacon’s ship—had been sold for scrap six months before.
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Copyright © The Estate of Hammond Innes 1965
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First published in Great Britain by Collins in 1965
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ISBN 9780099577775
The Strode Venturer Page 31
