Unsafe Deposit

by J. E. Kellenberger

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I compared the gemstones in the photos that Ruth sent to me with the images of the stolen pieces of jewellery. Obviously that wasn’t without difficulty because you only have loose stones. Without their settings it’s impossible to be certain if they form part of a particular stolen item. The smaller stones, five diamonds, three emeralds and two sapphires are of a similar size and shape, ten in total. If I were a betting man, but I’m not, I’d take a punt that they all come from a necklace that was stolen years ago from a penthouse flat in Knightsbridge. The owner was an Arab oil man although the flat has since changed hands. The reward, by the way, for recovery of this necklace is £35k. Not bad eh!’

  ‘Even more than I normally charge for a straightforward conveyance,’ joked Doug.

  ‘When it comes to the larger diamonds I’m afraid I failed dismally to find any possible matches. The larger diamonds are all slightly different in size and shape and I agree with Ruth that they were probably set in solitaire rings. So that just leaves the rubies. Better pin back your ears on this,’ said Paul with distinct pride in his voice.

  ‘All pinned back and ready to listen.’

  ‘Have you heard of the Ruby Reds?’ Paul asked.

  ‘No,’ replied Doug, ‘doesn’t mean anything to me.’

  ‘Well the Ruby Reds are quite famous,’ started Paul, ‘and as they say on those antiques programmes on the TV they have a provenance second to none. The rubies came from East Africa, slightly unusual for rubies. It was one large stone originally which was cut to form a necklace and earring set for a Hapsburg aristocrat’s wife around the turn of the twentieth century. Plenty of adventures followed according to what I read on a famous precious gems website until they were bequeathed to a museum in New York. They were out on loan, following instructions in the will of the donor, to a museum in London when they were stolen. They have never been found.’

  ‘Until now,’ murmured Doug very quietly. ‘Do they consist by chance of four large oblong stones and two smaller ones?’

  ‘Correct,’ came back the answer down the line.

  ‘Dare I ask their value?’

  ‘The website says priceless!’

  ‘I thought it might,’ responded Doug. ‘Thanks Paul for all your effort. You’ve been to a great deal of trouble.’

  ‘Yes, it has been a lot of work but I’ve enjoyed it,’ said a satisfied-sounding Paul, ‘it makes a change from the normal run-of-the-mill divorce leg work or some other humdrum investigation. Let me know if you need me again.’

  Doug put his handset back in the docking station. The furrows on his forehead deepened and he felt the need to sit down to reflect on these new and startling facts.

  ***

  The white, square envelope propped up against the kettle had the solitary word “Arthur” written in capitals on its face. Its flap was tucked in. Arthur unfolded the single sheet of paper and read the brief note written by Jane. He refolded it and stuck it in the breast pocket of his jacket. He dialled a number he knew by heart and left a voicemail message to expect him for dinner at around eight o’clock that evening. He pulled up outside the small semi-detached house in North London and removed his overnight bag from the boot. Letting himself in with his own keys, he called out that he’d arrived.

  ‘Come on through I’m in the kitchen,’ shouted back Sandra, ‘supper is almost ready.’

  She was standing with her back to the kitchen door stirring something in a saucepan. He crept up and put his arms round her waist and whispered in her ear, ‘It’s about time I made an honest woman of you Sandra.’

  Chapter Seven

  Worshipful Company

  2010

  Hot on the heels of Christmas festivities is the pantomime season, a time when young children enjoy being primed and encouraged by actors on stage to shout out as loudly as they can age-old sayings like “he’s behind you” much to the amusement and blushes of their parents and grandparents who remember having done the same various decades earlier. One such pantomime is Dick Whittington and his Cat. With a storyline of a poor boy travelling to London with his cat from a distant part of England, working hard as an apprentice, rising to the status of master craftsman, becoming “the Master” of his guild, making a fortune and finally being elected as Lord Mayor of London, it has more than a grain of truth. One Richard Whittington, possibly not from a poor background and possibly not from far afield, was an apprentice, was a master craftsman, was “the Master” of his guild of workers and did become Lord Mayor of London circa 1396.

  The guilds of the various crafts and trade associations existing in the fourteenth century grew into the Livery Companies of the City of London. Most date back to these medieval times, the first to be formed being the Worshipful Company of Mercers in 1394. With a purpose of training apprentices, regulating their respective trades and interacting with other associations, they grew steadily in number so by the mid-sixteenth century over fifty crafts were represented by their own company. Each would own property in the square mile which was often termed a “hall”. The oldest hall is Apothecaries’ Hall in Black Friars Lane, a stone’s throw from St. Paul’s Cathedral, dating back to 1672 and which in modern times is used mostly as office premises and is shared by the Worshipful Company of Spectacle Makers which no longer has its own hall. The Spectacle Makers was formed by a Royal Charter of Charles I in 1629 and was granted the status of a livery company in 1809. At that time it was empowered to set regulations governing the standard of optical devices and appliances and, later, it acquired the right to set examinations that optometrists and opticians had to pass before practising. In modern Britain many powers of the livery companies have fallen into disuse with the inevitable changes brought about by industrialisation or have completely died out to be replaced with charitable giving and networking opportunities for its members. The Spectacle Makers Company now supports charities such as Vision Aid Overseas and funds research into optics and ophthalmic disease by way of bursaries to talented post-graduate students.

  Livery companies are governed by a master, a number of wardens (holding various titles such as the upper, middle or renter warden), and a Court of Assistants (equal to a board of directors) responsible for company business and electing its master and wardens. The chief executive officer is styled clerk of the company and invariably is its most senior permanent member of staff. Membership generally falls into two categories: freeman and liveryman. One may become or acquire the “freedom of the company” upon fulfilling certain criteria. Most livery companies reserve the right to admit distinguished people, particularly in their sphere of influence, as honorary freemen. Freemen may advance to become liverymen after obtaining the freedom of the City of London and with their Court of Assistants’ approval. Only liverymen are eligible to vote in the annual election of the Lord Mayor of London.

  Andreé and husband John walked up the two flights of steep steps from Black Friars tube station and emerged into the daylight on a bright but blustery day. They walked the short distance up Black Friars Lane to Apothecaries’ Hall. There had been tears and a few tantrums since her unscheduled retirement some weeks earlier plus a period of dark depression during their tour of New Zealand while she formed her own terms on which to tackle the remainder of her life. She had found a thread to haul herself out of self-pity and was showing glimpses of her former outgoing self. They were on their way to the ceremony which would elevate her from freeman to liveryman and both were in good humour. She had invited her sister-in-law Sylvia to accompany them, hoping she too had found an inner strength to move on from her bereavement but Sylvia was still locked deep in sadness and with Daniel away in Switzerland on business they were just a married couple. They were greeted by the clerk of the company, dressed in his formal robes of office, who stood at the top of the four stone steps that led into the vestibule. This gave onto a surprisingly large oak-panelled area with
an ornately carved wide wooden staircase and flagstoned floor befitting its function of a meeting and greeting space.

  Four freemen were to be inaugurated that day and there was a general hubbub of excitement and anticipation as the candidates and their guests stood around chatting and exchanging information about their respective backgrounds. Two candidates were optometrists who had become freemen of the company on completing their examinations many years earlier. Another candidate was a distinguished ophthalmic surgeon who had pioneered a new treatment for glaucoma and was to receive an honorary title of liveryman. Andreé, herself, had been a freeman of the company for several years, her speaking engagements for a charity representing the partially sighted and her success at the top level in industry being inspirational to those affected by serious ocular conditions being deemed worthy of membership of the company. It was a natural progression to become a liveryman and she had been encouraged to apply by someone she had met on one of the day outings arranged by the company for their members. It had been a day out to Windsor, the castle and the racetrack. An announcement made by the gowned assistant clerk of the company from the top of the stairs interrupted her train of thought. The four candidates were asked to join her upstairs to be dressed in their robes, leaving their guests downstairs to enjoy canapés and champagne. Each candidate was helped into a dark green calf-length robe with wide and rich golden facings by the assistant clerk who aligned the shoulders and smoothed down the robe before the candidate was posed and caught on camera by the professional photographer. Called into the inauguration room in alphabetical order Andreé Walker was the last candidate to present her case.

  The Court Chamber was rectangular in shape and panelled in dark oak on three sides. The far end consisted of two large and magnificent stained glass windows. Portraits adorned the walls and a painting of Gideon de Laune, Royal Apothecary to Queen Anne, hung over the fireplace. Thickly carpeted, the room had a convivial and intimate atmosphere. Andreé took her place behind the lectern which stood at the near end of the chamber; used for written speeches and lecture material, it was of no use to her. At the far end of the long and wide table sat the master flanked on his left by the upper warden and on his right by the renter warden. The other ten seats were occupied by members of the Court of Assistants. All gowned, they made an impressive if somewhat daunting sight. Pleading her case for entry to the livery, Andreé spoke engagingly about her background of extreme partial sightedness, what adaptations she had had to make in the world of commerce to overcome this disability and the pleasure she had enjoyed representing the partial sighted charity and demonstrating to its members how many obstacles, with thought and defiance, can be conquered. She recounted how before each trade fair she attended she had had to learn by rote product facts and figures which her husband John had spent many evenings reading out from product specification sheets so that she could memorise and bowl over potential customers with her knowledge. It was hard work, she had said, but every little conquest had been satisfying in the extreme. It was a standing joke in her family, she had said, that her son Daniel, as a four and five-year-old, knew more about specifications of overalls manufactured by her company than he did about nursery rhymes. This drew a round of applause which erupted in hearty laughter when she concluded by saying how proud she was to be part of such a worthy organisation but now she felt she had earned her glass of champagne.

  After a few words of mutual congratulation the four new liverymen were reunited with their guests and made their way down to The Great Hall for the formal investiture luncheon in a room of outstanding splendour with Irish oak panelling dating from 1671, a minstrels’ gallery, large stained glass windows and a magnificent candelabrum gifted to the Company in 1736. Steered to their seats by waitresses dressed in black skirts and white, long-sleeved blouses, Andreé and John took their places along one of the three sprigs giving off from the top table. John’s dining companion to his left was the wife of the eminent ophthalmic surgeon and Andreé’s neighbour to her right was the husband of one of the other newly invested liverymen. A fanfare preceded the procession into the Hall of the company’s dignitaries and the assembled diners, who included many longstanding liverymen and distinguished guests, remained standing for grace.

  Eventually seated, the husband was soon introducing himself to Andreé.

  ‘You may not remember me,’ he said, ‘but my wife and I met you and John on the Windsor outing earlier in the year.’

  ‘I’m so sorry not recognising you,’ replied Andreé, turning fully towards him in an attempt to see his face as best she could.

  ‘My wife was the other lady being invested today.’ He leaned back in his chair for his wife to see Andreé more easily.

  ‘I’m generally pretty good with voices, have to be really,’ said Andreé, looking in her direction, ‘and your voice was vaguely familiar when we chatted earlier but I couldn’t put a place to the voice.’

  ‘Talking about the Windsor trip,’ the husband continued, ‘the organiser, Arthur Meares, is sitting farther along this table near the top. He’s with a lady although I don’t think she’s his wife. She’s certainly not the lady who accompanied him to the races.’

  Arthur made a beeline for them in the jostle of departure. On the pretext of telling them about the following year’s events he would take the opportunity to see if Andreé might carelessly let slip any information about WareWork as such information would be very timely. Deftly switching the conversation, he asked how her former employer was managing without her. In her reply she said all the right things about how it was time for her to go to make way for fresh blood; commerce was now a young person’s world requiring very different skills from those needed in her heyday and she was ever mindful that one errant slip in repayment could bring the house tumbling down. It was a sentence too far and even with a slightly muddled head from the alcohol she bit her lip in self-reproach. It was now Andreé’s turn to change the subject swiftly, enquiring about his wife who was apparently collecting her coat. Arthur said she was well and briefly pointed her out before quickly leaving to join her. On their journey home it was John who brought up the subject of Arthur’s wife.

  ‘It wasn’t the same wife today as it was at Windsor,’ he stated.

  ‘Funny you should say that,’ replied Andreé, ‘as somebody else mentioned that too!’

  The first hint WareWork had of a hostile takeover bid was the stream of emails received by the finance department concerning letters individual shareholders, mostly with small holdings, had received making them a tender offer pledging to buy their WareWork shares for a set amount above the prevailing market price. Many expressed irate views as if it were the fault of the company itself. Communication of these factors between the other Alan and Marian, who was, effectively, his boss, was severely impaired following the groping incident and while Daniel was in Switzerland the other Alan’s messages to him were not conveyed with the urgency they merited. Indeed Marian’s attention to the rising drama came from her personal assistant who showed her a stop-press article from the business section of a well-known broadsheet.

  Shareholders with small holdings in WareWork have been urged to accept a tender offer with an uplift of almost six percent over the current trading price amid mounting fears, according to the letter’s originator, that it would run out of cash within weeks. The originator further indicated that these private shareholders, many of whom were now approaching retirement and had bought small tranches of equities to supplement their pensions, were being short-changed by company policy to reduce shareholder dividends in lieu of increased executive perks and a decreasing share price in a stable trading market. Shareholders interested in selling their holdings should complete the attached form and return it in the enclosed reply paid envelope. The signatory was a company name without signature.

  Whilst the hastily convened meeting of the board was waiting on the imminent return of Daniel from Switzerland Maria
n prepared a press release rebutting the suggestions made by the anonymous source that money earmarked for dividends had been unjustly poured into executive salary and bonus packages. Further, the company refuted the suggestion that it was teetering on a financial knife-edge as its loan repayment plan was on schedule and it questioned whether the small shareholders were being presented with an idea that was genuinely in their long-term interest. Marian also prepared a bullet-point agenda that she felt needed urgent discussion and action. Within a short period of Daniel’s arrival from the airport the members of the board who could be summoned at short notice assembled in Daniel’s office, there being so few available as to make the use of the boardroom seem ridiculous. It was in fact a meeting of only four: Daniel, Marian, Adam and the other Alan, and it highlighted Marian’s view that there were too few full-time WareWork employee feet on the boardroom floor. Additionally, Marian had attempted to discover the identity of their predator but her internet search had only uncovered basic details. Here her years of assiduous networking paid off as she was able to learn via a chain of fellow networkers that the predator was probably a hedge fund company in the City which exercised daily control over billions of pounds. According to the last networker in the chain, the source of this conclusion was a financial journalist, R.E. Raven, who had been suspicious of the hedge fund’s dealings for several years believing that its immense wealth was based on sophisticated money laundering. Zilbar Investments UK, the holding company of BiCapital Properties UK, had a capable fund manager and was headed by a management team with a decent track record but the real power was believed to be in the hands of its chairman, Sir Brian Day. Thus far the hedge fund had been totally undamaged by her articles as she had never been able to show a link with contaminated money. The answer, however, could she have seen it, was staring her in the face as Zilbar was an anagram of Brazil!