The night before the curtain was due to go up, he felt he was ready. Well, half ready.
* * *
Giles was becoming accustomed to Sebastian bowing every morning when he entered the breakfast room.
“And you must acknowledge me with a nod, otherwise I can’t sit down,” said Sebastian.
“I’m beginning to enjoy this,” said Giles, as Gwyneth walked in to join them. “Good morning, my darling,” he said, as both men rose from their places.
“There’s a smart Daimler parked outside the front door,” said Gwyneth, taking a seat opposite Giles.
“Yes, it’s taking me to London airport to pick up Mr. Morita.”
“Ah, of course, today’s the big day.”
“That’s for sure,” said Sebastian. He drained his orange juice, jumped up, ran out into the corridor and took one more look in the mirror.
“I like the shirt,” said Gwyneth, buttering a piece of toast, “but the tie’s a little … old school. I think the blue silk one you wore at our wedding would be more appropriate.”
“You’re right,” said Sebastian, and immediately dashed upstairs and disappeared into his bedroom.
“Good luck,” said Giles as he came bounding back down the stairs.
“Thank you,” Sebastian shouted over his shoulder as he headed out of the house.
Mr. Hardcastle’s chauffeur was standing by the back door of the Daimler.
“I think I’ll join you in the front, Tom, as that’s where I’ll be sitting on the way back.”
“Suit yourself,” said Tom, climbing in behind the wheel.
“Tell me,” said Sebastian as the car turned right out of Smith Square and on to the Embankment, “when you were a young man—”
“Steady on, my lad. I’m only thirty-four.”
“Sorry. I’ll try again. When you were single, how many women did you, you know, before you were married?”
“Fuck?” said Tom.
Sebastian turned bright red, but managed, “Yes.”
“Having trouble with the birds, are we?”
“In a word, yes.”
“Well, I’ve no intention of answering that question, m’lud, on account of the fact that it would undoubtedly incriminate me.” Sebastian laughed. “But not as many as I’d have liked, and not as many as I told my mates I had.”
Sebastian laughed again. “And what’s married life like?”
“Up and down like Tower Bridge. What’s brought all this on, Seb?” asked Tom as they passed Earl’s Court. “Found someone you fancy, have you?”
“If only. No, it’s just that I’m useless when it comes to women. I seem to blow it whenever I meet a girl I like. I somehow manage to send out all the wrong signals.”
“Which isn’t that clever when you’ve got everythin’ goin’ for you, is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a good-lookin’ lad, in a toffee-nosed sort of way, well-educated, talk proper, come from a good family, so what more do you want?”
“But I’m penniless.”
“Possibly. But you’ve got potential, and girls like potential. Always think they can harness it, turn it to their advantage. So believe me, you won’t have any problems in that department. Once you get goin,’ you’ll never look back.”
“You’re wasted, Tom, you should have been a philosopher.”
“None of your cheek, lad. It’s not me what’s got a place booked at Cambridge. ’Cause I tell you what, given half a chance, I’d swap places with you.”
A thought that had never crossed Sebastian’s mind.
“Mind you, I’m not complainin’. Got a good job, Mr. Hardcastle’s a diamond, and Linda’s all right. But if I’d had your start in life, I wouldn’t be a chauffeur, that’s for sure.”
“What would you be?”
“I’d own a fleet of cars, by now, and you’d be callin’ me sir.”
Sebastian suddenly felt guilty. He took so much for granted, never giving a thought to what was going on in other people’s lives, or how privileged they might think he was. He remained silent for the rest of the journey, having been made painfully aware that birth is life’s first lottery ticket.
Tom broke the silence as he turned off the Great West Road. “Is it right we’re picking up three Nips?”
“Behave yourself, Tom. We’re picking up three Japanese gentlemen.”
“Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve got nothin’ against the little yellow bastards. Stands to reason doesn’t it, they only went to war ’cause they were told to.”
“You’re a historian as well,” said Sebastian as the car came to a halt outside the airport terminal. “Have the back door open and the engine running when you next see me, Tom, because these three gentlemen are very important to Mr. Hardcastle.”
“I’ll be right ’ere, standin’ to attention,” said Tom. “Even practiced my bow, ’aven’t I?”
“Very low, in your case,” said Sebastian, grinning.
* * *
Although the arrivals board showed that the aircraft was on time, Sebastian was an hour early. He bought a lukewarm coffee from a small, overcrowded café, picked up a copy of the Daily Mail and read about two monkeys the Americans had sent into space that had just returned safely to Earth. He went to the lavatory, twice, checked his tie in the mirror, three times—Gwyneth had been right—and walked up and down the concourse countless times rehearsing “Good morning, Mr. Morita, welcome to England,” in Japanese, followed by a low bow.
“Japan Airlines flight number one zero two seven from Tokyo has just landed,” announced a prim voice over the loudspeaker.
Sebastian immediately selected a place outside the arrivals gate from where he would have a good view of the passengers as they came out of customs. What he hadn’t anticipated was that there would be a large number of Japanese businessmen disembarking from flight 1027, and he had no idea what Mr. Morita or his colleagues looked like.
Every time three passengers came through the gate together, he immediately stepped forward, bowed low and introduced himself. He managed to get it right the fourth time, but he had become so flustered that he delivered his little speech in English.
“Good morning, Mr. Morita, welcome to England,” he said before bowing low. “I am Mr. Hardcastle’s personal assistant, and I have a car waiting to take you to the Savoy.”
“Thank you,” said Mr. Morita, immediately revealing that his English was far superior to Sebastian’s Japanese. “It was most considerate of Mr. Hardcastle to go to so much trouble.”
As Morita made no attempt to introduce his two colleagues, Sebastian immediately led them out of the terminal. He was relieved to find Tom standing to attention by the open back door of the car.
“Good morning, sir,” said Tom, bowing low, but Mr. Morita and his colleagues climbed into the car without acknowledging him.
Sebastian jumped into the front seat, and the car joined the slow-moving traffic into London. He remained silent during the journey to the Savoy, while Mr. Morita chatted quietly to his colleagues in their native tongue. Forty minutes later, the Daimler came to a halt outside the hotel. Three porters rushed to the back of the car and began unloading the luggage.
When Mr. Morita stepped out on to the pavement, Sebastian bowed low. “I will return at eleven thirty, sir,” he said in English, “so that you will be in time for your meeting with Mr. Hardcastle at twelve o’clock.”
Mr. Morita managed a nod as the manager of the hotel stepped forward and said, “Welcome back to the Savoy, Morita-san.” He bowed low.
Sebastian didn’t get back into the car until Mr. Morita had disappeared through the hotel’s revolving doors. “We need to get back to the office, and as quickly as possible.”
“But my instructions are to stay put,” said Tom, not budging, “in case Mr. Morita needs to use the car.”
“I don’t give a damn what your instructions were,” said Sebastian. “We’re going back to the office, and right now, so step
on it.”
“On your head be it,” said Tom, before shooting down the wrong side of the road and out on to the Strand.
Twenty-two minutes later, they drew up outside Farthings. “Turn the car around and keep the engine running,” said Sebastian. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.” He leaped out of the car, ran into the building, headed for the nearest lift and, on arriving on the fifth floor, charged down the corridor and marched into the chairman’s office without knocking. Adrian Sloane turned around, and made no attempt to hide his disapproval at having his meeting with the chairman interrupted so abruptly.
“I thought I gave you instructions to remain at the Savoy,” said Cedric.
“Something’s come up, chairman, and I’ve only got a few minutes to brief you.”
Sloane looked even less pleased when Hardcastle asked him to leave them and to come back in a few minutes. “So what’s the problem?” he asked Sebastian once the door was closed.
“Mr. Morita has an appointment with the Westminster Bank at three this afternoon, and another with Barclays at ten tomorrow morning. He and his advisers are concerned that Farthings hasn’t done many company loans before, and you’ll have to convince them that you’re capable of handling such a large deal. And by the way, they know everything about you, including the fact that you left school at fifteen.”
“So he can read English,” said Cedric. “But how did you come across the rest of the information, because I can’t believe they volunteered it.”
“They didn’t. But then, they have no idea that I speak Japanese.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” said Cedric. “It might come in useful later. But for now, you’d better get back to the Savoy, and sharpish.”
“One more thing,” said Sebastian as he headed toward the door. “It’s not the first time Mr. Morita has stayed at the Savoy. In fact, the hotel manager greeted him as if he was a regular guest. And I’ve just remembered, they’re hoping to get three tickets for My Fair Lady, but they’ve been told it’s sold out.”
The chairman picked up the phone and said, “Find out which theater My Fair Lady is playing at, and get the box office on the line.”
Sebastian ran out of the room and down the corridor, willing the lift to be on the top floor. It wasn’t, and it seemed to take forever to return. When it finally appeared, it stopped at every floor on the way down. He ran out of the building, jumped into the car, checked his watch and said, “We’ve got twenty-six minutes to be back at the Savoy.”
Sebastian could never remember the traffic moving so slowly. Every light seemed to turn red just as they approached it. And why were the zebra crossings so packed with pedestrians at this time in the morning?
Tom turned into Savoy Place at twenty-seven minutes past eleven, to face a fleet of stationary limousines disgorging their passengers outside the hotel. Sebastian couldn’t afford to wait, so, with Professor Marsh’s words ringing in his ears, The Japanese are never late for a meeting and consider it an insult if you fail to be on time, he jumped out and began running down the street toward the hotel.
Why didn’t I use the hotel phone, he was asking himself long before he’d reached the front entrance. But it was too late to worry about that. He ran past the doorman, and pushed through the revolving doors propelling a lady out on to the street far more quickly than she had intended.
He looked up at the foyer clock: 11:29. He walked quickly across to the lifts, checked his tie in the mirror and took a deep breath. The clock struck twice, the lift doors opened and out stepped Mr. Morita and his two colleagues. He graced Sebastian with a smile, but then, he assumed the young man had been standing there for the past hour.
16
SEBASTIAN OPENED THE door to allow Mr. Morita and his two colleagues to enter the chairman’s office.
As he walked across to greet them, Cedric felt tall for the first time in his life. He was just about to bow when Mr. Morita thrust out his hand.
“I’m delighted to meet you,” said Cedric, shaking hands while preparing to bow a second time, but Morita turned and said, “May I introduce my managing director, Mr. Ueyama.” He stepped forward and also shook hands with Cedric. The chairman would have shaken hands with Mr. Ono too, if he hadn’t been clutching a large box in both hands.
“Do have a seat,” said Cedric, trying to get back on script.
“Thank you,” said Morita. “But first, it is an honorable Japanese tradition to exchange gifts with a new friend.” The private secretary stepped forward and handed the box to Mr. Morita, who passed it to Cedric.
“How very kind of you,” said Cedric, looking faintly embarrassed as all three of his visitors remained standing, clearly waiting for him to open the gift.
He took his time, first removing the blue ribbon, so carefully tied in a bow, and then the gold paper, as he tried to think of something he could give Morita in return. Would he have to sacrifice his Henry Moore? He glanced at Sebastian, more in hope than expectation, but he was looking equally embarrassed. The traditional exchange of gifts must have been covered in one of the few lessons he’d missed.
Cedric removed the lid from the box, and gasped as he gently lifted out a beautiful, delicate vase of turquoise and black. Sebastian, standing at the back of the room, took a pace forward, but said nothing.
“Magnificent,” said Cedric. He removed a bowl of flowers from his desk and put the exquisite oval vase in its place. “Whenever you come to my office in future, Mr. Morita, you will always find your vase on my desk.”
“I am greatly honored,” said Morita, bowing for the first time.
Sebastian took another step forward, until he was only a foot away from Mr. Morita. He turned to face the chairman.
“Do I have your permission to ask our honored guest a question, sir?”
“Of course,” said Cedric, hoping he was about to be rescued.
“May I be allowed to know the name of the potter, Morita-san?”
Mr. Morita smiled. “Shoji Hamada,” he replied.
“It is a great honor to receive a gift crafted by one of your nation’s living national treasures. Had the chairman known, he would have offered a similar gift by one of our finest English potters, who has written a book on Mr. Hamada’s work.” All the endless hours of chatter with Jessica were finally proving useful.
“Mr. Bernard Leach,” said Morita. “I am fortunate enough to have three of his pieces in my collection.”
“However, our gift, selected by my chairman, although not as worthy, is nevertheless given in the same spirit of friendship.”
Cedric smiled. He couldn’t wait to find out what his gift was.
“The chairman has obtained three tickets for tonight’s performance of My Fair Lady at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. With your permission, I will collect you from your hotel at seven o’clock, and escort you to the theater, where the curtain rises at seven thirty.”
“One cannot think of a more agreeable gift,” said Mr. Morita. Turning to Cedric, he added, “I am humbled by your thoughtful generosity.”
Cedric bowed, but realized this wasn’t the time to let Sebastian know that he’d already called the theater, only to be told it was sold out for the next fortnight. A languid voice had informed him, “You can always join the queue for returns,” which was exactly what Sebastian would be doing for the rest of the day.
“Do have a seat, Mr. Morita,” said Cedric, trying to recover. “Perhaps you would like some tea?”
“No, thank you, but if possible, a cup of coffee.”
Cedric thought ruefully about the six different blends of tea from India, Ceylon and Malaya he’d selected at Carwardine’s earlier in the week, which had all been rejected in a sentence. He pressed a button on his phone, and prayed that his secretary drank coffee.
“Some coffee, please, Miss Clough. I do hope you had a pleasant flight,” he said after he’d put the phone back down.
“Too many stopovers, I fear. I look forward to the day when you can fly from Tokyo
to London non-stop.”
“What a thought,” said Cedric. “And I hope your hotel is comfortable?”
“I only ever stay at the Savoy. So convenient for the City.”
“Yes, of course,” said Cedric. Wrong-footed again.
Mr. Morita leaned forward, looked at the photograph on Cedric’s desk and said, “Your wife and son?”
“Yes,” said Cedric, unsure if he should elaborate.
“Wife a milk monitor, son a QC.”
“Yes,” said Cedric helplessly.
“My sons,” said Morita, removing a wallet from an inside pocket and taking out two photographs, which he placed on the desk in front of Cedric. “Hideo and Masao are at school in Tokyo.”
Cedric studied the photographs, and realized the time had come to tear up the script. “And your wife?”
“Mrs. Morita was unable to visit England this time, because our young daughter, Naoko, has chicken pox.”
“I’m sorry,” said Cedric, as there was a gentle tap on the door and Miss Clough entered carrying a tray of coffee and shortbread biscuits. Cedric was about to take his first sip, and was wondering what he could possibly talk about next, when Morita suggested, “Perhaps the time has come to discuss business?”
“Yes, of course,” said Cedric, putting his cup down. He opened a file on his desk and reminded himself of the salient points he’d highlighted the night before. “I’d like to say from the outset, Mr. Morita, that coupon loans is not the field in which Farthings has made its reputation. However, as we wish to build a long-term relationship with your distinguished company, I hope you will allow us the opportunity to prove ourselves.” Morita nodded. “Remembering that the amount you require is ten million pounds, with a short-term payback coupon of five years, and having studied your most recent cash-flow figures, while assessing the current exchange rate of the yen, we consider a realistic percentage…”
Be Careful What You Wish For (The Clifton Chronicles) Page 12
