“Dr. Wolfe told me yesterday that you could win a scholarship to the American College of Art.”
“Dr. Wolfe will be just as proud when I’m the first girl from Jefferson to go to the Royal College of Art, though I thought I’d go to the Slade first, just like the other Jessica.”
“Will your mother or I have any say in all of this?”
“Let’s hope not. After all, you two have made such a mess of everything so far.”
Sebastian laughed.
“Can I ask, do I live up to your expectations?” she said, sounding unsure of herself for the first time.
“You’re even more talented and beautiful than I’d imagined. How about me?” asked Seb, grinning.
“Actually I’m a little disappointed,” said Jessica. “I thought you’d be taller and better-looking. More like Sean Connery.”
Seb burst out laughing. “You are the most precocious child I’ve ever met.”
“And you’ll be pleased to hear that Mom agrees with you, except she substitutes the word brat for child, which I’m sure you’ll do once you get to know me better. Now I must be off. I’ve got lots to tell Mom about, and I’m looking forward to wearing a new dress tonight I bought especially for the occasion. Where are we having dinner?”
“The Belvedere, seven thirty.”
Jessica threw her arms around him and burst into tears.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“Nothing. Just be sure you’re on time for a change.”
“Don’t worry, I will be.”
“You’d better be,” said Jessica, and quickly left him.
* * *
Mr Arnold Hardcastle QC sat opposite Hakim Bishara in a small private room at HMP Wandsworth.
“I’m going to say something, Hakim, that I’ve never said to a client before. Even though it’s a lawyer’s duty to present the best defense possible for his client whether he believes them to be guilty or innocent, I want you to know that I am in no doubt, reasonable or otherwise, that you have been set up. However, I must warn you that because of the government’s new guidelines on Class A drugs, the judge will have no choice but to refuse an application for bail.”
“And how long will it be before my case comes to trial?”
“Four months, six at most. Be assured, I’ll do everything I can to speed it up.”
“During which time I’ll be holed up in here, while the bank could go bust.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“Have you read the morning papers?” said Bishara. “They couldn’t be much worse. When the market opens tomorrow, the vultures will swoop down on the carcass and pick the bones clean. Is there any good news?”
“Ross Buchanan rang me at home last night to say he’d be happy to stand in as temporary chairman until you return. He’s already issued a press statement saying he has no doubt that you will be cleared of all the charges.”
“Typical of the man,” said Hakim. “Accept his offer. We’ll also need Sebastian to be at his desk when the market opens.”
“He’s in Washington at the moment. I’ve called his hotel several times, but he wasn’t in his room. I left a message asking him to call me urgently. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Yes, there is, Arnold. I need the best private detective you’ve ever come across, someone who’s fearless and won’t let anything stop him when it comes to tracking down who was responsible for planting that heroin in my bag.”
“Chief Inspector Barry Hammond is the name that immediately comes to mind, but I’ve lost touch with him since he left the Met Police.”
“Did he retire?”
“No, he resigned after he was accused of planting evidence on a gangland boss who kept getting away with, quite literally, murder.”
“How did you come across him?”
“I was his defending counsel when the trial came to court. I got him off, but he resigned from the force the next day.”
“Then track him down, because I need to see him as soon as possible.”
“I’ll get onto it straight away. Anything else?”
“Get hold of Sebastian.”
* * *
Seb walked slowly back to the hotel and thought about all the wasted years, and how he intended to make up for them, whatever sacrifices he had to make. If only Samantha would give him a second chance. Was Jessica right? Would they really be willing to live in London? Tonight would be like a first date, and he suspected that Samantha would be just as nervous as he was. After all, her husband had recently died, and Seb had no way of knowing how she felt about seeing him again. Perhaps their young chaperone knew more than she was willing to admit. Another woman he dreaded the thought of being parted from.
When Seb entered the hotel, he went to the desk and asked the receptionist, “How long does it take to get to the Belvedere restaurant?”
“It’s just around the corner, sir, shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Do you have a reservation? They’re sure to be fully booked on a Saturday night.”
“Yes, I do,” said Seb confidently.
“And I have an urgent message for you, Mr. Clifton. Would you please call a Mr. Arnold Hardcastle? He’s left a number. Shall I get him on the line and put the call through to your room?”
“Yes, please,” said Seb, before heading for the nearest lift. He’d never known Arnold to use the word “urgent.” What could possibly be that important? Had he failed to sign one of the pages in the merger document? Had Victor changed his mind at the last moment? Once he was in his room he only had to wait a few moments before the phone rang.
“Sebastian Clifton.”
“Seb. Thank God I’ve finally got hold of you.”
“What’s the problem, Arnold?”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Seb listened in disbelief as Arnold went over everything that had happened to Hakim since he’d stepped off the plane at Heathrow.
“It has to be a setup, pure and simple,” said Seb angrily.
“My exact words,” said Arnold. “But I’m afraid it’s not pure, and it certainly isn’t simple, while the evidence is so stacked against him.”
“Where is he now?”
“In a cell in Wandsworth. He feels it’s essential that you’re back at your desk when the market opens on Monday morning.”
“Of course I will be. I’ll take the next flight back to Heathrow.” He put the phone down and immediately dialed the front desk. “I’ll be checking out in the next half hour. Please have my bill ready, and would you book me onto the first available flight to London? And can you look up the number of a Mrs. Michael Brewer, get her on the line and put her straight through?”
Seb packed quickly, and then checked that he’d left nothing behind. He was zipping up his bag when the phone rang again.
“I’m sorry, sir, but Mrs. Michael Brewer is unlisted.”
“Then get me Dr. Wolfe at Jefferson Elementary School. She’s the headmistress.”
Seb paced around the room. If he could speak to Dr. Wolfe, she would surely have Sam’s number …
The phone rang again.
“Dr. Wolfe is not answering her phone, Mr. Clifton, and the only flight I can get you on takes off in just under two hours, so you’d have to hurry. All the other London flights are fully booked.”
“Take it. And I’ll need a taxi to get me to Dulles.”
On the way to the airport, Seb didn’t even notice the towering monuments, the fast-flowing Potomac or the densely wooded forests. His mind was preoccupied with the thought of Hakim locked up in a prison cell. Seb accepted that there was no longer any purpose in Arnold delivering the merger papers to the Bank of England after he recalled Hakim’s light-hearted question, “Have you ever been to jail?” He wondered who could be behind something so treacherous. Adrian Sloane immediately came to mind, but he couldn’t have done it on his own.
It was when Seb checked his watch and saw that it was almost 7:30 p.m. that he
remembered where he was meant to be at that time. Jessica would assume he’d let them down again. She would never believe anything could be more important than … He paid the taxi driver, dashed into the terminal, checked in, then headed straight for the business-class lounge, where he stepped into the only available phone booth, pressed a coin into the slot and dialed directory enquiries.
“This is the first call for passengers traveling to London Heathrow on the seven fifty-five British Airways flight, will you please make your way…”
“A restaurant in Washington called the Belvedere.” A few moments later she gave him the number. Seb dialed it immediately, only to find it was engaged. He decided to pick up his ticket and try again in a few minutes. Perhaps the plane would be delayed.
He ran back to the phone booth and dialed again. Still engaged.
“This is the final call for passengers traveling to London Heathrow on the seven fifty-five British Airways flight. Please…”
He pressed the coins back in and dialed the number, praying it wouldn’t still be busy. This time he was greeted by a ringing tone.
“Come on, pick it up, pick it up!” he shouted.
“Good evening, this is the Belvedere, how may I help you?”
“This is Sebastian Clifton, and I’m meant to be dining at your restaurant this evening with Samantha and Jessica Brewer.”
“Yes, sir, your party has arrived and are in the lounge waiting for you.”
“I need to speak to Jessica Brewer. Please tell her it’s urgent.”
“Certainly, sir, I’ll ask her to come to the phone.”
Seb waited, but the next voice he heard said, “Please put another fifty cents into the slot.”
He searched his pockets for change, but all he could find was ten cents. He shoved it into the slot and prayed. “Hi Pops, it’s Jessie.”
“Jessie, hi—” Beep, beep, beep, click … purr.
“Would Mr. Sebastian Clifton, traveling to London Heathrow on the seven fifty-five British Airways flight, please report to Gate number fourteen as the gate is about to close.”
32
THE FOUR OF them held an unscheduled board meeting at eleven on Monday morning. They sat around a square, vinyl-topped table in a cramped room normally reserved for legal consultations.
Ross Buchanan sat at one end of the table with a sheaf of files on the floor beside him. Hakim Bishara sat opposite him with Arnold Hardcastle on his right and Sebastian on his left.
“Perhaps I should begin,” said Ross, “by letting you know that—so far at least—Farthings shares haven’t lost as much ground as we feared they might.”
“Helped by your robust statement, no doubt,” said Hakim, “which was reported in all the Sunday papers. Indeed, if anything will keep the bank afloat it’s your reputation in the City, Ross.”
“It also looks as if there’s a third party involved,” said Seb, “who’s picking up any available stock.”
“A friend or a predator, I wonder,” said Hakim.
“I can’t be sure, but I’ll let you know the moment I find out.”
“How have Kaufman’s shares been faring?”
“Surprisingly,” said Seb, “they’ve risen slightly, despite Victor making it clear to anyone who asks that, as far as he’s concerned, the merger is still on, and that his late father was a great admirer of yours.”
“That’s generous of him,” said Hakim, placing his elbows on the table. “But how many of our major clients have withdrawn their accounts?”
“Several called to express their concern about the charges you’re facing and to point out that their companies can’t afford to be associated with a drug dealer.”
“And what did you tell them?” asked Arnold, before Hakim could jump in.
“I told them,” continued Ross, “that Mr. Bishara doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink and who do they imagine he could possibly be selling drugs to?”
“What about our smaller customers?” said Hakim. “Are they voting with their feet?”
“A handful have already moved their accounts,” said Seb. “But ironically I’ve been trying to get rid of one or two of them for years, and no doubt they’ll all come crawling back once you’ve proved your innocence.”
“And they’ll find the door slammed in their faces,” said Hakim, banging the table with a clenched fist. “What about your private detective?” he asked Arnold. “Have you managed to track him down?”
“I have, chairman. I found him playing snooker in Romford. He’d read about the case in the News of the World and said the word on the street was that it was a stitch-up, but no one seems to know who’s got the needle and thread, which convinces him it can’t be any of the usual suspects.”
“When is he coming to see me?”
“Six o’clock this evening. Be warned, Barry Hammond isn’t the easiest of men. But if he does decide to take on the assignment, I wouldn’t want to be the person who set you up.”
“What do you mean, ‘if’? Who the hell does he think he is?”
“He despises drug dealers, Hakim,” said Arnold calmly. “Thinks they should all be strung up in Trafalgar Square.”
“If he were even to suggest that I—”
Sebastian placed a hand on Hakim’s arm. “We all understand what you’re going through, chairman, but you have to remain calm, and let Ross, Arnold and me handle the pressure.”
“I’m sorry. Of course you’re right, Seb. Don’t think I’m not grateful to all of you. I look forward to meeting Mr. Hammond.”
“He’s bound to ask you some fairly direct questions,” said Arnold. “Just promise me you won’t lose your temper.”
“I’ll be sweetness and light.”
“How are you passing your time?” asked Ross, trying to lighten the mood. “It can’t be a pleasant experience, being in here.”
“I spent an hour in the gym this morning, which reminded me just how unfit I am. Then I read the FT from cover to cover. I had an hour’s walk around the yard yesterday afternoon, in the company of two other bankers who are in for manipulating share prices, and in the evening I played a few games of backgammon.”
“For money?” asked Seb.
“A pound a game. There’s a guy in for armed robbery who took a couple of quid off me, but I plan to get it back this evening.”
The three visitors burst out laughing.
* * *
“I’ve picked up another two percent of Farthings stock,” said Sloane, “so you’re now entitled to a place on the board.”
“Those additional shares turned out to be more expensive than you predicted,” said Mellor.
“That’s true, but my broker tells me there’s a big player out there picking up stock whenever it comes on the market.”
“Any idea who it might be?” asked Knowles.
“Not a clue, but it explains why the shares haven’t fallen as much as I’d anticipated. If you let me represent you on the board, Desmond, I’ll find out exactly what’s going on, and then I’ll be able to feed the press with regular unhelpful titbits. In the end, it will be the drip, drip, drip effect that finally scuppers them, believe me.”
“Are you still confident that nothing can be traced back to anyone around this table?”
“I’m positive. We’re the only three people who know what’s going on, and I’m the one person who knows where the bodies are buried.”
* * *
After Sebastian left the meeting at Wandsworth prison, he hurried back to the bank to find Rachel standing by his office door.
“Thirty-two customers want to speak to you personally, all of them urgently.”
“Who’s the top priority?”
“Jimmy Goldsmith.”
“But the bank’s never done any business with Mr. Goldsmith.”
“He’s a close friend of Mr. Bishara. They hang out at the Clermont Club.”
“Right, I’ll speak to him first.”
Rachel returned to her office and a few moments later S
eb’s phone buzzed.
“Mr. Goldsmith, this is Sebastian Clifton, returning your call.”
“I hear you visited Hakim in prison today. How is he?”
“He’s bearing up.”
“Like your shares.”
“So you’re the big player?”
“Let’s just say that I’m picking up any stock whenever it falls ten percent below its midpoint.”
“But why would you do that, Mr. Goldsmith? It could end up costing you a fortune.”
“For two reasons, Mr. Clifton. One, I’ve known Hakim since his university days and, like me, he despises people who deal in drugs.”
“And the second reason?”
“Let’s just say I owe him.”
“But you’re still taking one hell of a risk.”
“It’s a gamble, I admit. But when Hakim is proved innocent, and I have no doubt he will be, the bank’s shares will rebound, and when I sell them I’ll make a killing.”
“Mr. Goldsmith, I wonder if you could help me make another killing.”
Goldsmith listened carefully to Sebastian’s request. “When are you holding this emergency board meeting?” he asked.
“Tuesday morning, ten o’clock.”
“I’ll be there.”
* * *
Sebastian spent the rest of the day trying to return all his calls. He felt like the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dyke. Would it suddenly burst and drown them all?
He listened to the same questions again and again, and attempted to reassure each customer that Hakim was not only innocent, but the bank was in safe hands. He was pleasantly surprised by how many people were standing firm and were happy to back the chairman. Seb had made two lists, one of them labeled “Foul-weather friends” and the other “Fair-weather friends.” By seven o’clock that night, the “foul” list far outstripped the “fair.”
Seb was just about to call it a day when the phone rang again. He thought about ignoring it and going home but reluctantly picked it up.
“It’s Lord Barrington on the line,” said Rachel. “Shall I put him through?”
“Of course.”
“Hello, Seb. I’m sorry to disturb you. You must have had a very trying day. But I wondered if you could spare a moment.”
Cometh the Hour Page 24
