This Was a Man

by Jeffrey Archer

  At least the Sloane problem had been dealt with. He would write to Knowles and ask him to make a prison visit as soon as possible. Surely he would fall in line now that Sloane was no longer around to call the tune.

  A few more yards before he asked, “When and where?” He hoped he sounded confident.

  “Next Thursday. I’ll let you know the details after Tracie’s visit on Sunday. Just be sure that nice Lady Virginia doesn’t forget to bring her Swan and Edgar bag with her.”

  Mellor fell back and joined Sharp Johnny, who was as cheerful as ever, but then he only had nineteen days left to serve.

  15

  “I DON’T SUPPOSE you have ten thousand pounds you could spare?” said Mellor. Virginia wondered if he was joking until she saw the look of desperation in his eyes. “I have a short-term cash-flow problem,” he explained, “which can be resolved if only I’m given a little more time. But I need ten thousand quickly.” He glanced across the crowded room to where Nash was deep in conversation with his only ever guest. “Very quickly.”

  Virginia thought about the £111,000 she still had in her current account, and smiled sweetly. “But no one knows better than you, Desmond, I’m as poor as a church mouse. My brother gives me an allowance of two thousand a month, which is barely enough to live on, and the only other income I’ve had recently was the small amount of money I received following the sale of your mother’s house. I suppose I could let you have a thousand, and possibly another thousand in a month’s time.”

  “That’s good of you, Virginia, but it will be too late by then.”

  “Do you have any assets you could put up as collateral?” Virginia asked. Familiar words she’d heard her bank manager use whenever she was overdrawn.

  “My ex-wife ended up with our house in the country as part of the divorce settlement. I’ve put my flat in Bristol on the market. It’s worth about twenty thousand, and although someone has made an offer, contracts haven’t been exchanged.”

  “What about Adrian Sloane? After all, it wouldn’t be a large amount to him.”

  “That’s no longer possible,” said Mellor, without explanation.

  “And Jim Knowles?”

  Mellor thought for a moment. “I suppose Jim just might be willing to help if I put the flat up as collateral and there was something in it for him.”

  “Like what?”

  “To chair the company, cash, whatever he wants.”

  “I’ll get in touch with him the moment I get home, and find out if he’s willing to help.”

  “Thank you, Virginia. And of course there’ll be something in it for you.”

  Once again, Mellor looked across the room at Nash, who he knew would be taking instructions as to where the second instalment should be delivered. Never the same place twice, and never the same person, Nash had already explained.

  “But I’ll still need the ten thousand before Thursday,” Mellor said, turning back to Virginia. “And I can’t begin to tell you what the consequences could be if you fail.”

  “How often are you allowed to make telephone calls?”

  “Once a week, but I only get three minutes, and don’t forget the screws are listening to every word.”

  “Call me on Tuesday afternoon, around five o’clock. I should have seen Knowles by then, and I’ll do everything in my power to persuade him.”

  * * *

  “It’s all set up for Thursday,” said Nash, when Mellor joined him in the yard.

  “Where and when?” asked Mellor, unwilling to admit he didn’t have the money.

  “Trafalgar Square, between the fountains, twelve o’clock.”

  “Understood.”

  “Will it be the same bag lady?”

  “Yes,” said Mellor, hoping that Virginia had not only got the money, but would be willing to act as the intermediary once again.

  Nash looked at him more closely. “I hope you’ve given some thought to the consequences of not coming up with the second half of the payment.”

  “Not a problem,” said Mellor, who had thought of little else for the past week. He fell back and walked alone, wondering, praying, hoping, that Virginia had convinced Knowles to lend him the ten thousand. He checked his watch. In another five hours he’d know.

  * * *

  “Jim Knowles,” said a voice on the other end of the line.

  “Jim, it’s Virginia Fenwick.”

  “Virginia, how are you? It’s been a long time.”

  “Too long. But I’m about to make up for it.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I have a little proposition that you just might find interesting. I don’t suppose you’re free for lunch?”

  * * *

  Virginia was sitting by the phone at five p.m. on Tuesday, well aware that she only had three minutes in which to deliver her well-prepared script. She had written out several bullet points to make sure she didn’t miss anything of importance. When the phone rang, she picked it up immediately.

  “7784.”

  “Hello, my darling, it’s Priscilla. I thought I’d give you a call and see if you’re free for a spot of lunch on Thursday?”

  “Not now,” said Virginia, slamming the receiver down. The phone rang again seconds later.

  “7784,” she repeated.

  “It’s Desmond. Have you been able to—” He clearly didn’t want to waste a second. She checked her first bullet point.

  “Yes. Knowles has agreed to loan you ten thousand against the flat in Bristol.”

  “Thank God,” said Mellor, breathing a deep sigh of relief that she could hear clearly.

  “But if you fail to pay him back the full amount within thirty days, he’s demanding extra collateral.”

  “Like what?”

  “Your shares in Mellor Travel.”

  “But they’re worth about a million and a half.”

  “Take it or leave it, if I remember his exact words.”

  Mellor paused for a moment, aware that his three minutes were fast running out.

  “I don’t have a lot of choice. Tell the bastard I accept his terms, and I’ll pay him back the moment the flat is sold.”

  “I’ll pass on the message immediately, but he won’t release the money until he’s seen your signature on the document that will transfer ownership of the shares to him should you fail to pay him back within thirty days.”

  “But how can I possibly sign it in time?” said Mellor, sounding desperate again.

  “Don’t worry. His lawyers have done all the paperwork, and it will be delivered to the prison later this evening. Just be sure you have someone looking out for it.”

  “Address the envelope to Mr. Graves. He’s my floor officer, and he’s already done me a couple of favors, so you can trust him. As long as he’s on duty tonight, I should be able to turn it around immediately.”

  Virginia made a note of the name, before checking her list again. “Where and when do I deliver the money?”

  “Thursday, twelve o’clock, Trafalgar Square. Your contact will be standing between the fountains. Just be sure you’re not late.”

  “Will it be the same woman?”

  “No. Look for a bald middle-aged man wearing a navy blazer and jeans.” Virginia made another note. “You’re a diamond,” said Mellor. “I owe you.”

  “Anything else I can do?”

  “No, but I’ll be sending you a letter that I need you to—”

  The line went dead.

  * * *

  Mr. Graves put down the phone in his office and waited for his instructions.

  “You’ll need to make sure you’re on duty when the document arrives at the prison gate later this evening.”

  “No problem. Not many officers volunteer for the night shift.”

  “And make sure Mellor signs the agreement, and that you witness his signature.”

  “What do I do then?”

  “Take it out with you when you come off duty and deliver it to the address Mellor writes on the
envelope. And don’t forget, you’ve still got one more job to do before you can get paid.”

  Graves frowned. “You’d better get back to your cell before someone notices you’re missing,” the prison officer said, trying to reestablish his authority.

  “Whatever you say, guv,” said Nash, before slipping out of the office and making his way back to his cell.

  * * *

  When Virginia woke the next morning, she found a large envelope lying on the doormat. She didn’t want to know who’d delivered it, or when. She checked her watch, 9:14 a.m. Knowles wasn’t due to pick it up until ten, giving her more than enough time.

  She ripped open the envelope and extracted the document, quickly turning to the last page to check that Mellor had signed it. She smiled when she saw his friend, Mr. Graves, had witnessed the signature. Virginia placed the agreement back in the envelope, left her little flat in Chelsea, and headed for a shop in Pimlico that she’d checked out the previous day.

  The young man behind the counter made two copies of the document and charged her £2.00 and another 20p for a large brown envelope. She was back in her flat twenty minutes later, reading the morning paper, when there was a knock at the door.

  Knowles kissed her on both cheeks as if they were old friends, but once he’d exchanged one brown envelope for another, he left immediately. Virginia returned to the drawing room, ripped open the new envelope, and counted the money. Fifteen thousand, as agreed. Not a bad morning’s work. Now all she had to do was decide whether or not to deliver the ten thousand to the bald man in the navy blazer and jeans who would be waiting for her in Trafalgar Square.

  * * *

  When Virginia arrived at the bank, she made her way straight to the manager’s office. Mr. Leigh stood up the moment she entered the room. Without a word, she extracted five cellophane packets and the copy of a three-page document from a Swan and Edgar bag, and placed them on his desk.

  “Please credit my account with the five thousand pounds, and place this document among my personal papers.”

  Mr. Leigh gave her a slight bow and was about to ask … but she had already left the room.

  Virginia walked out of the bank and onto the Strand, before making her way slowly toward Trafalgar Square. She had decided to carry out Mellor’s instructions, not least because she recalled him saying how severe the consequences would be if he failed to repay the money, and she didn’t want any harm to come to her only other source of income.

  She paused opposite St. Martin in the Fields and, clutching her Swan and Edgar bag tightly, waited for the traffic lights to turn red before she crossed the road. A flock of startled pigeons flew into the air as she stepped into the square and headed toward the fountains.

  A child was jumping up and down in the water and his mother was begging him to come out. Just beyond them was a bald-headed man wearing an open-neck shirt, dark blue blazer, and jeans, whose eyes never left her. She walked across to him and handed over the shopping bag. He didn’t even look inside, just turned his back and disappeared among a crowd of tourists.

  Virginia breathed a sigh of relief. The operation had gone without a hitch, and she was already looking forward to having lunch with Priscilla. She made her way toward the National Gallery and hailed a taxi, while the bald man continued striding in the opposite direction. He couldn’t miss the silver-gray Bentley that was parked outside South Africa House. As he approached the car a tinted window purred down and a hand appeared. He passed over the Swan and Edgar bag and waited.

  Conrad Sorkin checked the ten cellophane packets before handing one of them back to the courier.

  “Thank you, Mr. Graves. Please let Mr. Nash know that Lady Virginia failed to turn up.”

  16

  SIX MEN SAT opposite each other preparing for battle, although in truth they were all on the same side. Three of them represented Farthings Kaufman, and the other three Thomas Cook Ltd., one of the bank’s oldest clients.

  Hakim Bishara, chairman of Farthings Kaufman, sat on one side of the table, with Sebastian Clifton, his CEO, on his right, and the bank’s in-house lawyer, Arnold Hardcastle, on his left. Opposite Hakim sat Ray Brook, the chairman of Cook’s, on his right the company’s MD, Brian Dawson, and on his left Naynesh Desai, his legal advisor.

  “Allow me to open this meeting by welcoming all of you,” said Hakim. “May I add how delighted we are to be representing Cook’s in their attempt to take over Mellor Travel Ltd. Sadly, this is unlikely to be a mutually agreed takeover. In fact, it is more likely to be an all-out war, and a bloody one at that. But let me assure you, gentlemen, we will succeed. I will now ask Sebastian Clifton, who has been working on the project for some weeks, to bring us all up to speed.”

  “Thank you, chairman,” said Seb as he opened a thick file in front of him. “Allow me to begin by summing up our present position. Cook’s have, for some time, expressed an interest in acquiring Mellor Travel, which has certain assets that would bring added value to their business. In particular, their forty-two high street shops, some in towns where Cook’s do not have a presence, or where their present location is not as well placed as their rival’s. Mellor also has a first-class, well-trained staff, although some of them have felt it necessary to leave the company during the past year.”

  “One or two of them to join us,” interrupted Brook.

  “Perhaps this is the time to mention the elephant in the room,” continued Seb. “Namely Mr. Desmond Mellor, who, although no longer chairman of the company, does retain fifty-one percent of its shares. Therefore a takeover would be nigh on impossible without his blessing.”

  “I understand that you’ve had dealings with Mr. Mellor in the past,” said Dawson, removing his glasses. “How is your present relationship?”

  “I don’t think it could be much worse,” admitted Seb. “We both sat on the board of Barrington Shipping at a time when my mother was chairman. Not only did Mellor attempt to have her removed from the board, but after failing to do so, he tried to take over the company using tactics that were found to be unacceptable by the takeover panel. My mother prevailed, and continued to run Barrington’s for several more years until the company was bought by Cunard.”

  “I invited your mother to join our board,” said Brook, “but unfortunately Margaret Thatcher trumped us.”

  “I didn’t know that,” said Seb.

  “But you will recall that when Barrington’s launched the Buckingham, and later the Balmoral, Mrs. Clifton appointed Cook’s as their preferred booking agent. We’ve never had a better partner, even if I did have to get used to her calling at six o’clock in the morning or ten at night.”

  “You too?” said Seb with a grin. “However, I have a confession to make. Before you approached us concerning this takeover, at his request I visited Desmond Mellor in prison.”

  Jessica would have enjoyed drawing the expressions that appeared on the faces of the three men sitting opposite her father.

  “Even worse, on that occasion Mellor offered to sell me fifty-one percent of the company for one pound.”

  “What did he want in exchange?” asked Brook.

  “That once he was released from prison, we would return his fifty-one percent, also for one pound.”

  “Not a very seductive proposition,” suggested Dawson. “Although it must have been tempting at the time.”

  “But not tempting enough,” said Hakim, “if as a result you have to rub shoulders with scumbags like Sloane and Knowles, who in my opinion should be locked up in the same cell as Mellor.”

  “That was off the record,” interjected Arnold firmly, “and does not represent the views of the bank.”

  “I agree with you, Hakim,” said Brook. “I only met Adrian Sloane once, and that was quite enough. However, let me ask you, Mr. Clifton, do you think there’s any chance that Mellor might consider reviving his offer?”

  “It seems unlikely, although I’d be willing to give it a try, assuming he’d agree to see me.”

  �
��Then let’s find out as quickly as possible if that’s a runner,” said Dawson.

  “But even if Mellor did agree to see you,” said Arnold, “I must warn you that the wheels of power grind even more slowly in the prison service than they do in Whitehall.”

  “But I remember you and Seb visiting me at Belmarsh at a moment’s notice,” said Hakim.

  “Those were legal visits,” said Arnold, “and not subject to the usual prison restrictions—don’t forget, you were my client.”

  “So if Mellor were to agree to let you represent him,” said Hakim, “we could cut through the red tape.”

  “But why would he even consider doing that?” asked Dawson.

  “Because Barry Hammond,” said Sebastian, “a private detective employed by Farthings, discovered it was Sloane who stitched up Mellor. Which is why Mellor ended up in jail, and once he was safely out of the way, with the help of his friend Knowles, Sloane appointed himself chairman of Mellor Travel, which hasn’t declared a profit or issued a dividend since. So it’s just possible Mellor might be desperate enough to consider us the lesser of two evils.”

  “If that’s the home team,” said Brook, “what have you managed to find out about our rivals?”

  “That they’re even worse,” replied Seb. “Sorkin International is not an easy company to get to grips with. Their head office is registered in Panama, and although they have an office number, no one ever answers it.”

  “Is Conrad Sorkin himself based in Panama?” asked Dawson.

  “No. He spends most of his time on a yacht, constantly on the move. In fact, there are seven countries where he’s currently persona non grata, but unfortunately the UK isn’t one of them. And in any case, he seems to have access to bent lawyers, shelf companies, even aliases to make sure he always stays one step ahead of the law.”