He had no interest in film stars he barely recognized, or politicians who were hoping to be recognized, or even Princess Diana, whom everyone recognized. His only interest was in keeping an eye on other bankers and businessmen to see who they were dining with. Deals that it was useful for him to know about were often closed over dinner.
“Who are you staring at?” asked Samantha, after he didn’t respond.
“Victor,” he whispered.
Sam looked around, but couldn’t spot Seb’s oldest friend. “You’re a peeping Tom,” she said after finishing her coffee.
“And what’s more, they can’t see us,” said Seb.
“They? Is he having dinner with Ruth?”
“Not unless she’s lost a couple of inches around her waist and put them on her chest.”
“Behave yourself, Seb. She’s probably a client.”
“No, I think you’ll find he’s the client.”
“You’ve inherited your father’s vivid imagination. It’s probably quite innocent.”
“You’re the only person in the room who’d believe that.”
“Now you have got me intrigued,” said Sam. She turned around once again, but still couldn’t see Victor. “I repeat, you’re a peeping Tom.”
“And if I’m right,” said Seb, ignoring his wife’s remonstration, “we have a problem.”
“Surely Victor’s got the problem, not you.”
“Possibly. But I’d still like to get out of here without being seen,” he said, taking out his wallet.
“How do you plan to do that?”
“Timing.”
“Are you going to cause some kind of diversion?” she teased.
“Nothing as dramatic as that. We’ll stay put until one of them goes to the loo. If it’s Victor, we can slip out unnoticed. If it’s the woman, we’ll leave discreetly, not giving him any reason to believe we’ve spotted them.”
“But if he does acknowledge us, you’ll know it’s quite innocent,” said Sam.
“That would be a relief on more than one level.”
“You’re rather good at this,” said Sam. “Experience possibly?”
“Not exactly. But you’ll find a similar plot in one of Dad’s novels, when William Warwick realizes the witness to a murder must have been lying, and has to get out of a restaurant unnoticed if he’s going to prove it.”
“What if neither of them goes to the loo?”
“We could be stuck here for a very long time. I’ll get the bill,” said Seb, raising a hand, “just in case we have to make a dash for it. And I’m sorry, Sam, but did you ask me something just before I became distracted?”
“Yes, I wondered if you knew Jessica’s got a new boyfriend.”
“What gives you that idea?” said Seb, as he checked the bill before handing over his credit card.
“She never used to care how she looked.”
“Isn’t that par for the course for an art student? She always looks to me as if she’s been dressed by Oxfam, and I can’t say I’ve noticed any change.”
“That’s because you don’t see her in the evening, when she stops being an art student and becomes a young woman, and doesn’t look half bad.”
“The daughter of her mother,” said Seb, taking his wife’s hand. “Let’s just hope the new guy is an improvement on the Brazilian playboy, because I can’t see the Slade being quite so understanding a second time,” he said as he signed the credit slip.
“I don’t think that will be a problem this time. When he came to pick her up, he was driving a Polo, not a Ferrari.”
“And you have the nerve to call me a peeping Tom? So when do I get the chance to meet him?”
“That might not be for some time because so far she hasn’t even admitted she has a boyfriend. However, I’m planning—”
“Action stations. She’s heading toward us.”
Seb and Sam went on chatting as a tall, elegant young woman passed their table.
“Well, I like her style,” said Sam.
“What do you mean?”
“Men are all the same. They just look at a woman’s legs, figure, and face, as if they’re in a meat market.”
“And what does a woman look for?” asked Seb defensively.
“The first thing I noticed was her dress, which was simple and elegant, and definitely not off the peg. Her bag was stylish without screaming a designer label, and her shoes completed a perfect ensemble. So I hate to disabuse you, Seb, but as we say in the States, that’s one classy dame.”
“Then what’s she doing with Victor?”
“I have no idea. But like most men, if you see a friend with a beautiful woman, you immediately assume the worst.”
“I still think it would be best if we slip out unnoticed.”
“I’d much rather go over and say hello to Victor, but if you—”
“There’s something I haven’t told you. Victor and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment. I’ll explain why once we’re back in the car.”
Seb stood up and navigated a circuitous route around the restaurant, avoiding Victor’s table. When the maître d’ opened the front door for Samantha, Seb slipped him a five-pound note.
“So what is it I ought to know about?” asked Sam, once she’d climbed into the car and taken the seat next to him.
“Victor’s angry because I didn’t make him chief executive.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Sam, “but I can understand how he felt. Who did you appoint as CEO?”
“John Ashley,” said Seb, as he turned into Piccadilly and joined the late-night traffic.
“Why?”
“Because he’s the right man for the job.”
“But Victor’s always been a good and loyal friend, especially when you were down.”
“I know, but that’s not a good enough reason to appoint someone as the CEO of a major bank. I invited him to be my deputy chairman, but he took umbrage and resigned.”
“I can understand that,” said Sam. “So what are you doing to keep him on the board?”
“Hakim flew over from Copenhagen to try and get him to change his mind.”
“Did he succeed?” asked Sam as Seb halted at a red light.
* * *
Giles was dashing out of the chamber to keep an appointment when he saw Archie Fenwick standing outside his office. He didn’t slow down.
“If it’s about the government’s proposed grain subsidies, Archie, could you make an appointment? I’m already late for the chief whip.”
“No, it isn’t,” said Archie. “I came down from Scotland this morning in the hope you might have time to discuss a personal matter.” Code for Freddie.
“Of course,” said Giles, who continued on into his office and said to his secretary, “Make sure I’m not disturbed while I’m with Lord Fenwick.” He closed the door behind him. “Can I get you a whisky, Archie? I even have your own label,” he said, holding up a bottle of Glen Fenwick. “Freddie gave me a case at Christmas.”
“No, thank you. Although you won’t be surprised that it’s Freddie I’ve come to talk to you about,” said Archie, sitting down on the other side of the desk. “But remembering how busy you are, I’ll try not to take too much of your time.”
“If you had wanted to discuss the problems facing the Scottish agricultural industry, I can spare you five minutes. If it concerns Freddie, take your time.”
“Thank you. But I’ll get straight to the point. Freddie’s headmaster called me yesterday evening to say the boy failed his common entrance exam to Fettes.”
“But when I read his most recent end-of-term report, I even wondered if he might win a scholarship.”
“So did the headmaster,” said Archie, “which is why he called for his papers. It quickly became clear he’d made no effort to pass.”
“But why? Fettes is one of the best schools in Scotland.”
“In Scotland may be the answer to your question,” said Archie, “because he sat a similar exa
m for Westminster a week later, and came out in the top half dozen.”
“I don’t think we need to call on the assistance of Freud to fathom that one out,” said Giles. “So all I need to know is whether he wants to be a day boy or a boarder.”
“He put a cross in the box marked day boy.”
“It’s a long way for him to commute to Fenwick Hall and back every day, and as Westminster is a stone’s throw from our front door, I think he might have been trying to tell us something.” Archie nodded. “In any case, he’s already selected his bedroom,” Giles added as the phone on his desk began to ring.
He grabbed it and listened for a moment before he said, “Sorry, chief, something came up, but I’ll be with you in a moment.” He put the phone down and said, “Why don’t you join Karin and me for dinner in Smith Square this evening, and we can thrash out the details.”
“I don’t know how to thank you,” said Archie.
“It’s me who should be thanking you.” Giles stood up and headed for the door. “It’s the only piece of good news I’ve had all day. I’ll see you around eight.”
“Any hope of discussing the government’s proposed grain subsidy at some time?” Archie asked, but Giles didn’t reply as he quickly left the office.
* * *
“What’s Cunard’s spot price this morning?” asked Seb.
“Four pounds twelve. Up two pence on yesterday,” replied John Ashley.
“That’s good news all around.”
“Do you think your mother ever regrets selling Barrington’s?”
“Daily. But luckily she’s so overworked at the Department of Health that she doesn’t have much time to think about it.”
“And Giles?”
“I know he’s extremely grateful for the way you’ve handled the family portfolio, because it allows him to pursue his first love.”
“Battling against your mother?”
“Something like that.”
“What about your aunt Grace?”
“She thinks you’re a vulgar capitalist, or at least that’s how she describes me, so I can’t believe she’d consider you any better.”
“But I’ve made her a multimillionaire,” protested Ashley.
“Indeed you have, but that won’t stop her marking her pupils’ homework tonight while nibbling on a cheese sandwich. But on her behalf, John, well done. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to say there is, chairman, and I’m not quite sure how to handle it.” Ashley opened a file marked private and shuffled through some papers. Seb was surprised to see that a man who’d played front row for the Harlequins, and never hesitated to face any member of the board head-on, was now clearly embarrassed.
“Spit it out, John.”
“A Miss Candice Lombardo has recently opened an account with the bank, and her guarantor is the deputy chairman.”
“So that’s her name,” said Seb.
“You know her?”
“Let’s just say I’ve come across her. So what’s the problem?”
“She withdrew five thousand pounds yesterday, without having a penny in her account, to purchase a mink coat from Harrods.”
“Why did you clear the check?”
“Because Victor has guaranteed her overdraft and I don’t have the authority to put a stop on it without consulting him.”
“Cedric Hardcastle will be turning in his grave,” said Seb, looking up at the portrait of the bank’s founding chairman. “He used to be fond of saying never say never, unless you’re asked to sign a personal guarantee.”
“Should I have a word with Victor?”
Seb leaned back and thought about the suggestion for a few moments. Hakim had managed to convince Victor to remain on the board, and even take up the post of deputy chairman, so the last thing Seb needed was to give him any reason to change his mind.
“Do nothing,” he eventually said. “But keep me briefed if Miss Lombardo presents any more checks.”
Ashley nodded, but didn’t make a note in his file.
“I thought you’d also want to know,” he continued, “that your daughter’s account is overdrawn by £104.60. Not a large amount, I know, but you did ask me to brief you, following—”
“I did indeed,” said Seb. “But to be fair, John, I’ve just paid her a thousand pounds for seven of her drawings.”
Ashley opened a second file and checked another bank statement. “She hasn’t presented that check, chairman. In fact, her only recent deposit was for two hundred and fifty pounds from a Richard Langley.”
“The name doesn’t mean anything to me,” said Seb. “But keep me informed.” Ashley frowned. “What does that look mean?”
“Just that on balance, I’d prefer to deal with the chairman of Cunard than your daughter.”
42
THE FOUR OF THEM sat in the drawing room looking distinctly uncomfortable.
“It’s so nice to meet you at last,” said Samantha, pouring Richard a cup of tea.
“You too, Mrs. Clifton,” said the young man who sat nervously opposite her.
“How did you two meet?” asked Seb.
“We bumped into each other at the Slade Founder’s Prize exhibition,” said Jessica.
“I go to all the college art shows,” said Richard, “in the hope of spotting a new talent before they’re snapped up by a West End dealer, when I’ll no longer be able to afford them.”
“How very sensible,” said Samantha, as she offered her guest a cucumber sandwich.
“Picked up anything worthwhile recently?” asked Sebastian.
“A coup,” said Richard, “a veritable coup. A set of remarkable line drawings by an unknown artist, entitled The Seven Ages of Woman, that won the Founder’s Prize. I couldn’t believe my luck when I heard the price.”
“Forgive me for mentioning it,” said Seb, “but I’m surprised you can afford a thousand pounds on a teacher’s salary.”
“I didn’t pay a thousand pounds, sir, just two hundred and fifty. And I only just had enough left in my account to take the artist out to supper.”
“But I thought—” Seb didn’t complete the sentence when he noticed Samantha glaring at him and his daughter looking embarrassed. He decided to change tack. “I’d be willing to offer you a couple of thousand for those drawings. Then you can take the artist out for supper regularly.”
“They’re not for sale,” said Richard, “and they never will be.”
“Three thousand?”
“No, thank you, sir.”
“Perhaps you’d consider a deal, Richard. If you were ever to give up my daughter, you’d sell the drawings back to me for two thousand pounds.”
“Sebastian!” said Samantha sharply. “Richard is Jessica’s friend, not a client, and in any case it’s outside banking hours.”
“Not a hope, sir,” said Richard. “I don’t intend to part with either your daughter or the drawings.”
“You can’t win them all, Pops,” said Jessica with a grin.
“But if Jessie were to give you up,” said Seb, as if he was chasing a million-pound deal, “would you reconsider then?”
“Forget it, Pops. That’s not going to happen. You’ve lost the drawings, and you’re about to lose your daughter, because I’m planning to move in with Richard,” she said, taking his hand.
Sebastian was about to suggest that perhaps … when Samantha jumped in.
“That’s wonderful news. Where will you be living?”
“I have a flat in Peckham,” said Richard, “quite near where I work.”
“But we’re looking for something bigger,” said Jessica.
“To rent, or buy?” asked Seb. “Because in current market conditions, I would recommend—”
“I would recommend,” said Samantha, “that they should be allowed to make up their own minds.”
“Much more sensible to buy,” said Seb, ignoring his wife, “and with my two thousand, you’d have enough to put down a deposit.”
“Just ignore him,” said Samantha.
“I always do,” said Jessica, standing up. “Must dash, Pops, we’re off to the ICA to see an exhibition of ceramics Richard thinks looks promising.”
“And can still afford,” added Richard. “But if you do have two thousand to invest, sir, I would recommend—”
Samantha laughed, but Richard looked as if he was already regretting his words.
“Bye, Pops,” said Jessica. She bent down, kissed her father on the forehead, and slipped an envelope into his inside pocket, hoping Richard wouldn’t notice.
Richard thrust out his hand and said, “Goodbye, sir. It was nice to meet you.”
“Goodbye, Richard. I hope you enjoy the exhibition.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Richard as Samantha accompanied them both to the door.
While Seb waited for her to return, he took the envelope out of his pocket, opened it, and extracted his own check for a thousand pounds. First time he’d ever been outbid by the underbidder.
“I think I could have handled that better,” suggested Seb when Samantha returned to the drawing room.
“That’s an understatement, even by British standards. But I’m more interested in what you thought of Richard.”
“Nice enough chap. But no one will ever be good enough for Jessie.” He paused for a moment before adding, “I’ve been wondering what to give her for her twenty-first. Perhaps I ought to buy her a house?”
“That’s the last thing you’re going to do.”
“Why not?”
“Because it will simply remind Richard that he’s penniless and will only make him feel beholden to you. In any case, Jessica is every bit as stubborn as you are. She’d turn the offer down, just as she did your two thousand.”
Seb handed Samantha the check, which only made her laugh even louder, before suggesting, “Perhaps we should allow them to lead their own lives. We might even be surprised how well they get on without us.”
“But I only meant—”
“I know what you meant, my darling, but I’m afraid your daughter trumped you,” she said as the phone began to ring.
“Ah, I have a feeling that will be Richard wanting to know if I’d be willing to raise my offer to four thousand.”
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