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“Three of my most trusted colleagues,” explained the colonel. “One of them will be watching you night and day, just hoping you’ll make a false move. On the left is Captain Hartley, who was unfortunately cashiered from the Dragoon Guards for pouring petrol over his wife and her lover, who were sleeping peacefully at the time, until he lit a match. Understandably, after leaving prison he found it difficult to secure employment. That was until I picked him up off the streets and put some purpose back in his life.”
Hartley gave them a warm smile, as if he knew they were talking about him.
“In the middle is Corporal Crann, a carpenter by trade. He so enjoys sawing things up, wood or bone, it doesn’t seem to make any difference to him.” Crann stared blankly through them. “But I confess,” continued the colonel, “my favorite is Sergeant Roberts, a registered sociopath. Harmless most of the time, but I’m afraid he never really settled back into civvy street after the war.” The colonel turned to Martinez. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have told him that you made your fortune collaborating with the Nazis, but of course that’s how you met Lieutenant Lunsdorf. A tidbit I don’t think I?
??ll share with Roberts unless you really annoy me, because, you see, Sergeant Roberts’s mother was Jewish.”
Don Pedro turned away from the window to see Karl staring at the colonel as if he would have been happy to strangle him, but accepted that now was not the time or place.
“I’m so glad to have caught your attention,” said Scott-Hopkins, “because I now feel even more confident that you’ll have worked out what is in your best interests. Good day, gentlemen. I’ll show myself out.”
4
“THERE’S A GREAT deal for us to cover on today’s agenda,” said the chairman. “So I would appreciate it if my fellow directors would keep their contributions short and to the point.”
Emma had come to admire Ross Buchanan’s business-like approach when chairing the Barrington Shipping Company board meetings. He never showed favor to any particular director, and always listened carefully to anybody who offered a view contrary to his own. Occasionally, just occasionally, he could even be persuaded to change his mind. He also possessed the ability to sum up a complex discussion while making sure that everyone’s particular view was well represented. Emma knew that some board members found his Scottish manner a little brusque, but she considered it no more than practical, and sometimes wondered how her approach might differ from his, if she were ever to become chairman. She quickly dismissed the thought and began to concentrate on the most important item on the agenda. Emma had rehearsed what she was going to say the night before, with Harry acting as chairman.
Once Philip Webster, the company secretary, had read the minutes of the last meeting and dealt with any questions arising, the chairman moved on to the first item on the agenda: a proposal that the board should put out to tender the building of the MV Buckingham, a luxury liner that would be added to the Barrington fleet.
Buchanan left the board in no doubt that he felt this was the only way forward if Barrington’s hoped to continue as one of the premier shipping companies in the land. Several members of the board nodded in agreement.
Once the chairman had put his case, he called upon Emma to present the contrary view. She began by suggesting that while the bank rate was at an all-time high, the company should be consolidating its position, and not risking such a large financial outlay on something that, in her opinion, had at best a 50/50 chance of succeeding.
Mr. Anscott, a non-executive director who had been appointed to the board by Sir Hugo Barrington, her late father, suggested it was time to push the boat out. No one laughed. Rear Admiral Summers felt they shouldn’t go ahead with such a radical decision without the shareholders’ approval.
“It is we who are on the bridge,” Buchanan reminded the admiral, “and therefore we who should be making the decisions.” The admiral scowled, but offered no further comment. After all, his vote would speak for itself.
Emma listened carefully as each member of the board gave his opinion, and quickly realized that the directors were evenly divided. One or two hadn’t yet made up their minds, but she suspected that if it came to a vote, the chairman would prevail.
An hour later, the board were no nearer to making a decision, with some of the directors simply repeating their earlier arguments, which clearly irritated Buchanan. But Emma knew he would eventually have to move on, as there was other important business that needed to be discussed.
“I am bound to say,” said the chairman in his summing up, “that we can’t put off making a decision for much longer, and therefore I suggest we all go away and think carefully about where we stand on this particular issue. Frankly, the future of the company is at stake. I propose that when we meet again next month, we take a vote on whether to put the job out to tender, or to drop the whole idea.”
“Or at least wait until calmer waters prevail,” suggested Emma.
The chairman reluctantly moved on, and as the remaining items on the agenda were far less contentious, by the time Buchanan asked if there was any other business a more relaxed atmosphere had replaced the earlier heated debate.
“I have one piece of information that it is my duty to report to the board,” said the company secretary. “You cannot have failed to notice that our share price has been rising steadily over the past few weeks, and you may well have wondered why, as we have made no significant announcements or issued any profit forecasts recently. Well, yesterday that mystery was solved when I received a letter from the manager of the Midland Bank in St. James’s, Mayfair, informing me that one of his clients was in possession of seven and a half percent of the company’s stock, and therefore would be appointing a director to represent them on the board.”
“Let me guess,” said Emma. “None other than Major Alex Fisher.”
“I fear so,” said the chairman, uncharacteristically lowering his guard.
“And are there any prizes for guessing who the good major will be representing?” asked the admiral.
“None,” replied Buchanan, “because you’d be wrong. Although I must confess that when I first heard the news, like you, I assumed it would be our old friend, Lady Virginia Fenwick. However, the manager of the Midland assures me that her ladyship is not one of the bank’s clients. When I pressed him on the subject of who owned the shares, he said politely that he was unable to disclose that information, which is banking parlance for mind your own business.”
“I can’t wait to discover how the major will cast his vote on the proposed building of the Buckingham,” said Emma with a wry smile, “because of one thing we can be sure. Whoever he represents certainly won’t have the Barrington’s interests at heart.”
“Be assured, Emma, I wouldn’t want that little shit to be the person who tipped the balance either way,” said Buchanan.
Emma was speechless.
Another of the chairman’s admirable qualities was his ability to put any disagreements, however strongly felt, to one side once a board meeting was over.
“So what’s the latest news on Sebastian?” he asked as he joined Emma for a pre-lunch drink.
“Matron declares herself well satisfied with his progress. I’m delighted to say that I can see a visible improvement every time I visit the hospital. The cast on his left leg has been removed, and he now has two eyes and an opinion on everything, from why his uncle Giles is the right man to replace Gaitskell as leader of the Labor Party, to why parking meters are nothing more than another government ploy to extract more of our hard-earned money.”
