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“Perhaps. But that’s not the same thing in a court of law.”
“So are you telling me I can’t issue the order to kill him?”
“Not yet,” said the cabinet secretary.
The colonel took a swig from his half-pint and changed the subject. “I see that Martinez has sacked his chauffeur.”
“You don’t sack Kevin Rafferty. He leaves when the job is finished, or if he hasn’t been paid.”
“So which was it this time?”
“The job must have been finished. Otherwise you wouldn’t have to bother about killing Martinez, because Rafferty would already have done the job for you.”
“Could it be possible that Martinez has lost interest in destroying the Barringtons?”
“No. As long as Fisher remains on the board, you can be sure Martinez will still want to get even with every member of that family, believe me.”
“And where does Lady Virginia fit into all this?”
“She still hasn’t forgiven Sir Giles for supporting his friend Harry Clifton at the time of the dispute over his mother’s will, when Lady Barrington compared her daughter-in-law with her Siamese cat, Cleopatra, describing her as a ‘beautiful, well-groomed, vain, cunning, manipulative predator.’ Memorable.”
“Do you want me to keep an eye on her as well?”
“No, Lady Virginia won’t break the law. She’ll get someone else to do it for her.”
“So what you’re saying is that I can’t do anything at the moment, other than keep Martinez under close observation and report back to you.”
“Patience, colonel. You can be sure he’ll make another mistake, and when he does I’ll be happy to take advantage of your colleagues’ particular skills.” Sir Alan downed his gin and tonic, rose from his place and slipped out of the pub without shaking hands or saying good-bye. He walked quickly across Whitehall into Downing Street and, five minutes later, was back behind his desk doing the day job.
* * *
Cedric Hardcastle checked the number before he dialed. He didn’t want his secretary to know who he was phoning. He heard a ringing tone and waited.
“Bingham’s Fish Paste. How may I help you?”
“Can I speak to Mr. Bingham?”
“Who shall I say is calling?”
“Cedric Hardcastle of Farthings Bank.”
“Hold on, please.”
He heard a click and a moment later a voice with an accent almost as broad as his said, “Take care of the pennies, and the pounds will take care of themselves.”
“I’m flattered, Mr. Bingham,” said Cedric.
“You shouldn’t be. You run a damn fine bank. Just a shame you’re on the other side of the Humber.”
“Mr. Bingham, I need—”
“Bob. No one calls me Mr. Bingham except the taxman and head waiters hoping for a larger tip.”
“Bob, I need to see you on a private matter, and I’d be quite happy to travel up to Grimsby.”
“It must be serious, because there aren’t many people who are quite happy to travel up to Grimsby,” said Bob. “As I assume you don’t want to open a fish paste account, can I ask what this is all about?”
Dull, boring Cedric would have said that he’d prefer to discuss the matter in person rather than over the telephone, Mr. Bingham. Newly minted, risk-taking Cedric said, “Bob, what would you give to humiliate Lady Virginia Fenwick, and get away with it?”
