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Arnold Hardcastle put a hand on his father’s arm and whispered, “Don’t answer that question, Pop.”
“Even if you pull it off,” said Emma, “I’ll still have to explain to the press and the shareholders at the AGM a week later why the share price has collapsed.”
“Not if I return to the market the moment Martinez’s shares have been picked up, and start buying aggressively, only stopping when the price has returned to its present level.”
“But you told us that was against the law.”
“When I said ‘I,’ what I meant was—”
“Don’t say another word, Pop,” said Arnold firmly.
“But if Martinez was to discover what you were up to…” began Emma.
“We won’t let him,” said Cedric, “because we’re all going to work to his timetable, as Seb will now explain.”
Sebastian rose from his place, and faced the toughest first-night audience in the West End. “Martinez plans to travel up to Scotland at the weekend for some grouse-shooting, and he won’t be returning to London until Tuesday morning.”
“How can you be so sure, Seb?” asked his father.
“Because his entire art collection is coming up for sale at Agnew’s on the Monday night, and he’s told the proprietor of the gallery that he can’t attend, as he won’t be back in London by then.”
“I find it strange,” said Emma, “that he doesn’t want to be around on the day he’s getting rid of all his shares in the company, and selling his art collection.”
“That’s easy to explain,” said Cedric. “If Barrington’s looks as if it’s in trouble, he will want to be as far away as possible, preferably somewhere where no one will be able to contact him, leaving you to handle the baying press and the irate shareholders.”
“Do we know where he’ll be staying in Scotland?” asked Giles.
“Not at the moment,” said Cedric, “but I called Ross Buchanan last night. He’s a first-class shot himself, and tells me there are only about six hotels and shooting lodges north of the border that Martinez would consider good enough for him to celebrate the glorious twelfth. Ross is going to spend the next couple of days visiting all of them until he discovers which one Martinez is booked into.”
“Is there anything the rest of us can do to help?” asked Harry.
“Just act normally. Especially you, Emma. You must appear to be preparing for the AGM and the launching of the Buckingham. Leave Seb and me to fine-tune the rest of the operation.”
“But even if you did manage to pull off the share coup,” said Giles, “that still wouldn’t solve the problem of Fisher’s resignation.”
“I’ve already set a plan in motion for dealing with Fisher.”
Everyone waited expectantly.
“You’re not going to tell us what you’re up to, are you?” said Emma eventually.
“No,” replied Cedric. “My lawyer,” he added, touching his son’s arm, “has advised against it.”
32
Tuesday afternoon
CEDRIC PICKED UP the phone on his desk, and immediately recognized the slight Scottish burr.
“Martinez is booked into Glenleven Lodge, from Friday the fourteenth of August until Monday the seventeenth.”
“That sounds a long way away.”
“It’s in the middle of nowhere.”
“What else did you find out?”
“He and his two sons visit Glenleven twice a year, in March and August. They always book the same three rooms on the second floor, and they eat all their meals in Don Pedro’s suite, never in the dining room.”
