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“No. I’m thinking of buying some pictures.”
“Sounds interesting,” said Hakim, but Seb didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m off to Lagos tomorrow,” Hakim added, “for a meeting with the oil minister. The government wants to build a larger port to handle the demand for so many foreign oil tankers following the discovery of several new oil fields off the Nigerian coast. They’ve invited Farthings—sorry, Farthings Kaufman—to act as their financial advisors. Like you, Seb, I hope to be back at my desk by Monday at the latest, as I have another heavy week ahead of me. So, Victor, we’ll leave the shop in your hands while we’re away. Just be sure there are no surprises when we return.”
* * *
“Quite a coup,” said Desmond Mellor once he’d read the press statement. “I’m not sure there’s much we can do about it.”
“How large is our holding in Farthings Kaufman?” asked Jim Knowles.
“We own six percent of Farthings,” said Adrian Sloane. “But that will be reduced to three percent of the new bank when the merger goes through, which wouldn’t entitle us to a place on the board.”
“And although Mellor Travel has had another good year,” said Desmond, “I just don’t have the financial clout to take on Bishara.”
“One of my contacts at the Bank of England,” said Knowles, “tells me he expects the merger to be ratified within the next couple of weeks.”
“Unless the Bank of England felt unable to ratify it,” said Sloane.
“What reason would they have not to?” asked Mellor.
“If a director didn’t fulfil one of the Bank’s statutory regulations.”
“Which regulation do you have in mind, Adrian?”
“That he’d been to jail.”
30
SEBASTIAN WALKED OUT of Dulles airport and joined the short queue for a yellow cab.
“The Mayflower Hotel, please,” he said to the driver. Seb always enjoyed the drive from Dulles into the capital. A long, winding road that stretched between wooded forests before crossing the Potomac and passing the magnificent marble monuments of past presidents that dominated the landscape like Roman temples. Lincoln, Jefferson and finally Washington, before the cab drew up outside the hotel.
Sebastian was impressed when the clerk on the front desk said, “Welcome back, Mr. Clifton,” as he’d only stayed at the Mayflower once before. “Is there anything I can do to assist you?”
“How long will it take me to get to Jefferson School?”
“Fifteen minutes, twenty at most. Shall I book you a cab?”
Seb checked his watch. Just after 2 p.m. “Yes, let’s make it for four twenty?”
“Four twenty it is, sir. I’ll call your
room the moment the car arrives.”
Seb made his way to the ninth floor and, as he looked across at the White House, he realized they’d even given him the same room as before. He unpacked his small suitcase and placed a thousand dollars in the wall safe, which he assumed would be more than enough to buy all of Jessica’s pictures. He undressed, took a shower, lay down on the bed and put his head on the pillow.
The phone was ringing. Seb opened his eyes and tried to remember where he was. He picked up the receiver.
“Your cab is waiting at the front entrance, sir.”
Seb checked his watch: 4:15 p.m. He must have fallen asleep. Damn jet lag. “Thank you, I’ll be right down.” He quickly put on some clean clothes before making his way downstairs. “Can you get me there before five?” he asked the driver.
“Kinda depends where ‘there’ is.”
“Sorry, Jefferson School.”
“No sweat.” The cab moved off to join the early evening traffic.
Seb had already worked on two plans. If, when he arrived at the school, he spotted either Samantha or Jessica, he would wait until they’d left before going into the exhibition. But if they weren’t there, he would take a quick look at his daughter’s work, select the pictures he wanted and be on his way back to the Mayflower before they even realized he’d been there.
