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“Take it. And I’ll need a taxi to get me to Dulles.”
On the way to the airport, Seb didn’t even notice the towering monuments, the fast-flowing Potomac or the densely wooded forests. His mind was preoccupied with the thought of Hakim locked up in a prison cell. Seb accepted that there was no longer any purpose in Arnold delivering the merger papers to the Bank of England after he recalled Hakim’s light-hearted question, “Have you ever been to jail?” He wondered who could be behind something so treacherous. Adrian Sloane immediately came to mind, but he couldn’t have done it on his own.
It was when Seb checked his watch and saw that it was almost 7:30 p.m. that he
remembered where he was meant to be at that time. Jessica would assume he’d let them down again. She would never believe anything could be more important than … He paid the taxi driver, dashed into the terminal, checked in, then headed straight for the business-class lounge, where he stepped into the only available phone booth, pressed a coin into the slot and dialed directory enquiries.
“This is the first call for passengers traveling to London Heathrow on the seven fifty-five British Airways flight, will you please make your way…”
“A restaurant in Washington called the Belvedere.” A few moments later she gave him the number. Seb dialed it immediately, only to find it was engaged. He decided to pick up his ticket and try again in a few minutes. Perhaps the plane would be delayed.
He ran back to the phone booth and dialed again. Still engaged.
“This is the final call for passengers traveling to London Heathrow on the seven fifty-five British Airways flight. Please…”
He pressed the coins back in and dialed the number, praying it wouldn’t still be busy. This time he was greeted by a ringing tone.
“Come on, pick it up, pick it up!” he shouted.
“Good evening, this is the Belvedere, how may I help you?”
“This is Sebastian Clifton, and I’m meant to be dining at your restaurant this evening with Samantha and Jessica Brewer.”
“Yes, sir, your party has arrived and are in the lounge waiting for you.”
“I need to speak to Jessica Brewer. Please tell her it’s urgent.”
“Certainly, sir, I’ll ask her to come to the phone.”
Seb waited, but the next voice he heard said, “Please put another fifty cents into the slot.”
He searched his pockets for change, but all he could find was ten cents. He shoved it into the slot and prayed. “Hi Pops, it’s Jessie.”
“Jessie, hi—” Beep, beep, beep, click … purr.
“Would Mr. Sebastian Clifton, traveling to London Heathrow on the seven fifty-five British Airways flight, please report to Gate number fourteen as the gate is about to close.”
32
THE FOUR OF them held an unscheduled board meeting at eleven on Monday morning. They sat around a square, vinyl-topped table in a cramped room normally reserved for legal consultations.
Ross Buchanan sat at one end of the table with a sheaf of files on the floor beside him. Hakim Bishara sat opposite him with Arnold Hardcastle on his right and Sebastian on his left.
“Perhaps I should begin,” said Ross, “by letting you know that—so far at least—Farthings shares haven’t lost as much ground as we feared they might.”
“Helped by your robust statement, no doubt,” said Hakim, “which was reported in all the Sunday papers. Indeed, if anything will keep the bank afloat it’s your reputation in the City, Ross.”
“It also looks as if there’s a third party involved,” said Seb, “who’s picking up any available stock.”
“A friend or a predator, I wonder,” said Hakim.
“I can’t be sure, but I’ll let you know the moment I find out.”
“How have Kaufman’s shares been faring?”
“Surprisingly,” said Seb, “they’ve risen slightly, despite Victor making it clear to anyone who asks that, as far as he’s concerned, the merger is still on, and that his late father was a great admirer of yours.”
“That’s generous of him,” said Hakim, placing his elbows on the table. “But how many of our major clients have withdrawn their accounts?”
