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Graves frowned. “You’d better get back to your cell before someone notices you’re missing,” the prison officer said, trying to reestablish his authority.
“Whatever you say, guv,” said Nash, before slipping out of the office and making his way back to his cell.
* * *
When Virginia woke the next morning, she found a large envelope lying on the doormat. She didn’t want to know who’d delivered it, or when. She checked her watch, 9:14 a.m. Knowles wasn’t due to pick it up until ten, giving her more than enough time.
She ripped open the envelope and extracted the document, quickly turning to the last page to check that Mellor had signed it. She smiled when she saw his friend, Mr. Graves, had witnessed the signature. Virginia placed the agreement back in the envelope, left her little flat in Chelsea, and headed for a shop in Pimlico that she’d checked out the previous day.
The young man behind the counter made two copies of the document and charged her £2.00 and another 20p for a large brown envelope. She was back in her flat twenty minutes later, reading the morning paper, when there was a knock at the door.
Knowles kissed her on both cheeks as if they were old friends, but once he’d exchanged one brown envelope for another, he left immediately. Virginia returned to the drawing room, ripped open the new envelope, and counted the money. Fifteen thousand, as agreed. Not a bad morning’s work. Now all she had to do was decide whether or not to deliver the ten thousand to the bald man in the navy blazer and jeans who would be waiting for her in Trafalgar Square.
* * *
When Virginia arrived at the bank, she made her way straight to the manager’s office. Mr. Leigh stood up the moment she entered the room. Without a word, she extracted five cellophane packets and the copy of a three-page document from a Swan and Edgar bag, and placed them on his desk.
“Please credit my account with the five thousand pounds, and place this document among my personal papers.”
Mr. Leigh gave her a slight bow and was about to ask … but she had already left the room.
Virginia walked out of the bank and onto the Strand, before making her way slowly toward Trafalgar Square. She had decided to carry out Mellor’s instructions, not least because she recalled him saying how severe the consequences would be if he failed to repay the money, and she didn’t want any harm to come to her only other source of income.
She paused opposite St. Martin in the Fields and, clutching her Swan and Edgar bag tightly, waited for the traffic lights to turn red before she crossed the road. A flock of startled pigeons flew into the air as she stepped into the square and headed toward the fountains.
A child was jumping up and down in the water and his mother was begging him to come out. Just beyond them was a bald-headed man wearing an open-neck shirt, dark blue blazer, and jeans, whose eyes never left her. She walked across to him and handed over the shopping bag. He didn’t even look inside, just turned his back and disappeared among a crowd of tourists.
Virginia breathed a sigh of relief. The operation had gone without a hitch, and she was already looking forward to having lunch with Priscilla. She made her way toward the National Gallery and hailed a taxi, while the bald man continued striding in the opposite direction. He couldn’t miss the silver-gray Bentley that was parked outside South Africa House. As he approached the car a tinted window purred down and a hand appeared. He passed over the Swan and Edgar bag and waited.
Conrad Sorkin checked the ten cellophane packets before handing one of them back to the courier.
“Thank you, Mr. Graves. Please let Mr. Nash know that Lady Virginia failed to turn up.”
16
SIX MEN SAT opposite each other preparing for battle, although in truth they were all on the same side. Three of them represented Farthings Kaufman, and the other three Thomas Cook Ltd., one of the bank’s oldest clients.
Hakim Bishara, chairman of Farthings Kaufman, sat on one side of the table, with Sebastian Clifton, his CEO, on his right, and the bank’s in-house lawyer, Arnold Hardcastle, on his left. Opposite Hakim sat Ray Brook, the chairman of Cook’s, on his right the company’s MD, Brian Dawson, and on his left Naynesh Desai, his legal advisor.
“Allow me to open this meeting by welcoming all of you,” said Hakim. “May I add how delighted we are to be representing Cook’s in their attempt to take over Mellor Travel Ltd. Sadly, this is unlikely to be a mutually agreed takeover. In fact, it is more likely to be an all-out war, and a bloody one at that. But let me assure you, gentlemen, we will succeed. I will now ask Sebastian Clifton, who has been working on the project for some weeks, to bring us all up to speed.”
“Thank you, chairman,” said Seb as he opened a thick file in front of him. “Allow me to begin by summing up our present position. Cook’s have, for some time, expressed an interest in acquiring Mellor Travel, which has certain assets that would bring added value to their business. In particular, their forty-two high street shops, some in towns where Cook’s do not have a presence, or where their present location is not as well placed as their rival’s. Mellor also has a first-class, well-trained staff, although some of them have felt it necessary to leave the company during the past year.”
“One or two of them to join us,” interrupted Brook.
“Perhaps this is the time to mention the elephant in the room,” continued Seb. “Namely Mr. Desmond Mellor, who, although no longer chairman of the company, does retain fifty-one percent of its shares. Therefore a takeover would be nigh on impossible without his blessing.”
“I understand that you’ve had dealings with Mr. Mellor in the past,” said Dawson, removing his glasses. “How is your present relationship?”
“I don’t think it could be much worse,” admitted Seb. “We both sat on the board of Barrington Shipping at a time when my mother was chairman. Not only did Mellor attempt to have her removed from the board, but after failing to do so, he tried to take over the company using tactics that were found to be unacceptable by the takeover panel. My mother prevailed, and continued to run Barrington’s for several more years until the company was bought by Cunard.”
“I invited your mother to join our board,” said Brook, “but unfortunately Margaret Thatcher trumped us.”
“I didn’t know that,” said Seb.
“But you will recall that when Barrington’s launched the Buckingham, and later the Balmoral, Mrs. Clifton appointed Cook’s as their preferred booking agent. We’ve never had a better partner, even if I did have to get used to her calling at six o’clock in the morning or ten at night.”
“You too?” said Seb with a grin. “However, I have a confession to make. Before you approached us concerning this takeover, at his request I visited Desmond Mellor in prison.”
