“Ralph, it’s Adrian Sloane.”
“I thought it might be,” said Vaughan, checking his watch. “You’ll be pleased to hear that no one has called about Shifnal Farm all day. So with just fifteen minutes to go, I think it’s safe to assume the property is yours. I’ll give you a call just after five, so we can discuss how you want to deal with the paperwork.”
“That’s fine by me,” said Sloane, “but don’t be surprised if my line’s engaged when you call, because I’m currently involved in a deal that’s even bigger than Shifnal Farm.”
“But if someone was to make a bid between now and five—”
“That isn’t going to happen,” said Sloane. “Just make sure you send the contract round to Farthings first thing on Monday morning. There’ll be a check waiting for you.”
* * *
“It’s ten to five,” said Vic.
“Patience, child,” said the old man. “There is only one thing that matters when you’re trying to close a deal. Timing.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, although he was wide awake. He had told his secretary that under no circumstances was he to be disturbed between ten to five and ten past. Neither Vic nor Seb said another word.
Suddenly Saul’s eyes opened and he sat bolt upright. He checked that the two phones on his desk were placed exactly where he wanted them. At six minutes to five, he leaned forward and picked up the black phone. He dialed the number of an estate agent in Mayfair, and asked to speak to the senior partner.
“Mr. Kaufman, this is an unexpected pleasure,” said Vaughan. “How can I help you?”
“You can start by telling me the time, Mr. Vaughan.”
“I make it five to five,” said a puzzled voice. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I wanted to be sure that you’re still open for bids on Shifnal Farm in Shropshire.”
“We most certainly are. But I must warn you that we already have an offer of one point six million pounds from another bank.”
“Then I bid one million, six hundred and ten thousand.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Vaughan.
“And what time do you make it now?”
“Three minutes to five.”
“Please hold on, Mr. Vaughan, there’s someone on the other line. I’ll only be a moment.” Kaufman placed the black receiver on his desk, picked up the red one and dialed a number.
After three rings a voice said, “Adrian Sloane.”
“Mr. Sloane, I’m calling back about the Nigerian oil bonds your bank is offering to selected investors. As I said earlier, it sounds a most exciting opportunity. What is the maximum amount that you’ll allow any one institution to invest?”
“Two million pounds, Mr. Kaufman. I’d offer you more, but the majority of the shares have already been taken up.”
“Can you just hold on while I consult one of my colleagues?”
“Of course, Mr. Kaufman.”
Saul placed the red phone back on his desk and picked up the black one. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. Vaughan, but I must ask you once again, what time do you make it?”
“One minute to five.”
“Excellent. Would you now be kind enough to open your office door?”
Kaufman put the black receiver back down on his desk and picked up the red one. “My colleague is asking, if we were to invest the full two million, would that entitle us to a place on the board of the new company?”
“Most certainly,” said Sloane. “In fact, I could offer you two places, as you would own ten percent of the stock.”
“Allow me to consult my colleague again.” The red phone was placed back on the desk, and Kaufman picked up the black one.
“What did you find when you opened the door, Mr. Vaughan?”
“A messenger handed me an envelope containing a banker’s draft for one hundred and sixty-one thousand pounds.”
“The ten percent required to close the transaction. What time do you make it now, Mr. Vaughan?”
“Two minutes past five.”
“Then the deal is closed. And as long as I pay the remaining ninety percent within thirty days, Shifnal Farm is mine.”
“It most certainly is,” said Vaughan, unwilling to admit how much he was looking forward to telling Sloane that he’d lost the deal.
“Have a good weekend,” said Kaufman as he placed the black phone back on its cradle and returned to the red one.
“Mr. Sloane, I want to invest two million pounds in this most exciting project.” Kaufman wished he could see the look on Sloane’s face. “But unfortunately I couldn’t get my colleagues to agree with me, so sadly I’ll have to withdraw my offer. As you assured me the majority of the shares have already been taken up, I don’t suppose that will cause you too much of a problem.”
14
SEBASTIAN DIDN’T TELL Samantha the tactics Mr. Kaufman had resorted to in order to close the Shifnal Farm deal, because he knew she wouldn’t approve, even though it was Sloane who’d lost out. What he did tell her was that Kaufman had offered him a job.
“But I thought his bank didn’t have a property division.”
“It does now,” said Seb. “He’s asked me to set up my own department. Small transactions to begin with, but with a view to expanding, if I prove myself.”
“That’s wonderful news,” said Sam, giving him a hug.
“And it shouldn’t be too difficult to pick up good staff, since Sloane’s sacked my entire team, not to mention several others who’ve resigned, including Rachel.”
“Rachel?”
“She used to be Cedric’s secretary, but she only lasted a week under the new regime. I’ve asked her to join me. We start on Monday with a clean sheet. Well, not exactly a clean sheet, because Sloane sacked my assistant, and ordered him to remove everything from the office that even hinted of me, so he gathered up all the files I was working on, walked across to Cheapside, and handed them to me.”
“Is that legal?”
“Who gives a damn, when Sloane’s never going to find out?”
“Farthings Bank is not just Adrian Sloane, and you still have an obligation to it.”
“After the way Sloane treated me?”
“No, after the way Cedric treated you.”
“But that doesn’t apply to Shifnal Farm, because Sloane was working behind Cedric’s back on that deal.”
“And now you’re working behind his.”
“You bet I am, if it’s going to make it possible for us to buy a flat in Chelsea.”
“We shouldn’t be thinking about buying anything until you’ve paid off all your debts.”
“Mr. Kaufman has promised me a forty-thousand-pound bonus when the government makes its announcement, so I won’t have any debts then.”
“If the government makes an announcement,” said Sam. “Don’t start spending the money before you’ve got it. And even if you do pull the deal off, you’ll still owe Mr. Swann over eight thousand pounds, so perhaps we ought not to be thinking about moving quite yet.”
That was something else Seb decided he wasn’t going to tell Sam about.
* * *
Seb spent the next few weeks working hours that would have impressed even Cedric and, with the help of Rachel and his old team from Farthings, they were up and running far more quickly than Mr. Kaufman would have thought possible.
Seb wasn’t satisfied with just being reunited with his old customers, but like a marauding pirate he began to plunder several of Farthings’ other clients, convincing himself that it was no more than Sloane deserved.
It was about three months after he’d begun working at Kaufman’s that the chairman called him into his office.
“Did you read the Financial Times this morning?” he said, even before Seb had closed the door.
“Only the front page and the property section. Why?”
“Because we’re about to find out if Mr. Swann’s prediction is correct.” Seb didn’t interrupt Kaufman’s flow. “It seems the transport minister wil
l be making a statement in the House at three o’clock this afternoon. Perhaps you and Victor should go along and hear what he has to say, then call and let me know if I’ve made or lost a fortune.”
As soon as Seb returned to his office, he called Uncle Giles at the Commons and asked if he could arrange a couple of tickets for the Strangers’ Gallery that afternoon, so he and a friend could hear the statement by the minister of transport.
“I’ll leave them in Central Lobby,” said Giles.
After he’d put the phone down, Giles studied the order paper, and wondered why Sebastian would be interested in a decision that would only affect a handful of people living in Shropshire.
* * *
Seb and Vic were seated in the fourth row of the Strangers’ Gallery long before the minister rose to deliver his statement. Uncle Giles smiled up at them from the government benches, still puzzled as to what would be in the statement that could possibly be of any interest to his nephew.
The two young bankers were sitting on the edge of the green leather bench when the Speaker called for the Secretary of State for Transport to deliver his statement to the House.
“Mr. Speaker,” the minister began, as he gripped the dispatch box, “I rise to inform the House which route has been selected by my department for the proposed motorway extension that will run through the county of Shropshire.”
If the word SILENCE hadn’t been displayed in bold on the wood-panelled walls, Seb would have leapt in the air when the minister referred to the outskirts of Shifnal, including Shifnal Farm, as a section of the route for the proposed new motorway.
Once the minister had dealt with several questions from local members, he resumed his place on the front bench to allow a debate on foreign affairs to begin.
Seb and Vic had no interest in whether the government intended to impose economic sanctions on South Africa, so they slipped quietly out of the Strangers’ Gallery, made their way downstairs to the central lobby, and out onto Parliament Square. That’s when Seb leapt in the air and screamed, “We did it!”
* * *
Samantha was reading the Guardian when a sleepy Sebastian appeared for breakfast the following morning.
“Where were you last night?” she asked. “I didn’t even hear you come in.”
“Vic and I were out celebrating. Sorry, I should have called to let you know.”
“Celebrating what?” asked Sam, but Seb didn’t answer as he helped himself to a bowl of cornflakes.
“Could it possibly be that Mr. Swann worked out that the new motorway would go straight through the middle of Shifnal Farm and, to quote the Guardian,” said Sam, looking down at the article in front of her, “make a small fortune for a handful of speculators?” She handed the newspaper to Seb, who only glanced at the headline.
“You have to understand,” said Seb between mouthfuls, “this means we’ll now have enough money to buy a house in Chelsea.”
“But will there be enough money left over for Mr. Swann to build his theatre in Shifnal?”
“That depends…”
“On what? You gave him your word that if the information he supplied turned out to be correct, you would pay him the £8,234 he needed to complete his theatre.”
“But I only earn four thousand a year,” protested Seb.
“And you’re about to be given a bonus of forty thousand.”
“On which I’ll have to pay capital gains tax.”
“Not on a charitable donation, you won’t.”
“But there was nothing in writing.”
“Seb, did you hear what you just said?”
“In any case,” added Seb quickly, “it’s Mr. Kaufman who will make the small fortune, not me.”
“And it was Mr. Kaufman who took the risk in the first place, and could have lost a small fortune. Whereas you had nothing to lose, and everything to gain.”
“You don’t understand—” began Seb.
“I understand only too well,” said Sam as Seb pushed his bowl aside and got up from the table.
“I ought to be going,” he said. “I’m already late, and I’ve got a lot to do today.”
“Like deciding how to spend the money Mr. Swann has made for you?”
He leaned down to kiss her, but she turned away.
“The truth is, you never had any intention of paying Mr. Swann, did you?”
Seb made no attempt to answer her question as he turned and walked quickly toward the door.
“Can’t you see that if you don’t pay Mr. Swann, you’ll be just as bad as Adrian Sloane?” said Sam with feeling.
Seb didn’t reply as he picked up his briefcase and hurried out of the flat without saying goodbye. Once he was safely out on the street, he hailed a taxi. As it made its way along City Road he began to wonder how long it would be before, like Saul Kaufman, he had his own car and driver. But his mind kept returning to Sam and her words: “you’ll be just as bad as Adrian Sloane.”
He would book a table for two at the Mirabelle tonight, when they would talk about anything but banking. During his lunch break he would visit Mr. Gard in Hatton Garden and buy that marcasite brooch. Then surely Sam would begin to appreciate the advantages of being engaged to Sebastian Clifton.
* * *
“Your usual table, Mr. Kaufman?”
Seb wondered how long it would be before the head waiter would say to him, “Your usual table, Mr. Clifton?”
Over lunch in the Grill Room, he told the chairman he’d already spotted one or two other properties whose sellers seemed unaware of their true value.
After a lunch at which he’d drunk a little too much, he took a taxi to Hatton Garden. Mr. Gard opened the safe and pulled out the third tray from the top. Seb was delighted to see it was still there: a Victorian marcasite brooch surrounded by diamonds that he was sure Sam would find irresistible.
In the taxi on his way back to Islington, he felt confident that over dinner at the Mirabelle, he could bring her around to his way of thinking.
When he put the key in the lock, his first thought was, we won’t be living here much longer, but when he opened the door, he was puzzled to find that all the lights were out. Could Sam be attending an evening lecture? The moment he switched on the light, he sensed that something was wrong. Something was missing, but what? He sobered up instantly when he realized that several personal objects, including the photograph of the two of them in Central Park, one of Jessica’s drawings, and Sam’s print of The Night Watch, were nowhere to be seen.
He rushed through to their bedroom and flung open the cupboards on Sam’s side of the bed. Empty. He looked under the bed, to find her suitcases were no longer there.
“No, no,” he screamed as he ran out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where he saw the envelope. It was propped up against a small red leather box and addressed to Sebastian. He tore it open and pulled out a letter that was written in her strong, bold hand.
Dearest Seb,
This is the most difficult letter I’ve ever had to write in my life, because you were my life. But I fear the man who came to Agnew’s Gallery willing to spend every penny he possessed to buy one of his sister’s drawings is not the same man I had breakfast with this morning.
The man who was so proud to work alongside Cedric Hardcastle and despised everything Adrian Sloane stood for is not the same man who now feels he has no obligation to Mr. Swann, the one person who made it possible for him to receive such a handsome bonus. Have you forgotten Mr. Swann’s words, “If Harry Clifton is your father, that’s good enough for me?”
If only Cedric were alive today, none of this would have happened, because you know he would have made sure you kept your side of the bargain and if you hadn’t he would have kept it for you.
I have no doubt that your career will continue to go from strength to strength, and that you will be an outstanding success at everything you do. But that’s not the kind of success I want to be a part of.
I fell in love with the son of Harry and
Emma Clifton, the brother of Jessica Clifton, which is one of the many reasons I wanted to be the wife of Sebastian Clifton. But that man no longer exists. Despite everything, I will treasure our short time together for the rest of my life.
Samantha
Sebastian fell to his knees, the words of Sam’s father ringing in his ears. “Samantha sets standards, like your mother, that the rest of us normal mortals find hard to live with, unless, like your father, they’re guided by the same moral compass.”
LADY VIRGINIA FENWICK
1966
15
“I’LL SEE IF HER LADYSHIP is at home,” said the butler.
What a ridiculous remark, thought Lady Virginia. Morton knows only too well that I’m at home. What he actually means is, I’ll find out if her ladyship wants to talk to you.
“Who is it, Morton?” she asked as the butler entered the room.
“Mrs. Priscilla Bingham, my lady.”
“Of course I’m at home to Mrs. Bingham,” said Virginia, picking up the phone by her side. “Priscilla, darling.”
“Virginia, darling.”
“It’s been so long.”
“Far too long, and I’ve so much to tell you.”
“Why don’t you pop up and spend a few days in London? It will be just like old times. We can go shopping, catch a show, try out one or two new restaurants, and even visit Annabel’s, where one just has to be seen, darling.”
“Sounds terrific. I’ll check my diary and ring you back.”
Virginia put down the phone and thought about her friend. They hadn’t seen much of each other since her last visit to Mablethorpe Hall, when Priscilla’s husband Robert had behaved so badly. And worse, since then, Robert had gone over to the other side and joined the enemy. He not only sat on the board of Barrington Shipping but had played a part in ensuring that Major Fisher, Virginia’s representative, had been summarily dismissed from the board. To make matters worse, he’d insisted that Priscilla accompany him on the Buckingham’s maiden voyage to New York, despite Virginia telling her that she had been refused a first-class cabin.