Seated around the boardroom table were men who were strangers to him. Nearly all of them were new to him with the exception of Roger Grenville, the company’s new Chairman. He was of average height with grey hair which made him look prematurely aged. He was dressed conservatively in a black coat and grey striped trousers. Grenville was one of the original directors who had been there before Ashby’s departure to Houston. All of his father’s original business friends and partners were absent.
Grenville introduced the new directors. All of them had been with Stirling Limited which had merged with Plantation almost two years earlier. There were plenty of smiles and handshakes and the tone was informal with jackets discarded and pipes and cigarettes lit. The welcome seemed contrived. As an underwriter, Ashby was used to the superficial bonhomie of brokers – some with ticking time-bombs – or at least that was what some contracts turned out to be.
These new directors had a certain smugness about them and faux regard. They were different from the familiar faces Ashby knew in the past. When the door was closed, Roger Grenville stood up and addressed the meeting like a headmaster on Speech Day.
“Robert, let me say on behalf of us all, how sorry we are at the loss of your father. His passing was a shock to all of us. We know that this is a difficult time for you. As we knew you’d be returning to London, we thought it advisable to….”
At this point, Ashby held up the telex he’d received the previous day in Houston.
“Forgive me but could you tell me why you wanted me here ? What happened to the other directors ? Why did someone called ‘George Waring’ from ‘Westbridge Actuaries & Auditors’ – who I’ve never heard of – send me this message last night to ‘return urgently when everything would be explained’ on my arrival.”
For a time, no-one said anything.
Grenville sat down again and said “Robert, there have been some changes while you’ve been away which I’ll explain in a moment. I’m sure you know how your father liked to have control of everything for himself and to do things in his own way. Well, that was all very well when he was alive, but now that he’s gone…”
Another director, who introduced himself as Nigel Black, interrupted the Chairman. He was seated near the head of the table and appeared to be more senior than the others. His face was sun-tanned as if he’d just returned from holiday. His thinning hair was lacquered and scraped back over the top of his head which made him appear sleek. His dark brown eyes occasionally glanced across the room or at Ashby or Grenville : the look was confident, even slightly arrogant. He was wearing a dark grey, chalk-striped suit, the uniform of an underwriter or someone who had once been a broker.
“Do you know anything about your father’s affairs, here at the company ? Did he confide anything to you about what has been happening here recently ?”
“Confide ? No, not at all. I did speak to him a few times about things that he said were worrying him. You do know that I haven’t been back in London for quite a while – just over two years ?”
“Things worrying him ?”
“Most of the time, he wanted to hear how I was getting on with the Americans but he did say a few times that there were claims which had come in and they were giving him sleepless nights.”
“Yes, well that is precisely why we wanted to see you,” said Grenville. “You asked earlier why George Waring wrote to you and the answer is that….Plantation....our company….your father’s company….looks as if it is on the point of being insolvent….bankrupt….flat broke. And the main person who was trying to rescue the situation….was your father – and he is no longer with us.”