This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles #7)(104)

‘Why didn’t you give the board advance notice of the purchase?’ asked Seb. ‘A phone call would have been quite sufficient, so our executive directors could have discussed your proposal before today’s board meeting. Instead, you appear to have presented us with a fait accompli.’

‘I apologize, chairman, but I failed to mention that Princess Diana, a friend of Dr Yacoub’s, was also on the trip to Egypt, and we were asked by her security team not to reveal our location or the names of anyone else on the trip.’

‘Quite right,’ said Giles. ‘We don’t need to telegraph the IRA.’

‘And I assumed,’ continued Victor, looking directly at Seb, ‘that if a real emergency were to arise, you wouldn’t have hesitated to call my wife, the one person who knew exactly where I was.’

Three of the directors nodded in agreement.

‘Finally,’ said Victor, ‘I know you’ll all be delighted to hear that Professor Yacoub will be holding a press conference at the Marsden next Thursday to announce that Princess Diana has agreed to be the charity’s patron.’

‘Bravo,’ said Clive. ‘That can only be good for the bank’s image.’

‘That’s not my sole purpose for wanting to support such a worthwhile cause,’ said Victor sharply.

‘Possibly not,’ said Arnold, ‘but while the chancellor is still thrashing about, it won’t do us any harm.’

‘Perhaps you’d write up a proposal for our consideration at next month’s board meeting,’ said Seb, ‘and distribute it early enough for us to give it some serious thought.’

‘I drafted an outline summary while I was circling above you this morning, chairman, and once I’ve completed it, I’ll send copies to all board members.’

Several directors were nodding, as Victor closed the file in front of him.

‘Thank you,’ said Seb. ‘Now all we have to decide is the date of the next meeting.’

Diaries were consulted and, once a date had been agreed, Seb brought the meeting to a close.

‘Could you spare me a moment, Victor,’ he said, as he gathered up his papers.

‘Of course, chairman.’ Victor followed Seb out of the room, down the corridor and into the chairman’s office. He was just about to close the door behind him when he noticed that John Ashley and Arnold Hardcastle were following close behind.

Once all four of them were seated around the oval table, Seb tentatively began by saying, ‘One or two of us became quite concerned, Victor, when during your absence three cheques were presented for clearance by a Miss Lombardo, whom Arnold, John and I had never heard of.’

‘Never heard of?’ said Victor. ‘Which planet have you been living on?’

When none of them attempted to defend themselves, the penny dropped.

‘Ah,’ he said, looking like a man who had a straight flush, ‘so you all assumed—’

‘Well, you must try to see it from our perspective,’ said Arnold defensively.

‘And to be fair,’ said Victor, ‘I don’t suppose Miss Lombardo makes the front page of the FT that often.’

The other three directors burst out laughing.

‘I confess I didn’t have the board’s approval to purchase the building and, fearing that we might lose it while it was still at such a low price, I allowed Miss Lombardo to open an account, which I guaranteed.’

‘But that doesn’t explain the five thousand pounds she paid for a mink coat from Harrods,’ said John Ashley, a little sheepishly.

‘A birthday present for Ruth that I didn’t want her to know about. By the way, is that why you were trying to get in touch with me?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Seb. ‘We just wanted you to know that Giles may have pulled off a major coup in Rome, before you read about it in the press.’

‘Good try,’ said Victor. ‘But I’ve known you far too long, Seb, to fall for that one. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I won’t mention the subject again, as long as you back my proposal to support the charity at the next board meeting.’

‘That sounds like blackmail.’

‘Yes, I do believe it is.’

‘I should have listened to my wife in the first place,’ mumbled Seb.

‘That might have been wise, all things considered,’ said Victor. ‘I wasn’t planning to mention to the board that Samantha winked at me when you were making your ridiculous exit from the Caprice.’





HARRY AND EMMA CLIFTON


1986–1989





44


WHEN HARRY WOKE, he tried to recall a dream that didn’t seem to have had an ending. Was he yet again the captain of the England cricket team about to score the winning run against Australia at Lord’s? No, as far as he could remember, he was running for a bus that always remained a few yards ahead of him. He wondered what Freud would have made of that. Harry questioned the theory that dreams only ever last for a few moments. How could the scientists possibly be sure of that?

He blinked, turned over and stared at the fluorescent green figures on his bedside clock: 5.07. More than enough time to go over the opening lines in his mind before getting up.

The first morning before starting a new book was always the time when Harry asked himself why. Why not go back to sleep rather than once again embark upon a routine that would take at least a year, and could end in failure? After all, he had passed that age when most people have collected their gold watch and retired to enjoy their twilight years, as insurance companies like to describe them. And Heaven knows, he didn’t need the money. But if the choice was resting on his laurels or embarking on a new adventure, it wasn’t a difficult decision. Disciplined, was how Emma described him; obsessed, was Sebastian’s simple explanation.