Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles, #3)(50)

‘There were an awful lot standing at the back,’ said Fisher. ‘And several sitting in the aisles.’

‘That must explain it,’ said the chairman. ‘But I don’t mind telling you on the QT, old boy, that I voted for Simpson.’

‘So did I,’ said Fisher. ‘But that’s democracy for you.’

The chairman laughed. ‘Well, I suppose we’d better be getting back and tell them the result before the natives become restless.’

‘Perhaps it might be wise, chairman, to simply announce the winner, and not reveal how close the vote was? After all, we must now all get behind the candidate the association has selected. Of course, I’ll record the exact figures when I write up the minutes.’

‘Good thinking, Fisher.’



‘I’m sorry to ring you at such a late hour on a Sunday night, Lady Virginia, but something has arisen, and if we’re to take advantage of it, I’ll need your authority to act immediately.’

‘This had better be good,’ said a sleepy voice.

‘I’ve just heard that Sir William Travers, the chairman of Barrington’s—’

‘I know who William Travers is.’

‘–died of a heart attack a couple of hours ago.’

‘Is that good news or bad news?’ asked a voice that was suddenly awake.

‘Unquestionably good, because the share price is certain to fall the moment the press gets wind of it, which is why I called, because we’ve only got a few hours’ start.’

‘I presume you want to sell my shares again?’

‘Yes, I do. I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that you made a handsome profit on the last occasion, as well as damaging the company’s reputation.’

‘But if I do sell again, is there any chance the shares might go up?’

‘Shares only go one way when the chairman of a public company dies, Lady Virginia, especially when it’s a heart attack.’

‘Then go ahead, sell.’





20


GILES HAD PROMISED his sister that he’d be on time for the meeting. He skidded to a halt on the gravel outside the main building and parked his Jaguar next to Emma’s Morris Traveller. He was pleased to see she was already there because, although they both owned 11 per cent of the company, Emma took a far greater interest in Barrington Shipping’s affairs than he did, even more since she’d embarked on her degree course at Stanford with that double Pulitzer Prize-winner, whose name he could never remember.

‘You’d remember Cyrus Feldman’s name well enough if he had a vote in your constituency,’ Emma had mocked.

He hadn’t attempted to deny the charge.

Giles smiled as he jumped out of his car and spotted a group of children coming out of Old Jack’s Pullman carriage. Badly neglected in his father’s day, it had recently been returned to its former glory and become a museum in memory of the great man. School parties paid regular visits to see Old Jack’s VC and be given a history lesson on the Boer War. How long would it be, he wondered, before they were giving history lessons on the Second World War?

As he ran towards the building, he wondered why Emma had felt it was so important to meet the new chairman tonight, when the general election was almost upon them.

Giles didn’t know a lot about Ross Buchanan, other than what he’d read about him in the Financial Times. After Fettes he’d studied economics at Edinburgh University and then joined P&O as a graduate trainee. He’d worked his way up from the ground floor to win a place on the board, before being appointed deputy chairman. He’d been tipped for chairman, but was denied the post when a member of the family decided they wanted the position.

When Buchanan accepted the Barrington board’s invitation to succeed Sir William Travers, the company’s shares rose five shillings on the announcement of his appointment, and within months they’d returned to the level they’d reached before Sir William’s death.

Giles glanced at his watch, not just because he was a few minutes late, but because he had three more meetings that evening, including one with the dockers’ union, who didn’t appreciate being kept waiting. Despite his campaigning for a forty-eight-hour week and two weeks’ guaranteed holiday on full pay for every union member, they remained suspicious of their Member of Parliament and his association with the shipping company that bore his name, even though this would be the first time he’d entered the building for over a year.

He noticed that the exterior had been given a lot more than a fresh lick of paint, and as he pushed through the door he stepped on to a thick blue and gold carpet that bore the new Palace Line crest. He stepped into a lift and pressed the button for the top floor, and for once it didn’t feel as if it was being laboriously hauled up by reluctant galley slaves. As he stepped out, his first thought was of his grandfather, a revered chairman who had dragged the company into the twentieth century, before taking it public. But then his thoughts inevitably turned to his father, who had nearly brought the company to its knees in half the time. But his worst recollection, and one of the main reasons he avoided the building, was that this was where his father had been killed. The only good thing to come out of that dreadful incident was Jessica, the Berthe Morisot of the lower fourth.

Giles was the first Barrington not to become chairman of the board, but then he’d wanted to go into politics ever since he’d met Winston Churchill when he’d presented the prizes at Bristol Grammar School and Giles had been school captain. But it was his close friend Corporal Bates, killed while attempting to escape the Germans, who’d unwittingly turned him from blue to red.