Be Careful What You Wish For: The Clifton Chronicles 4 (31 page)

‘Chairman, may I be the first to congratulate you, and to say, although there is still some way to go before we reach calm waters, today is certainly the most satisfying I can remember in
the twenty-two years I have served on this board. But allow me to move quickly on to what we used to call in the Navy the points of sail. Have you selected a captain from the shortlist of three
candidates approved by the board?’

‘Yes, admiral, we have. Our final choice is Captain Nicholas Turnbull RN, who until recently was the first officer on the
Queen Mary
. We are very lucky to have secured the
services of such an experienced officer, and it might have helped that he was born and bred in Bristol. We also have a full complement of officers, many of whom served under Captain Turnbull either
in the Royal Navy or, more recently, with Cunard.’

‘What about the rest of the crew?’ asked Anscott. ‘After all, this is a cruise ship, not a battle cruiser.’

‘Fair point, Mr Anscott. I think you will find that we are well represented, from the engine room to the grill room. There are still a few posts left to fill, but as we are receiving at
least ten applications for every position, we are able to be extremely selective.’

‘What is the ratio of passengers to crew?’ asked Dobbs.

For the first time Emma had to refer to a file of notes in front of her. ‘The breakdown of the crew is twenty-five officers, two hundred and fifty ratings, three hundred stewards and
catering staff, plus the ship’s doctor and his nurse. The ship is divided into three classes: first, cabin and tourist. There is accommodation for one hundred and two first-class passengers,
with cabin prices ranging from forty-five pounds to sixty pounds for the penthouse on the maiden New York crossing; two hundred and forty-two in cabin class, who will pay around thirty pounds each,
and three hundred and sixty in tourist at ten pounds each, three to a cabin. If you need more details, Mr Dobbs, you will find everything in section two of your blue folder.’

‘As there’s bound to be a lot of press interest around the naming ceremony on September twenty-first,’ said Fisher, ‘and for the maiden voyage to New York the following
month, who will be handling our press and public relations?’

‘We have appointed J. Walter Thompson, who gave by far the best presentation,’ said Emma. ‘They have already arranged for a BBC film crew to be on board the ship for one of its
sea trials, and for Captain Turnbull to be profiled in the
Sunday Times
.’

‘Never did that sort of thing in my day,’ snorted the admiral.

‘With good reason. We didn’t want the enemy to know where you were, whereas we want our passengers not only to know where we are, but also to feel they couldn’t be in safer
hands.’

‘What percentage of cabin occupation will we need to break even?’ asked Cedric Hardcastle, clearly not that interested in public relations but, as always, in the bottom line.

‘Sixty per cent, only taking running costs into account. But if we are to pay back our capital investment within the ten years as envisaged by Ross Buchanan when he was chairman, we will
need an eighty-six per cent occupancy rate during that period. So there’s no room for complacency, Mr Hardcastle.’

Alex took notes of any dates or figures he felt would be of interest to Don Pedro, although he still had no idea why they were so important, or what Don Pedro had meant by ‘
when the
balloon goes up
’.

Emma continued to answer questions for another hour, and it pained Alex to have to admit, although he would never have mentioned it in front of Don Pedro, that she was unquestionably on top of
her brief.

After she closed the meeting with the words, ‘See you all on August twenty-fourth at the AGM,’ Alex quickly left the boardroom and made his way out of the building. Emma watched from
the top-floor window as he drove out of the compound, only reminding her that she could never afford to lower her guard.

Alex parked outside the Lord Nelson and walked across to the phone box, four pennies ready. ‘The ship will be named by the Queen Mother on September twenty-first, and the maiden voyage to
New York is still planned for October twenty-ninth.’

‘I’ll see you in my office at ten tomorrow morning,’ was all Don Pedro said before the line went dead.

Alex would like to have told him, just once, ‘Sorry, old boy, can’t make it. I’ve got a far more important appointment at that time,’ but he knew he would be standing
outside 44 Eaton Square at one minute to ten the following morning.

‘And you expect me to send this letter to Mrs Clifton on August the twenty-first, just three days before the company’s AGM?’

‘Yes, that’s exactly what I expect you to do,’ said Martinez.

‘But if I were to do that, the share price would collapse. It might even bring the company down.’

‘You’re catching on fast, major.’

‘But you have over two million pounds invested in Barrington’s. You’d stand to lose a fortune.’

‘Not if I sell all my shares a few days before you release that letter to the press.’ Alex was speechless. ‘Ah,’ said Martinez, ‘the penny has dropped. Now I can
see that at a personal level, major, this isn’t good news, as not only will you lose your only source of income, but, at your age, you might not find it so easy to get another job.’

‘That’s putting it mildly,’ said Alex. ‘After sending this,’ he added, waving the letter in front of Don Pedro, ‘no company would ever consider asking me to
join their board, and I couldn’t blame them.’

‘So I felt it was only fair,’ continued Don Pedro, ignoring his outburst, ‘that you should be properly compensated for your loyalty, especially after you went through such an
expensive divorce. With that in mind, major, I intend to pay you five thousand pounds in cash that neither your wife nor the taxman need ever know about.’

‘That’s most generous,’ said Alex.

‘I agree. However, it’s dependent on you handing that letter to the chairman on the Friday before the AGM, as I’m advised that the Saturday and Sunday papers will be keen to
follow up the story. You must also be available to be interviewed on the Friday so you can express your anxiety about the future of Barrington’s, so that when Mrs Clifton opens the AGM on
Monday morning, there will be only one question on every journalist’s lips.’

‘How long can the company hope to survive?’ said Alex. ‘But given the circumstances, Don Pedro, I wonder if you’d be prepared to let me have a couple of thousand in
advance, and pay the balance after I’ve sent the letter and dealt with the press interviews?’

‘Not a chance, major. You still owe me a thousand for your wife’s vote.’

‘You do realize, Mr Martinez, the damage this will do to Barrington Shipping?’

‘I don’t pay you to offer me advice, Mr Ledbury, just to carry out my instructions. If you can’t manage to do that, I’ll have to find someone who can.’

‘But there’s a strong possibility that were I to carry out these instructions to the letter, you would lose a great deal of money.’

‘It’s my money to lose, and in any case, Barrington’s shares are currently trading above the price I originally paid for them, so I’m confident of getting most of my
money back. At worst, I might lose a few pounds.’

‘But if you were to allow me to dispose of the shares over a longer period, say six weeks, even a couple of months, I’d feel more confident that I could claw back your original
investment, possibly even make you a small profit.’

‘I’ll spend my money in any way I please.’

‘But it is my fiduciary duty to protect the bank’s position, especially remembering you are currently overdrawn by £1,735,000.’

‘That is covered by the value of the shares, which at their present price would return me more than two million.’

‘Then at least allow me to approach the Barrington family and ask if they—’

‘Under no circumstances will you contact any member of the Barrington or Clifton families!’ shouted Don Pedro. ‘You will place all my shares on the open market the moment the
Stock Exchange opens on Monday, August seventeenth, and accept whatever price is offered at that time. My instructions could not be clearer.’

‘Where will you be on that day, Mr Martinez, in case I need to get in touch with you?’

‘Exactly where you would expect to find any gentleman: grouse-shooting in Scotland. There will be no way of contacting me, and that’s the reason I chose the place. It’s so
isolated they don’t even deliver the morning newspapers.’

‘If those are your instructions, Mr Martinez, I shall draw up a letter to that effect, so that there can be no misunderstanding at a later date. I’ll send it round to Eaton Square by
messenger this afternoon for your signature.’

‘I’ll be happy to sign it.’

‘And once this transaction has been completed, Mr Martinez, perhaps you might consider moving your account to another bank.’

‘If you’ve still got your job, Mr Ledbury, I will.’

S
USAN PARKED
the car in a side street and waited. She knew the invitation for the regimental dinner was 7.30 for 8 p.m. and, as the guest of honour was
a field marshal, she felt confident Alex wouldn’t be late.

A taxi drew up outside her former marital home at 7.10 p.m. Alex appeared a few moments later. He was wearing a dinner jacket boasting three campaign medals. Susan noticed that his bow tie was
askew, one of his dress-shirt studs was missing, and she couldn’t help laughing when she saw the pair of slip-ons that certainly wouldn’t last a lifetime. Alex climbed into the back of
the taxi, which headed off in the direction of Wellington Road.

Susan waited for a few minutes before she drove the car across the road, got out and opened the garage door. She then parked the Jaguar Mark II inside. Part of the divorce settlement had been
that she would return his pride and joy, but she’d refused until he was up to date with his monthly maintenance payments. Susan had cleared his latest cheque that morning, only wondering
where the money could possibly have come from. Alex’s solicitor had suggested she should return the car while he was at the regimental dinner. One of the few things both sides were able to
agree on.

She climbed out of the car, opened the boot and took out a Stanley knife and a pot of paint. After she’d placed the pot of paint on the ground, Susan walked to the front of the car and
thrust the knife into one of the tyres. She took a step back and waited for the hissing to stop, before she moved on to the next one. When all four tyres were flat, she turned her attention to the
pot of paint.