Mightier Than the Sword Read online

  When Priscilla returned home a fortnight later, she told Virginia that something had gone badly wrong on the first night of the voyage, but Robert refused to confide in her. Virginia vowed to get to the bottom of it, but that would have to wait because for the moment it was not Emma Clifton she had in her sights, but Bob Bingham.

  When Priscilla turned up at Virginia’s flat a few days later, she recited a litany of disasters that had taken place during the voyage, including a dreadful dinner she’d had to endure with that frightful social climber, Emma Clifton. The food was inedible, the wine was corked, and the staff might as well have come from Butlin’s. However, Priscilla assured Virginia that on more than one occasion she had put Mrs. Clifton firmly in her place.

  “And did you find out what really happened on the first night?” asked Virginia.

  “No, but I did hear Robert say to one of the other directors that if the truth ever got out, the chairman would have to resign and the company could even face bankruptcy. That would certainly help with your libel trial.”

  Virginia hadn’t told her friend that the case was on hold because her extremely expensive lawyers considered her chances of winning not much better than fifty-fifty, and her latest bank statement reminded her that she wasn’t in a strong enough financial position to risk that. However, what she had planned for Bob Bingham was not fifty-fifty. He would end up having to part with at least half of his entire fortune, with a twist. And once she’d dealt with him, Virginia would then turn her attention to Emma Clifton and the Home Fleet incident. But if her plan for Bob Bingham was to succeed, she would once again have to enlist the services of Major Alex Fisher, someone who hated the Barrington family almost as much as she did.

  * * *

  Bob Bingham was not pleased when Priscilla announced she would be staying at their house in The Boltons for a few days so she could spend some time with Virginia. He sensed that that woman was up to something, and it wasn’t too difficult to work out what she might have in mind.

  The only good thing about Priscilla being away for a week was that it would give him a chance to invite Clive to join him for a few days at Mablethorpe Hall. Clive had recently been promoted and no longer relied on Bob to subsidize him. In fact, Jessica’s tragic death may have been the reason he had become so fiercely independent. Bob had seen too little of his son since that dreadful night when Jessica Clifton had taken her own life, and it would never have happened if Priscilla hadn’t invited that conniving woman to spend the weekend with them. It was only later that his wife admitted that Virginia had originally turned down the invitation, but had changed her mind when she heard that Jessica Clifton would be among the guests, and that Clive was planning to propose to her that weekend.

  Bob tried to push that vile woman out of his mind as he wanted to concentrate on the minutes of Barrington’s most recent board meeting. He agreed with young Sebastian—he must stop thinking of him in those terms—after all, he had already proved himself to be a capable director, and few of the board doubted that, in time, he would become the next chairman of the company. And if his new lifestyle was anything to go by, he was clearly doing well at Kaufman’s, even if his father had hinted that his personal life was a mess.

  Bob Bingham and Harry Clifton had become friends during the past few years, which had seemed unlikely, considering how little they had in common other than Jessica. Harry was a renaissance man, a man of letters, whose constant stand on behalf of Anatoly Babakov had captured the public’s imagination. Bob, on the other hand, was a man of business, of balance sheets, who only ever read a book when he was on holiday. Perhaps it was simply the game of cricket that brought the two men together, except on those occasions when Gloucestershire played Yorkshire.

  Bob turned his attention to a paper that was to be presented by Sebastian, setting out why he felt the company shouldn’t be investing in a new luxury liner at the present time.

  * * *

  “Major Fisher,” intoned the butler before closing the door.

  “Alex, it’s good to see you again,” said Virginia as she poured him a double gin and tonic. “I do hope things are going well for you.”

  “Up and down like Tower Bridge,” said Alex as she passed him his drink, all too aware that Lady Virginia only ever invited him to visit her when she wanted something. Not that he could complain; he wasn’t exactly flush since he’d lost his place on the board of Barrington’s. Virginia wasted no time coming to the point.

  “Do you recall our successful little sortie with Bob Bingham a couple of years ago?”

  “Could I ever forget?” said Alex. “Mind you, it’s not something I’d ever want to repeat,” he added quickly.

  “No, that wasn’t what I had in mind. But I do need you to do a little digging for me. I’d like to know how much Bingham is worth. His company, his shareholdings, properties, particularly the properties, and any other source of income he may have that he wouldn’t want the taxman to know about. Dig deep and spare no details, however insignificant they might seem.”

  “And…”

  “You’ll be paid five pounds an hour plus expenses, and a bonus of twenty-five pounds if I’m satisfied with your work.”

  Alex smiled. Virginia had never once in the past paid the promised bonus, and her idea of expenses was to travel third class and not stay overnight. But given his present circumstances, he wasn’t able to scoff at five pounds an hour.

  “When do you need my report?”

  “In ten days’ time, Alex. And then I may well have another job for you, nearer home.”

  * * *

  Virginia had planned Priscilla Bingham’s visit to London with military precision. Nothing was left to chance.

  On the Monday, the two of them were driven to Epsom, where they joined Lord Malmsbury in his private box on the finishing line. Priscilla clearly enjoyed having a badge for the royal enclosure, where several men complimented her on her Hartnell outfit and “Jackie Kennedy” pillbox hat. She hadn’t received so much attention in years.

  On Tuesday, following a light lunch at Simpson’s, they dropped into a drinks reception at the Banqueting House before going on to a gala dinner at the Savoy in aid of the Red Cross, where Matt Monro serenaded the guests.

  On Wednesday, it was the turn of the Queen’s Club, where they watched a polo match between a Windsor team captained by the young Prince Charles, and a visiting Argentinian side, most of whom Priscilla couldn’t take her eyes off. In the evening, they had house seats for Funny Girl, a new musical with its original Broadway star, Barbra Streisand, which had queues for returns that were the envy of every other West End theater.

  On Thursday, and heaven knows how Virginia fixed the tickets, they attended a royal garden party at Buckingham Palace, where Priscilla was presented to Princess Alexandra. In the evening, they dined with the Duke of Bridgwater and his eldest son, Bofie, who couldn’t take his eyes off Priscilla. In fact, Virginia had to warn him that despite her encouragement, he just might be overdoing it.

  On Friday, Priscilla was so exhausted she spent the morning in bed, and was only just up in time to keep an appointment with her hairdresser, before going on in the evening to Covent Garden to see a production of Giselle.

  On Saturday morning, they attended trooping the color, watching the ceremony from the Scottish Office overlooking Horse Guards. In the evening they had a quiet supper à deux at Virginia’s flat. “No one in London would dream of venturing out on a Saturday night,” she explained. “The streets are full of foreigners and visiting football hooligans.” But then Virginia had always intended to use that night to sow the first seeds of doubt in her friend’s mind.

  “What a week,” said Priscilla as they sat down for supper. “What fun, and to think that tomorrow I have to go back to Mablethorpe.”

  “You don’t have to go back,” said Virginia.

  “But Robert is expecting me.”

  “Is he? Frankly, would he even notice if you were to spend a few more days in London