Be Careful What You Wish For Read online

  “I suppose that’s about as much as an out-of-work shop girl can hope for,” said Samantha, as she climbed out of bed. “And to think I dreamed of being a kept woman.”

  “That comes later when I become chairman of the bank,” Sebastian said, following her into the bathroom.

  “I may not be willing to wait that long,” said Samantha as she stepped into the shower. She was about to draw the curtain when Sebastian joined her.

  “There isn’t enough room in here for both of us,” she said.

  “Have you ever made love in a shower?”

  “Wait and see.”

  * * *

  “Major, it was good of you to find the time to come and see me.”

  “Not at all, Hardcastle. I was in London on business, so it’s worked out rather well.”

  “Can I get you some coffee, old fellow?”

  “Black, no sugar, thank you,” Fisher said as he took a seat on the other side of the chairman’s desk.

  Cedric pressed a button on his phone. “Miss Clough, two black coffees, no sugar, and perhaps some biscuits. Exciting times, don’t you think, Fisher?”

  “What in particular did you have in mind?”

  “The naming of the Buckingham by the Queen Mother next month, of course, and a maiden voyage which should take the company into a whole new era.”

  “Let’s hope so,” said Fisher. “Although there are still several hurdles to cross before I’ll be totally convinced.”

  “Which is precisely why I wanted to have a word with you, old fellow.”

  There was a quiet tap on the door, and Miss Clough entered carrying a tray with two cups of coffee. She placed one in front of the major, the other next to the chairman and a plate of fat rascals between them.

  “Let me say straight away how sorry I was that Mr. Martinez decided to sell his entire shareholding in Barrington’s. I wondered if you were able to throw some light on what was behind the decision.”

  Fisher dropped his cup back in its saucer, spilling a few drops. “I had no idea,” he mumbled.

  “I’m so sorry, Alex, I rather assumed he would have briefed you before he took such an irreversible decision.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Yesterday morning, moments after the Stock Exchange opened, which is why I gave you a buzz.” Fisher looked like a startled fox caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. “You see, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.” Fisher remained speechless, which allowed Cedric to prolong his agony a little longer. “I’ll be sixty-five in October, and although I have no plans to retire as chairman of the bank, I do intend to shed a few of my outside interests, among them my directorship of Barrington’s.” Fisher forgot about his coffee and listened intently to Cedric’s every word. “With that in mind, I’ve decided to resign from the board, and make way for a younger man.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Fisher. “I’ve always thought that you brought wisdom and gravitas to our discussions.”

  “It’s kind of you to say so, and indeed that’s why I wanted to see you.” Fisher smiled, wondering if it was just possible … “I have watched you carefully over the past five years, Alex, and what has impressed me most has been your loyal support for our chairman, especially remembering that when you stood against her, she only defeated you because of the outgoing chairman’s casting vote.”

  “One must never allow one’s personal feelings to get in the way of what is best for the company.”

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself, Alex, which is why I was hoping I might be able to persuade you to take my place on the board now that you will no longer be representing Mr. Martinez’s interests.”

  “That’s a very generous offer, Cedric.”

  “No, it’s quite selfish really, because if you felt able to do so, it would help to guarantee stability and continuity both for Barrington’s and for Farthings Bank.”

  “Yes, I can see that.”

  “In addition to the thousand pounds a year you currently receive as a director, Farthings would pay you a further thousand to represent the bank’s interests. After all, I’ll need to be fully briefed after every board meeting, which would require you to come up to London and stay overnight. Any expenses would of course be covered by the bank.”

  “That’s most generous of you, Cedric, but I’ll need a little time to think about it,” said the major, clearly wrestling with a problem.

  “Of course, you will,” said Cedric, knowing only too well what that problem was.

  “When do you need to know my decision?”

  “By the end of the week. I’d like to have the matter settled before the AGM next Monday. I had originally planned to ask my son Arnold to replace me, but that was before I realized you might be available.”

  “I’ll let you know by Friday.”

  “That’s good of you, Alex. I’ll write a letter confirming the offer immediately, and put it in the post tonight.”

  “Thank you, Cedric. I’ll certainly give it my full consideration.”

  “Excellent. Now, I won’t detain you any longer, because, if I recall, you said you have a meeting in Westminster.”

  “Indeed I do,” said Fisher, rising slowly from his place and shaking hands with Cedric, who accompanied him to the door.

  Cedric returned to his desk, sat down and began writing his letter to the major, wondering if his offer would be more tempting than the one Martinez was clearly about to make him.

  * * *

  The red Rolls-Royce drew up outside Agnew’s gallery. Don Pedro stepped out on to the pavement and looked in the window to see a full-length portrait of Mrs. Kathleen Newton, Tissot’s beautiful mistress. He smiled when he saw the red dot.

  An even bigger smile appeared on his face after he had entered the gallery. It was not the sight of so many magnificent paintings and sculptures that caused him to smile, but the plethora of red dots by the side of them.

  “Can I help you, sir?” asked a middle-aged woman.

  Don Pedro wondered what had happened to the beautiful young woman who’d met him the last time he’d visited the gallery.

  “I want to speak to Mr. Agnew.”

  “I’m not sure if he’s available at the moment. Perhaps I might be able to assist you.”

  “He’ll be available for me,” said Don Pedro. “After all, this is my show,” he added, raising his arms aloft as if he were blessing a congregation.

  She quickly backed off, and without another word knocked on the door of Mr. Agnew’s office and disappeared inside. Moments later the owner appeared.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Martinez,” he said a little stiffly, which Don Pedro dismissed as English reserve.

  “I can see how well the sale is going, but how much have you taken so far?”

  “I wonder if we might go into my office, where it’s a little more private.”

  Don Pedro followed him across the gallery, counting the red dots, but waited until the office door was closed before repeating his question.

  “How much have you taken so far?”

  “A little over a hundred and seventy thousand pounds on the opening night, and this morning a gentleman called to reserve two more pieces, the Bonnard and an Utrillo, which will take us comfortably over two hundred thousand pounds. We’ve also had an inquiry from the National Gallery about the Raphael.”

  “Good, because I need a hundred thousand right now.”

  “I’m afraid that will not be possible, Mr. Martinez.”

  “Why not? It’s my money.”

  “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for several days, but you’ve been away shooting in Scotland.”

  “Why can’t I have my money?” demanded Martinez, his tone now menacing.

  “Last Friday we had a visit from a Mr. Ledbury of the Midland Bank, St. James’s. He was accompanied by their lawyer, who instructed us to pay any monies raised from this sale directly to the bank.”

  “He doesn’t have the auth