Be Careful What You Wish For (The Clifton Chronicles) Read online

  Once the chairman had put his case, he called upon Emma to present the contrary view. She began by suggesting that while the bank rate was at an all-time high, the company should be consolidating its position, and not risking such a large financial outlay on something that, in her opinion, had at best a 50/50 chance of succeeding.

  Mr. Anscott, a non-executive director who had been appointed to the board by Sir Hugo Barrington, her late father, suggested it was time to push the boat out. No one laughed. Rear Admiral Summers felt they shouldn’t go ahead with such a radical decision without the shareholders’ approval.

  “It is we who are on the bridge,” Buchanan reminded the admiral, “and therefore we who should be making the decisions.” The admiral scowled, but offered no further comment. After all, his vote would speak for itself.

  Emma listened carefully as each member of the board gave his opinion, and quickly realized that the directors were evenly divided. One or two hadn’t yet made up their minds, but she suspected that if it came to a vote, the chairman would prevail.

  An hour later, the board were no nearer to making a decision, with some of the directors simply repeating their earlier arguments, which clearly irritated Buchanan. But Emma knew he would eventually have to move on, as there was other important business that needed to be discussed.

  “I am bound to say,” said the chairman in his summing up, “that we can’t put off making a decision for much longer, and therefore I suggest we all go away and think carefully about where we stand on this particular issue. Frankly, the future of the company is at stake. I propose that when we meet again next month, we take a vote on whether to put the job out to tender, or to drop the whole idea.”

  “Or at least wait until calmer waters prevail,” suggested Emma.

  The chairman reluctantly moved on, and as the remaining items on the agenda were far less contentious, by the time Buchanan asked if there was any other business a more relaxed atmosphere had replaced the earlier heated debate.

  “I have one piece of information that it is my duty to report to the board,” said the company secretary. “You cannot have failed to notice that our share price has been rising steadily over the past few weeks, and you may well have wondered why, as we have made no significant announcements or issued any profit forecasts recently. Well, yesterday that mystery was solved when I received a letter from the manager of the Midland Bank in St. James’s, Mayfair, informing me that one of his clients was in possession of seven and a half percent of the company’s stock, and therefore would be appointing a director to represent them on the board.”

  “Let me guess,” said Emma. “None other than Major Alex Fisher.”

  “I fear so,” said the chairman, uncharacteristically lowering his guard.

  “And are there any prizes for guessing who the good major will be representing?” asked the admiral.

  “None,” replied Buchanan, “because you’d be wrong. Although I must confess that when I first heard the news, like you, I assumed it would be our old friend, Lady Virginia Fenwick. However, the manager of the Midland assures me that her ladyship is not one of the bank’s clients. When I pressed him on the subject of who owned the shares, he said politely that he was unable to disclose that information, which is banking parlance for mind your own business.”

  “I can’t wait to discover how the major will cast his vote on the proposed building of the Buckingham,” said Emma with a wry smile, “because of one thing we can be sure. Whoever he represents certainly won’t have the Barrington’s interests at heart.”

  “Be assured, Emma, I wouldn’t want that little shit to be the person who tipped the balance either way,” said Buchanan.

  Emma was speechless.

  Another of the chairman’s admirable qualities was his ability to put any disagreements, however strongly felt, to one side once a board meeting was over.

  “So what’s the latest news on Sebastian?” he asked as he joined Emma for a pre-lunch drink.

  “Matron declares herself well satisfied with his progress. I’m delighted to say that I can see a visible improvement every time I visit the hospital. The cast on his left leg has been removed, and he now has two eyes and an opinion on everything, from why his uncle Giles is the right man to replace Gaitskell as leader of the Labor Party, to why parking meters are nothing more than another government ploy to extract more of our hard-earned money.”

  “I agree with him on both counts,” said Ross. “Let’s hope his exuberance is the prelude to a full recovery.”

  “His surgeon seems to think so. Mr. Owen told me that modern surgery made rapid advances during the war because so many soldiers needed to be operated on without the time to seek second and third opinions. Thirty years ago, Seb would have ended up in a wheelchair for the rest of his life, but not today.”

  “Is he still hoping to go up to Cambridge next Michaelmas?”

  “I think so. He recently had a visit from his supervisor, who told him that he could take up his place at Peterhouse in September. He even gave him some books to read.”

  “Well, he can’t pretend there’s a whole lot to distract him.”

  “Funny you should mention that,” said Emma, “because he’s recently begun to take a great deal of interest in the company’s fortunes, which comes as something of a surprise. In fact, he reads the minutes of every board meeting from cover to cover. He’s even bought ten shares, which gives him the legal right to follow our every move, and I can tell you, Ross, he’s not shy in expressing his views, not least on the proposed building of the Buckingham.”

  “No doubt influenced by his mother’s well-known opinion on the subject,” said Buchanan, smiling.

  “No, that’s the strange thing,” said Emma. “Someone else seems to be advising him on that particular subject.”

  * * *

  Emma burst out laughing.

  Harry looked up from the other end of the breakfast table and put down his newspaper. “As I can’t find anything even remotely amusing in The Times this morning, do share the joke with me.”

  Emma took a sip of coffee before returning to the Daily Express.

  “It seems that Lady Virginia Fenwick, only daughter of the ninth Earl of Fenwick, has issued divorce proceedings against the Count of Milan. William Hickey is suggesting that Virginia will receive a settlement of around two hundred and fifty thousand pounds, plus their flat in Lowndes Square, as well as the country estate in Berkshire.”

  “Not a bad return for two years’ work.”

  “And of course Giles gets a mention.”

  “That’s always going to be the case whenever Virginia makes the headlines.”

  “Yes, but it’s quite flattering for a change,” she said, returning to the newspaper. “‘Lady Virginia’s first husband, Sir Giles Barrington, Member of Parliament for Bristol Docklands, is widely tipped to be a cabinet minister should Labor win the next election.’”

  “I think that’s unlikely.”

  “That Giles will be a cabinet minister?”

  “No, that Labor will win the next election.”

  “‘He has proved to be a formidable front bench spokesman,’” Emma continued, “‘and has recently become engaged to Dr. Gwyneth Hughes, a lecturer at King’s College, London.’ Great picture of Gwyneth, ghastly photo of Virginia.”

  “Virginia won’t like that,” said Harry, returning to The Times. “But there’s not a lot she can do about it now.”

  “Don’t be so sure of that,” said Emma. “I have a feeling the sting has not yet been fully extracted from that particular scorpion.”

  * * *

  Harry and Emma drove up from Gloucestershire to Harlow every Sunday to visit Sebastian, with Jessica always in tow, as she never missed an opportunity to see her big brother. Every time Emma turned left out of the Manor House gates to begin the long drive to the Princess Alexandra Hospital, she could never shake off the memory of the first time she’d made that journey, when she’d thought her son had been k