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  She stopped for a moment, then leaned forward and opened another file. “It appears,” she said, reading from a handwritten note, “that I would have to visit thirty-seven banks and eleven other financial institutions based in four continents, most of which have already been in touch with me this morning. I only hope I’ve been able to stall them long enough for us to make sense of all this.” Her hands swept the air above the files on her desk. “If, by some miracle, stages one, two and three can be completed, my final task—and by far the most difficult—will be to convince those same banks and institutions, currently so apprehensive about your future prospects, that you should be allowed to put together a financial package to ensure the long-term survival of the company. I will not be able to reach that stage unless I can prove to them, with independently audited figures, that their loans are secured on real assets and a positive cash flow. On that subject, you will not be surprised to learn, I still need to be convinced myself. And don’t imagine for one moment that should you be fortunate enough to reach stage four, you can relax. Far from it, because that is when you’ll be told the details of stage five.”

  Townsend could feel the sweat beginning to trickle down onto his nose.

  “In one respect the Financial Times was accurate,” she continued. “If one of the banks takes it upon itself to be bloody-minded, then, I quote, ‘the whole edifice will come crashing down.’ If that is the eventual outcome, then I shall pass this case on to a colleague of mine who works on the floor below this one, and who specializes in liquidations.

  “I will conclude by saying, Mr. Townsend, that if you hope to avoid the fate of your fellow countrymen Mr. Alan Bond and Mr. Christopher Skase, you must not only agree to cooperate with me fully, but you must also give me your assurance that from the moment you leave this office you will not sign a check, or move any monies from any account under your control, other than those which are absolutely necessary to cover your day-to-day expenses. And even then they must not, under any circumstances, exceed $2,000 without it being referred to me.” She looked up and waited for his response.

  “Two thousand dollars?” Townsend repeated.

  “Yes,” she said. “You will be able to reach me at all times, night or day, and you will never have to wait more than an hour for my decision. If, however, you feel unable to adhere to these conditions,” she said, closing the file, “then I am not willing to continue representing you, and in that I include this bank, whose reputation, needless to say, is also on the line. I hope I have made my position clear, Mr. Townsend.”

  “Abundantly,” said Townsend, who felt as if he had gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer.

  Elizabeth Beresford leaned back in her chair. “You may of course wish to take professional advice,” she said. “In which case I will be happy to offer you the use of one of our consultation rooms.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Townsend. “If my professional adviser had disagreed with any part of your assessment, he would have said so long before now.”

  Tom allowed himself a smile.

  “I will cooperate fully with your recommendations.” He turned to glance at Tom, who nodded his approval.

  “Good,” said Ms. Beresford. “Perhaps you could start by handing over your credit cards.”

  Three hours later Townsend rose from his chair, shook hands with Elizabeth Beresford again and, feeling utterly exhausted, left her to her files. Tom returned to his office as Townsend made his way unsteadily up the staircase to the floor above and along the corridor to the chief executive’s room. He was about to knock when the door swung open and David Grenville stood in front of him holding a large glass of whiskey.

  “I had a feeling you might need this,” he said, handing it to Townsend. “But first tell me, did you survive the opening rounds with E.B.?”

  “I’m not sure,” he replied. “But I’m booked in every afternoon from three to six for the next fortnight, including weekends.” He took a large gulp of whiskey and added, “And she’s taken away my credit cards.”

  “That’s a good sign,” said Grenville. “It shows that she hasn’t given up on you. Sometimes E.B. simply sends the files down a floor as soon as the first meeting is concluded.”

  “Am I supposed to feel grateful?” asked Townsend when he had drained his whiskey.

  “No, just temporarily relieved,” said Grenville. “Do you still feel up to attending the bankers’ dinner tonight?” he asked as he poured Townsend a second whiskey.

  “Well, I was hoping to join you,” replied Townsend. “But she,” he said, pointing down at the floor, “has set me so much homework to be completed by three tomorrow afternoon that…”

  “I think it would be wise if you were to put in an appearance tonight, Keith. Your absence might easily, in the present circumstances, be misinterpreted.”

  “That may be true. But won’t she send me home even before they’ve served the entrée?”

  “I doubt it, because I’ve placed you on her right-hand side. It’s all part of my strategy to convince the banking world that we’re 100 percent behind you.”

  “Hell. What’s she like socially?”

  The chairman considered the question only briefly before saying, “I must confess, E.B. doesn’t have a great deal of small talk.”

  37.

  Daily Mail

  2 July 1991

  CHARLES AND DIANA: “CAUSE FOR CONCERN”

  “There’s a call from Switzerland on line one, Mr. Armstrong,” said the temporary secretary whose name he couldn’t remember. “He says his name is Jacques Lacroix. I’m also holding another call from London on line two.”

  “Who’s calling from London?” asked Armstrong.

  “A Mr. Peter Wakeham.”

  “Ask him to hold, and put the call from Switzerland straight through.”

  “Is that you, Dick?”

  “Yes, Jacques. How are you, old friend?” Armstrong boomed.

  “A little disturbed, Dick,” came the softly-spoken reply from Geneva.

  “Why?” asked Armstrong. “I deposited a check for $50 million with your New York branch last week. I even have a receipt for it.”

  “I am not disputing the fact that you deposited the check,” said Lacroix. “The purpose of this call is to let you know that it has been returned to the bank today, marked ‘Refer to drawer.’”

  “There must be some mistake,” said Armstrong. “I know that account still has more than enough to cover the sum in question.”

  “That may well be the case. But someone is nevertheless refusing to release any of those funds to us, and indeed has made it clear, through the usual channels, that they will not in future honor any checks presented on that account.”

  “I’ll ring them immediately,” said Armstrong, “and call you straight back.”

  “I would be grateful if you did,” said Lacroix.

  Armstrong rang off and noticed that the light on top of the phone was flashing. He remembered that Wakeham was still holding on line two, grabbed the receiver and said, “Peter, what the hell is going on over there?”

  “I’m not too sure myself,” admitted Peter. “All I can tell you is that Paul Maitland and Eric Chapman visited me at home late last night, and asked if I had signed any checks on the pension fund account. I said exactly what you told me to say, but I got the impression that Maitland has now given orders to stop any checks that have my signature on them.”

  “Who the hell do they think they are?” bawled Armstrong. “It’s my company, and I’ll do as I see fit.”

  “Sir Paul says he’s been trying to get in touch with you for the past week, but you haven’t been returning his calls. He said at a finance committee meeting last week that if you fail to turn up at next month’s board meeting, he will be left with no choice but to resign.”

  “Let him resign—who gives a damn? As soon as he’s gone I can appoint anyone I like as chairman.”

  “Of course you can,” said Peter. “But I thought y