Mightier Than the Sword Read online

  “And are the French doing the same thing?” asked Knowles.

  “They most certainly are, but with a subtle Gallic difference. They’re flying an Algerian flag from the stern of the SS France, which I suspect is no more than a political sop.” Another photo, this time of the great French liner, was passed around Seb’s colleagues.

  “Is this legal?” asked Dobbs.

  “There’s not a damn thing either government can do about it,” said Seb. “Both ships are at sea for more than three hundred days a year, and as far as the passengers can tell, everything is exactly the same as it’s always been.”

  “I don’t like the sound of it,” said the admiral. “It doesn’t seem right to me.”

  “Our first duty must be to the shareholders,” Bob reminded his colleagues, “so can I suggest that Clifton presents a paper on the subject, so we can discuss it in greater detail at the next board meeting?”

  “Good idea,” said Dobbs.

  “I’m not against the idea,” said Emma, “but our finance director has come up with an alternative solution that some of you might find more attractive.” Emma nodded in the direction of Michael Carrick.

  “Thank you, chairman. It’s quite simple really. If we were to go ahead with building a second ship, and take advantage of our repeat order option with Harland and Wolff within the specified contract period, we would avoid paying any corporation tax for the next four years.”

  “There must be a catch,” said Knowles.

  “Apparently not,” said Emma. “Any company can claim tax relief on a capital project, as long as it keeps to the price agreed in the original contract.”

  “Why would the government agree to that, when their other proposed measures are so draconian?” asked Maynard.

  “Because it helps to keep the unemployment figures down,” said Seb. “Which the Labour Party promised to do in their last manifesto.”

  “Then I favor that solution,” said Dobbs. “But how much time is there before we have to decide whether or not to take up Harland and Wolff’s offer?”

  “Just over five months,” said Carrick.

  “More than enough time to come to a decision,” said Maynard.

  “But that doesn’t solve the fifty-pounds restriction on our passengers,” said Anscott.

  Seb couldn’t resist a smile. “Uncle Giles pointed out to me that there’s nothing to stop a passenger cashing a check while on board.”

  “But we don’t have any banking facilities on the Buckingham,” Dobbs reminded him.

  “Farthings would be only too happy to open an onboard branch,” said Seb.

  “Then I suggest,” said Anscott, “that such a proposal also be included in Mr. Clifton’s report, and any recommendations should be circulated to all board members before the next meeting.”

  “Agreed,” said Emma. “So all we have to decide now is when that meeting will be.”

  As usual, some considerable time was spent selecting a date that was convenient for all the board members.

  “And let us hope,” said Emma, “that by the time we next meet, the Home Fleet incident will be nothing more than folklore. Any other business?” she asked, looking around the table.

  “Yes, chairman,” said Knowles. “You asked us to suggest possible candidates for the other vacant position on the board.”

  “Who do you have in mind?”

  “Desmond Mellor.”

  “The man who founded the Bristol Bus company?”

  “The same, but he sold out to National Buses last year. Made a handsome profit, and now finds himself with time on his hands.”

  “And considerable knowledge of the transport business,” chipped in Anscott, revealing that he and Knowles were working in tandem.

  “Then why don’t I invite Mr. Mellor to come in and see me some time next week,” said Emma, before either man could put it to a vote.

  Knowles reluctantly agreed.

  When the meeting broke up, Emma was delighted to see how many directors went over to Sebastian and welcomed him to the board. So much so, that it was some time before she was able to have a private word with her son.

  “Your plan worked perfectly,” she whispered.

  “Yes, but it was pretty obvious that your idea was more palatable to the majority of the board than mine. But I’m still not convinced, Mother, that we should risk such a large capital outlay on building another ship. If the financial outlook for Britain is as bad as Uncle Giles is suggesting, we could be stuck with two turkeys next Christmas. And if that’s the case, it will be the board of Barrington’s who are stuffed.”

  6

  “HOW KIND OF YOU to find the time to see me, Mr. Clifton,” said the cabinet secretary, ushering Harry to a seat at the small oval table in the center of the room, “especially remembering how busy you are.”

  Harry would have laughed if he hadn’t been sitting in No.10 Downing Street opposite one of the busiest men in the country. A secretary appeared and placed a cup of tea in front of him, as if he were a regular at his local café.

  “I hope your wife and son are well?”

  “They are, thank you, Sir Alan.” Harry would have inquired about the cabinet secretary’s family, but he had no idea if he even had one. He decided to cut the small talk. “I presume it was Martinez who was behind the bombing?” he ventured, after taking a sip of his tea.

  “It was indeed, but as he’s now back in Buenos Aires, and all too aware that if he or either of his sons ever set foot in England they’ll be arrested immediately, I don’t think he’ll be troubling you again.”

  “And his Irish friends?”

  “They were never his friends. They were only interested in his money, and as soon as that dried up, they were quite prepared to dispose of him. But as their ringleader and two of his associates are now safely behind bars, I can’t imagine we’ll be hearing from them for some considerable time.”

  “Did you find out if there were any other IRA operatives on board the ship?”

  “Two. But they haven’t been seen since. Intelligence reports that they’re holed up somewhere in New York, and aren’t expected to return to Belfast for the foreseeable future.”

  “I’m grateful, Sir Alan,” said Harry, assuming the meeting was over. The cabinet secretary nodded, but just as Harry was about to rise, he said, “I must confess, Mr. Clifton, that wasn’t the only reason I wanted to see you.”

  Harry sat back down and began to concentrate. If this man wanted something, he’d better be wide awake.

  “Your brother-in-law once told me something that I found difficult to believe. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to indulge me, so I can see if he was exaggerating.”

  “Politicians do have a tendency to do that.”

  Sir Alan didn’t reply but simply opened a file in front of him, extracted a single sheet of paper, slid it across the table, and said, “Would you be kind enough to read that through slowly?”

  Harry looked at a memo that was about three hundred words in length, containing several place-names and details of troop movements in the Home Counties, with the ranks of all the senior officers involved. He read the seven paragraphs as instructed, and when he’d finished, he looked up and nodded. The cabinet secretary retrieved the piece of paper and replaced it on the table with a lined pad and a biro.

  “Would you now be kind enough to write out what you’ve just read?”

  Harry decided to play the game. He picked up the biro and began writing. When he’d finished, he passed the pad to the cabinet secretary, who compared it with the original.

  “So it’s true,” he said a few moments later. “You are one of those rare people with a photographic memory. Though you made one mistake.”

  “Godalming and not Godmanchester?” said Harry. “Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.”

  A man who was not easily impressed was impressed.

  “So are you hoping to recruit me for your pub quiz team?” asked Harry.

  Sir Alan