“Gentlemen,” said the company secretary once they had all settled. “This extraordinary meeting has been called for one purpose, namely…”
* * *
“Whenever we think of Cedric Hardcastle,” continued the bishop, “we should remember one thing above all. He was quintessentially a Yorkshireman. If the second coming had taken place at Headingley during the tea interval of a Roses match, he would not have been surprised. It was Cedric’s unswerving belief that Yorkshire was a country, not a county. In fact, he considered Farthings Bank to have become international not when he opened a branch in Hong Kong but when he opened one in Manchester.”
He waited for the laughter to die down before he continued.
“Cedric was not a vain man, but that didn’t stop him being a proud one. Proud of the bank he served every day, and even prouder of how many customers and staff had prospered under his guidance and leadership. So many of you in this congregation today, from the most junior trainee to the president of Sony International, have been beneficiaries of his wisdom and foresight. But what he will most be remembered for is his unquestionable reputation—for honesty, integrity, and decency. Standards he took for granted when dealing with his fellow men. He considered a good deal was one in which both sides made a profit, and would be happy to raise their hats to each other whenever they passed in the street.”
* * *
“The one item on today’s agenda,” continued the company secretary, “is for the board to elect a new chairman, following the tragic death of Cedric Hardcastle. Only one name has been proposed, that of Mr. Adrian Sloane, the head of our highly profitable property division. Mr. Sloane has already obtained the legal backing of sixty-six percent of our shareholders, but he felt his appointment should also be ratified by the board.”
Malcolm Atkins came in on cue. “It is my pleasure to propose that Adrian Sloane be the next chairman of Farthings Bank, as I feel that is what Cedric would have wanted.”
“I’m delighted to second that motion,” said Desmond Mellor, a recently appointed non-executive director.
“Those in favor?” said the company secretary. Eight hands shot up. “I declare the motion carried unanimously.”
Sloane rose slowly to his feet. “Gentlemen. Allow me to begin by thanking you for the confidence you have shown by electing me as the next chairman of Farthings. Cedric Hardcastle’s shoes are not easy ones to step into. I replace a man who left us in tragic circumstances. A man we all assumed would be with us for many years to come. A man I could not have admired more. A man I considered not only a colleague, but a friend, which makes me all the more proud to pick up his baton and carry it on the next leg of the bank’s race. I respectfully suggest that we all rise, and bow our heads in memory of a great man.”
* * *
“But ultimately,” continued the bishop, “Cedric Hardcastle will best be remembered as a family man. He loved Beryl from the day she gave him an extra third of a pint when she was the milk monitor at their primary school in Huddersfield, and he could not have been more proud when their only son, Arnold, became a QC. Although he could never understand why the lad had chosen Oxford, and not Leeds, to complete his education.
“Allow me to end by summing up my feelings for one of my oldest and dearest friends with the words from the epitaph on Sir Thomas Fairfax by the Duke of Buckingham:
* * *
Malcolm Atkins raised a glass of champagne.
“To the new chairman of Farthings,” he toasted, as Sloane sat in the chair behind Cedric’s desk for the first time. “So, what will be your first executive action?”
“Make sure we close the Shifnal deal before anyone else works out why it’s so cheap at one point six million.”
“And your second?” asked Mellor.
“Sack Sebastian Clifton,” he spat out, “along with anyone else who was close to Hardcastle and went along with his outdated philosophy. This bank is about to join the real world, where profits, not people, will be its only mantra. And if any customers threaten to move their account, let them, especially if they’re from Yorkshire. From now on, the bank’s motto will be,
* * *
Sebastian bowed his head as the pallbearers lowered the coffin into the grave so no one would see his tears. Ross Buchanan didn’t attempt to hide his feelings. Emma and Harry held hands. They had all lost a good and wise friend.
As they walked slowly away from the graveside, Arnold Hardcastle and his mother joined them.
“Why wasn’t Adrian Sloane here?” asked Ross. “Not to mention half a dozen other directors?”
