“I have absolutely no interest in the day-to-day running of the bank. I assume you have capable staff to carry out that job. That was never my intention.”
“Then what is your intention?” demanded Sloane, barely able to hide his irritation.
“To play a role in ensuring that this bank returns to the high standards it enjoyed under your predecessor, and to be sure that the shareholders are kept informed of what goes on in their name.” Seb decided to roll a small hand grenade across the table and see if it exploded when it reached the other side. “Because it’s clear to me, after reading the minutes of past board meetings, that you are not telling stockholders the whole story.”
“What do you mean by that?” asked Sloane, a little too quickly.
“I think you know all too well what I mean.”
“Perhaps we can make a deal. After all, you always were a brilliant dealer.”
From bully to flatterer with hardly a moment’s pause in between. Maurice Swann would have cast Sloane as Richard III, and he could have played it without a script.
“What sort of deal do you have in mind?” asked Seb.
“Over the past five years you must have paid an average of around two pounds ten shillings per share. I’m prepared to double that, and offer you five pounds a share, which I’m sure you’ll agree is generous.”
Far too generous, thought Seb. Three pounds should have been his opening bid, and four his closing. Why was Sloane so keen to keep him off the board?
“More than generous,” Seb replied. “But I still intend to take my place on the board. You see, with me it’s personal.”
“Then I shall have to make an official complaint to the Bank of England, pointing out that you have no interest in supporting the bank’s long-term aims.”
“Frankly, I’m only interested in finding out what Farthings’ long-term aims are. Which is why I visited the Bank of England last week and had a long chat with Mr. Craig, the chief compliance officer. He was kind enough to check the bank’s statutes, and has confirmed in writing that as long as I have a stockholding of six percent, I’m entitled to a place on the board. But do by all means give him a call.”
If Sloane had been a dragon, flames would have been belching out of his nostrils. “And if I were to offer you ten pounds a share?”
Sloane was clearly out of control, so Seb decided to lob a second grenade. “Then I’d begin to think the rumors were true.”
“What rumors?” demanded Sloane.
Did he dare risk taking another pin out? “Why don’t you ask Desmond Mellor and Alex Fisher what they’ve been up to behind your back?”
“How did you know—”
The hand grenade had exploded in Sloane’s face, but Seb couldn’t resist one more sortie. “You have a lot of enemies in the Square Mile, Sloane, and even one or two in your own office.”
“It’s time for you to leave, Clifton.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. But I look forward to seeing you and your colleagues at next month’s board meeting. I have so many questions for them, particularly for Mr. Mellor, who seems quite happy to open the batting for both teams.”
Sloane didn’t move, but the flush in his cheeks showed another hand grenade had exploded.
Seb smiled for the first time, rose from his place, and turned to leave, when Sloane lobbed his own hand grenade.
“I fear I won’t be seeing you again for some time, Sebastian.”
“Why not?” demanded Seb, swinging round.
“Because at the last board meeting we passed a resolution stating that any outsider who wished to join the board in future would be required to own ten percent of the company’s stock.”
“You can’t do that,” said Seb, defiantly.
“I can and I have,” said Sloane, “and I feel sure you’ll be pleased to hear that Mr. Craig, the chief compliance officer at the Bank of England, has given our unanimous resolution his blessing. So I’ll see you in about five years’ time. But don’t hold your breath, Seb, because if you did get hold of ten percent, we would just have to pass another resolution.”
30
“HOW LONG DO YOU think you’ll be in Russia?” Giles asked Harry as he rose from the dining table and led his guests through to the drawing room for coffee.
“Just a few hours, at most overnight.”
“What takes you back there? No one visits that place a second time without a damn good reason.”
“I’m going shopping.”
“Paris, Rome, New York…” said Giles, “but no one goes shopping in Russia, other than the locals.”
“Unless there’s something they have in Russia you can’t buy in Paris, Rome, or New York?” suggested Emma, as she poured her brother a coffee.
“Ah, how slow of me. I should have remembered that Harry’s just returned from the States, and Harold Guinzburg wasn’t the only person he visited. That’s a clue Inspector Warwick wouldn’t have missed.”
“I would have put off the trip until after Emma’s trial,” said Harry, ignoring Giles’s deduction, “but my visa runs out in a couple of weeks, and the Russian Embassy’s warned me there could be a six-month delay before they issue me with a new one.”
