At eleven o’clock the following morning, Sebastian, Arnold and Ray Brook climbed into the back of a taxi, and Seb instructed the driver to take them to HMP Belmarsh. The cabbie didn’t look pleased.
‘Not much chance of a return fare,’ Arnold explained.
‘Why so early?’ asked Brook.
‘You’ll find out why when you get there,’ replied Arnold.
The three of them discussed tactics on their way to the prison, and agreed that their first priority was to put Mellor at ease and make him feel they were on his side.
‘Keep mentioning Sloane and Knowles,’ said Seb, ‘because I’m confident he’d rather deal with us than them.’
‘I don’t think he would have agreed to see us,’ said Brook as the cab left the city and headed east, ‘unless we were in with a chance.’
By the time the cab drew up outside the vast forbidding green gates of HMP Belmarsh, they each knew the role they were expected to play. Arnold would open the proceedings and attempt to persuade Mellor that they were the good guys, and when Seb felt the moment was right, he would make him an offer of ￡1.5 million for his shares. Brook would confirm that the money would be deposited in his account the moment he signed the share transfer and that, as a bonus, Sloane and Knowles would be sacked before close of business that day. Seb was beginning to feel more confident.
When the three of them entered the prison they were escorted to the gatehouse and thoroughly searched. Brook’s keyring pocket knife was immediately seized. The chairman of Cook Travel may have visited almost every country on earth, but it was clear he’d never entered a prison before. They left all their valuables, even their belts, with the desk sergeant, and, accompanied by two other officers, made their way across the square to A Block.
They passed through several barred gates, unlocked then locked behind them, before arriving at an interview room on the first floor. The clock on the wall showed five to twelve. Brook no longer needed to ask why they had set out so early.
One of the duty officers opened the door to allow the three men to enter a rectangular room with glass walls. Although they were left alone, two officers stationed themselves outside, looking in. They were there to make sure no one passed any drugs, weapons or money to the prisoner. Nothing gave the screws greater pleasure than arresting a lawyer.
The three visitors took their seats around a small square table in the centre of the room, leaving a vacant chair for Mellor. Arnold opened his briefcase and extracted a file. He took out a share-transfer certificate and a three-page agreement, the wording of which he checked once again before placing it on the table. If all went to plan, by the time they left the prison in an hour’s time, there would be two signatures on the bottom line.
Seb couldn’t stop staring at the clock on the wall, aware that they would only be allowed an hour to close the deal and sign all the necessary legal documents. The moment the minute hand reached twelve, a man in a green bow tie, striped shirt and tweed jacket walked into the room. Arnold immediately stood and said, ‘Good morning, governor.’
‘Good morning, Mr Hardcastle. I’m sorry to have to inform you that this meeting is no longer able to take place.’
‘Why?’ demanded Seb, leaping to his feet.
‘When the wing officer unlocked Mellor’s cell at six o’clock this morning, he found his bed up-ended, and he’d hanged himself using a sheet as a noose.’
Seb collapsed back into his chair.
The governor paused to allow them all to take in the news, before adding matter-of-factly, ‘Sadly, suicides are all too common at Belmarsh.’
When Virginia read the paragraph reporting Mellor’s suicide on page 11 of the Evening Standard, her first thought was that another source of income had dried up. But then she had a second thought.
17
‘IT’S SO RARE nowadays to have the family all together for the weekend,’ said Emma, as they strolled into the drawing room after dinner.
‘And we all know who’s to blame for that,’ said Sebastian. ‘I only hope you’re still enjoying the job.’
‘Enjoying would be the wrong word. But not a day goes by when I don’t think how lucky I am, and how a chance meeting with Margaret Thatcher changed my whole life.’
‘What’s it like working for the PM?’ asked Samantha, pouring herself a coffee.
‘To be honest, I don’t get to see her that often, but whenever I do, she seems to know exactly what I’ve been up to.’
‘And what have you been up to?’ asked Seb as he joined his wife on the sofa.