16
SEBASTIAN OPENED the door to allow Mr Morita and his two colleagues to enter the chairman’s office.
As he walked across to greet them, Cedric felt tall for the first time in his life. He was just about to bow when Mr Morita thrust out his hand.
‘I’m delighted to meet you,’ said Cedric, shaking hands while preparing to bow a second time, but Morita turned and said, ‘May I introduce my managing director, Mr Ueyama.’ He stepped forward and also shook hands with Cedric. The chairman would have shaken hands with Mr Ono too, if he hadn’t been clutching a large box in both hands.
‘Do have a seat,’ said Cedric, trying to get back on script.
‘Thank you,’ said Morita. ‘But first, it is an honourable Japanese tradition to exchange gifts with a new friend.’ The private secretary stepped forward and handed the box to Mr Morita, who passed it to Cedric.
‘How very kind of you,’ said Cedric, looking faintly embarrassed as all three of his visitors remained standing, clearly waiting for him to open the gift.
He took his time, first removing the blue ribbon, so carefully tied in a bow, and then the gold paper, as he tried to think of something he could give Morita in return. Would he have to sacrifice his Henry Moore? He glanced at Sebastian, more in hope than expectation, but he was looking equally embarrassed. The traditional exchange of gifts must have been covered in one of the few lessons he’d missed.
Cedric removed the lid from the box, and gasped as he gently lifted out a beautiful, delicate vase of turquoise and black. Sebastian, standing at the back of the room, took a pace forward, but said nothing.
‘Magnificent,’ said Cedric. He removed a bowl of flowers from his desk and put the exquisite oval vase in its place. ‘Whenever you come to my office in future, Mr Morita, you will always find your vase on my desk.’
‘I am greatly honoured,’ said Morita, bowing for the first time.
Sebastian took another step forward, until he was only a foot away from Mr Morita. He turned to face the chairman.
‘Do I have your permission to ask our honoured guest a question, sir?’
‘Of course,’ said Cedric, hoping he was about to be rescued.
‘May I be allowed to know the name of the potter, Morita San?’
Mr Morita smiled. ‘Shoji Hamada,’ he replied.
‘It is a great honour to receive a gift crafted by one of your nation’s living national treasures. Had the chairman known, he would have offered a similar gift by one of our finest English potters, who has written a book on Mr Hamada’s work.’ All the endless hours of chatter with Jessica were finally proving useful.
‘Mr Bernard Leach,’ said Morita. ‘I am fortunate enough to have three of his pieces in my collection.’
‘However, our gift, selected by my chairman, although not as worthy, is nevertheless given in the same spirit of friendship.’
Cedric smiled. He couldn’t wait to find out what his gift was.
‘The chairman has obtained three tickets for tonight’s performance of My Fair Lady at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. With your permission, I will collect you from your hotel at seven o’clock, and escort you to the theatre, where the curtain rises at seven thirty.’
‘One cannot think of a more agreeable gift,’ said Mr Morita. Turning to Cedric, he added, ‘I am humbled by your thoughtful generosity.’
Cedric bowed, but realized this wasn’t the time to let Sebastian know that he’d already called the theatre, only to be told it was sold out for the next fortnight. A languid voice had informed him, ‘You can always join the queue for returns,’ which was exactly what Sebastian would be doing for the rest of the day.
‘Do have a seat, Mr Morita,’ said Cedric, trying to recover. ‘Perhaps you would like some tea?’
‘No, thank you, but, if possible, a cup of coffee.’
Cedric thought ruefully about the six different blends of tea from India, Ceylon and Malaya he’d selected at Carwardine’s earlier in the week, which had all been rejected in a sentence. He pressed a button on his phone, and prayed that his secretary drank coffee.
‘Some coffee, please, Miss Clough. I do hope you had a pleasant flight,’ he said after he’d put the phone back down.
‘Too many stopovers, I fear. I look forward to the day when you can fly from Tokyo to London non-stop.’
‘What a thought,’ said Cedric. ‘And I hope your hotel is comfortable?’
‘I only ever stay at the Savoy. So convenient for the City.’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Cedric. Wrong-footed again.
Mr Morita leant forward, looked at the photograph on Cedric’s desk and said, ‘Your wife and son?’
‘Yes,’ said Cedric, unsure if he should elaborate.
‘Wife a milk monitor, son a QC.’
‘Yes,’ said Cedric helplessly.
‘My sons,’ said Morita, removing a wallet from an inside pocket and taking out two photographs, which he placed on the desk in front of Cedric. ‘Hideo and Masao are at school in Tokyo.’
Cedric studied the photographs, and realized the time had come to tear up the script. ‘And your wife?’
‘Mrs Morita was unable to visit England this time, because our young daughter, Naoko, has chicken pox.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Cedric, as there was a gentle tap on the door and Miss Clough entered carrying a tray of coffee and shortbread biscuits. Cedric was about to take his first sip, and was wondering what he could possibly talk about next, when Morita suggested, ‘Perhaps the time has come to discuss business?’
‘Yes, of course,’ said Cedric, putting his cup down. He opened a file on his desk and reminded himself of the salient points he’d highlighted the night before. ‘I’d like to say from the outset, Mr Morita, that coupon loans is not the field in which Farthings has made its reputation. However, as we wish to build a long-term relationship with your distinguished company, I hope you will allow us the opportunity to prove ourselves.’ Morita nodded. ‘Remembering that the amount you require is ten million pounds, with a short-term payback coupon of five years, and having studied your most recent cash-flow figures, while assessing the current exchange rate of the yen, we consider a realistic percentage . . .’
Now that he was back on familiar ground, Cedric relaxed for the first time. Forty minutes later, he had presented his ideas and answered every one of Mr Morita’s questions. Sebastian felt his boss couldn’t have done much better.
‘May I suggest you draw up a contract, Mr Hardcastle? I was in no doubt that you were the right man for this job long before I left Tokyo. After your presentation, I am even more convinced. I do have appointments with two other banks, but that is simply to assure my shareholders that I am considering alternatives. Take care of the rin, and the yen will take care of themselves.’
Both men laughed.
‘If you are free,’ said Cedric, ‘perhaps you would care to join me for lunch? A Japanese restaurant has recently opened in the City, and has received excellent reviews, so I thought—’
‘And you can think again, Mr Hardcastle, because I didn’t travel six thousand miles in search of a Japanese restaurant. No, I will take you to Rules, and we will enjoy roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, appropriate for a man from Huddersfield, I think.’ Both men burst out laughing again.
When they left the office a few minutes later, Cedric held back and whispered in Sebastian’s ear, ‘Good thinking, but as there are no tickets available for tonight’s performance of My Fair Lady, you’re going to have to spend the rest of the day in the returns queue. Just let’s hope it doesn’t rain, or you’ll be soaked again,’ he added before joining Mr Morita in the corridor.
Sebastian bowed low as Cedric and his guests stepped into the lift and disappeared down to the ground floor. He hung around on the fifth floor for a few more minutes but didn’t call for the lift until he felt certain they would be well on their way to the restaurant.
Once Sebastian had left the bank, he hailed a taxi. ‘Theatre Royal, Drury Lane,’ he said, and when they pulled up outside the theatre twenty minutes later, the first thing he noticed was just how long the queue for returns was. He paid the cabbie, strolled into the theatre and went straight up to the box office.
‘I don’t suppose you have three tickets for tonight?’ he pleaded.
‘You suppose correctly, my dear,’ said the woman sitting in the booth. ‘You could of course join the returns queue, but frankly not many of them will get in before Christmas. Someone has to die before this show gets returns.’
‘I don’t care what it costs.’
‘That’s what they all say, dear. We’ve got people in the queue who claim it’s their twenty-first birthday, their fiftieth wedding anniversary . . . one of them was so desperate he proposed to me.’
Sebastian walked out of the theatre and stood on the pavement. He took one more look at the queue, which seemed to have grown even longer in the past few minutes, and tried to work out what he could possibly do next. He then recalled something he’d once read in one of his father’s novels. He decided he would try to find out if it would work for him as well as it had for William Warwick.
He jogged down the hill towards the Strand, dodging in and out of the afternoon traffic, arriving back in Savoy Place a few minutes later. He went straight to the front desk and asked the receptionist for the name of the head porter.
‘Albert Southgate,’ she replied.
Sebastian thanked her and strolled across to the concierge’s desk, as if he were a guest.
‘Is Albert around?’ he asked the porter.
‘I think he’s gone to lunch, sir, but I’ll just check.’ The man disappeared into a back room.
‘Bert, there’s a gentleman asking for you.’
Sebastian didn’t have long to wait before an older man appeared in a long blue coat adorned with gold braid on the cuffs, shiny gold buttons and two rows of campaign medals, one of which he recognized. He gave Sebastian a wary look, and asked, ‘How can I help you?’
‘I have a problem,’ said Sebastian, still wondering if he could risk it. ‘My uncle, Sir Giles Barrington, once told me that if I was ever staying at the Savoy and needed anything, to have a word with Albert.’
‘The gentleman what won the MC at Tobruk?’
‘Yes,’ said Sebastian, taken by surprise.
‘Not many survived that one. Nasty business. How can I help?’
‘Sir Giles needs three tickets for My Fair Lady.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight.’
‘You must be joking.’
‘And he doesn’t care what it costs.’
‘Hang about. I’ll see what I can do.’
Sebastian watched as Albert marched out of the hotel, crossed the road and disappeared in the direction of the Theatre Royal. He paced up and down the foyer, occasionally looking anxiously out on to the Strand, but it was another half an hour before the head porter reappeared, clutching an envelope. He walked back into the hotel and handed the envelope to Sebastian.
‘Three house seats, row F, centre stalls.’
‘Fantastic. How much do I owe you?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Sebastian.
‘Box office manager asked to be remembered to Sir Giles – his brother, Sergeant Harris, was killed at Tobruk.’
Sebastian felt ashamed.