Be Careful What You Wish For: The Clifton Chronicles 4

28

 

 

EVERYONE STOOD as Emma took her place at the head of the boardroom table. She had been looking forward to this moment for some time.

 

‘Gentlemen, allow me to open the meeting by reporting to the board that, yesterday, the company’s share price returned to its high watermark, and our shareholders will be receiving a dividend for the first time in three years.’

 

Murmurs of ‘Hear, hear,’ accompanied by smiles on the faces of all the directors except one.

 

‘Now that we have put the past behind us, let us move on to the future. Yesterday, I received the Department of Transport’s preliminary report on the Buckingham’s seaworthy status. Subject to a few minor modifications, and following the completion of the navigational trials, the department should be able to grant us a full maritime certificate by the end of the month. Once we are in possession of that certificate, the ship will leave Belfast and sail for Avonmouth. It is my intention, gentlemen, to hold the next board meeting on the bridge of the Buckingham, so that we can all be given a tour of the ship, and see at first hand what we have spent our shareholders’ money on.

 

‘I know the board will be equally delighted to learn that the company secretary received a call from Clarence House earlier in the week, to say that Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother has agreed to conduct the naming ceremony on September twenty-first. It would not be an exaggeration to suggest, gentlemen, that the next three months will be among the most demanding in the company’s history because, although the first booking period has been a resounding success, with only a few cabins still available for the maiden voyage, it’s the long term that will decide the company’s future. And on that subject I am happy to answer any questions. Admiral?’

 

‘Chairman, may I be the first to congratulate you, and to say, although there is still some way to go before we reach calm waters, today is certainly the most satisfying I can remember in the twenty-two years I have served on this board. But allow me to move quickly on to what we used to call in the Navy the points of sail. Have you selected a captain from the shortlist of three candidates approved by the board?’

 

‘Yes, admiral, we have. Our final choice is Captain Nicholas Turnbull RN, who until recently was the first officer on the Queen Mary. We are very lucky to have secured the services of such an experienced officer, and it might have helped that he was born and bred in Bristol. We also have a full complement of officers, many of whom served under Captain Turnbull either in the Royal Navy or, more recently, with Cunard.’

 

‘What about the rest of the crew?’ asked Anscott. ‘After all, this is a cruise ship, not a battle cruiser.’

 

‘Fair point, Mr Anscott. I think you will find that we are well represented, from the engine room to the grill room. There are still a few posts left to fill, but as we are receiving at least ten applications for every position, we are able to be extremely selective.’

 

‘What is the ratio of passengers to crew?’ asked Dobbs.

 

For the first time Emma had to refer to a file of notes in front of her. ‘The breakdown of the crew is twenty-five officers, two hundred and fifty ratings, three hundred stewards and catering staff, plus the ship’s doctor and his nurse. The ship is divided into three classes: first, cabin and tourist. There is accommodation for one hundred and two first-class passengers, with cabin prices ranging from forty-five pounds to sixty pounds for the penthouse on the maiden New York crossing; two hundred and forty-two in cabin class, who will pay around thirty pounds each, and three hundred and sixty in tourist at ten pounds each, three to a cabin. If you need more details, Mr Dobbs, you will find everything in section two of your blue folder.’

 

‘As there’s bound to be a lot of press interest around the naming ceremony on September twenty-first,’ said Fisher, ‘and for the maiden voyage to New York the following month, who will be handling our press and public relations?’

 

‘We have appointed J. Walter Thompson, who gave by far the best presentation,’ said Emma. ‘They have already arranged for a BBC film crew to be on board the ship for one of its sea trials, and for Captain Turnbull to be profiled in the Sunday Times.’

 

‘Never did that sort of thing in my day,’ snorted the admiral.

 

‘With good reason. We didn’t want the enemy to know where you were, whereas we want our passengers not only to know where we are, but also to feel they couldn’t be in safer hands.’

 

‘What percentage of cabin occupation will we need to break even?’ asked Cedric Hardcastle, clearly not that interested in public relations but, as always, in the bottom line.

 

‘Sixty per cent, only taking running costs into account. But if we are to pay back our capital investment within the ten years as envisaged by Ross Buchanan when he was chairman, we will need an eighty-six per cent occupancy rate during that period. So there’s no room for complacency, Mr Hardcastle.’

 

Alex took notes of any dates or figures he felt would be of interest to Don Pedro, although he still had no idea why they were so important, or what Don Pedro had meant by ‘when the balloon goes up’.

 

Emma continued to answer questions for another hour, and it pained Alex to have to admit, although he would never have mentioned it in front of Don Pedro, that she was unquestionably on top of her brief.

 

After she closed the meeting with the words, ‘See you all on August twenty-fourth at the AGM,’ Alex quickly left the boardroom and made his way out of the building. Emma watched from the top-floor window as he drove out of the compound, only reminding her that she could never afford to lower her guard.

 

Alex parked outside the Lord Nelson and walked across to the phone box, four pennies ready. ‘The ship will be named by the Queen Mother on September twenty-first, and the maiden voyage to New York is still planned for October twenty-ninth.’

 

‘I’ll see you in my office at ten tomorrow morning,’ was all Don Pedro said before the line went dead.

 

Alex would like to have told him, just once, ‘Sorry, old boy, can’t make it. I’ve got a far more important appointment at that time,’ but he knew he would be standing outside 44 Eaton Square at one minute to ten the following morning.

 

 

 

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