LADY VIRGINIA FENWICK
1966
15
“I’LL SEE IF HER LADYSHIP is at home,” said the butler.
What a ridiculous remark, thought Lady Virginia. Morton knows only too well that I’m at home. What he actually means is, I’ll find out if her ladyship wants to talk to you.
“Who is it, Morton?” she asked as the butler entered the room.
“Mrs. Priscilla Bingham, my lady.”
“Of course I’m at home to Mrs. Bingham,” said Virginia, picking up the phone by her side. “Priscilla, darling.”
“Virginia, darling.”
“It’s been so long.”
“Far too long, and I’ve so much to tell you.”
“Why don’t you pop up and spend a few days in London? It will be just like old times. We can go shopping, catch a show, try out one or two new restaurants, and even visit Annabel’s, where one just has to be seen, darling.”
“Sounds terrific. I’ll check my diary and ring you back.”
Virginia put down the phone and thought about her friend. They hadn’t seen much of each other since her last visit to Mablethorpe Hall, when Priscilla’s husband Robert had behaved so badly. And worse, since then, Robert had gone over to the other side and joined the enemy. He not only sat on the board of Barrington Shipping but had played a part in ensuring that Major Fisher, Virginia’s representative, had been summarily dismissed from the board. To make matters worse, he’d insisted that Priscilla accompany him on the Buckingham’s maiden voyage to New York, despite Virginia telling her that she had been refused a first-class cabin.
When Priscilla returned home a fortnight later, she told Virginia that something had gone badly wrong on the first night of the voyage, but Robert refused to confide in her. Virginia vowed to get to the bottom of it, but that would have to wait because for the moment it was not Emma Clifton she had in her sights, but Bob Bingham.
When Priscilla turned up at Virginia’s flat a few days later, she recited a litany of disasters that had taken place during the voyage, including a dreadful dinner she’d had to endure with that frightful social climber, Emma Clifton. The food was inedible, the wine was corked, and the staff might as well have come from Butlin’s. However, Priscilla assured Virginia that on more than one occasion she had put Mrs. Clifton firmly in her place.
“And did you find out what really happened on the first night?” asked Virginia.
“No, but I did hear Robert say to one of the other directors that if the truth ever got out, the chairman would have to resign and the company could even face bankruptcy. That would certainly help with your libel trial.”
Virginia hadn’t told her friend that the case was on hold because her extremely expensive lawyers considered her chances of winning not much better than fifty-fifty, and her latest bank statement reminded her that she wasn’t in a strong enough financial position to risk that. However, what she had planned for Bob Bingham was not fifty-fifty. He would end up having to part with at least half of his entire fortune, with a twist. And once she’d dealt with him, Virginia would then turn her attention to Emma Clifton and the Home Fleet incident. But if her plan for Bob Bingham was to succeed, she would once again have to enlist the services of Major Alex Fisher, someone who hated the Barrington family almost as much as she did.
* * *
Bob Bingham was not pleased when Priscilla announced she would be staying at their house in The Boltons for a few days so she could spend some time with Virginia. He sensed that that woman was up to something, and it wasn’t too difficult to work out what she might have in mind.
The only good thing about Priscilla being away for a week was that it would give him a chance to invite Clive to join him for a few days at Mablethorpe Hall. Clive had recently been promoted and no longer relied on Bob to subsidize him. In fact, Jessica’s tragic death may have been the reason he had become so fiercely independent. Bob had seen too little of his son since that dreadful night when Jessica Clifton had taken her own life, and it would never have happened if Priscilla hadn’t invited that conniving woman to spend the weekend with them. It was only later that his wife admitted that Virginia had originally turned down the invitation, but had changed her mind when she heard that Jessica Clifton would be among the guests, and that Clive was planning to propose to her that weekend.
Bob tried to push that vile woman out of his mind as he wanted to concentrate on the minutes of Barrington’s most recent board meeting. He agreed with young Sebastian—he must stop thinking of him in those terms—after all, he had already proved himself to be a capable director, and few of the board doubted that, in time, he would become the next chairman of the company. And if his new lifestyle was anything to go by, he was clearly doing well at Kaufman’s, even if his father had hinted that his personal life was a mess.
Bob Bingham and Harry Clifton had become friends during the past few years, which had seemed unlikely, considering how little they had in common other than Jessica. Harry was a renaissance man, a man of letters, whose constant stand on behalf of Anatoly Babakov had captured the public’s imagination. Bob, on the other hand, was a man of business, of balance sheets, who only ever read a book when he was on holiday. Perhaps it was simply the game of cricket that brought the two men together, except on those occasions when Gloucestershire played Yorkshire.
Bob turned his attention to a paper that was to be presented by Sebastian, setting out why he felt the company shouldn’t be investing in a new luxury liner at the present time.
* * *
“Major Fisher,” intoned the butler before closing the door.
“Alex, it’s good to see you again,” said Virginia as she poured him a double gin and tonic. “I do hope things are going well for you.”
“Up and down like Tower Bridge,” said Alex as she passed him his drink, all too aware that Lady Virginia only ever invited him to visit her when she wanted something. Not that he could complain; he wasn’t exactly flush since he’d lost his place on the board of Barrington’s. Virginia wasted no time coming to the point.
“Do you recall our successful little sortie with Bob Bingham a couple of years ago?”
“Could I ever forget?” said Alex. “Mind you, it’s not something I’d ever want to repeat,” he added quickly.
“No, that wasn’t what I had in mind. But I do need you to do a little digging for me. I’d like to know how much Bingham is worth. His company, his shareholdings, properties, particularly the properties, and any other source of income he may have that he wouldn’t want the taxman to know about. Dig deep and spare no details, however insignificant they might seem.”
“And…”
“You’ll be paid five pounds an hour plus expenses, and a bonus of twenty-five pounds if I’m satisfied with your work.”
Alex smiled. Virginia had never once in the past paid the promised bonus, and her idea of expenses was to travel third class and not stay overnight. But given his present circumstances, he wasn’t able to scoff at five pounds an hour.
“When do you need my report?”
“In ten days’ time, Alex. And then I may well have another job for you, nearer home.”
* * *
Virginia had planned Priscilla Bingham’s visit to London with military precision. Nothing was left to chance.
On the Monday, the two of them were driven to Epsom, where they joined Lord Malmsbury in his private box on the finishing line. Priscilla clearly enjoyed having a badge for the royal enclosure, where several men complimented her on her Hartnell outfit and “Jackie Kennedy” pillbox hat. She hadn’t received so much attention in years.
On Tuesday, following a light lunch at Simpson’s, they dropped into a drinks reception at the Banqueting House before going on to a gala dinner at the Savoy in aid of the Red Cross, where Matt Monro serenaded the guests.
On Wednesday, it was the turn of the Queen’s Club, where they watched a polo match between a Windsor team captained by the young Prince Charles, and a visiting Argentinian side, most of whom Priscilla couldn’t take her eyes off. In the evening, they had house seats for Funny Girl, a new musical with its original Broadway star, Barbra Streisand, which had queues for returns that were the envy of every other West End theater.
On Thursday, and heaven knows how Virginia fixed the tickets, they attended a royal garden party at Buckingham Palace, where Priscilla was presented to Princess Alexandra. In the evening, they dined with the Duke of Bridgwater and his eldest son, Bofie, who couldn’t take his eyes off Priscilla. In fact, Virginia had to warn him that despite her encouragement, he just might be overdoing it.
On Friday, Priscilla was so exhausted she spent the morning in bed, and was only just up in time to keep an appointment with her hairdresser, before going on in the evening to Covent Garden to see a production of Giselle.
On Saturday morning, they attended trooping the color, watching the ceremony from the Scottish Office overlooking Horse Guards. In the evening they had a quiet supper à deux at Virginia’s flat. “No one in London would dream of venturing out on a Saturday night,” she explained. “The streets are full of foreigners and visiting football hooligans.” But then Virginia had always intended to use that night to sow the first seeds of doubt in her friend’s mind.
“What a week,” said Priscilla as they sat down for supper. “What fun, and to think that tomorrow I have to go back to Mablethorpe.”
“You don’t have to go back,” said Virginia.
“But Robert is expecting me.”
“Is he? Frankly, would he even notice if you were to spend a few more days in London?”
Priscilla put down her knife and fork, clearly considering the proposition. In truth, Virginia didn’t want her to remain in London a day longer, as she was exhausted and had nothing planned for the following week.
“Have you ever thought about leaving Robert?” asked Virginia as Morton refilled Priscilla’s wine glass.
“Regularly. But how could I possibly survive without him?”
“Rather well, I suspect. After all, you have a lovely home in The Boltons, not to mention—”
“But it’s not mine.”
“It could be,” said Virginia, warming to her task.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you read that article about Robert in the business section of the Telegraph a couple of weeks ago?”
“I never read the business section of any paper.”
“Well, it was most illuminating. It seems that Bingham’s Fish Paste is valued at around fifteen million, with no debts and healthy cash reserves.”
“But if I left Robert, I wouldn’t want anything to do with the company.”
“You wouldn’t have to have anything to do with it. Mablethorpe Hall, The Boltons, and your villa in the South of France, not to mention the three million sitting in the company’s bank account, would still be less than fifty percent of what he’s worth. And fifty percent is what you could expect after twenty-six years of marriage and a son you virtually brought up on your own because of all those hours your husband spent away from home, pursuing his career.”
“How do you know there’s three million in the company’s account?”
“It’s listed for anyone to see at Companies House. ￡3,142,900 to be exact.”
“I had no idea.”
“Still, whatever you decide, my darling, I’ll always be here to support you.”
* * *
Even Virginia was surprised to receive a tearful call from Mablethorpe Hall on the following Friday.
“I’m so lonely,” Priscilla moaned, “and there’s just nothing for me to do up here.”
“Then why don’t you come down to London and visit me for a few days, darling? Bofie Bridgwater was only asking me yesterday when you were expected back in town.”
When Priscilla turned up on Virginia’s doorstep the following afternoon, the first thing she said was, “Do you know a good divorce lawyer?”
“The best,” Virginia replied. “After all, she’s acted for me on two occasions.”
Twenty-two days later, Robert Bingham was served with a divorce writ. But Major Fisher still didn’t get his bonus.
* * *
Everyone rose as Mrs. Justice Havers entered the courtroom. The judge took her place and peered down at the two warring parties. She had read both submissions carefully and, after a thousand divorces, knew exactly what she was looking for.
“Mrs. Everitt.”
Priscilla’s counsel immediately rose from her place. “My lady,” she said.
“I understand that a settlement has been reached between the two parties, and I wonder if you’d be kind enough to outline the terms for me.”
“Certainly, my lady. In this case I represent the plaintiff, Mrs. Priscilla Bingham, while my learned friend Mr. Brooke represents the defendant, Mr. Robert Bingham. My lady, Mrs. Bingham, has been married to the defendant for the past twenty-six years. During that time, she has been a faithful, loyal, and dutiful wife. She bore a son, Clive, who, because of her husband’s various business commitments, she had to raise virtually single-handed.”
“With the help of a nanny, a cook, a maid, and a cleaner,” whispered Bob, which his counsel duly noted.
“Even during the school holidays, my lady, it was rare for Mr. Bingham to spend more than a week with his wife and child, always wanting to get back to his factory in Grimsby. We are therefore proposing,” continued learned counsel, “that Mrs. Bingham should retain the family home in which she has lived for the past twenty-six years, along with the house in London, and the villa near Cap Ferrat in the South of France, where she and her son always spent the long summer vacation together. Mrs. Bingham would also ask the court for the sum of three million pounds in order that she can maintain the three houses and continue to live in a style to which she has grown accustomed. I should point out, my lady, that this is far less than fifty percent of Mr. Bingham’s considerable fortune.” Mrs. Everitt sat down.
“And is Mr. Bingham agreeable to these terms, Mr. Brooke?”
Robert’s attorney rose slowly to his feet, tugged the lapels of his gown, and said, “Indeed, my lady. Mr. Bingham will retain the family company, Bingham’s Fish Paste, which was founded by his grandfather over a hundred years ago. He makes no other demands.”
“So be it,” said the judge, “but before final settlement is agreed, I always like both parties to confirm they are satisfied with the division, so there can be no recriminations at some later date, or any suggestion that they didn’t fully understand what had been proposed. Mr. Bingham—” Robert’s counsel nudged him and Bob jumped up. “Are you satisfied with this division of your goods and chattels?”
“I am, my lady.”
“Thank you, Mr. Bingham.” Turning her attention to the other side of the courtroom, the judge asked Mrs. Bingham the same question.
Priscilla rose to her feet, smiled up at the judge, and said, “I am satisfied. Indeed, I am happy for my ex-husband to select whichever of the two packages he would prefer.”
“How very magnanimous of you,” declared the judge, as consternation appeared on the faces of both counsel, who had been quite unprepared for this unrehearsed intervention. Although it would surely make no difference to the outcome, counsel never likes to be taken by surprise.
“Then I will put the question to Mr. Bingham once again,” said the judge. “But as it deserves careful consideration, I will allow Mr. Bingham to consider his position overnight. Court is adjourned until ten a.m. tomorrow.”
Bob was quickly on his feet. “That’s most kind of you, my lady, but I have already made up—”
Bob’s counsel pulled him back down, because Mrs. Justice Havers had already left the court.
If that was the first surprise of the day for Bob, the second was to see Sebastian Clifton sitting quietly at the back of the courtroom taking notes. He was even more surprised when Seb asked if he was free to join him for dinner.
“Well, I had planned to go back to Lincolnshire tonight, but now that I have to make a short reappearance in court tomorrow morning, I’d be delighted to take up your offer.”
They both watched as Priscilla left the courtroom on Virginia’s arm. She was sobbing quietly.
“I could kill that woman,” said Bob, “and happily serve a life sentence.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Seb. “I think I’ve come up with a far better solution for dealing with Lady Virginia.”
* * *
At ten o’clock the following morning, everyone was back in their places when Mrs. Justice Havers entered the courtroom. Once she had settled herself, she looked down at the counsels’ bench and said, “Only one matter remains to be resolved, and that is which of the two packages Mr. Bingham has settled on.”
Bob rose from his place. “I would like to thank you, my lady, for giving me the opportunity to reflect on my decision overnight, because I have decided to choose the three properties along with the three million pounds. I’d like to thank my wife for her most magnanimous gesture, and to wish her every success with running the company.”
Uproar broke out in court. Apart from Bob Bingham, only two other people didn’t look surprised: the judge and Sebastian Clifton.