25
“HI, REVERED PARENT, I’m thinking of going to America on business, and I wondered if—”
“You could sail on the Buckingham? Yes, of course, but don’t forget Bob Bingham’s rule about family members having to pay for their passage. If you can go next week, you could join your father. He’s off to New York to see his publisher.”
Sebastian flicked over a page of his diary. “I’ll have to rearrange a couple of meetings, but yes, that looks fine.”
“And what takes you to the States?”
“A business opportunity that Mr. Kaufman wants me to look into.”
The moment Seb put down the phone he felt guilty about not telling his mother the real reason for his trip, as he feared he could well be making a complete fool of himself—once again.
But he had no idea where Sam was living or how he could find out. He was considering the problem when Vic Kaufman walked into his office and took him by surprise.
“Have you noticed my dad repeating himself lately?”
“No, can’t say I have,” said Seb. “Saul’s occasionally a little forgetful, but he must be over seventy.”
“When he escaped from Poland he didn’t bring a birth certificate with him, but he once let slip that he could remember Queen Victoria’s funeral, so he must be nearer eighty. I have to admit I’m a bit worried, because if anything did happen to the old man, frankly, you’re not ready to take over yet, and I’m just not good enough.”
It had never crossed Seb’s mind that Saul Kaufman wouldn’t go on being chairman forever, and he certainly hadn’t considered taking over as chairman of the bank before Vic raised the subject.
Seb now had fourteen staff working for him, most of them older than himself, and his department was the third-largest income provider for the bank, not far behind foreign exchange and commodities.
“Don’t worry about it, Vic,” said Seb, trying to reassure him. “I’m sure your father’s got a few more miles left on the clock.”
However, at Seb’s weekly meeting with the chairman, Mr. Kaufman did ask, on three separate occasions, the name of the client they were representing on one particular land development deal, although Seb knew he’d done business with him on at least two occasions in the past.
Seb had spent so much of his spare time thinking about what was happening at another bank just a few streets away that it hadn’t crossed his mind that his future at Kaufman’s could not be taken for granted. He tried not to think about the worst-case scenario: the old man having to retire because of ill-health, Farthings making a takeover bid for Kaufman’s, and Seb having to write a second resignation letter to the new joint chairman of the two banks.
He even considered canceling his trip to the States, but he knew that if he didn’t leave by the last tide on Friday evening, he would never have the courage to go through with it.
* * *
Seb thoroughly enjoyed his father’s company on the five-day voyage to New York, not least because, unlike his mother, Harry didn’t spend his time asking endless questions Seb didn’t want to answer.
They always ate together in the evening, and sometimes at lunch. During the day, his father would lock himself in his cabin, leaving the Do Not Disturb sign on his door. He spent hour upon hour going over the final draft of his latest manuscript, which he would hand to Harold Guinzburg within an hour of the ship docking.
So when Seb was taking a brisk walk around the upper deck one morning, he was surprised to find his father reclining in a deck chair, reading his favorite author.
“Does that mean you’ve finished the book?” he asked as he sat down in the deck chair next to him.
“It does,” said Harry, putting down Beware of Pity. “Now all I have to do is deliver the manuscript to Harold and wait for his opinion.”
“Do you want mine?”
“On my book? No, but on another book, yes.”
“What book are we talking about?”
“Uncle Joe,” said Harry. “Harold has offered Mrs. Babakov a hundred-thousand-dollar advance for the world rights, against a fifteen-percent royalty, and I’m not sure what to advise her.”
“But is there a chance of anyone ever finding a copy of the book?”
“I used to think there was almost none, but Harold told me that Mrs. Babakov knows where a copy can be found. The only problem is, it’s in the Soviet Union.”
“Did she tell him where in the Soviet Union?”
“No. She said she’d only tell me, which is why I’m going on to Pittsburgh once I’ve seen Harold in New York.”
Harry was surprised by his son’s next question.
“Would a hundred thousand dollars be a large sum of money to Mrs. Babakov, or is she comfortably off?”
“She escaped from Russia without a penny, so it would change her whole life.”
“Then if you think Mr. Guinzburg’s offer is fair, my advice is she should accept it. Whenever I want to close a deal, I try to find out how much the other side needs the money, because that will always influence the way I think. If they are desperate for the money, I’m in the driver’s seat. If not…”
Harry nodded.
“However, there’s a caveat in this particular case. Because if you’re the only person she’s willing to tell where the book is hidden, you can be sure she’s also hoping that you’ll be the one who’ll go and pick it up.”
“But it’s in the Soviet Union.”
“Where you’re still persona non grata. So whatever you do, don’t make any promises.”
“I wouldn’t want to let her down.”
“Dad, I know it must be fun to take on the Soviet Empire single-handedly, but it’s only James Bond who always triumphs over the KGB. So can we return to the real world, because I also need some advice.”
“Mine?”
“No, Detective Inspector Warwick’s.”
“Why, are you planning to murder someone?”
“No, just looking for a missing person.”
“Which is why you’re going to the States.”
“Yes. But I don’t know where this person lives or how to find out.”
“I think you’ll find they have a record of her home address on this ship.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Because she traveled with us on the maiden voyage, and would have had to hand in her passport to the purser. So he’s almost certain to have her address on his files. It may be a long shot, as it’s several years ago, but at least it’s somewhere to start. In normal circumstances, I suspect he wouldn’t be willing to release personal information about another passenger, but as you’re a director of the company, and she was your guest on the trip, I imagine that won’t be a problem.”
“How did you know that my missing person was Samantha?”
“Your mother told me.”
“But I didn’t tell her.”
“Not in so many words. But I’ve learned over the years never to underestimate that woman. Mind you, when it’s personal, even she can make mistakes.”
“Like Desmond Mellor?”
“I would never have thought it possible that whoever replaced Alex Fisher could prove even more of a problem.”
“And there’s a big difference between Mellor and Fisher,” said Seb. “Mellor’s bright, which makes him far more dangerous.”
“Do you think he has any chance of becoming deputy chairman?”
“I didn’t, until Ross Buchanan convinced me otherwise.”
“Maybe that’s why Emma’s considering the nuclear option, and forcing Mellor to put his cards on the table.”
“Which table?”
“The boardroom table. She’s going to let him stand as her deputy, but she’ll oppose him and put up her own candidate. If he loses, he’ll have no choice but to resign.”
“And if she loses?”
“She’ll have to learn to live with it.”
“Who’s her candidate?”
“I assumed it must be you.”
“Not a chance. The board would always back Mellor against me, not least because of my age, and that would mean Mother would end up having to resign. Which, come to think of it, might even be part of Mellor’s long-term plan. I’m going to have to talk her out of it. And it’s not as if that’s her only problem at the moment.”
“If you’re referring to Lady Virginia and her libel claim, I think that’s no longer an issue.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I can’t, but we haven’t heard anything on that front for some time. In another twelve months your mother can apply to the courts to have the action struck off the list, but I’ve advised her against that.”
“Why?”
“When you come across a sleeping snake, don’t prod it with a sharp stick in the hope that it will go away, because it’s likely to wake up and bite you.”
“And that woman’s bite is venomous,” said Seb. “Mind you, I don’t even know why she’s suing mother in the first place.”
“I’ll tell you all about it over dinner.”
* * *
The ship’s purser could not have been more helpful. He was able to supply Sebastian with an address for Miss Samantha Sullivan: 2043 Cable Street, Georgetown, Washington, DC, although he couldn’t be sure if she was still living there, as she hadn’t traveled on the ship since the maiden voyage. Seb hoped 2043 would turn out to be a small apartment where she lived alone or with one of her female colleagues.
He thanked the purser, walked up a couple of flights of stairs to the Grill Room, and joined his father for dinner. It wasn’t until the steward had cleared away the main course that Seb raised the subject of Virginia’s writ.
“Quite dramatic stuff, or at least we all thought so at the time,” said Harry, lighting a Havana cigar, which he couldn’t have purchased on an American ship. “Your mother was addressing the company’s AGM, and during questions from the floor Virginia asked if one of the directors of Barrington’s had sold all his shares with the intention of bringing down the company.”
“So how did Mother deal with the question?”
“She turned it to her advantage by asking if Virginia was referring to the three occasions on which Alex Fisher, her representative on the board, had sold and then bought back her own shares, while at the same time making a handsome profit.”
“But as that’s no more than the truth,” said Seb, “it’s hardly libel.”
“I agree, but your mother couldn’t resist prodding the snake with a very sharp stick by adding—” Harry put his cigar down, leaned back, and closed his eyes—“‘If it was your intention to bring the company down, Lady Virginia, you have failed, and failed lamentably, because you were defeated by decent ordinary people who want this company to succeed…’ no, no,” said Harry, correcting himself, “her exact words were, ‘to be a success.’ The audience cheered, and Virginia stormed out of the room shouting, ‘You’ll be hearing from my solicitor,’ and indeed we did. But that was some time ago, so let’s hope she’s been advised to drop the case and has slithered away into the undergrowth.”
“If she has, she’ll only be curled up waiting to strike again.”
* * *
On the last morning of the voyage, Seb joined his father for breakfast, but Harry hardly said a word. He was always the same just before handing in a manuscript to his publishers. The longest three days of his life, he once told Seb, were while he waited to hear Harold Guinzburg’s opinion of his latest work.
“But how can you be sure he’s being completely honest about how he feels when the last thing he would want is to lose you?”
“I don’t listen to a word he says about the book,” admitted Harry. “I’m only interested in the number of hardback copies he will print for the first impression. He can’t bluff that. Because if it’s over a hundred thousand this time, it means he thinks he’s got a number-one best seller.”
“And under a hundred thousand?” said Seb.
“Then he’s not so sure.”
Father and son walked down the gangway together just over an hour later. One of them was clinging onto a manuscript and heading for a publishing house in Manhattan, while the other took a cab to Penn Station armed with no more than an address in Georgetown.