HUGO BARRINGTON
1942–1943
33
SIR WALTER’S FUNERAL was held at St Mary’s Redcliffe, and the late chairman of Barrington’s Shipping Line would surely have been proud to see such a packed congregation and to hear the heartfelt eulogy delivered by the Bishop of Bristol.
After the service, the mourners lined up to offer their condolences to Sir Hugo as he stood at the north door of the church, alongside his mother. He was able to explain to those who asked that his daughter Emma was marooned in New York, although he couldn’t tell them why she’d gone there in the first place, and his son Giles, of whom he was inordinately proud, was interned in a German PoW camp in Weinsberg; information his mother had passed on to him the previous evening.
During the service, Lord and Lady Harvey, Hugo’s ex-wife Elizabeth and their daughter Grace had all been seated in the front row of the church, on the opposite side of the aisle from Hugo. All of them had paid their respects to the grieving widow, and had then pointedly left without acknowledging his presence.
Maisie Clifton had sat at the back of the church, her head bowed throughout the service, and left moments after the bishop had delivered the final blessing.
When Bill Lockwood, the managing director of Barrington’s, stepped forward to shake hands with his new chairman and to express his condolences, all Hugo had to say was, ‘I expect to see you in my office at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’
Mr Lockwood gave a slight bow.
A reception was held at Barrington Hall after the funeral, and Hugo mingled among the mourners, several of whom were about to discover that they no longer had a job with Barrington’s. When the last guest had departed, Hugo went up to his bedroom and changed for dinner.
He entered the dining room with his mother on his arm. Once she was seated, he took his father’s place at the head of the table. During the meal, while there were no servants in attendance, he told his mother that, despite his father’s misgivings, he was a reformed character.
He went on to assure her that the company was in safe hands, and that he had exciting plans for its future.
Hugo drove his Bugatti through the gates of Barrington’s shipyard for the first time in over two years, at 9.23 the following morning. He parked in the chairman’s space before making his way up to his father’s old office.
As he stepped out of the lift on the fourth floor, he saw Bill Lockwood pacing up and down the corridor outside his office, a red folder under his arm. But then Hugo had always intended to keep him waiting.
‘Good morning, Hugo,’ said Lockwood, stepping forward.
Hugo strolled past him without responding. ‘Good morning, Miss Potts,’ he said to his old secretary, as if he’d never been away. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m ready to see Mr Lockwood,’ he added, before walking through to his new office.
He sat down at his father’s desk – that was how he still thought of it, and he wondered how long that feeling would last – and began to read The Times. Once the Americans and Russians had entered the war, far more people were beginning to believe in an Allied victory. He put down the paper.
‘I’ll see Mr Lockwood now, Miss Potts.’
The managing director entered the chairman’s office with a smile on his face. ‘Welcome back, Hugo,’ he said.
Hugo gave him a fixed stare and said, ‘Chairman.’
‘I’m sorry, chairman,’ said a man who had served on the board of Barrington’s when Hugo was in short trousers.
‘I’d like you to bring me up to date on the company’s financial position.’
‘Of course, chairman.’ Lockwood opened the red folder he’d been carrying under his arm.
As the chairman hadn’t invited him to sit, he remained standing. ‘Your father,’ he began, ‘managed to guide the company prudently through troubled times, and despite several setbacks, not least the Germans continually targeting the docks during their nightly bombing raids in the early part of the war, with the help of government contracts, we have managed to weather the storm, so we should be in good shape once this dreadful war is over.’
‘Cut the waffle,’ said Hugo, ‘and get to the bottom line.’
‘Last year,’ continued the managing director turning a page, ‘the company made a profit of thirty-seven thousand, four hundred pounds and ten shillings.’
‘Wouldn’t want to forget the ten shillings, would we,’ said Hugo.
‘That was always your father’s attitude,’ said Lockwood, missing the sarcasm.
‘And this year?’
‘Our half yearly results suggest that we’re well placed to equal, possibly even surpass, last year’s results.’ Lockwood turned another page.
‘How many places are currently available on the board?’ asked Hugo.
The change of subject took Lockwood by surprise, and he had to turn several pages before he could respond. ‘Three, as unfortunately Lord Harvey, Sir Derek Sinclair and Captain Havens all resigned following your father’s death.’
‘I’m glad to hear that,’ said Hugo. ‘It will save me the trouble of sacking them.’
‘I presume, chairman, you would not wish me to record those sentiments in my minutes of this meeting?’
‘I don’t give a damn if you do or don’t,’ Hugo said.
The managing director bowed his head.
‘And when are you due to retire?’ was Hugo’s next question.
‘I’ll be sixty in a couple of months’ time, but if you felt, chairman, given the circumstances—’
‘What circumstances?’
‘As you will only just have got your feet under the table, so to speak, I could be persuaded to stay on for a couple more years.’
‘That’s good of you,’ said Hugo, and the managing director smiled for the second time that morning. ‘But please don’t put yourself out on my account. Two months will be just fine by me. So what’s the biggest challenge we’re facing at the moment?’
‘We have recently applied for a major government contract to lease out our merchant fleet to the navy,’ said Lockwood once he’d recovered. ‘We’re not the favourites, but I think your father gave a good account of himself when the inspectors visited the company earlier this year, so we should be taken seriously.’
‘When will we find out?’
‘Not for some time, I fear. Civil servants aren’t built for speed,’ he added, laughing at his own joke. ‘I have also prepared several discussion papers for your consideration, chairman, so that you will be well briefed before you chair your first board meeting.’
‘I don’t anticipate holding that many board meetings in the future,’ said Hugo. ‘I believe in leading from the front, making decisions and standing by them. But you can leave your briefing papers with my secretary, and I’ll get round to them when I find the time.’
‘As you wish, chairman.’
Within moments of Lockwood leaving his office, Hugo was on the move. ‘I’m going to visit my bank,’ he said as he passed Miss Potts’s desk.
‘Shall I call Mr Prendergast and let him know you’d like to see him?’ Miss Potts asked as she hurried after him down the corridor.
‘Certainly not,’ said Hugo. ‘I want to take him by surprise.’
‘Is there anything you need me to do before you return, Sir Hugo?’ Miss Potts enquired as he stepped into the lift.
‘Yes, see that the name on my door is changed before I get back.’
Miss Potts turned round to look at the office door. Sir Walter Barrington, Chairman was displayed in gold leaf.
The lift door closed.
As Hugo drove into the centre of Bristol, he felt that his first few hours as chairman could not have gone better. All was finally right with the world. He parked his Bugatti outside the National Provincial Bank in Corn Street, leant across and picked up a packet he’d left under the passenger seat.
He strolled into the bank, past the reception desk and headed straight for the manager’s office, giving a little tap on the door before marching in. A startled Mr Prendergast leapt up as Hugo placed a shoebox on his desk and sank into the chair opposite him.
‘I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,’ said Hugo.
‘Of course not, Sir Hugo,’ said Prendergast, staring at the shoebox. ‘I’m available for you at any time.’
‘That’s good to know, Prendergast. Why don’t you begin by bringing me up to date on Broad Street?’
The bank manager scurried across the room, pulled open the drawer of a filing cabinet and extracted a thick folder, which he placed on the table. He sorted through some papers before he spoke again.
‘Ah yes,’ he said eventually. ‘Here’s what I was looking for.’
Hugo was tapping the arm of his chair impatiently.
‘Of the twenty-two businesses which have ceased to trade in Broad Street since the bombing began, seventeen have already accepted your offer of two hundred pounds or less for their freehold, namely Roland the florist, Bates the butcher, Makepeace—’
‘What about Mrs Clifton? Has she accepted my offer?’
‘I’m afraid not, Sir Hugo. Mrs Clifton said she wouldn’t settle for less than four hundred pounds, and has only given you until next Friday to accept her offer.’
‘Has she, be damned. Well, you can tell her that two hundred pounds is my final offer. That woman has never had a brass farthing to her name, so I don’t expect we’ll have to wait too much longer before she comes to her senses.’
Prendergast gave a slight cough that Hugo remembered well.
‘If you succeed in purchasing every property in the street except Mrs Clifton’s, four hundred pounds might turn out to be quite reasonable.’
‘She’s bluffing. All we have to do is bide our time.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do say so. And in any case, I know exactly the right man to convince the Clifton woman that she’d be wise to settle for two hundred pounds.’
Prendergast didn’t look convinced, but satisfied himself by asking, ‘Is there anything else I can do to assist you?’
‘Yes,’ said Hugo, removing the lid from the shoebox. ‘You can deposit this money into my personal account and issue me with a new cheque book.’
‘Of course, Sir Hugo,’ said Prendergast, looking into the box. ‘I’ll count it and issue you with a receipt and a cheque book.’
‘But I’ll need to make an immediate withdrawal, as I have my eye on a Lagonda V12.’
‘Winner of Le Mans,’ said Prendergast, ‘but then, you’ve always been a pioneer in that particular field.’
Hugo smiled as he rose from his chair.
‘Give me a call the moment Mrs Clifton realizes that two hundred pounds is all she’s going to get.’