“Is there anything I should be worrying about?” asked Victor.
“Not that I’m aware of,” said Hardcastle. “Once all three of you have signed the merger document, all that’s left is for you to await the Bank of England’s approval, which I’m assured by the bank’s compliance officer is a mere formality. He expects the paperwork to be completed within a month.”
“My father would have been delighted to see our two banks merge,” said Victor. “Where do I sign?”
Hakim Bishara, on behalf of Farthings, and Victor Kaufman on behalf of Kaufman’s, signed all three documents, with Sebastian adding his name as a witness. Once Arnold had gathered up all the documents, Hakim walked across to the drinks cabinet, opened a small fridge and took out a bottle of champagne. He popped the cork and poured three glasses.
“To Farthings Kaufman,” he said. “Possibly not the biggest bank on the block, but unquestionably the latest.” The three laughed and raised their glasses. “To Farthings Kaufman.”
“Right, let’s get back to work,” said the chairman. “What’s next on my schedule?”
“Clive Bingham has an appointment to see you in half an hour, chairman,” said Hardcastle, “to discuss a press statement he’s working on. I know everyone in the Square Mile considers it’s a done deal, but I’d still like to see the merger well covered by the financial press. Clive tells me that both the FT and Economist have requested to do profiles on you.”
“And to think it’s less than a decade ago that the Bank of England refused to grant me a secondary banking license.”
“We’ve all come a long way since then,” said Seb.
“We have indeed,” said Hakim. “And the merging of our two banks is just the next stage of what I have planned.”
“Amen to that,” said Victor, raising his glass a second time.
“Seb,” said the chairman when he failed to raise his glass, “you seem a little preoccupied.”
“It’s nothing, chairman. But I should let you know that I’ll be flying to Washington on Friday morning. I expect to be back in the office by Monday.”
“A deal I ought to know about?” asked Hakim, raising an eyebrow.
“No. I’m thinking of buying some pictures.”
“Sounds interesting,” said Hakim, but Seb didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m off to Lagos tomorrow,” Hakim added, “for a meeting with the oil minister. The government wants to build a larger port to handle the demand for so many foreign oil tankers following the discovery of several new oil fields off the Nigerian coast. They’ve invited Farthings—sorry, Farthings Kaufman—to act as their financial advisors. Like you, Seb, I hope to be back at my desk by Monday at the latest, as I have another heavy week ahead of me. So, Victor, we’ll leave the shop in your hands while we’re away. Just be sure there are no surprises when we return.”
*
“Quite a coup,” said Desmond Mellor once he’d read the press statement. “I’m not sure there’s much we can do about it.”
“How large is our holding in Farthings Kaufman?” asked Jim Knowles.
“We own six percent of Farthings,” said Adrian Sloane. “But that will be reduced to three percent of the new bank when the merger goes through, which wouldn’t entitle us to a place on the board.”
“And although Mellor Travel has had another good year,” said Desmond, “I just don’t have the financial clout to take on Bishara.”
“One of my contacts at the Bank of England,” said Knowles, “tells me he expects the merger to be ratified within the next couple of weeks.”
“Unless the Bank of England felt unable to ratify it,” said Sloane.
“What reason would they have not to?” asked Mellor.
“If a director didn’t fulfil one of the Bank’s statutory regulations.”
“Which regulation do you have in mind, Adrian?”
“That he’d been to jail.”
30
SEBASTIAN WALKED OUT of Dulles airport and joined the short queue for a yellow cab.
“The Mayflower Hotel, please,” he said to the driver. Seb always enjoyed the drive from Dulles into the capital. A long, winding road that stretched between wooded forests before crossing the Potomac and passing the magnificent marble monuments of past presidents that dominated the landscape like Roman temples. Lincoln, Jefferson and finally Washington, before the cab drew up outside the hotel.
Sebastian was impressed when the clerk on the front desk said, “Welcome back, Mr. Clifton,” as he’d only stayed at the Mayflower once before. “Is there anything I can do to assist you?”
“How long will it take me to get to Jefferson School?”
“Fifteen minutes, twenty at most. Shall I book you a cab?”
Seb checked his watch. Just after 2 p.m. “Yes, let’s make it for four twenty?”