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.’
‘Do we still employ Stan Tancock, Miss Potts?’ Hugo asked as he marched back into the office.
‘Yes, Sir Hugo,’ replied his secretary, following him into the room. ‘He works as a loader in the stock yard.’
‘I want to see him immediately,’ said the chairman, as he slumped down behind his desk.
Miss Potts hurried out of the room.
Hugo stared at the files piled on his desk which he was supposed to have read before the next board meeting. He flicked open the cover of the top one: a list of the union’s demands following their last meeting with management. He had reached number four on the list, two weeks’ paid holiday each year, when there was a tap on the door.
‘Tancock to see you, chairman.’
‘Thank you, Miss Potts. Send him in.’
Stan Tancock walked into the room, removed his cloth cap and stood in front of the chairman’s desk.
‘You wanted to see me, guv?’ he said, looking a little nervous.
Hugo glanced up at the squat, unshaven docker, whose beer belly didn’t leave much doubt where most of his wage packet went on a Friday night.
‘I’ve got a job for you, Tancock.’
‘Yes, guv,’ said Stan looking more hopeful.
‘It concerns your sister, Maisie Clifton, and the plot of land she owns on Broad Street, where Tilly’s tea shop used to stand. Do you know anything about it?’
‘Yes, guv, some geezer offered her two hundred quid for it.’
‘Is that right?’ said Hugo, removing his wallet from an inside pocket. He extracted a crisp five-pound note and laid it on the desk. Hugo remembered the same licking of the lips and the same piggy eyes the last time he’d bribed the man. ‘I want you to make sure, Tancock, that your sister accepts the offer, without the suggestion that I’m in any way involved.’
He slid the five-pound note across the desk.
‘No problem,’ said Stan, no longer looking at the chairman, only at the five-pound note.
‘There will be another of those,’ Hugo said, tapping his wallet, ‘the day she signs the contract.’
‘Consider it done, guv.’
Hugo added casually, ‘I was sorry to hear about your nephew.’
‘Don’t make much odds to me,’ said Stan. ‘Got far too big for his boots, in my opinion.’
‘Buried at sea, I was told.’
‘Yeah, more’n two years back.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘Ship’s doctor came to visit me sister, didn’t he.’
‘And was he able to confirm that young Clifton was buried at sea?’
‘Sure did. Even brought a letter from some mate who was on board the ship when Harry died.’
‘A letter?’ said Hugo leaning forward. ‘What did this letter say?’
‘No idea, guv. Maisie never opened it.’
‘So what did she do with the letter?’
‘Still on the mantelpiece isn’t it?’
Hugo extracted another five-pound note.
‘I’d like to see that letter.’