Harry closed the door behind him, walked quickly down the corridor, past the reception desk and didn’t stop until he reached the lobby, where he stepped inside the first available lift. When the doors opened again on the ground floor, he joined the bustle of office workers who were making their way out of the building for their lunch break. He glanced at the two guards, but they didn’t give him a second look as he passed them. They seemed to be focused on someone standing sentinel-like on the opposite side of the street. Harry turned his back on Aaron and hailed a cab.
“Where to?”
“I’m not sure yet,” said Harry, “but could you drive across to the far corner and pick up the gentleman who’s standing there.” The cabbie came to a halt on the other side of the street. Harry wound down the window. “Jump in,” he shouted.
Aaron looked suspiciously inside, but when he saw Harry, he quickly joined him in the back.
“Did you sign the contract?” were his first words.
“No, I did not.”
“What about the Babakov contract?”
“I still have it,” said Harry, touching the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Then we just may be in the clear.”
“Not yet. I persuaded Mrs. Babakova that she should cash Viking’s cheque for $100,000.”
“Help,” said Aaron.
“Where to?” demanded the cabbie again.
“Grand Central Station,” said Harry.
“Can’t you just phone her?” said Aaron.
“She doesn’t have a phone.”
6
“It’s the first time I’ve ever known you do something dishonest,” said Emma, as she poured herself a second cup of coffee.
“But surely it’s morally defensible,” said Harry. “After all, the end justified the means.”
“Even that’s questionable. Don’t forget that Mrs. Babakova had already signed the contract and accepted the check in payment.”
“But she hadn’t cashed it and, in any case, she was under the impression Anatoly’s book would be published by Viking.”
“And it still would have been.”
“But not by Aaron Guinzburg, with whom she made the original deal.”
“A High Court judge might consider that an interesting legal dilemma. And who’s going to publish William Warwick, now you’re no longer with Viking?”
“The Guinzburg Press. Anatoly and I will be the company’s first authors, and Aaron will also be presenting me with a new fountain pen.”
“A new pen?”
“It’s a long story, which I’ll save for when you get back from your board meeting,” said Harry, breaking into the top of his egg.
“I’m still a little surprised that Mulberry hadn’t considered the possibility of Aaron setting up his own company and didn’t include a clause in the merger document preventing him from poaching any of Viking’s authors.”
“I’m sure he did consider it, but if he’d inserted such a clause, Aaron’s lawyers would have realized immediately what he was up to.”
“Perhaps he doubted that Aaron would have the resources to set up a new publishing company.”
“Well, he got that wrong,” said Harry. “Aaron’s already had several offers for his shares in Viking Mulberry, including one from Rex Mulberry himself, who clearly doesn’t want any of his rivals to get their hands on Aaron’s thirty-four percent stake.”
“What goes around...” said Emma. Harry smiled as he sprinkled a little salt on his egg. “But however much you like Aaron,” continued Emma, “after his obvious lack of judgment when it came to Mulberry, are you sure he’s the right man to be your American publisher? If you were to sign a three-book contract, and then—”
“I admit I had my doubts,” said Harry, “but I’ve been reassured by the fact that Aaron’s father has agreed to return as president of the new company.”
“Is that a hands-on job?”
“Harold Guinzburg doesn’t do hands-off.”
“Item number one,” declared Emma in her crisp, clear chairman’s voice. “The latest update on the building of our second luxury liner, the MV Balmoral.” She glanced toward the group’s new chief executive, Eric Hurst, who was looking down at an already open file.
“The board will be pleased to learn,” he said, “that despite a few unavoidable holdups, which is not unusual in such a major undertaking, we are still well on course to launch the new ship in September. Equally important, we remain within our forecast budget, having anticipated most of the issues that so bedevilled the construction of the Buckingham.”
“With one or two notable exceptions,” said Admiral Summers.
“You’re right, admiral,” said Hurst. “I confess that I didn’t foresee the need for a second cocktail bar on the upper deck.”
“Passengers are allowed to drink on deck?” said the admiral.
“I’m afraid so,” said Emma, suppressing a grin. “But it does mean extra money in our coffers.” The admiral didn’t attempt to suppress a snort.
“Although I still need to keep a watchful eye on the timing of the launch,” continued Hurst, “it shouldn’t be too long before we can announce the first booking period for the Balmoral.”
“I wonder if we’ve bitten off more than we can chew?” chipped in Peter Maynard.
“I think that’s the finance director’s department, not mine,” said Hurst.
“It most certainly is,” said Michael Carrick, coming in on cue. “The company’s overall position,” he said, looking down at his pocket calculator, which the admiral had already dismissed as a newfangled machine, “is that our turnover is three percent up on this time last year, and that’s despite a substantial loan from Barclays to make sure that we don’t miss any payments during the building phase.”
“How substantial?” demanded Maynard.
“Two million,” said Carrick, not needing to check the figure.
“Can we afford to service such a large overdraft?”
“Yes, Mr. Maynard, but only because our cash flow is also up on last year, along with increased bookings on the Buckingham. It seems the current generation of seventy-year-olds are refusing to die, and have rather taken to the idea of an annual cruise. So much so that we have recently introduced a loyalty program for customers who’ve taken a holiday with us on more than three occasions.”
“And what does membership entitle them to?” asked Maurice Brasher, Barclays’ representative on the board.
“Twenty percent off the price of any voyage as long as it’s booked more than a year in advance. It encourages our regulars to look upon the Buckingham as their second home.”
“What if they die before the year is up?” asked Maynard.
“They get every penny back,” said Emma. “Barrington’s is in the luxury liner business, Mr. Maynard, we’re not undertakers.”
“But can we still make a profit,” pressed Brasher, “if we give so many of our customers a twenty percent discount?”
“Yes,” said Carrick, “there’s still a further ten percent leeway, and don’t forget, once they’re on board, they spend money in our shops and bars, as well as the twenty-four-hour casino.”
“Something else I don’t approve of,” muttered the admiral.
“What’s our current occupancy rate?” asked Maynard.
“Eighty-one percent over the past twelve months, often a hundred percent on the upper decks, which is why we’re building more staterooms on the Balmoral.”
“And what’s breakeven?”