Charles immediately invited the chief executive to lunch at the House of Commons. Clive Reynolds had come from a similar background to Derek Spencer: London School of Economics, followed by the Harvard Business School and a series of successful appointments which had culminated in his becoming chief executive of the 1st Bank of America. This similarity did not worry Charles, as he made it clear to Mr. Reynolds that the appointee would be the chairman’s man.
When Reynolds was offered the appointment he drove a hard bargain and Charles looked forward to his doing the same on behalf of Seymour’s. Reynolds ended up with £50,000 a year and enough of a profit incentive to ensure that he didn’t deal for himself or encourage any other headhunters to invite him to join their particular jungle.
“He’s not the sort of fellow we could invite to dinner,” Charles told Fiona, “but his appointment will enable me to sleep at night knowing the bank is in safe hands.”
Charles’s choice was rubber-stamped by the board at their next meeting, and as the months passed it became obvious that the 1st Bank of America had lost one of its prime assets well below the market value.
Clive Reynolds was a conservative by nature, but when he did take what Charles described as a risk — and Reynolds called a “hunch” — over fifty percent of them paid off. While Seymour’s kept its reputation for caution and good husbandry, they managed a few quite spectacular coups thanks to their new chief executive.
Reynolds had enough sense to treat his new chairman with respect without ever showing deference while their relationship remained at all times strictly professional.
One of Reynolds’s first innovations had been to suggest they check on every customer account over £250,000 and Charles had approved.
“When you’ve handled the account of a company for many years,” Reynolds pointed out, “it sometimes is not apparent when one of your traditional customers is heading for trouble as it would be to a newcomer. If there are any ‘lame ducks’ let’s discover them before they hit the ground” — a simile that Charles repeated at several weekend parties.
Charles enjoyed his morning meetings with Clive Reynolds as he picked up a great deal about a profession to which he had previously only brought gut feeling and common sense. In a very short time he learned enough from his new tutor to make him sound like David Rockefeller when he rose to speak in a finance debate on the floor of the House, an unexpected bonus.
Charles knew little of Reynolds’s private life except what was on file. He was forty-one, unmarried, and lived in Esher, wherever that was. All Charles cared about was that Reynolds arrived each morning at least an hour before him, and left after him every night, even when the House was in recess.
Charles had studied fourteen of the confidential reports on customers with loans over £250,000. Clive Reynolds had already picked out two companies with whom he felt the bank should revise their current position.
Charles still had three more reports to consider before he presented a full assessment to the board.
The quiet knock on the door, however, meant that it was ten o’clock and Reynolds had arrived to make his daily report. Rumors were circulating in the City that the bank rate would go up on Thursday, so Reynolds wanted to go short on dollars and long on gold. Charles nodded. As soon as the announcement had been made about the bank rate, Reynolds continued: “it will be wiser to return to dollars as the new round of pay negotiations with the unions is about to take place. This in turn will undoubtedly start a fresh run on the pound.” Charles nodded again.
“I think the dollar is far too weak at two-ten,” Reynolds added. “With the unions settling at around twelve percent the dollar must strengthen, say, to nearer one-ninety.” He added that he was not happy about the bank’s large holding in Slater Walker and wanted to liquidate half the stock over the next month. He proposed to do so in small amounts over irregular periods. “We also have three other major accounts to consider before we make known our findings to the board. I’m concerned about the spending policy of one of the companies, but the other two appear stable. I think we should go over them together when you have time to consider my reports. Perhaps tomorrow morning, if you could manage that. The companies concerned are Speyward Laboratories, Blackies Limited, and Nethercote and Company. It’s Speyward I’m worried about.”
“I’ll take the files home tonight,” said Charles, “and give you an opinion in the morning.”
“Thank you, Chairman.”
Charles had never suggested that Reynolds should call him by his first name.
Archie Millburn held a small dinner party to celebrate Simon’s first anniversary as the member for Pucklebridge. Although these occasions had originally been to introduce the party hierarchy to their new member, Simon now knew more about the constituency and its flock than he did, as Archie was the first to admit.
Elizabeth, Peter, and Michael had settled comfortably into their small cottage, while Simon, as a member of the Shadow Education team, had visited schools — nursery, primary, public, and secondary; universities — red brick, plate glass, and Oxbridge; technical colleges, art institutes, and even borstals. He had read Butler, Robbins, and Plowden and listened to children and to professors of psychology alike. He felt that after a year he was beginning to understand the subject, and only longed for a general election so that he could once again turn rehearsal into performance.
“Opposition must be frustrating,” observed Archie when the ladies had retired after dinner.
“Yes, but it’s an excellent way to prepare yourself for Government and do some basic thinking about the subject. I never found time for such luxury as a minister.”
“But it must be very different from holding office?” said Archie, clipping a cigar.
“True. In Government,” said Simon, “you’re surrounded by civil servants who don’t allow you to lift a finger or give you a moment to ponder, while in Opposition you can think policy through even if you do often end up having to type your own letters.”
Archie pushed the port down to Simon’s end of the table. “I’m glad the girls are out,” said Archie conspiratorially, “because I wanted you to know I’ve decided to give up being chairman at the end of the year.”
“why?” said Simon, taken aback.
“I’ve seen you elected and settled in. It’s time for a younger man to have a go.”
“But you’re only my age.”
“I can’t deny that, but the truth is that I’m not giving enough time to my electronics company, and the board are continually reminding me of it. No one has to tell you that these are not easy times.”
“It’s sad,” said Simon. “Just as you get to know someone in politics you or they always seem to move on.”
“Fear not,” said Archie. “I don’t intend to leave the area, and I feel confident that you will be my member for at least another twenty years, by which time I will be happy to accept an invitation to dine with you in Downing Street.”
“You may find that it’s Charles Seymour who is residing at No. 10,” said Simon, striking a match to light his cigar.
“Then I won’t be getting an invitation,” said Archie with a smile.
Charles couldn’t sleep that night after his discovery, and his tossing and turning kept Fiona awake. He had opened the Nethercote file when he was waiting for dinner to be served. His first act with any company was to glance down the names of the directors to see if he knew anyone on the board. He recognized no one until his eye stopped at “S. J. Kerslake, MP.” The cook felt sure that Mr. Seymour had not enjoyed his dinner, because he hardly touched the main course.