‘Good morning,’ said Alex, not missing a beat. ‘Have you been here all night?’
‘No, sir, but I wanted to bring the mail up to date before you arrived.’
‘Anything interesting?’
‘There’s one letter and a package I thought you ought to see immediately. They’re on the top of the pile on your desk.’
‘Thank you,’ said Alex, curious to discover what Miss Robbins considered interesting. He walked into his office to find the promised mountain of mail awaiting him.
He took the letter from the top of the pile and read it slowly. He then opened the package and stared in disbelief at the real thing. His hands were still shaking as he put it back in the package. He had to agree with Miss Robbins, the letter was interesting, and she’d offered her opinion without knowing what was in the package.
The second letter was from Bob Underwood, a director of the bank who felt the time had come for him to retire, not least because he was seventy. He suggested that the emergency board meeting on Monday morning would be an ideal time to inform the board of his intention. Alex cursed, because Underwood was one of the few people he had hoped would remain on the board. He seemed perfectly satisfied with the ten thousand dollars a year he received as a non-executive director, he rarely claimed any expenses, and you didn’t have to read between the lines of the minutes to realize that he was one of the few board members who was willing to stand up to Ackroyd and his cronies. Alex would have to try and get him to change his mind.
And then his eyes returned to the words, emergency board meeting on Monday morning. Why hadn’t Miss Robbins informed him about that earlier?
There was a gentle tap on the door and Miss Robbins appeared bearing a cup of coffee, black no sugar, and a plate of digestive biscuits. How did she find out what his favourite biscuits were?
‘Thank you,’ said Alex, as she placed a silver tray that must have been one of Lawrence’s family heirlooms on the desk in front of him. ‘May I ask a delicate question, Miss Robbins? You must have a first name?’
‘Pamela.’
‘And I’m Alex.’
‘I’m aware of that, chairman.’
‘I agree with you, Pamela, that Mrs Ackroyd’s letter is interesting. But as I don’t know the lady, how would you advise me to respond to her offer?’
‘I would accept it in good faith, chairman. After all, it’s common knowledge that their recent divorce was acrimonious...’ Miss Robbins hesitated.
‘I don’t think we have time to observe the social niceties, Pamela, so spit it out.’
‘I was only surprised how few women were named as corespondents.’
‘That’s sure spitting it out,’ said Alex. ‘Carry on.’
‘The latest of his secretaries, a Miss Bowers, may well have hidden attributes of which I am unaware, but she certainly couldn’t spell.’
‘So you feel I should take Mrs Ackroyd’s words at face value?’
‘I most certainly do, chairman, and I particularly enjoyed the last paragraph of her letter.’
Alex read it again, and indeed it brought a smile to his face.
‘Anything else, chairman?’
‘Yes,’ said Alex, ‘before you go, Pamela, I also read Mr Underwood’s letter and he’s under the impression there’s an emergency board meeting next Monday. If that’s the case, it’s news to me.’
‘As it was to me,’ said Miss Robbins. ‘So I made a few discreet enquiries, and it turns out that Mr Fowler sent out notice of the meeting a few days ago.’
‘Not to me, he didn’t.’
‘Yes, he did. But he sent the agenda to your apartment in New York, which is registered with the company as your home address.’
‘But Fowler knows perfectly well that I’m staying at Mr Lowell’s home for the foreseeable future. What’s he up to?’
‘I have no idea, chairman, but I could try to find out.’
‘Please do. And see if you can lay your hands on an agenda, without Fowler finding out.’
‘Of course, chairman.’
‘Meanwhile, I’ll plough on with these files until Mr Harbottle arrives for his appointment at eleven.’ As she turned to leave, Alex couldn’t resist asking, ‘What do you think of Mr Harbottle, Pamela?’
‘He’s a stuffy, eccentric old buzzard, right out of the pages of Dickens, but let’s at least be thankful he’s batting for our team, because the enemy are terrified of him, and perhaps even more important, he’s like Caesar’s wife.’
‘Caesar’s wife?’
‘When you have more time, chairman.’
‘Before you go, Pamela, if I were to ask you for one piece of advice to keep this ship afloat, what would it be?’
‘Not what, but who. I’d have a private meeting, very private, with Jake Coleman, who until six months ago was the bank’s chief financial officer.’
‘Why do I remember that name?’ said Alex. ‘Something I read in the minutes?’
‘He resigned after a flaming row with Mr Ackroyd, and like me, he was told to clear his desk by the end of the day.’
‘What was the row about?’
‘I’ve no idea. Mr Coleman is far too professional to have discussed the matter with a member of staff.’
‘Who’s he working for now?’
‘He hasn’t been able to find another job, chairman, because every time he’s shortlisted for a major position they call Mr Ackroyd, and he not only sticks the knife in, but twists it.’
‘Set up a meeting with him as quickly as possible.’
‘I’ll call him immediately, chairman,’ said Miss Robbins before closing the door behind her.
As Alex read through the minutes of the previous years’ board meetings, it became increasingly evident that although Lawrence might well have attended, even chaired, every one of them, the unholy trinity of Ackroyd, Jardine and Fowler had simply run rings around him. He had reached September, when there was a knock on the door. Could it possibly be eleven o’clock already?
The door opened and in walked the unmistakable figure of Mr Harbottle. ‘Good morning, chairman,’ said the elderly counsel.
‘Good morning, sir,’ said Alex, standing and waiting for Harbottle to take a seat. He paused to allow Mr Harbottle to suggest that perhaps they might now call each other by their first names, but no such offer was forthcoming.
‘May I begin by thanking you for your excellent advice yesterday,’ said Alex. ‘It allowed me to remain a yard ahead of Ackroyd and Jardine, but only a yard, because I’ve just learnt that Fowler has called an emergency board meeting for next Monday.’
‘Has he indeed?’ said Harbottle. He adjusted his spectacles before continuing. ‘Then I suspect it is their intention to try to replace you as chairman. And they wouldn’t have called the meeting unless they’re convinced they have a majority on the board.’
‘If they have, is there anything I can do about it?’
‘I won’t know the answer to that, chairman, until I have another chance to consult the bank’s statutes.’
‘Another chance?’
‘Yes, because I may already have come up with something that will assist you in your efforts.’
Alex sank back in his chair, only too aware that Harbottle would take his time.
‘While you’re been familiarizing yourself with the board minutes and annual accounts, I’ve been engrossed in the company’s statutes — fascinating bedtime reading — and I think I may have come across something that will be of interest to you.’ He removed a file from his Gladstone bag.
‘Paragraph 33b, no doubt.’
Harbottle allowed himself a half-smile. ‘No, in fact,’ he said, opening the file, ‘statute nine, sub-clause two. Allow me to enlighten you, chairman,’ he said, and began to read a passage he had underlined. ‘No employee or director of the company shall be paid more than the chairman.’