Edgar said, "Your father was a great man, you know, Miss Keys. He was one of those few fellows who become giants in their own lifetime. When they come to write the history of the greatest ships and how they were built, your father's name will be emblazoned next to those of Ismay, and Cunard, and Ballin."
"Rather we didn't make comparisons with the Hun," put in Percy Fearson, gruffly.
Isabelle, who was struggling with her cutlet, glanced across and gave Edgar a tight little smile to show that she, too, had always believed that Stanley Keys was a hero. She rather cared for Edgar Deacon and pooh-poohed the idea that he might be susceptible to the kind of affections that dare not speak their name. "He's mysterious," she used to say; and one morning she had had a dozing dream that he had taken down her thirteen-shilling cami-knickers and smacked her bare bottom. Tony of course was terrible in bed, even when he wasn't drunk on Newcastle Brown. You could only describe Tony's as a winkle.
"I haven't yet broached this matter with your mother," said Edgar. "I feel that it might be better to leave financial matters until after the funeral."
"She's very shocked, of course," Catriona told him. "But Dr Whitby gave her some sedative tablets, and she's asleep now; although she swore that she'd never be able to."
"Sleep is the best medicine of all," said Edgar. "But how do you feel? You must be tired yourself after travelling all the way up from London."
"I'm numb, actually," said Catriona. "I don't think any of it has quite sunk in yet."
"Well, be careful when it does," Edgar cautioned her. "We're going to be needing you over the next few weeks. After your mother, you are, of course, the sole heiress to Keys Shipping, and your father's death has already entitled you to quite an inheritance of voting stock."
Catriona's eyes widened over the rim of her lifted wineglass. Then carefully she set the glass down on the table again. Although she said nothing, it was quite clear from her expression that she expected Edgar to explain exactly how he would need her and why.
Edgar meticulously took a last spoonful of soup and then sat up very straight. "We had an ad hoc meeting of directors today," he said, steadily. "We talked about a difficulty which has been besetting us for some time, but a difficulty with which we could cope as long as Stanley was still alive. Now, tragically and prematurely, he has passed from amongst us. And the problem is that we have lost not only a dear friend and colleague, and a man whom we respected and loved, but the single most creditworthy asset which Keys Shipping ever owned."
"Surely you're not trying to suggest that the company can't continue without Stanley?
"The problem is almost as serious as that," Edgar nodded. "The whole point, in plain English, without any Hobson-Jobson, is that Keys Shipping should never have attempted to build the Arcadia at all."
"What on earth does that mean?" asked Catriona. "Why not? She's a beautiful ship."
"Beautiful, yes," said Edgar. "But paid for, no."
"You mean the company's in debt?"
"Not just the company, my dear. Your whole family fortune, too. The Keys Shipping Line is so financially overstretched that we could be declared bankrupt at any moment. Your father, you see, gave personal guarantees for all of the company's debts. While he was alive, the banks considered these to be quite acceptable. But, now that he's gone..."
Catriona frowned quickly at Percy Fearson, but all Percy could do was nod and say, "It's true, I'm afraid."
"But we own so many ships," Catriona protested. "How could we possibly be bankrupt? And the Arcadia is the most luxurious passenger liner in the world. I don't understand."
Edgar remained silent while Lettice came in to take his soup bowl away and serve him with his lamb cutlet. Then, when she had gone, he said in that precise voice of his, "Keys Shipping is paying the same penalty that White Star is paying -namely, the penalty of having been one of the first shipping companies to build a grand ocean cruising fleet. Before the War, of course, Keys was one of the most vigorous fleets on the Atlantic. But our ships are growing older now, and less fashionable, and as you know for yourself, the oceangoing public is notoriously fickle about which ships are pukkah and which aren't. That was the principal reason your father wanted to lay down the Arcadia—to own a liner that could challenge the Aquitania and the Berengaria and the Majestic. "A gleaming ferryboat for the rich and titled", that's what he called her; a ship that would be glamorous and fabled in her own right and would also lend lustre to the rest of the fleet. But, she has cost us nearly four million pounds to build and to fit out, and this expense has come at a time when we have been losing money steadily on the greater part of the rest of our fleet. We have been systematically refitting the older ships, of course. You wait until you see the magnificent job that John Brown's have done on the Iliad. But refitting has been vastly expensive, too; and we've run out of credit, as simple as that. The bank won't underwrite us for any more for another six months, and the Government have told us quite bluntly that they won't lend us any money unless we consider a merger with Cunard."
"I was not aware of any of this," said Catriona.
"Well, you wouldn't have been, would you, living away from your family?" put in Isabelle sharply. She didn't quite have the vinegar to say "in sin" but the intimation was there.
Edgar cut the meat from his cutlet and began to chew. "We used to have a lamb cutlet every Thursday night at Peliti's Restaurant in Calcutta, don't y'know, myself and all the other chaps from my chummery. Lamb cutlet and mint sauce, every Thursday. Always think it's Thursday when I eat lamb; can't shake it off."
Catriona said, "What are we going to do?"
"Do?"
About the debts? How are we going to pay them off?"
"Well, we have a choice," said Edgar. He helped himself to a small sip of wine. "We can hope that the Arcadia puts up such a stunning performance on her maiden voyage that the banks can be persuaded to change their minds, although I have to be truthful and say that the chances of that happening are pretty remote. We'd have to take the Blue Riband for the fastest Atlantic crossing first go; and apart from that we'd have to show firm bookings that were up by at least twenty per cent, if not more. That can happen, of course. After the Kronprinzessin Cecilie took the Blue Riband, sales of North German Lloyd tickets went up twenty-six per cent. But it takes so long for ticket sales to be realised as profit that the banks may not wish to cooperate."
"What else can we do?" asked Isabelle. "Are there any alternatives?"
"Oh, yes. Several. We could dismantle the Keys fleet and sell it off piecemeal; but that, of course, would mean that we would sacrifice the job of every men who works for us, two thousand seven hundred men in all, not counting casual labour. We would ruin this entire community overnight, no doubt at all, and after everything that Stanley has done for it, I hardly think that we should consider any step as drastic as that."
"I'm against it, for one," said Percy Fearson.
"Then... we have had some preliminary approaches from International Mercantile Marine, in America. Their foreign business manager, George Welterman, has been in London for the past three weeks, and will be sailing back to New York on the maiden voyage. He was talking to your father on the telephone last week about buying up the Keys fleet. Of course, your father refused; but this afternoon George Welterman called again, and suggested that we might care to reconsider his offer."