The popular magazines called him "boyishly handsome'. He had irrepressibly curly hair, and the firm square jawline of a Boston Irishman. He wore his grey tweed suit with casual but assertive style, and his collars and cuffs were almost unnaturally white. He walked straight-backed, like the horse-rider and yachtsman he was.
Philip Carter-Helm had left him a letter that morning at his hotel.
It had said simply, "I know you covet the Arcadia. Perhaps I can assist." The message had been cryptic enough and arrogant enough for Mark to cancel an afternoon meeting with his underwriters at Lloyd's and take a walk with Philip in the park.
"There isn't any question that the Arcadia is the most advanced I luxurious passenger ship ever built," said Philip. "She's years ahead of anything currently afloat; and it's going to take Cunard and White Star another five years even to catch up with her. There's no doubt in my mind, either, that the future lies with giant-sized liners. Look how fast passenger ships have developed in the past fifty years. In 1874, the biggest Cunard steamers were the Bothnia and the Scythia, 420 feet long, with a gross tonnage that was less than 5,000 tons. Now look what they've built—a 960-footer like the Arcadia, 53,000 tons."
"You have it all at your fingertips," Mark said dryly.
"Well, it's my job. But, when I look at your fleet, American TransAtlantic, I can see that you sorely need a fast prestige express a to give you not only glamour and style, but carrying-capacity, too."
"I can't disagree with you," said Mark. "I've been saying the same thing to my board of directors for the past three years. Unfortunately, there doesn't seem to be much likelihood of my being able to buy the Arcadia on her own, as a one-off purchase. I know Stanley Keys is having his money troubles, but he's resisted all of my offers so far; and I don't see much hope of him changing his mind."
"That may be possible," said Philip. Mark glanced across at him quickly, alerted by a noticeable sense of what?—sadness, regret?—in Philip's voice.
"You wouldn't like to tell me how?
"Well... let me put it theoretically. Supposing Stanley Keys were to give up his share of Keys Shipping?"
"Give it up? I can't see him doing that. What would he want to give it up for? Stanley Keys is Keys Shipping. Besides, he's as stubborn as a pickaxe handle." Mark paused, and then he said, "Do you know something that I don't know?"
They had reached the Serpentine now; drowned cumulus clouds lay beneath the ruffled blue surface; and toy boats spanked across the water at a sharp diagonal. Philip thrust his hands into the pockets of his summer flannels, and said, "I'm in the business, that's all. Shipping, maritime insurance, that kind of thing."
"All right, then," said Mark cautiously. "Supposing Stanley Keys did give up his share of Keys Shipping?"
"Well, then, you'd find that you had an interesting situation as far as the distribution of voting stock was concerned. You see, Stanley Keys has always kept a controlling interest in Keys Shipping, with fifty-one per cent of the stock. The other stock-owners are International Mercantile Marine, with twelve per cent; Thistle Maritime in Glasgow, with five per cent; the Eire Credit Bank, with five per cent; Mr. Deacon and Mr. Fearson, who are both directors of Keys, with two per cent apiece; Mr. Thurrock with one per cent; Mrs. Keys" sister Isabella, with two per cent; Mr. Rogers and Mr. Peabody, half a per cent each; and then a collection of trusts and individuals and insurance companies who hold the balance of nineteen per cent."
"Yes?" asked Mark. "What of it? I can find out all of this down at Lloyd's."
"Of course. But what you can't find out at Lloyd's is that Stanley Keys has willed his fifty-one per cent share of the company to his wife Doris and his daughter Catriona. Doris gets twenty-six per cent, Catriona gets twenty-five per cent."
"That isn't unusual. My father willed my mother and me just about the same percentage of American Trans Atlantic."
"I am not saying it's unusual. I'm just saying that, once the bequest is made, there will be a fascinating line-up of opposing interests. Considering the financial trouble that Keys is now going through, I suspect that Mr Deacon, the managing director, will try to put forward a proposal that Keys should be sold to IMM, who have been after Keys for ages. Of course, IMM will back that proposal, with their twelve per cent of the vote, and there's no doubt that Eire Credit Bank will, too. They've never been deliriously happy about lending Keys so much money. The rest of the Keys board will go along with Mr. Deacon, and Mrs. Keys will undoubtedly go along with the board."
It had already dawned on Mark that what Philip was telling him was not theoretical at all. He stopped where he was, the evening wind blowing his uncovered curls, and he held the cuff of Philip's coat, as if it were necessary to cling to him in order to make sure that he stayed here by the Serpentine and told him everything,
A snotty-nosed boy came up and said, "Gissa penny, mister," but Mark waved him away.
"Shitface," the boy said gratuitously.
Phillip said, "On the other hand, you have Thistle Maritime, who handle a good proportion of Keys" cargoes, and they would certainly vote against a sale to IMM, since IMM always use their own forwarding agencies. And most of the various small trusts and insurance companies who hold nineteen per cent of the stock would oppose a sale to IMM because it would take effective control of the company out of England."
"The unknown quantity in this line-up is Stanley Keys" daughter Catriona," said Philip. "With a twenty-five per cent holding, she would obviously hold the balance of power between those who favoured a sale to IMM, and those who wanted Keys either to remain completely independent or at worst to sell off some of the company's assets in order to keep the greater pan of the fleet in Keys family hands. Assets like the Arcadia, for instance."
Mark released Philip's sleeve, but didn't take his eyes off him. "What you're telling me is that Stanley Keys is dead," he said hoarsely.
Philip said, "Yes."
"When did this happen? I haven't heard anything about it."
"Last night, very late. It'll probably be out in this evening's papers."
Mark said, "How did you get to bear about it?"
"It's my business. You won't get anywhere in shipping unless you keep your ear to the ground."
"So Stanley Keys is dead," said Mark, reflectively. "He couldn't have been all that old. Fifty?"
"Fifty-three. I understand he had a heart attack."
"Well, the way he used to work, I'm not surprised. And he never even got to see the Arcadia sail. That's a little sad, isn't it? Boy, that's sad."
Philip nodded. "Yes. Very sad."
"And that's what's going to happen?" Mark wanted to know. "His fifty-one per cent share in the company gets split up between his wife and his daughter?"
"That's right."
"So what's your interest in it?"
They started to walk back towards Park Lane. Reels of black upright taxi-cabs drove backwards and forwards through the park, and the late sun lit up the pale grimy columns of Marble Arch. Philip said, "I represent a number of the small stockholders, as a matter of fact, including Thistle. Their interest is in seeing Keys remain independent. My interest, obviously, is in my fee if I succeed in ensuring that this happens."
"So how do you intend to do that?"
"Plainly the first step is to persuade Miss Catriona Keys that selling to IMM is not necessarily the wisest course of action."