He turned his attention to the sage advice his mother had given him just before she and Dad had driven back to Bristol after the funeral. He knew she was right.
Seb took his time writing a first draft, then a second. By the time the train pulled into Euston, he’d completed a final draft which he hoped would meet with both his mother’s and Cedric’s approval.
Sloane immediately recognized the handwriting. He tore open the envelope and pulled out a letter, becoming angrier with each word he read.
Dear Mr. Sloane,
I cannot believe that even you could stoop so low as to hold a board meeting on the day of Cedric Hardcastle’s funeral, with the sole purpose of appointing yourself chairman. Unlike me, Cedric would probably not have been surprised by your duplicity.
You may think you’ve got away with it, but I can assure you, you haven’t, because I will not rest until you are exposed for the fraud you are, as we both know you are the last person Cedric would have wanted to succeed him.
After reading this letter, you won’t be surprised to learn that I no longer want to work for an amoral charlatan like you.
Sloane leapt out of his chair, unable to control his temper. He charged into his secretary’s office and shouted, “Is he still in the building?”
“Who?” asked Rachel innocently.
“Clifton, who else?”
“I haven’t seen him since he handed me a letter and asked me to put it on your desk.”
Sloane marched out of his office and down the corridor, still hoping to find Clifton at his desk so he could publicly sack him.
“Where’s Clifton?” he demanded as he strode into Sebastian’s room. Bobby Rushton, Seb’s young assistant, looked up at the new chairman, and was so petrified he couldn’t get any words out. “Are you deaf?” said Sloane. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Where’s Clifton?”
“He packed his things and left a few minutes ago,” said Rushton. “He told us all that he’d resigned and wouldn’t be back.”
“Only minutes before he would have been sacked,” said Sloane. Looking down at the young man, he added, “And you can join him. Make sure you’re off the premises within the hour, and be certain you leave nothing in this room that even hints that Clifton ever existed.”
Sloane stormed back to his office and sat down at his desk. Five more envelopes, all marked Personal, were waiting to be opened.
“I only met Cedric Hardcastle on half a dozen occasions, mostly social,” said Saul Kaufman. “We never did any business, but I’d have liked to, because he was one of the few men in the City who still believed a handshake closed a deal, not a contract.”
“Even a contract won’t necessarily close a deal with the new chairman,” said Seb.
“I’ve never met Adrian Sloane, I only know him by reputation. Is he the reason you wanted to see me so urgently?”
“Yes, sir,” said Seb. “I was looking into a major deal involving Sloane when the chairman had his heart attack.”
“Then take me through the deal slowly, and don’t leave out any details.”
Seb began by telling Mr. Kaufman how he’d taken a phone call from Ralph Vaughan of Savills that had alerted him to what Sloane was up to. And how the following morning, on Cedric’s instructions, he’d travelled up to Shifnal, and how the day had ended with him meeting Mr. Swann and discovering why Sloane was willing to pay way over the odds for a thousand-acre farm in Shropshire.
When Seb came to the end of his story, an enigmatic smile appeared on Kaufman’s face.
“Could it be possible that Mr. Swann has stumbled across something we all missed? We’ll find out soon enough, because the government is expected to announce its findings in the next few weeks.”
“But we haven’t got weeks, only a couple of days. Don’t forget, closing bids have to be in by five o’clock tomorrow.”
“So you want me to outbid Sloane, on the possibility that Mr. Swann has worked out what the government has planned?”
“Cedric was willing to take that risk.”
“And, unlike Sloane, Cedric Hardcastle had the reputation of being a cautious man.” Kaufman placed his hands together as if in prayer, and when his prayer was answered, he said, “I’ll need to make a few phone calls before I come to a final decision, so come back to my office at 4:40 tomorrow afternoon. If I’m convinced, we’ll take it from there.”
“But by then it will be too late.”
“I don’t think so,” said Kaufman.
When Seb left the bank he was in a daze, and not at all convinced that Kaufman would go ahead with the deal. But he had nowhere else to turn.
He hurried home. He wanted to share everything that had happened since he’d left the flat that morning with Samantha. She always saw things from a different angle, often coming out of left field, to use one of her favorite American expressions.
While Sam prepared supper, Seb told her who’d attended the funeral that morning and, more important, who hadn’t, and what Sloane and his cronies had been up to while he was in Huddersfield... and why he was now looking for a job.
When he finally stopped pacing around the kitchen and sat down, Sam said, “But you’ve always known Sloane was a crook, so it shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he’d call a board meeting when everyone who would have opposed him was out of town. I bet your mother would have worked that one out.”
“She did, but by then it was too late. But I still think we can beat Sloane at his own game.”
“Not at his own game,” said Sam. “Try to think what Cedric would have done in the circumstances, not Sloane.”
“But if I’m ever going to beat him, I’ll have to think like him.”
“Possibly, but that doesn’t mean you have to act like him.”
“Shifnal Farm is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“That’s not a good enough reason to crawl around in the same gutter as Sloane.”
“But, Sam, I might never get another chance like this again.”
“Of course you will, Seb. Think long-term, and you’ll understand the difference between Adrian Sloane and Cedric Hardcastle. Because I’m absolutely sure of one thing, very few people will be attending Sloane’s funeral.”
Friday turned out to be the longest day of Sebastian’s life. He’d hardly slept the previous night as he tried to work out what Kaufman was up to.
When Sam left to attend a lecture at King’s, he pottered around the flat, pretended to read a morning paper, spent an inordinate amount of time washing up the few breakfast dishes, even went for a run in the park, but by the time he got back, it was still only just after eleven.
He took a shower, shaved, and opened a tin of baked beans. He continually glanced at his watch, but the second hand still only circled the dial every sixty seconds.
After what passed for a fork lunch, he went upstairs to the bedroom, took his smartest suit out of the wardrobe, and put on a freshly ironed white shirt and his old school tie. He finally polished a pair of shoes until a sergeant major would have been proud of them.
At four o’clock he was standing at the bus stop waiting for the number 4 to take him into the City. He jumped off at St. Paul’s and, although he walked slowly, he was standing outside Kaufman’s bank on Cheapside by 4:25. There was nothing for it but to stroll around the block. As he walked past so many familiar City institutions, he was reminded just how much he enjoyed working in the Square Mile. He tried not to think about being unemployed for any length of time.