“But every time Virginia sold her shares she made a vast profit and put the stability of the company at risk.”
“Indeed, that may well be the case, and I’m hoping that Lady Virginia will attempt to present herself as an innocent when it comes to business matters, and try to persuade the jury that all along she was relying on the expertise of her professional advisor, Major Alexander Fisher.”
“But they were working as a team to bring the company down.”
“Quite possibly, but when she’s in the witness box Sir Edward will ask Lady Virginia the one question you avoided answering. ‘Who were you referring to, Lady Virginia, when you said’—” Mr. Trelford pushed his half-moon spectacles up his nose and checked the exact words — “‘is it true that one of your directors sold his vast shareholding over the weekend, in an attempt to bring the company down?’”
“But Cedric Hardcastle wasn’t trying to bring the company down. The exact opposite. He was attempting to save it, as he would have explained himself had he been able to take his place in the witness box.”
“I’ll word this as delicately as I can in the circumstances, Mrs. Clifton, but I am relieved that the other side can’t call Mr. Hardcastle, because we certainly wouldn’t have.”
“But why not, when he was a thoroughly decent and honest man?”
“Of that I have no doubt. But Sir Edward will point out that Mr. Hardcastle was doing exactly the same thing as you are accusing Lady Virginia of.”
“With the intention of saving the company, not bringing it to its knees.”
“Possibly, but by then you will have lost both the argument and the case.”
“I still wish he were alive today,” said Emma.
“Now, I need you to remember the way you delivered those words, Mrs. Clifton, because that’s exactly how I want the jury to think of you when they are considering their verdict.”
“I’m not looking forward to this,” admitted Emma.
“Then perhaps it might be wise for you to consider settling the action.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To avoid a high-profile trial with all the attendant publicity, and to get back to your normal life.”
“But that would be admitting she was in the right.”
“Your statement would be worded carefully — ‘the heat of the moment, possibly a little injudicious at the time, and we offer our sincere apologies.’”
“And the financial implications?”
“You would have to pay her costs, my fees, and a small donation to the charity of her choice.”
“Believe me,” said Emma, “if we were to go down that road, Virginia would see it as a sign of weakness and would be even more determined to go ahead with the action. She doesn’t want the case to go away quietly, she wants to be vindicated in court, as well as in the press, preferably with headlines that will humiliate me, day after day.”
“Possibly, but it would be Sir Edward’s professional responsibility also to put the alternative to her: that if she loses the case, she will end up paying your costs as well as his, and, I assure you, there’s nothing cheap about Sir Edward Makepeace.”
“She’ll ignore his advice. Virginia doesn’t believe it’s possible she might lose, and I can prove it.” Mr. Trelford sat back and listened carefully to what his client had to say. When she had finished, he believed for the first time that they just might have a chance.
31
Sebastian got out of the car and handed the doorman his keys and a pound note. As he walked up the steps to the entrance of the Clermont, the door was opened for him and he parted with a second.
“Are you a member, sir?” asked the elegantly dressed man standing behind the front desk.
“No,” said Seb, this time slipping the man a five-pound note.
“Just sign here, sir,” the man said, swiveling a form around.
Seb signed where the finger rested and received a temporary membership card. “The main gaming room is at the top of the stairs on your left, sir.”
Seb walked up the sweeping marble staircase, admiring the dazzling chandelier, the oil paintings, and the thick plush carpet. Millionaires must be made to feel at home, he concluded, otherwise they wouldn’t be willing to part with their money.
He entered the gaming room but didn’t look around, as he wanted the onlookers to believe this was his natural habitat. He strolled across to the bar and climbed onto a leather stool.
“What can I get you, sir?” asked the barman.
“A Campari and soda,” said Seb, as this clearly wasn’t a club that served draft ale.
When the drink was placed in front of him, he took out his wallet and placed a pound on the bar.
“There’s no charge, sir.”
Establishments that don’t charge for drinks have to be making up for the loss in some other ways, thought Seb, leaving the note where it lay. “Thank you, sir,” said the barman, as Seb swiveled around and slowly took in the “some other ways.”
Two roulette tables stood next to each other on the far side of the room, and from the large pile of chips in front of each of the players, and their expressionless faces, Seb assumed they were regulars. Hadn’t anyone explained to them that they were paying for the marble staircase, the oil paintings, the chandelier, and the free drinks? His eyes moved on to the blackjack tables. At least there the odds were slightly better, because if you could count the court cards, it was even possible to beat the house — but only once, because after that, you’d never be allowed to darken the club’s doors again. Casinos like winners, but not consistent ones.
His gaze moved on to two men playing backgammon. One was sipping a black coffee, the other a brandy. Seb turned back to the barman. “Is that Hakim Bishara playing backgammon?”
The barman looked up. “Yes, it is, sir.”
Seb took a closer look at the short, pursy, red-cheeked man who looked as if he had to make regular visits to his tailor. He was bald, and his double chin suggested a greater interest in food and drink than weight training or running. A tall, lithe blonde stood by his side, a hand resting on his shoulder. Seb suspected she was less attracted by the deep lines on his forehead than by the thick wallet in his inside pocket. He wasn’t surprised that he kept being rejected by the English establishment. His younger opponent looked like a lamb about to be devoured by a python.
Seb turned back to the barman. “How do I get a game with Bishara?”
“It’s not that difficult if you’ve got a hundred pounds to throw away.”
“He plays for money?”
“No, for amusement.”
“But the hundred pounds?”
“It’s an admission fee that you donate to his favorite charity.”
“Any tips?”
“Yes, sir, you’d be better off giving me fifty quid and going home.”
“But what if I beat him?”
“Then I’ll give you fifty quid and I’ll go home. Mind you, you’ll enjoy his company for the few minutes the game lasts. And if you were to win, he’ll donate a thousand pounds to the charity of your choice. He’s a real gentleman.”
Despite appearances, thought Seb as he ordered a second drink. He occasionally glanced around at the backgammon table, but it was another twenty minutes before the barman whispered, “He’s free now, sir, waiting for his next victim.”
Seb swung around to see the stout man heave himself out of his chair and begin to walk away with the young woman on his arm.
“But I thought...” He looked more closely at the lamb that had devoured the python. He could hear Cedric saying, “What did you learn from that, young man?” Bishara looked around forty, perhaps a little older, but his tanned good looks and athletic build suggested that he wouldn’t have to continually empty his wallet to attract a beautiful woman. He had thick, wavy black hair and dark penetrating eyes. Had he been penniless, you might have thought he was an out-of-work actor.