Jeffrey Archer - Mightier than the Sword

“How nice to see you, Mrs. Clifton,” he said as if she dropped by every day.

Emma felt embarrassed as she wrestled to recall his name, knowing that Harry would never have forgotten it. “And it’s so nice to see you,” she ventured. “I was rather hoping to catch up with my cousin Alistair, if he’s at home.”

“I fear not, madam,” said the butler. “Mr. Stuart is attending the funeral of Mr. Benjamin Rutledge, a former partner of the firm, and isn’t expected back from Connecticut until tomorrow evening.”

Emma couldn’t hide her disappointment.

“Perhaps you’d care to come inside and I could make you a cup of tea — Earl Grey, if I remember correctly?”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Emma, “but I ought to be getting back to the ship.”

“Of course. I do hope the Buckingham ’s maiden voyage was a success?”

“Better than I might have hoped for,” she admitted. “Would you be kind enough to pass on my best wishes to Alistair, and say how sorry I was to miss him?”

“I’d be delighted to do so, Mrs. Clifton.” The butler gave a slight bow before closing the door.

Emma made her way back down the steps and began searching for a cab, when she suddenly realized she was still clutching the shoebox. Feeling embarrassed, she climbed the steps a second time and rapped the door with the brass knocker a little more tentatively.

Moments later the door opened a second time and the butler reappeared. “Madam?” he said, giving her the same warm smile.

“I’m so sorry, but I quite forgot to give you this gift for Alistair.”

“How thoughtful of you to remember Mr. Stuart’s favorite shoe shop,” he said as Emma handed over the box. “I know he’ll appreciate your kindness.”

Emma stood there, still helplessly trying to recall his name.

“I do hope, Mrs. Clifton, that the return voyage to Avonmouth will be equally successful.”

Once again he bowed and closed the door quietly behind him.

“Thank you, Parker,” she said.

Once Bob Bingham had finished dressing, he checked himself in the long mirror inside the wardrobe door. His double-breasted, wide-lapelled dinner jacket was unlikely to come back into fashion in the near future, as his wife regularly reminded him. He’d pointed out to her that the suit had been good enough for his father when he was chairman of Bingham’s Fish Paste, and therefore should be good enough for him.

Priscilla didn’t agree, but then they hadn’t agreed on much lately. Bob still blamed her close friend, Lady Virginia Fenwick, for Jessica Clifton’s untimely death, and the fact that their son Clive — who had been engaged to Jessica at the time — hadn’t been back to Mablethorpe Hall since that fateful day. His wife was naïve and overawed when it came to Virginia, but he still lived in the hope that Priscilla would finally come to her senses and see the damned woman for what she was, which would allow them to once again come together as a family. But that, he feared, would not be for some time, and in any case Bob had more immediate problems on his mind. Tonight, they would be on public display, as guests at the chairman’s table. He wasn’t at all confident that Priscilla would be able to remain on her best behavior for more than a few minutes. He just hoped they’d get back to their cabin unscathed.

Bob admired Emma Clifton, “the Boadicea of Bristol” as she was known by friend and foe alike. He suspected that if she had been aware of the nickname, she would have worn it as a badge of honor.

Emma had slipped a pour mémoire under their cabin door earlier that day, suggesting they meet in the Queen’s Lounge around 7:30 p.m., before going into dinner. Bob checked his watch. It was already ten to eight, and there was still no sign of his wife, although he could hear the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. He began to pace around the cabin, barely able to hide his irritation.

Bob was well aware that Lady Virginia had brought a libel suit against the chairman, not something he was likely to forget as he was sitting just behind her when the exchange took place. During question time at this year’s AGM, Lady Virginia had asked from the floor if it was true that one of the directors of Barrington’s had sold all his shares with the intention of bringing down the company. She was of course referring to Cedric Hardcastle’s little ploy to save the company from a hostile takeover by Don Pedro Martinez.

Emma had responded robustly, reminding Lady Virginia that it was Major Fisher, her representative on the board, who had sold her shares and then bought them back a fortnight later in order to damage the company’s reputation, while making a handsome profit for his client.

“You’ll be hearing from my solicitor” was all Virginia had to say on the subject, and a week later Emma did. Bob wasn’t in any doubt which camp his wife would be supporting if the action ever came to court. Were Priscilla to pick up any useful ammunition during dinner that might assist her friend’s cause, he was sure it would be passed on to Virginia’s legal team within moments of them stepping ashore in Avonmouth. And both sides were well aware that if Emma were to lose the case, it wouldn’t be simply her reputation that would be in tatters, but she would also undoubtedly have to resign as chairman of Barrington’s.

He hadn’t told Priscilla anything about the IRA or what had been discussed during the emergency board meeting on that first morning of the voyage, other than to repeat the story about the Home Fleet, and although she clearly didn’t believe him, Priscilla learned nothing other than that Sebastian had been appointed to the board.

After a day’s shopping in New York which would cost Bob several crates of fish paste, she didn’t mention it again. However, Bob was afraid she might raise it with Emma over dinner, and if she did, he would have to deftly change the subject. Thank God Lady Virginia hadn’t carried out her threat to join them on the voyage, because if she had, she wouldn’t have rested until she’d found out exactly what had happened in the early hours of that first night.

Priscilla eventually emerged from the bathroom, but not until ten past eight.

“Perhaps we should go through to dinner,” Emma suggested.

“But aren’t the Binghams meant to be joining us?” said Harry.

“Yes,” said Emma, checking her watch. “More than half an hour ago.”

“Don’t rise, darling,” said Harry firmly. “You’re the chairman of the company, and you mustn’t let Priscilla see that she’s annoyed you, because that’s exactly what she’s hoping for.” Emma was about to protest when he added, “And be sure you don’t say anything over dinner that Virginia could use in court, because there’s no doubt which side Priscilla Bingham is on.”

With all the other problems Emma had faced during the past week, she’d put aside the possible court case, and as she hadn’t heard from Virginia’s solicitors for several months, she’d even begun to wonder if she’d quietly dropped the action. The problem was, Virginia didn’t do anything quietly.

Emma was about to place her order with the head waiter when Harry stood up.

“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting,” said Priscilla, “but I lost all track of time.”

“Not a problem,” said Harry as he pulled back her chair and waited until she was comfortably seated.

“Perhaps we should order,” said Emma, clearly wishing to remind her guest how long they had been kept waiting.

Priscilla took her time as she turned the pages of the leather-bound menu, and changed her mind several times before she finally made her choice. Once the waiter had taken her order, Harry asked her if she’d enjoyed her day in New York.