Jeffrey Archer - Mightier than the Sword

“Not all bad, I hope,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Well, if your recent takeover battle is anything to go by, Mr. Mellor, you certainly don’t believe in taking prisoners.”

“It’s tough out there at the moment, Mrs. Clifton, as I’m sure you’re finding, so sometimes you have to cover your backside, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

Emma wondered if she could come up with an excuse to cut the meeting short, despite the fact that she had instructed her secretary that she was not to be disturbed for at least thirty minutes.

“I’ve been following your husband’s activities on behalf of Babakov,” said Mellor. “Seems he might also have to cover his backside,” he added with a grin.

“Harry feels passionately about Mr. Babakov’s plight.”

“As I’m sure we all do. But I have to ask, is it worth the candle? Those Russians don’t seem to give a damn about human rights.”

“That won’t stop Harry fighting for something he believes in.”

“Is he away often?”

“Not that much,” Emma said, trying not to show she’d been taken by surprise by the sudden change of subject. “The occasional book tour or conference. But when you chair a public company, that can sometimes be a blessing in disguise.”

“I know just how you feel,” said Mellor, leaning forward. “My wife prefers to live in the country, which is why I stay in Bristol during the week.”

“Do you have any children?” asked Emma.

“One girl by my first marriage. She’s a secretary in London. And another by my second.”

“And how old is she?”

“Kelly is four, and, of course, I know your son Sebastian has recently joined the board of Barrington’s.”

Emma smiled. “Then perhaps I can ask, Mr. Mellor, why you want to join us on the board?”

“Des, please. All my friends call me Des. As you know, my experience is mainly in the travel business, although since I sold the company, I’ve started dabbling in the odd property deal. But as I still find myself with time on my hands, I thought it might be fun to work under a woman chairman.”

Emma ignored this. “If you were to become a member of the board, what would be your attitude to a hostile takeover bid?”

“To begin with, I’d pretend I wasn’t interested and see how much I could milk them for. The secret is to be patient.”

“There wouldn’t be any circumstances under which you’d consider holding on to the company?”

“Not if the price was right.”

“But when National Buses took over your company, weren’t you worried about what might happen to your staff?”

“If they were half awake they must have seen it coming for years, and in any case I wasn’t going to get another chance like that.”

“But if the FT is to be believed, within a month of the takeover, half your staff, some of whom had been with you for over twenty years, were made redundant.”

“With a six-month salary bonus. And a number of them had no difficulty finding employment elsewhere, one or two at Barrington’s.”

“But within another month, National Buses had dropped your name from the company masthead and, with it, the reputation you’d built over many years.”

“You dropped your name when you married Harry Clifton,” said Des, “but it didn’t stop you becoming chairman of Barrington’s.”

“I wasn’t given a choice, and I suspect even that may change in the future.”

“Let’s face it, when it comes to the bottom line, you can’t afford to be sentimental.”

“It’s not difficult to see how you’ve become such a successful businessman, Des, and why, for the right firm, you’d make an ideal director.”

“I’m glad you feel that way.”

“But I still need to speak to my colleagues just in case they don’t agree with me. When I have, I’ll be back in touch.”

“I look forward to that, Emma.”

Sebastian arrived outside the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square just before nine o’clock the following day for his appointment with the chef de mission.

After he’d reported to the front desk, a marine sergeant accompanied him to the second floor and knocked on a door at the end of the corridor. Seb was surprised when the door was opened by Mr. Sullivan.

“Good to see you, Seb. Come on in.”

Seb entered a room that overlooked Grosvenor Gardens, but he didn’t take in the view.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“No, thank you, sir,” said Seb, who was far too nervous to think about anything other than his opening line.

“So what can I do for you?” asked the chef de mission as he took a seat behind his desk.

Seb remained standing.

“I’d like your permission, sir, to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“How wonderfully old-fashioned,” said Mr. Sullivan. “I’m touched that you took the trouble to ask, Seb, and if that’s what Samantha wants, it’s fine by me.”

“I don’t know what she wants,” admitted Seb, “because I haven’t asked her yet.”

“Then good luck, because I can tell you, nothing would please her mother and me more.”

“That’s a relief,” said Seb.

“Have you told your parents yet?”

“Last night, sir.”

“And how do they feel about it?”

“Mother couldn’t be more pleased, but my father said that if Sam’s got any sense, she’ll turn me down.”

Sullivan smiled. “But if she does say yes, can you keep her in a style she isn’t accustomed to? Because as you know, she hopes to be an academic, and they are not overpaid.”

“I’m working on it, sir. I’ve just been promoted at the bank, and am now number two in the property division. And as I think you know I’ve recently joined the board of Barrington’s.”

“That all sounds pretty promising, Seb, and frankly, Marion was wondering what took you so long.”

“Does that mean I have your blessing?”

“It most certainly does. But never forget that Samantha sets standards, like your mother, that the rest of us normal mortals find hard to live with, unless, like your father, they’re guided by the same moral compass. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, would you like to sit down?”

When Sebastian returned to the City later that morning, he found a note on his desk from Adrian Sloane, asking him to report to his office the moment he got back.

Sebastian frowned. The one blip on his radar screen during the past few months had been his immediate boss. He’d never been able to please Sloane from the moment Cedric Hardcastle had appointed him as his deputy in the property division. Sloane always managed to leave the impression that he was efficient at his job, and, to be fair, the division’s month-on-month revenues and profits were continually impressive. However, for some reason he didn’t seem to trust Seb, and made no attempt to confide in him — in fact, he went out of his way to keep him out of the loop. Seb also knew from one of his colleagues that whenever his name came up in discussions, Sloane didn’t hesitate to undermine him.

Seb had considered mentioning the problem to Cedric, but his mother had counseled against it, saying Sloane was bound to find out, which would only make him more antagonistic.

“In any case,” Emma had added, “you should learn to stand on your own two feet, and not expect Cedric to wet-nurse you every time you come up against a problem.”

“That’s all very well,” said Seb, “but what else can I be expected to do?”

“Just get on with your job, and do it well,” said Emma. “Because that’s all Cedric will care about.”

“That’s exactly what I am doing,” insisted Seb. “So why is Sloane treating me this way?”