Jeffrey Archer - Mightier than the Sword

When he heard the siren, he assumed it was an ambulance and quickly moved across to the inside lane, but when he looked in his rearview mirror he saw a police car with lights flashing bearing down on him. He slowed down, willing it to shoot past, but it drew up alongside him and the driver indicated that he should pull over onto the hard shoulder. Reluctantly, he obeyed.

The police car pulled up in front of him and two policemen climbed out and walked slowly toward him. The first was carrying a thick leather notebook, the second what looked like a briefcase. Seb wound down the window and smiled.

“Good morning, officers.”

“Good morning, sir. Were you aware that you were traveling at almost ninety miles an hour?”

“No, I wasn’t,” admitted Seb. “I’m very sorry.”

“Could I see your driving license, sir?”

Seb opened the glove compartment, took out his license, and handed it to the policeman, who studied it for some time before saying, “Would you be kind enough to step out of the car, sir.”

Seb got out as the other policeman opened his briefcase and extracted a large yellow balloon-like bag attached to a tube. “This is a Breathalyzer, sir, and I have to ask if you are willing to be tested to see if you are above the legal limit.”

“At ten o’clock in the morning?”

“It’s standard procedure for a speeding offense. If you choose not to do so, I shall have to ask you to accompany me to the nearest police station.”

“That won’t be necessary, officer, I’m quite happy to take the test.”

He carried out the instructions to the letter, well aware that he’d only had two Campari and sodas the previous night. Once he’d blown into the tube twice — evidently he didn’t blow hard enough the first time — the two officers studied the orange indicator for some time, before one of them pronounced, “No problem there, sir, you’re well below the limit.”

“Thank God for that,” said Seb, climbing back into his car.

“Just a moment, sir, we’re not quite finished. We still have a couple of forms to fill in. Your name, please, sir?”

“But I’m in a hurry,” said Seb, regretting his words the moment he’d said them.

“We’d gathered that, sir.”

“Sebastian Clifton.”

“Home address?”

When the officer had finally filled in the answer to the last question, he handed Seb a speeding ticket, saluted, and said, “Have a good day, sir, and please drive more carefully in the future.”

Sebastian glanced desperately at the little clock on the dashboard, but it faithfully recorded the correct time. In forty minutes, his mother would be calling the board meeting to order, and he couldn’t help remembering that the election of a new deputy chairman was the first item on the agenda.

Lady Virginia took her time telling Sir Edward what really happened on the first morning of the Buckingham ’s maiden voyage.

“Fascinating,” he said. “But it’s not something we can use in evidence.”

“Why not? Mrs. Clifton wouldn’t be able to deny it, and then she’d have to resign as chairman of Barrington’s and we couldn’t lose the case.”

“Possibly not, but the judge would rule the evidence as inadmissible. And that’s not the only reason we couldn’t use it.”

“What more do you need?” asked Virginia.

“A witness who wasn’t dismissed for being drunk on duty, and who clearly bears a grudge against the company, and a director who would be willing to stand in the witness box and give evidence under oath.”

“But it’s no more than the truth.”

“It may well be, but tell me, Lady Virginia, have you read Harry Clifton’s latest novel?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then be thankful that I have, because in Inspector Warwick and the Time Bomb you will find almost word for word the story you’ve just told me. And you can be sure that at least one or two members of the jury will also have read it.”

“But surely that would only strengthen our case?”

“More likely we’d be laughed out of court.”

Emma looked slowly around the table. Every director was in place except Sebastian. But never in her eleven years as chairman of Barrington’s had she failed to begin a meeting on time.

Philip Webster, the company secretary, opened proceedings by reading the minutes of the previous meeting. Far too quickly in Emma’s opinion. “Are there any matters arising from the minutes?” she asked hopefully. There were none.

“So let us move on, to item number one, the election of a deputy chairman. Desmond Mellor has been proposed by Jim Knowles and seconded by Clive Anscott. Before I call for a vote, does anyone have any questions?”

Mellor shook his head and Knowles said nothing, both well aware that Sebastian Clifton might appear at any moment. Emma stared hopefully at the admiral, but he looked as if he’d fallen asleep.

“I think we’ve all had more than enough time to consider our position,” said Anscott.

“I agree,” said Knowles. “Let’s get on with the vote.”

“Before we do so,” said Emma, “perhaps Mr. Mellor would care to address the board on why he feels he’s the right man to be deputy chairman of Barrington’s.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” said Mellor, who had spent some considerable time preparing a speech, which he now had no intention of delivering. “I leave my record to speak for itself.”

As Emma had now run out of delaying tactics, she was left with no choice but to call on the company secretary to carry out the roll call.

Webster rose from his place and read out the names of each director, starting with the chairman, Mrs. Clifton.

“I shall abstain,” said Emma.

“Mr. Maynard?”

“For.”

“Mr. Dixon?”

“Against.”

“Mr. Anscott?”

“For.”

“Mr. Knowles?”

“For.”

“Mr. Dobbs?”

“Against.”

He too had kept his word. Emma kept looking toward the door.

“Mr. Carrick?”

“For.”

Emma looked surprised. The last time they’d spoken, Carrick had given her his assurance that he wouldn’t be supporting Mellor. Who had been the last person to sit on that particular cushion, she wondered.

“Admiral Summers?”

“Against.”

Not a man to desert his friends.

“Mr. Clifton?”

Webster looked around the table and, satisfied that Sebastian wasn’t present, wrote Absent by his name.

“Mr. Bingham?”

“Against.”

No surprise. He disliked Mellor almost as much as she did.

Emma smiled. Four all. As chairman, she wouldn’t hesitate to exercise her casting vote to stop Mellor becoming deputy chairman.

“And finally, Mr. Mellor?” said the company secretary.

“For,” he said firmly.

Emma was momentarily stunned. But turning to Mellor, she eventually managed, “You told me only yesterday that you would be abstaining, which is why I did so myself. Had I known of this change of heart—”

“Since I spoke to you yesterday evening,” said Mellor, “one or two of my colleagues have pointed out that the company’s statutes allow a board member to vote for himself when standing for office. Reluctantly, I allowed them to convince me that I should do so.”

“But you gave me your word.”

“I did call you at home, several times this morning, chairman, but the line was always busy.”

Not something Emma was able to contradict. She sank back into her chair.

Mr. Webster carefully double-checked the list, but Emma already knew the result and its consequences.

“By a vote of five to four, Mr. Mellor is elected deputy chairman.”

Some people around the table smiled and said, “Hear, hear.” Others remained silent.