Cometh the Hour (The Clifton Chronicles 6)

“While I agree with you, Mr. Brasher, we can’t afford to relax,” said Emma. “Union-Castle are planning to convert the Reina del Mar into a luxury liner, and Cunard and P&O have both recently begun construction on ships that will carry over two thousand passengers.”

There followed a long silence, while members of the board tried to take this information in.

“Is New York still our most lucrative run?” asked Maynard, who hadn’t appeared particularly interested in the other directors’ questions.

“Yes,” said Hurst, “but the Baltic cruise

is also proving popular—Southampton to Leningrad, taking in Copenhagen, Oslo, Stockholm and Helsinki.”

“But now we’re launching a second ship and, considering how many other liners are already on the high seas,” continued Maynard, “do you anticipate any staffing problems?”

Emma was puzzled by the number of questions Maynard was asking. She was beginning to suspect him of having his own agenda.

“That shouldn’t be a problem,” said Captain Turnbull, who hadn’t spoken until then. “Barrington’s is a popular line to work for, especially with the Filipinos. They remain on board for eleven months, never leaving the ship and rarely spending a thing.”

“What about the twelfth month?” asked Sebastian.

“That’s when they go home and hand over their hard-earned cash to their wives and families. Then they report back for duty twenty-eight days later.”

“Poor blighters,” said Brasher.

“In truth, Mr. Brasher,” said Turnbull, “the Filipinos are the happiest members of my crew. They tell me they’d far rather be with the Barrington line than spending twelve months out of work in Manila.”

“What about the officers? Any problems there, captain?”

“At least six qualified men apply for every available job, admiral.”

“Any women?” asked Emma.

“Yes, we now have our first woman on the bridge,” said Turnbull. “Clare Thompson. She’s the first mate, and proving damned effective.”

“What has the world come to?” said the admiral. “Let’s hope I don’t live to see a woman prime minister.”

“Let’s hope you do,” said the chairman, gently chiding her favorite director, “because the world has moved on, and perhaps we should too.” Emma looked at her watch. “Any other business?”

The company secretary coughed, a sign that he had something he needed to tell the board.

“Mr. Webster,” said Emma, sitting back, aware that he was not a man to be hurried.

“I feel I should inform the board that Lady Virginia Fenwick has disposed of her seven and a half percent shareholding in the company.”

“But I thought—” began Emma.

“And the shares have been registered at Companies House in the name of the new owner.”

“But I thought—” repeated Emma, looking directly at her son.

“It must have been a private transaction,” said Sebastian. “I can assure you her shares never came up for sale on the open market. If they had, my broker would have picked them up immediately on behalf of Farthings, and Hakim Bishara would have joined the board as the bank’s representative.”

Everybody in the room began to speak at once. They were all asking the same question. “If Bishara didn’t buy the shares, who did?”

The company secretary waited for the board to settle before he answered their collective cry. “Mr. Desmond Mellor.”

There was immediate uproar, which was silenced only by Sebastian’s curt interjection. “I have a feeling Mellor won’t be returning as a member of the board. It would be far too obvious, and wouldn’t suit his purpose.” Emma looked relieved. “No, I think he’ll select someone else to represent him. Someone who’s never sat on the board before.”

Every eye was now fixed on Sebastian. But it was the admiral who asked, “And who do you think that might be?”

“Adrian Sloane.”