Mightier Than the Sword (The Clifton Chronicles 5)

“Of course, I’d quite forgotten you’re the one who writes novels. I just don’t find the time to read books,” said Priscilla as a bowl of piping hot tomato soup was placed in front of her. “I didn’t order soup,” she said, looking up at the waiter. “I asked for the smoked salmon.”

“I’m sorry, madam,” said the waiter, who removed the soup. While he was still in earshot, Priscilla said, “I suppose it must be quite difficult to recruit experienced staff for a cruise ship.”

“I hope you won’t mind if we start,” said Emma as she picked up her soup spoon.

“Did you catch up with your cousin?” asked Bob.

“Unfortunately not. He was visiting Connecticut, so I joined Harry later, and we were lucky enough to get a couple of tickets for an afternoon concert at Lincoln Center.”

“Who was performing?” asked Bob as a plate of smoked salmon was placed in front of Priscilla.

“Leonard Bernstein, who was conducting his Candide overture, before he played a Mozart piano concerto.”

“I just don’t know how you find the time,” said Priscilla between mouthfuls.

Emma was about to say she didn’t spend her life shopping, but looked up to see Harry frowning at her.

“I once saw Bernstein conducting the LSO at the Royal Festival Hall,” said Bob. “Brahms. Quite magnificent.”

“And did you accompany Priscilla on her exhausting shopping trip up and down Fifth Avenue?” asked Emma.

“No, I checked out the lower East Side, to see if there was any point in trying to break into the American market.”

“And your conclusion?” asked Harry.

“The Americans aren’t quite ready for Bingham’s fish paste.”

“So which countries are ready?”

asked Harry.

“Only Russia and India, if the truth be known. And they come with their own problems.”

“Like what?” asked Emma, sounding genuinely interested.

“The Russians don’t like paying their bills, and the Indians often can’t.”

“Perhaps you have a one-product problem?” Emma suggested.

“I’ve thought about diversifying, but—”

“Can we possibly talk about something other than fish paste,” said Priscilla. “After all, we are meant to be on holiday.”

“Of course,” said Harry. “How is Clive?” he asked, regretting his words immediately.

“He’s just fine, thank you,” said Bob, jumping in quickly. “And you must both be so proud of Sebastian being invited to join the board.”

Emma smiled.

“Well, that’s hardly a surprise,” said Priscilla. “Let’s face it, if your mother is the chairman of the company, and your family owns a majority of the stock, frankly you could appoint a cocker spaniel to the board and the rest of the directors would wag their tails.”

Harry thought Emma was about to explode, but luckily her mouth was full, so a long silence followed.

“Is that rare?” Priscilla demanded as a steak was placed in front of her.

The waiter checked her order. “No, madam, it’s medium.”

“I ordered rare. I couldn’t have made it clearer. Take it away and try again.”