Mightier Than the Sword (The Clifton Chronicles 5)

“But, Sam, I might never get another chance like this again.”

“Of course you will, Seb. Think long-term, and you’ll understand the difference between Adrian Sloane and Cedric Hardcastle. Because I’m absolutely sure of one thing, very few people will be attending Sloane’s funeral.”

* * *

Friday turned out to be the longest day of Sebastian’s life. He’d hardly slept the previous night as he tried to work out what Kaufman was up to.

When Sam left to attend a lecture at King’s, he pottered around the flat, pretended to read a morning paper, spent an inordinate amount of time washing up the few breakfast dishes, even went for a run in the park, but by the time he got back, it was still only just after eleven.

He took a shower, shaved, an

d opened a tin of baked beans. He continually glanced at his watch, but the second hand still only circled the dial every sixty seconds.

After what passed for a fork lunch, he went upstairs to the bedroom, took his smartest suit out of the wardrobe, and put on a freshly ironed white shirt and his old school tie. He finally polished a pair of shoes until a sergeant major would have been proud of them.

At four o’clock he was standing at the bus stop waiting for the number 4 to take him into the City. He jumped off at St. Paul’s and, although he walked slowly, he was standing outside Kaufman’s bank on Cheapside by 4:25. There was nothing for it but to stroll around the block. As he walked past so many familiar City institutions, he was reminded just how much he enjoyed working in the Square Mile. He tried not to think about being unemployed for any length of time.

At 4:38, Seb marched into the bank and said to the receptionist, “I have an appointment with Mr. Kaufman.”

“Which Mr. Kaufman?” she asked, giving him a warm smile.

“The chairman.”

“Thank you, sir. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Seb paced around the lobby watching another second hand make a larger circle around a larger clock but with exactly the same result. His thoughts were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder and the words, “The chairman is waiting for us in his office. I’ll take you up.”

Seb was impressed that Vic hadn’t said “Dad.” He could feel the palms of his hands sweating, and as the lift trundled slowly up to the top floor he rubbed them on his trousers. When they entered the chairman’s office, they found Mr. Kaufman on the phone.

“I need to speak to a colleague before I can make that decision, Mr. Sloane. I’ll call you back around five.” Seb looked horrified, but Kaufman put a finger to his lips. “If that’s convenient.”

* * *

Sloane put the receiver down, picked it up again immediately, and without going through to his secretary dialed a number.

“Ralph, it’s Adrian Sloane.”

“I thought it might be,” said Vaughan, checking his watch. “You’ll be pleased to hear that no one has called about Shifnal Farm all day. So with just fifteen minutes to go, I think it’s safe to assume the property is yours. I’ll give you a call just after five, so we can discuss how you want to deal with the paperwork.”

“That’s fine by me,” said Sloane, “but don’t be surprised if my line’s engaged when you call, because I’m currently involved in a deal that’s even bigger than Shifnal Farm.”

“But if someone was to make a bid between now and five—”

“That isn’t going to happen,” said Sloane. “Just make sure you send the contract round to Farthings first thing on Monday morning. There’ll be a check waiting for you.”

* * *

“It’s ten to five,” said Vic.

“Patience, child,” said the old man. “There is only one thing that matters when you’re trying to close a deal. Timing.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, although he was wide awake. He had told his secretary that under no circumstances was he to be disturbed between ten to five and ten past. Neither Vic nor Seb said another word.

Suddenly Saul’s eyes opened and he sat bolt upright. He checked that the two phones on his desk were placed exactly where he wanted them. At six minutes to five, he leaned forward and picked up the black phone. He dialed the number of an estate agent in Mayfair, and asked to speak to the senior partner.

“Mr. Kaufman, this is an unexpected pleasure,” said Vaughan. “How can I help you?”

“You can start by telling me the time, Mr. Vaughan.”

“I make it five to five,” said a puzzled voice. “Why do you ask?”