Mightier Than the Sword (The Clifton Chronicles 5)

“No, he’s still not back, although he promised he wouldn’t be more than a couple of days.”

“He told me he might visit the Hermitage and see some of the other sights while he was over there, so no need to worry. But come on, Mum, what’s your news?”

“Desmond Mellor has resigned from the board of Barrington’s.”

“Did he give a reason?”

“He was pretty vague—just said it was for personal reasons, and that he wished the company every success in the future. He even sent his best wishes for the trial.”

“How considerate of him.”

“Why do I get the distinct impression my news doesn’t come as a surprise to you?” said Emma.

* * *

“Chairman, Mr. Clifton has arrived. Shall I send him in?”

“Yes, do.” Sloane leaned back in his chair, delighted that Clifton had finally come to his senses. But he still intended to give him a hard time.

A few seconds later his secretary opened the door and stood aside to allow Sebastian to enter the chairman’s office.

“Let me say at the outset, Clifton, that my offer of five pounds a share for your six percent is no longer on the table. But as a sign of goodwill, I’m prepared to offer you three pounds a share, which is still considerably above this morning’s market price.”

“It is indeed, but my shares are still not for sale.”

“Then why are you wasting my time?”

“I hope I’m not wasting your time, because as the new deputy chairman of Farthings Bank, I’m here to carry out my first executive action.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” said Sloane, leaping up from behind his desk.

“At twelve thirty this afternoon, Mr. Desmond Mellor sold his fifty-one percent shareholding in Farthings to Mr. Hakim Bishara.”

“But, Sebastian—”

“Which also made it possible for Mr. Mellor to finally keep his word.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Mellor promised Arnold Hardcastle that you would be removed from the board, and Ross Buchanan would be the next chairman of Farthings.”

HARRY AND EMMA

1970

37

“WHERE’S HARRY?” one of the journalists shouted as the taxi pulled up outside the Royal Courts of Justice and Emma, Giles, and Sebastian stepped out.

The one thing Emma hadn’t prepared herself for was twenty or thirty photographers lined up behind two makeshift barriers on either side of the court entrance, bulbs flashing. Journalists hollered questions, even though they didn’t expect them to be answered. The most persistent was, “Where’s Harry?”

“Don’t respond,” said Giles firmly.

If only I knew, Emma wanted to tell them as she walked through the press gauntlet, because she’d thought of little else for the past forty-eight hours.

Seb ran ahead of his mother and held open the door to the law courts so her progress would not be impeded. Mr. Trelford, in his long black gown and carrying a faded wig, was waiting for her on the other side of the double door. Emma introduced her brother and son to the distinguished advocate. If Trelford was surprised that Mr. Clifton was not in attendance, he didn’t show it.

The silk led them up the wide marble staircase, taking Emma through what would happen on the first morning of the trial.