Heads You Win

He took the letter from the top of the pile and read it slowly. He then opened the package and stared in disbelief at the real thing. His hands were still shaking as he put it back in the package. He had to agree with Miss Robbins, the letter was interesting, and she’d offered her opinion without knowing what was in the package.

The second letter was from Bob Underwood, a director of the bank who felt the time had come for him to retire, not least because he was seventy. He suggested that the emergency board meeting on Monday morning would be an ideal time to inform the board of his intention. Alex cursed, because Underwood was one of the few people he had hoped would remain on the board. He seemed perfectly satisfied with the ten thousand dollars a year he received as a non-executive director, he rarely claimed any expenses, and you didn’t have to read between the lines of the minutes to realize that he was one of the few board members who was willing to stand up to Ackroyd and his cronies. Alex would have to try and get him to change his mind.

And then his eyes returned to the words, emergency board meeting on Monday morning. Why hadn’t Miss Robbins informed him about that earlier?

There was a gentle tap on the door and Miss Robbins appeared bearing a cup of coffee, black no sugar, and a plate of digestive biscuits. How did she find out what his favorite biscuits were?

“Thank you,” said Alex, as she placed a silver tray that must have been one of Lawrence’s family heirlooms on the desk in front of him. “May I ask a delicate question, Miss Robbins? You must have a first name?”

“Pamela.”

“And I’m Alex.”

“I’m aware of that, chairman.”

“I agree with you, Pamela, that Mrs. Ackroyd’s letter is interesting. But as I don’t know the lady, how would you advise me to respond to her offer?”

“I would accept it in good faith, chairman. After all, it’s common knowledge that their recent divorce was acrimonious…” Miss Robbins hesitated.

“I don’t think we have time to observe the social niceties, Pamela, so spit it out.”

“I was only surprised how few women were named as co-respondents.”

“That’s sure spitting it out,” said Alex. “Carry on.”

“The latest of his secretaries, a Miss Bowers, may well have hidden attributes of which I am unaware, but she certainly couldn’t spell.”

“So you feel I should take Mrs. Ackroyd’s words at face value?”

“I most certainly do, chairman, and I particularly enjoyed the last paragraph of her letter.”

Alex read it again, and indeed it brought a smile to his face.

“Anything else, chairman?”

“Yes,” said Alex, “before you go, Pamela, I also read Mr. Underwood’s letter and he’s under the impression there’s an emergency board meeting next Monday. If that’s the case, it’s news to me.”

“As it was to me,” said Miss Robbins. “So I made a few discreet inquiries, and it turns out that Mr. Fowler sent out notice of the meeting a few days ago.”

“Not to me, he didn’t.”

“Yes, he did. But he sent the agenda to your apartment in New York, which is registered with the company as your home address.”

“But Fowler knows perfectly well that I’m staying at Mr. Lowell’s home for the foreseeable future. What’s he up to?”

“I have no idea, chairman, but I could try to find out.”

“Please do. And see if you can lay your hands on an agenda, without Fowler finding out.”

“Of course, chairman.”

“Meanwhile, I’ll plow on with these files until Mr. Harbottle arrives for his appointment at eleven.” As she turned to leave, Alex couldn’t resist asking, “What do you think of Mr. Harbottle, Pamela?”

“He’s a stuffy, eccentric old buzzard, right out of the pages of Dickens, but let’s at least be thankful he’s batting for our team, because the enemy are terrified of him, and perhaps even more important, he’s like Caesar’s wife.”

“Caesar’s wife?”

“When you have more time, chairman.”