Charles had studied fourteen of the confidential reports on customers with loans over £250,000. Clive Reynolds had already picked out two companies with whom he felt the bank should revise their current position.
Charles still had three more reports to consider before he presented a full assessment to the board.
The quiet knock on the door, however, meant that it was ten o’clock and Reynolds had arrived to make his daily report. Rumors were circulating in the City that the bank rate woul
d go up on Thursday, so Reynolds wanted to go short on dollars and long on gold. Charles nodded. As soon as the announcement had been made about the bank rate, Reynolds continued: “it will be wiser to return to dollars as the new round of pay negotiations with the unions is about to take place. This in turn will undoubtedly start a fresh run on the pound.” Charles nodded again.
“I think the dollar is far too weak at two-ten,” Reynolds added. “With the unions settling at around twelve percent the dollar must strengthen, say, to nearer one-ninety.” He added that he was not happy about the bank’s large holding in Slater Walker and wanted to liquidate half the stock over the next month. He proposed to do so in small amounts over irregular periods. “We also have three other major accounts to consider before we make known our findings to the board. I’m concerned about the spending policy of one of the companies, but the other two appear stable. I think we should go over them together when you have time to consider my reports. Perhaps tomorrow morning, if you could manage that. The companies concerned are Speyward Laboratories, Blackies Limited, and Nethercote and Company. It’s Speyward I’m worried about.”
“I’ll take the files home tonight,” said Charles, “and give you an opinion in the morning.”
“Thank you, Chairman.”
Charles had never suggested that Reynolds should call him by his first name.
Archie Millburn held a small dinner party to celebrate Simon’s first anniversary as the member for Pucklebridge. Although these occasions had originally been to introduce the party hierarchy to their new member, Simon now knew more about the constituency and its flock than he did, as Archie was the first to admit.
Elizabeth, Peter, and Michael had settled comfortably into their small cottage, while Simon, as a member of the Shadow Education team, had visited schools—nursery, primary, public, and secondary; universities—red brick, plate glass, and Oxbridge; technical colleges, art institutes, and even borstals. He had read Butler, Robbins, and Plowden and listened to children and to professors of psychology alike. He felt that after a year he was beginning to understand the subject, and only longed for a general election so that he could once again turn rehearsal into performance.
“Opposition must be frustrating,” observed Archie when the ladies had retired after dinner.
“Yes, but it’s an excellent way to prepare yourself for Government and do some basic thinking about the subject. I never found time for such luxury as a minister.”
“But it must be very different from holding office?” said Archie, clipping a cigar.
“True. In Government,” said Simon, “you’re surrounded by civil servants who don’t allow you to lift a finger or give you a moment to ponder, while in Opposition you can think policy through even if you do often end up having to type your own letters.”
Archie pushed the port down to Simon’s end of the table. “I’m glad the girls are out,” said Archie conspiratorially, “because I wanted you to know I’ve decided to give up being chairman at the end of the year.”
“why?” said Simon, taken aback.
“I’ve seen you elected and settled in. It’s time for a younger man to have a go.”
“But you’re only my age.”
“I can’t deny that, but the truth is that I’m not giving enough time to my electronics company, and the board are continually reminding me of it. No one has to tell you that these are not easy times.”
“It’s sad,” said Simon. “Just as you get to know someone in politics you or they always seem to move on.”
“Fear not,” said Archie. “I don’t intend to leave the area, and I feel confident that you will be my member for at least another twenty years, by which time I will be happy to accept an invitation to dine with you in Downing Street.”
“You may find that it’s Charles Seymour who is residing at No. 10,” said Simon, striking a match to light his cigar.
“Then I won’t be getting an invitation,” said Archie with a smile.
Charles couldn’t sleep that night after his discovery, and his tossing and turning kept Fiona awake. He had opened the Nethercote file when he was waiting for dinner to be served. His first act with any company was to glance down the names of the directors to see if he knew anyone on the board. He recognized no one until his eye stopped at “S. J. Kerslake, MP.” The cook felt sure that Mr. Seymour had not enjoyed his dinner, because he hardly touched the main course.
On his arrival at Seymour’s, only moments after Clive Reynolds, he called for his chief executive. He appeared a few minutes later without his usual armful of files, surprised to see the chairman so early. Once Reynolds was seated Charles opened the file in front of him. “What do you know about Nethercote and Company?”
“Private company. Net asset value approaching £10,000,-000, running a current overdraft of £7,000,000 of which we service half. Efficiently managed with a good board of directors, will ride out the current problems in my view, and should be well oversubscribed when they eventually go public.”
“How much of the company do we own?”
“Seven and a half percent. As you know, the bank never take eight percent of any company because then we would have to declare an interest under section twenty-three of the Finance Act. It has always been a policy of this bank to invest in a major client without becoming too involved with the running of the company.”
“Who are their principal bankers?”
“The Midland.”