As the Crow Flies

Charlie was about to ask a question when Mr. Baverstock raised his hand.

“It has become clear to me,” continued Baverstock, “that Sir Raymond’s purpose in including clause twenty-two was simply to give you enough time to marshal your forces and fight any hostile takeover bid Mr. Nigel Trentham might have in mind.

“Sir Raymond also left instructions that, at a suitable time following his daughter’s death, an advertisement should be placed in The Times, the Telegraph and the Guardian and any other newspaper I considered appropriate when seeking to discover if there were any other persons who feel they might have some claim on the estate. If this should be the case, they can then do so by making direct contact with this firm. Thirteen such relations have already received the sum of one thousand pounds each, but it is just possible there could be other cousins or distant relatives of whom Sir Raymond was unaware who may still be entitled to make such a claim. This provision simply gave the old man an excuse for the two-year clause. As I understand it, Sir Raymond was quite happy to allocate another thousand pounds to some unknown relative if at the same time it afforded you some breathing space. By the way,” said Baverstock, “I have decided to add the Yorkshire Post and the Huddersfield Daily Examiner to the list of newspapers named in the will because of the family connections in that county.”

“What a shrewd old buzzard he must have been,” said Charlie. “I only wish I’d known him.”

“I think I can say with some confidence, Sir Charles, that you would have liked him.”

“It was also extremely kind of you to put me in the picture, old fellow.”

“Not at all. I feel sure,” said Baverstock, “that had he been placed in my position it is no more and certainly no less than Sir Raymond would have done himself.”

“If only I’d told Daniel the truth about his father…”

“If you save your energies for the quick,” said Baverstock, “it is possible Sir Raymond’s foresight may still not have been wasted.”

On 7 March 1962, the day on which Mrs. Trentham died, Trumper’s shares stood at one pound two shillings on the FT Index; only four weeks later they had risen by a further three shillings.

Tim Newman’s first piece of advice to Charlie was to cling to every share he still possessed and under no circumstances during the next couple of years to agree to any further rights issues. If between them Charlie and Becky were able to lay their hands on any spare cash, they should purchase shares as and when they came on the market.

The problem with following this particular piece of advice was that every time a substantial block of shares did come on to the market they were immediately taken up by an unknown broker who so obviously had instructions to purchase stock whatever the price. Charlie’s stockbroker managed to get his hands on a few shares but only from those unwilling to trade on the open market. Charlie was loath to pay over the odds, as he had never forgotten how close he had come to bankruptcy when he last extended his credit. By the end of the year Trumper’s shares stood at one pound seventeen shillings. There were even fewer sellers left in the marketplace after the Financial Times had warned their readers of a possible takeover battle for the company and gone on to predict it would take place within the next eighteen months.

“That damned paper seems to be as well briefed as any member of the board,” Daphne complained to Charlie at their next meeting, adding that she no longer bothered with the minutes of the past meeting as she could always read an excellent summary of what had taken place on the front page of the Financial Times, which appeared to have been dictated to them verbatim. As she delivered these words her eyes never left Paul M

errick.

The paper’s latest story was inaccurate in only one small detail, as the battle for Trumper’s was no longer taking place in the boardroom. As soon as it became known that a two-year holding clause existed in Sir Raymond’s will Nigel Trentham and his nominees had stopped attending the monthly meetings.

Trentham’s absence particularly annoyed Cathy, as quarter after quarter the new in-house bank began to show increased profits. She found herself addressing her opinions to three empty chairs—though she too suspected Merrick was reporting back every detail to Chester Square. As if to compound matters, in 1963 Charlie informed the shareholders at their AGM that the company would be declaring another record profit for the year.

“You may have spent a lifetime building up Trumper’s only to hand it over on a plate to the Trenthams,” Tim Newman reflected.

“There’s certainly no need for Mrs. Trentham to be turning in her grave,” admitted Charlie. “Ironic, after all she managed during her life that it’s only by her death that she’s been given the chance to deliver the coup de grace.”

When, early in 1964, the shares rose yet again—this time to over two pounds—Charlie was informed by Tim Newman that Nigel Trentham was still in the marketplace with instructions to buy.

“But where’s he getting hold of all the extra cash that would be needed to bankroll such an operation—when he’s still not yet got his hands on his grandfather’s money?”

“I picked up a hint from a former colleague,” replied Tim Newman, “that a leading merchant bank has granted him a large overdraft facility in anticipation of his gaining control of the Hardcastle Trust. Only wish you had a grandfather who’d left you a fortune,” he added.

“I did,” said Charlie.

Nigel Trentham chose Charlie’s sixty-fourth birthday to announce to the world that he would be making a full bid for Trumper’s shares at a price of two pounds four shillings, a mere six weeks before he was entitled to lay claim to his inheritance. Charlie still felt confident that with the help of friends and institutions like the Prudential—as well as some shareholders who were waiting for the price to rise even higher—he could still lay his hands on almost forty percent of the stock. Tim Newman estimated that Trentham must now have at least twenty percent, but once he was able to add the Trust’s seventeen percent he might then be in possession of as much as forty-two to forty-three. Picking up the extra eight or nine percent required to gain control should not prove too hard for him, Newman warned Charlie.

That night Daphne threw a birthday party in Charlie’s honor at her home in Eaton Square. No one mentioned the name of “Trentham” until the port had been passed round for a second time, when a slightly maudlin Charlie recited the relevant clause in Sir Raymond’s will, which he explained had been put there with the sole purpose of trying to save him.

“I give you Sir Raymond Hardcastle,” said Charlie, raising his glass. “A good man to have on your team.”

“Sir Raymond,” the guests echoed, all raising their glasses, with the exception of Daphne.

“What’s the problem, old gel?” asked Percy. “Port not up to scratch?”

“No, as usual it’s you lot who aren’t. You’ve all totally failed to work out what Sir Raymond expected of you.”

“What are you on about, old gel?”

“I should have thought it was obvious for anyone to see, especially you, Charlie,” she said, turning from her husband to the guest of honor.