As the Crow Flies

CHAPTER

43

Daphne attended Mrs. Trentham’s funeral, “Just to be certain that the wretched woman really was buried,” she explained to Charlie later, “though it wouldn’t surprise me if she found some way of rising from the dead.” She went on to warn Charlie that Nigel had been overheard, even before the body had been lowered into the ground, telling everyone that we should expect thunderbolts as soon as the board met again. He only had a few days to wait.

That first Tuesday of the following month Charlie checked around the boardroom table to see that every director was present. He could sense they were all waiting to see who would strike first. Nigel Trentham and his two colleagues wore black ties like some official badge of office, reminding the board of their newly acquired status. In contrast, for the first time in Charlie’s memory, Mr. Baverstock wore a garish pastel-colored tie.

Charlie had already worked out that Trentham would wait until item number six—a proposal to expand the banking facilities on the ground floor—before he made any move. The original scheme had been one of Cathy’s brainchilds, and soon after returning from one of her monthly trips to the States she had presented a detailed proposal to the board. Although the new department had experienced some teething problems, by the end of its second year it was just about breaking even.

The first half hour was peaceful enough as Charlie took the board through items one to five. But when he called for “item number six. The expansion of—”

“Let’s close the bank and cut our losses,” were Trentham’s opening words even before Charlie had been given the chance to offer an opinion.

“For what reason?” asked Cathy defiantly.

“Because we’re not bankers,” said Trentham. “We’re shopkeepers—or barrow pushers, as our chairman so often likes to remind us. In any case, it would give us a saving on expenditure of nearly thirty thousand pounds a year.”

“But the bank is just beginning to pay its way,” said Cathy. “We should be thinking of expanding the facilities, not curtailing them. And with profits in mind, who knows how much money cashed on the premises is then spent on the premises?”

“Yes, but look at the amount of extra counter space the banking hall is taking up.”

“In return we give our customers a valuable service.”

“And lose money hand over fist by not using the space for more profitable lines of business,” fired back Trentham.

“Like what, for example?” said Cathy. “Just tell me one other department that would provide a more useful service for our customers and at the same time show a better return on our investment. Do that and I’ll be the first to agree we should close down the banking hall.”

“We’re not a service industry. It’s our duty to show a decent return on capital for our shareholders,” said Trentham. “I demand a vote on this,” he added, not bothering to rebut Cathy’s arguments any further.

Trentham lost the vote by six to three and Charlie assumed after such an outcome they would then pass on to item number seven—a proposed staff outing to the film of West Side Story, playing at the Odeon, Leicester Square. However, once Jessica Allen had recorded the names for the minutes, Nigel Trentham rose quickly to his feet and said, “I have an announcement to make, Mr. Chairman.”

“Wouldn’t it be more appropriate under ‘Any other business’?” asked Charlie innocently.

“I will no longer be here when you come to discuss any other business, Mr. Chairman,” said Trentham coldly. He proceeded to remove a piece of paper from an inside pocket, unfolded it and began reading from what was obviously a prepared script.

“I feel it is my duty to inform the board,” he stated, “that within a few weeks I will be the sole owner of thirty-three percent of Trumper’s shares. When we next meet, I shall be insisting that several changes be made to the structure of the company, not least in the composition of those presently seated around this table.” He stopped to stare at Cathy before he added, “I intend to leave now, in order that you can discuss more fully the implications of my statement.”

He pushed back his chair as Daphne said, “I’m not quite sure I fully understand what you’re suggesting, Mr. Trentham.”

Trentham hesitated for a moment before he replied, “Then I shall have to explain my position more fully, Lady Wiltshire.”

“How kind of you.”

“At the next board meeting,” he continued unabashed, “I shall allow my name to be proposed and seconded as chairman of Trumper’s. Should I fail to be elected, I shall immediately resign from the board and issue a press statement of my intention to make a full takeover bid for the remaining shares in the company. You must all be aware by now that I will have the necessary facility to mount such a challenge. As I only require a further eighteen percent of the stock to become the majority shareholder, I suggest it might be wise for those of you who are currently of directors to face up to the inevitable and offer your resignations in order to avoid the embarrassment of being dismissed. I look forward to seeing one or two of you again at next month’s board meeting.” He and his two colleagues rose and followed him out of the room.

The silence that followed was broken only by another question from Daphne.

“What’s the collective noun for a group of shits?”

Everybody laughed, except Baverstock, who said under his breath, “A heap.”

“So, now we’ve been given our battle orders,” said Charlie. “Let’s hope we all have the stomach for a fight.” Turning to Mr. Baverstock he asked, “Can you advise the board on the present position concerning those shares currently held by the Hardcastle Trust?”

The old man raised his head slowly and looked up at Charlie. “No, Mr. Chairman, I cannot. Indeed, I’m sorry to have to inform the board that I, too, must tender my resignation.”

“But why?” asked Becky, aghast. “You’ve always supported us in the past through thick and thin.”

“I must apologize, Lady Trumper, but I am not at liberty to disclose my reasons.”