“Des, please. All my friends call me Des. As you know, my experience is mainly in the travel business, although since I sold the company, I’ve started dabbling in the odd property deal. But as I still find myself with time on my hands, I thought it might be fun to work under a woman chairman.”
Emma ignored this. “If you were to become a member of the board, what would be your attitude to a hostile takeover bid?”
“To begin with, I’d pretend I wasn’t interested and see how much I could milk them for. The secret is to be patient.”
“There wouldn’t be any circumstances under which you’d consider holding on to the company?”
“Not if the price was right.”
“But when National Buses took over your company, weren’t you worried about what might happen to your staff?”
“If they were half awake they must have seen it coming for years, and in any case I wasn’t going to get another chance like that.”
“But if the FT is to be believed, within a month of the takeover, half your staff, some of whom had been with you for over twenty years, were made redundant.”
“With a six-month salary bonus. And a number of them had no difficulty finding employment elsewhere, one or two at Barrington’s.”
“But within another month, National Buses had dropped your name from the company masthead and, with it, the reputation you’d built over many years.”
“You dropped your name when you married Harry Clifton,” said Des, “but it didn’t stop you becoming chairman of Barrington’s.”
“I wasn’t given a choice, and I suspect even that may change in the future.”
“Let’s face it, when it comes to the bottom line, you can’t afford to be sentimental.”
“It’s not difficult to see how you’ve become such a successful businessman, Des, and why, for the right firm, you’d make an ideal director.”
“I’m glad you feel that way.”
“But I still need to speak to my colleagues just in case they don’t agree with me. When I have, I’ll be back in touch.”
“I look forward to that, Emma.”
7
SEBASTIAN ARRIVED outside the American Embassy in Grosvenor Square just before nine o’clock the following day for his appointment with the chef de mission.
After he’d reported to the front desk, a marine sergeant accompanied him to the second floor and knocked on a door at the end of the corridor. Seb was surprised when the door was opened by Mr. Sullivan.
“Good to see you, Seb. Come on in.”
Seb entered a room that overlooked Grosvenor Gardens, but he didn’t take in the view.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you, sir,” said Seb, who was far too nervous to think about anything other than his opening line.
“So what can I do for you?” asked the chef de mission as he took a seat behind his desk.
Seb remained standing.
“I’d like your permission, sir, to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
“How wonderfully old-fashioned,” said Mr. Sullivan. “I’m touched that you took the trouble to ask, Seb, and if that’s what Samantha wants, it’s fine by me.”
“I don’t know wha
t she wants,” admitted Seb, “because I haven’t asked her yet.”