Cometh the Hour: A Novel (31 page)

32

T
HE FOUR OF
them held an unscheduled board meeting at eleven on Monday morning. They sat around a square, vinyl-topped table in a cramped room normally reserved for legal consultations.

Ross Buchanan sat at one end of the table with a sheaf of files on the floor beside him. Hakim Bishara sat opposite him with Arnold Hardcastle on his right and Sebastian on his left.

“Perhaps I should begin,” said Ross, “by letting you know that—so far at least—Farthings shares haven’t lost as much ground as we feared they might.”

“Helped by your robust statement, no doubt,” said Hakim, “which was reported in all the Sunday papers. Indeed, if anything will keep the bank afloat it’s your reputation in the City, Ross.”

“It also looks as if there’s a third party involved,” said Seb, “who’s picking up any available stock.”

“A friend or a predator, I wonder,” said Hakim.

“I can’t be sure, but I’ll let you know the moment I find out.”

“How have Kaufman’s shares been faring?”

“Surprisingly,” said Seb, “they’ve risen slightly, despite Victor making it clear to anyone who asks that, as far as he’s concerned, the merger is still on, and that his late father was a great admirer of yours.”

“That’s generous of him,” said Hakim, placing his elbows on the table. “But how many of our major clients have withdrawn their accounts?”

“Several called to express their concern about the charges you’re facing and to point out that their companies can’t afford to be associated with a drug dealer.”

“And what did you tell them?” asked Arnold, before Hakim could jump in.

“I told them,” continued Ross, “that Mr. Bishara doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink and who do they imagine he could possibly be selling drugs to?”

“What about our smaller customers?” said Hakim. “Are they voting with their feet?”

“A handful have already moved their accounts,” said Seb. “But ironically I’ve been trying to get rid of one or two of them for years, and no doubt they’ll all come crawling back once you’ve proved your innocence.”

“And they’ll find the door slammed in their faces,” said Hakim, banging the table with a clenched fist. “What about your private detective?” he asked Arnold. “Have you managed to track him down?”

“I have, chairman. I found him playing snooker in Romford. He’d read about the case in the
News of the World
and said the word on the street was that it was a stitch-up, but no one seems to know who’s got the needle and thread, which convinces him it can’t be any of the usual suspects.”

“When is he coming to see me?”

“Six o’clock this evening. Be warned, Barry Hammond isn’t the easiest of men. But if he does decide to take on the assignment, I wouldn’t want to be the person who set you up.”

“What do you mean, ‘if’? Who the hell does he think he is?”

“He despises drug dealers, Hakim,” said Arnold calmly. “Thinks they should all be strung up in Trafalgar Square.”

“If he were even to suggest that I—”

Sebastian placed a hand on Hakim’s arm. “We all understand what you’re going through, chairman, but you have to remain calm, and let Ross, Arnold and me handle the pressure.”

“I’m sorry. Of course you’re right, Seb. Don’t think I’m not grateful to all of you. I look forward to meeting Mr. Hammond.”

“He’s bound to ask you some fairly direct questions,” said Arnold. “Just promise me you won’t lose your temper.”

“I’ll be sweetness and light.”

“How are you passing your time?” asked Ross, trying to lighten the mood. “It can’t be a pleasant experience, being in here.”

“I spent an hour in the gym this morning, which reminded me just how unfit I am. Then I read the
FT
from cover to cover. I had an hour’s walk around the yard yesterday afternoon, in the company of two other bankers who are in for manipulating share prices, and in the evening I played a few games of backgammon.”

“For money?” asked Seb.

“A pound a game. There’s a guy in for armed robbery who took a couple of quid off me, but I plan to get it back this evening.”

The three visitors burst out laughing.

*   *   *

“I’ve picked up another two percent of Farthings stock,” said Sloane, “so you’re now entitled to a place on the board.”

“Those additional shares turned out to be more expensive than you predicted,” said Mellor.

“That’s true, but my broker tells me there’s a big player out there picking up stock whenever it comes on the market.”

“Any idea who it might be?” asked Knowles.

“Not a clue, but it explains why the shares haven’t fallen as much as I’d anticipated. If you let me represent you on the board, Desmond, I’ll find out exactly what’s going on, and then I’ll be able to feed the press with regular unhelpful titbits. In the end, it will be the drip, drip, drip effect that finally scuppers them, believe me.”

“Are you still confident that nothing can be traced back to anyone around this table?”

“I’m positive. We’re the only three people who know what’s going on, and I’m the one person who knows where the bodies are buried.”

*   *   *

After Sebastian left the meeting at Wandsworth prison, he hurried back to the bank to find Rachel standing by his office door.

“Thirty-two customers want to speak to you personally, all of them urgently.”

“Who’s the top priority?”

“Jimmy Goldsmith.”

“But the bank’s never done any business with Mr. Goldsmith.”

“He’s a close friend of Mr. Bishara. They hang out at the Clermont Club.”

“Right, I’ll speak to him first.”

Rachel returned to her office and a few moments later Seb’s phone buzzed.

“Mr. Goldsmith, this is Sebastian Clifton, returning your call.”

“I hear you visited Hakim in prison today. How is he?”

“He’s bearing up.”

“Like your shares.”

“So you’re the big player?”

“Let’s just say that I’m picking up any stock whenever it falls ten percent below its midpoint.”

“But why would you do that, Mr. Goldsmith? It could end up costing you a fortune.”

“For two reasons, Mr. Clifton. One, I’ve known Hakim since his university days and, like me, he despises people who deal in drugs.”

“And the second reason?”

“Let’s just say I owe him.”

“But you’re still taking one hell of a risk.”

“It’s a gamble, I admit. But when Hakim is proved innocent, and I have no doubt he will be, the bank’s shares will rebound, and when I sell them I’ll make a killing.”

“Mr. Goldsmith, I wonder if you could help me make another killing.”

Goldsmith listened carefully to Sebastian’s request. “When are you holding this emergency board meeting?” he asked.

“Tuesday morning, ten o’clock.”

“I’ll be there.”

*   *   *

Sebastian spent the rest of the day trying to return all his calls. He felt like the little Dutch boy with his finger in the dyke. Would it suddenly burst and drown them all?

He listened to the same questions again and again, and attempted to reassure each customer that Hakim was not only innocent, but the bank was in safe hands. He was pleasantly surprised by how many people were standing firm and were happy to back the chairman. Seb had made two lists, one of them labeled “Foul-weather friends” and the other “Fair-weather friends.” By seven o’clock that night, the “foul” list far outstripped the “fair.”

Seb was just about to call it a day when the phone rang again. He thought about ignoring it and going home but reluctantly picked it up.

“It’s Lord Barrington on the line,” said Rachel. “Shall I put him through?”

“Of course.”

“Hello, Seb. I’m sorry to disturb you. You must have had a very trying day. But I wondered if you could spare a moment.”

“Of course,” Seb repeated.

“Some time ago you asked me if I’d like to join the board of Farthings. I’m calling to find out if the offer is still open.”

Sebastian was speechless.

“Are you still there, Seb?”

“Yes,” he managed eventually.

“I would consider it a great honor to serve under Hakim Bishara,” said Giles, “if he still felt I could be of any assistance.”

*   *   *

When the phones were no longer ringing off the hook, Sebastian finally decided to go home, although there was one person he still had to call. But he decided it would be easier to speak to her from the privacy of his flat.

On the way home to Pimlico, he suddenly felt hungry, as he hadn’t had any lunch. He couldn’t face eating out, and certainly didn’t feel like cooking, so he stopped off at a takeaway to pick up a large pepperoni pizza. By the time he’d parked outside his block of flats, his mind had turned to the problems he would have to face at tomorrow’s emergency meeting, now that Adrian Sloane was back on the board. He let himself in to Pimlico Mansions, and took the lift to his apartment on the ninth floor. As he opened his door, he could hear the phone ringing.

*   *   *

Hakim Bishara looked closely at the man seated across the table from him. Once again, he was playing the game his father had taught him. Mr. Hammond’s dark blue suit was well tailored but off the peg; his white shirt had been put on less than an hour ago. His tie was crested, probably a rugby club, and his shoes could only have been polished by someone who’d served in the armed forces. His head was shaven, his body slim and agile, and although he must have been in his mid-forties, not many thirty-year-olds would have wanted to step into the ring with him. Hakim waited for him to speak. The voice offers so many more clues.

“I only agreed to see you, Mr. Bishara, because you’re a friend of Mr. Hardcastle.”

Essex, tough, streetwise. Hammond turned to his left and gave Arnold a slight nod.

“And I owe him. He got me off when I was guilty. Are you guilty, Mr. Bishara?” he asked, his deep brown eyes focused on Hakim as if he were a python eyeing up his lunch.

Hakim could hear Seb’s voice in his ear telling him to stay calm. “No, I am not guilty, Mr. Hammond,” he replied, returning his stare.

“Have you ever taken drugs, Mr. Bishara?”

“Never,” said Hakim calmly.

“Then you won’t mind rolling up your sleeves, will you?” Hakim carried out the order without question. Hammond’s eyes scanned his arms. “And now your trousers.” He rolled up each leg of his trousers. “Open your mouth, I want to look at your teeth.” Hakim opened his mouth. “Wider.” He peered inside. “Well, one thing’s for certain, Mr. Hardcastle. Your friend has never taken drugs in his life, so he’s passed the first test.” Hakim wondered what the second test would be. “Now let’s find out if he’s a dealer.”

*   *   *

Sebastian pushed the door closed, dropped his pizza on the hall table and grabbed the phone. He was greeted with a voice he hadn’t heard for years.

“I was just about to phone you,” said Seb. “But thought it unwise to call from the office, given the circumstances.”

“The circumstances?” repeated Samantha in a gentle voice Seb could never forget.

“I’m afraid it’s rather a long story.”

Seb then attempted to explain what had happened to Bishara since his abortive phone call from Dulles airport, and when he finally stopped talking he still had no idea how Samantha would react.

“Poor man. I can’t begin to imagine what he’s going through.”

“It’s a nightmare,” said Seb. “I hope you feel I did the right thing.”

“I would have done exactly the same,” she said. “Although I must confess I was looking forward to seeing you.”

“I could fly back to Washington on Saturday, pick up my pictures and take you to dinner.”

“I would suggest both of us,” said Sam. “Jessica has made a plasticine model of you and has been sticking pins into it for the past twenty-four hours.”

“No more than I deserve. Should I speak to her, or will she hang up on me?”

“Don’t worry. I have a feeling she’ll run out of pins.”

*   *   *

“Describe the person who was sitting next to you on the plane,” said Hammond.

“Forty, possibly forty-five, elegant, married—”

“How do you know she was married?”

“She was wearing a wedding ring and an engagement ring.”

“What does that prove?”

“That’s she’s not available. You, for example, are recently divorced.”

“What makes you say that?”

“There’s a thin white line on the third finger of your left hand, which you occasionally try to twist around, as if a ring were still there.”

“What was she wearing?”

“A tailored suit, no other jewelry except an expensive pair of diamond earrings and a Cartier Tank watch.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“No, her body language made it clear she didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Did you speak to any of the other passengers on the flight?”

“No, I’d had a pointless and exhausting journey to Lagos and I just wanted to sleep.”

“I’ll need the flight number and the date and time of the booking because it’s just possible she’s a regular on that route.”

Arnold made a note.

“It couldn’t have been her,” said Hakim with conviction.

“Do you remember anything else about her?”

“She was reading
Watership Down
and she wore glasses.”

“Her nationality?”

“Scandinavian. Swedish would be my guess.”

“What makes you say that?”

“No other race on earth has such naturally fair hair.”

“Now I want you to think carefully before you answer my next question, Mr. Bishara.” Hakim nodded. “Can you think of anyone who would benefit from your being in jail?”

“Not that I’m aware of. A lot of people are envious of my success, but I don’t regard them as enemies.”

“Is there anybody who would be happy to see the proposed Farthings Kaufman merger fail?”

“Several people. But after what I’ve been through in the last few days, I’m not willing to accuse someone who, like me, might be totally innocent.”

Arnold made another note.

“Mr. Clifton or Mr. Kaufman, for example? Don’t forget they were at school together. One of them may see himself as the next chairman, and sooner than expected if you were safely out of the way.”