This Was A Man (18 page)

‘Mr Sorkin hopes you and Mr Knowles will join him for a drink,’ he said, before leading them up a wide staircase.

Their host was standing on the upper deck waiting to greet his guests. Once he had introduced himself, he offered them a glass of champagne. Conrad Sorkin was not at all what Sloane had
expected; tall, elegant, with a relaxed confidence that comes with success or breeding. He spoke with a slight South African accent and quickly put his guests at ease. Hard to guess his age,
thought Sloane, possibly fifty, fifty-five. After some carefully worded questions, he discovered that Sorkin had been born in Cape Town and educated at Stanford. However, the small bronze bust of
Napoleon that stood on the sideboard behind him revealed a possible weakness.

‘So where do you live now?’ asked Sloane, toying with his champagne.

‘This ship is my home. It has everything I require, with the added advantage that I don’t have to pay taxes.’

‘Isn’t that a little restricting?’ asked Knowles.

‘No, in fact the opposite. I quite literally enjoy the best of every world. I can visit any port I choose, and as long as I don’t stay for more than thirty days the authorities take
no interest in me. And I think it would be fair to say that this ship has everything a major city could offer, including a chef I stole from the Savoy. So, gentlemen, shall we go through to
dinner?’

Sloane took a seat on the right of his host. He heard the engine turning over.

‘I’ve asked the captain to sail slowly around the bay. I think you’ll find the lights of Nice harbour make a stunning backdrop,’ said Sorkin. A waiter filled their
glasses with white wine, while another placed a plate of gravlax in front of them.

Sorkin boasted that the plaice and the Angus steak had been picked up from Grimsby and Aberdeen just hours before they boarded his jet that afternoon. Sloane had to admit that he might have been
dining in one of the finest restaurants in London, and the quality of the wine made him want his glass to be constantly refilled. However, he restricted himself to a couple of glasses, as he waited
for Sorkin to touch on the reason they were there.

After the last course had been cleared away, and brandy, port and cigars had been offered, the staff made a discreet withdrawal.

‘Shall we get down to business?’ said Sorkin, after he’d lit his cigar and taken a couple of puffs.

Sloane took a sip of port and Knowles poured himself a brandy.

‘As I see it,’ said Sorkin, ‘you presently control a company that has some major assets, and although Mr Mellor still owns fifty-one per cent of the stock, while he remains in
prison he cannot involve himself in any board decisions.’

‘I can see you’ve done your homework,’ said Sloane, before taking a puff on his cigar. ‘But what particular assets are you interested in, Mr Sorkin?’

‘Conrad, please. Let me make it clear that I have no interest in acquiring Mellor Travel. However, the company has forty-two travel agencies well placed in high streets throughout the UK.
Those properties have a book value of less than two million pounds. But if we were to put them on the market individually, I estimate they have a real value of nearer six, possibly even seven
million.’

‘But,’ interrupted Sloane, ‘if we were to dispose of our greatest asset, Mellor Travel would be little more than a shell company, unable to carry out its core business.
I’m sure you’re aware that Thomas Cook has already made us an offer of two million for the company, and made it clear that they wouldn’t be sacking any staff or disposing of any
of the properties.’

‘And that two million would be paid to a company that will be run by Cook’s until Desmond Mellor comes out of jail, so the best either of you could hope for is a decent redundancy
package. That is why I am willing to equal Cook’s offer, but with a subtle difference. My two million will be deposited in the bank of your choice, in the city of your choice.’

‘But the Bank of England—’ began Sloane.

‘Adrian, the Bank of England is indeed a powerful body, but I can name twenty-three countries in which it has no jurisdiction, or even bilateral agreements. All you will have to do is
convince your board to accept my offer, rather than Cook’s. As the company only has five directors, and one of them can’t attend board meetings, that shouldn’t prove too difficult
to achieve long before Mr Mellor is released – which I understand is not imminent.’

‘You are well informed,’ said Sloane.

‘Let’s just say we have contacts in all the right places, and inside information that keeps me ahead of my rivals.’

‘If I was to accept your terms,’ said Sloane, ‘is the cash I found in my room a one per cent down payment against the two million you’re offering?’

Knowles frowned.

‘Certainly not,’ said Sorkin. ‘Consider that no more than a calling card to prove my credentials.’

Sloane drained his glass of port and waited for it to be refilled, before he said, ‘We have a board meeting in a couple of weeks’ time, Conrad, and you can be assured that I and my
fellow directors will take your offer very seriously.’

The chairman of Mellor Travel leant back and relaxed for the first time, allowing himself to enjoy the port, confident he’d got the measure of Sorkin and that the two million could be
treated as an opening bid. He’d already decided the figure he’d settle for, but would wait until breakfast before he made his next move.

Knowles looked disappointed, only too aware that Sloane was holding out for a larger sum. The same mistake he’d made when Hakim Bishara had bid for Farthings, and they’d ended up
losing the deal. Knowles wasn’t going to allow him to make the same error a second time. After all, he considered Sorkin’s offer was more than enough, and there was no need to be
greedy. Sloane’s biggest weakness.

‘I think I’ll turn in,’ Sloane said, rising slowly from his place, as he felt nothing more could be achieved that night. ‘Goodnight, Conrad. I’ll sleep on your
offer. Perhaps we can talk again in the morning.’

‘I’ll look forward to that,’ said Sorkin, as Sloane made his way unsteadily towards the door. Knowles made no attempt to join him, which annoyed Sloane, but he didn’t
comment.

Sloane had to hold on to the railing as he slowly descended the companionway. He was glad to see the purser waiting for him on the lower deck because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to
find his way back to his cabin. Perhaps he shouldn’t have drunk so much port on top of such excellent wines. But when would he ever again be offered a third, or was it a fourth, glass of
Taylor’s 24?

He stumbled as his foot touched the bottom step, and the purser quickly came to his rescue, placing an arm gently around his shoulder. Sloane swayed towards the ship’s railing and leant
over the side, hoping he wouldn’t be sick, aware it would be reported back to Sorkin. After breathing in the fresh sea air he felt a little better. If he could just get back to his cabin and
lie down, he was thinking, as two powerful arms circled his waist, and with one seamless movement he found himself being lifted into the air. He turned and tried to protest, only to see the purser
smiling at him before unceremoniously dumping him overboard.

A moment later Sorkin appeared by the purser’s side. Neither of them spoke as the chairman of Mellor Travel disappeared below the waves for a third time.

‘How did you know he couldn’t swim?’

‘Inside information from the person who used to have your job,’ Sorkin replied. As he turned away he added, ‘You’ll find your twenty thousand in Sloane’s cabin,
under the bed.’

Nash bent down and tied up one of his shoelaces, the sign that Mellor should join him.

Mellor completed two more laps of the yard before he was by his side. He didn’t need the watching screws to become suspicious.

‘Job’s done. No need to send any flowers to his funeral.’

‘Why not?’

‘He was buried at sea.’ They walked a few more yards before Nash added, ‘We’ve kept our side of the bargain, now I expect you to keep yours.’

‘Not a problem,’ said Mellor, hoping Nash hadn’t noticed that he’d broken out in a cold sweat. He’d called his estate agent in Bristol a couple of weeks before, and
discovered that his old flat on Broad Street still hadn’t been sold – not the easiest of markets, Mr Carter had explained, but if he were to lower the price, he felt confident a deal
could be done. Mellor lowered the price, and an offer had been forthcoming, but the buyer wasn’t willing to exchange until he’d seen the surveyor’s report – which
wouldn’t be completed for another fortnight.

At least the Sloane problem had been dealt with. He would write to Knowles and ask him to make a prison visit as soon as possible. Surely he would fall in line now that Sloane was no longer
around to call the tune.

A few more yards before he asked, ‘When and where?’ He hoped he sounded confident.

‘Next Thursday. I’ll let you know the details after Tracie’s visit on Sunday. Just be sure that nice Lady Virginia doesn’t forget to bring her Swan and Edgar bag with
her.’

Mellor fell back and joined Sharp Johnny, who was as cheerful as ever, but then he only had nineteen days left to serve.

‘I
DON
’
T
SUPPOSE
you have ten thousand pounds you could spare?’ said Mellor. Virginia wondered if he was
joking until she saw the look of desperation in his eyes. ‘I have a short-term cash-flow problem,’ he explained, ‘which can be resolved if only I’m given a little more time.
But I need ten thousand quickly.’ He glanced across the crowded room to where Nash was deep in conversation with his only ever guest. ‘Very quickly.’

Virginia thought about the £111,000 she still had in her current account, and smiled sweetly. ‘But no one knows better than you, Desmond, I’m as poor as a church mouse. My
brother gives me an allowance of two thousand a month, which is barely enough to live on, and the only other income I’ve had recently was the small amount of money I received following the
sale of your mother’s house. I suppose I could let you have a thousand, and possibly another thousand in a month’s time.’

‘That’s good of you, Virginia, but it will be too late by then.’

‘Do you have any assets you could put up as collateral?’ Virginia asked. Familiar words she’d heard her bank manager use whenever she was overdrawn.

‘My ex-wife ended up with our house in the country as part of the divorce settlement. I’ve put my flat in Bristol on the market. It’s worth about twenty thousand, and although
someone has made an offer, contracts haven’t been exchanged.’

‘What about Adrian Sloane? After all, it wouldn’t be a large amount to him.’

‘That’s no longer possible,’ said Mellor, without explanation.

‘And Jim Knowles?’

Mellor thought for a moment. ‘I suppose Jim just might be willing to help if I put the flat up as collateral and there was something in it for him.’

‘Like what?’

‘To chair the company, cash, whatever he wants.’

‘I’ll get in touch with him the moment I get home, and find out if he’s willing to help.’

‘Thank you, Virginia. And of course there’ll be something in it for you.’

Once again, Mellor looked across the room at Nash, who he knew would be taking instructions as to where the second instalment should be delivered. Never the same place twice, and never the same
person, Nash had already explained.

‘But I’ll still need the ten thousand before Thursday,’ Mellor said, turning back to Virginia. ‘And I can’t begin to tell you what the consequences could be if you
fail.’

‘How often are you allowed to make telephone calls?’

‘Once a week, but I only get three minutes, and don’t forget the screws are listening to every word.’

‘Call me on Tuesday afternoon, around five o’clock. I should have seen Knowles by then, and I’ll do everything in my power to persuade him.’

‘It’s all set up for Thursday,’ said Nash, when Mellor joined him in the yard.

‘Where and when?’ asked Mellor, unwilling to admit he didn’t have the money.

‘Trafalgar Square, between the fountains, twelve o’clock.’