Chapter Four
Across town and back in the heart of the City, two men were plotting. Paul and Adam Harrington were enjoying a whisky in their private club on Pall Mall. The air was thick with cigar smoke – although now illegal indoors, the club kept its conservatory doors open and used that to define this section as an outdoor area. All staff had to sign non-disclosure agreements for all aspects of their work here. They had zero protection. Discretion was the prized jewel and members still behaved like it was the fifties. Of which century was uncertain. The brothers loved it.
After a filling lunch they were now drowsy with contentment. Adam had had the foie gras, naturally – he wasn’t as keen on the taste as he was in knowing that he was keeping alive the demand for the product. Too much of society just caved in at the first mention of apparent cruelty and he was proud to push back. He was frightened of horses so didn’t ride but supported an Englishman’s right to hunt. He didn’t even care about the arguments put forward for pest control; quite frankly, if a man wanted to hunt for the sheer sport of it then why not. It was important to maintain the status quo when it ran in line with his world view.
Paul was his younger brother and not as clever. Approaching his fortieth birthday he was disappointed with how his life was panning out. He had expected to retire by now but with the collapse of the family bank the year before all long-term ventures had had to be postponed as the business scrambled to recover from the blow. Along with their middle sister the brothers were now in charge of the day-to-day running of the Harrington companies. Without the easy money from the bank all three had had to work harder.
Paul had always boasted that a company like Harrington’s pretty much ran itself. He was just there to put forward a good face. Success breeds success and he felt it was essential that his contemporaries saw the holidays he took, the events he frequented and the charities he donated to as part of that affirmation of his company’s success. The fact was the taxpayer often footed the bill for the holidays written off as business expenses, the charitable donations were only ever announced rather than delivered, and the events were usually coerced invitations. Everyone knew that having a Harrington at an occasion was a sign of investors climbing on board. In the past year though those invitations had dwindled.
‘Christ,’ muttered Adam. ‘It’s Jack Heacham.’ The brothers smiled as Jack approached but failed to stand up.
‘Adam, Paul! Long time no see. We missed you at the gala last week!’ Jack’s soft Texan drawl had a way of making it to every corner of the room. A certain stillness developed as conversations paused to overhear the exchange. The family’s disgrace had caused fury and glee in equal measures across the City.
‘No time for play at the moment, Jack,’ said Adam. ‘Too busy looking at new markets.’
‘Well, some of us have to work, I suppose,’ laughed Jack good-naturedly, fooling no one.
‘We’ll see you at the Open next week, though. Surely you can spare the time for a round of golf? ’
Harrington’s had sponsored the golf Open for the past twenty-four years and there had been big plans to celebrate their twenty-five-year partnership with the prestigious event. The golfing federation, however, had terminated their sponsorship. It had been hugely embarrassing to the brothers, but their father had pointed out that they didn’t have the bloody money anyway.
‘Do you honestly think we’d show our faces there?’ said Paul, quick to anger.
‘Of course. How forgetful of me. It would be embarrassing,’ said Jack sympathetically.
‘That’s not what I meant at all,’ spluttered Paul. ‘The way they turned their backs on us was bang out of order.’
‘Oh yes, of course,’ said Jack apologetically. And having achieved his goal of needling Paul into an outburst he returned to the rest of his group as they moved through to lunch.
‘Why do you always rise to the bait?’ asked Adam. ‘You make us look foolish. It you can’t say something smart, shut the fuck up.’
Paul shrugged. He was used to his brother’s attitude. As the eldest, Adam always led the way.
‘So then. Everything’s in place?’ he asked. Ash from his cigar fell onto the carpet. He tapped it again to make sure nothing landed on his shirt then took another puff.
‘Yes. Within the next week things should start to roll out. It’s been a long time setting this up, but my God I’m looking forward to watching her fall.’
The Bank of Harrington’s had collapsed due to financial irregularities. The bank had borrowed too much money and had over-extended its credit past the point of being able to repay its debts. The family blamed its traders, they blamed the market for not supporting it, they blamed the regulators that prosecuted it and closed it down, but most of all they blamed the two people who first noticed the bank’s precarious position. Geoffrey Flint-Hyssop, and Nick Byrne. Geoffrey was widely tipped to one day be the governor of the Bank of England so they couldn’t go after him. Nick Byrne, however, was a young woman, wet behind the ears with minimal connections and resources. She might have had a title, but she didn’t know how to use it and she hadn’t yet cultivated decades of goodwill or blackmail to protect her. It was her that they were going after. The fact that she and Geoffrey had saved the City from an even greater disaster had Harrington’s continued to trade unnoticed was neither here nor there. Adam and Paul had been embarrassed and inconvenienced and someone was going to pay.
‘And that will be the end of Nick Byrne and De Foix Investments?’ said Paul.
‘With what we’ve pinned on her, she won’t stand a chance.’