The Best of British Crime omnibus (35 page)

‘Doctor Ricini ought to sue the papers for publishing such a bad picture of her,' Molly protested. ‘It was an insult, Mary.'

‘I was too busy to say cheese when it was being taken. Anyway, the camera can't lie,' the attractive Medical Director replied modestly.

‘Well it did in your case, Mary,' Hackle put in.

‘How gallant you are,' said Jane Larden, touching his arm but without looking at Dr Ricini. ‘Oh, I must check the table plan for dinner. And Dermot, get me some more champagne, would you?' She put her glass into his hand, then moved away in front of Mrs Hackle whom she had so far failed to acknowledge.

‘We haven't said hello yet, Molly. I'm afraid we were adrift,' said Barbara Closter-Bennet a moment later, turning from Bob Larden, and not sounding overly apologetic. She and the actress embraced briefly. ‘I've told the others already, Giles's car wouldn't start. Practically brand new too. BMW aren't stickin' the bits on as well as they used to. My father swore there'd never be anything to touch a Bentley for reliability. He was right too. In the end we came in the Range Rover.'

She was a spare, energetic figure in her late forties with a noticeably slender nose and mouth. Tallish and very upright, she wore her dark hair pulled back severely from a high forehead to a hollow chignon at the neck. Her long white dress had blue spots, and a ruffed V-neck that exposed an area of flat, freckled and very brown chest. The dress was gay but not gaudy, and while it wasn't exactly high fashion she wore it with easy, unconscious style.

Giles Closter-Bennet was following close behind his wife. Moonfaced and overweight, he was much the shorter of the two, and although of an age with her, he was wearing less well. His neck was too big for his collar, the ends of which were turning up around a badly knotted and somewhat soiled bow tie. His double-breasted dinner-jacket was too tight and would have looked a lot better unbuttoned.

‘Shouldn't think the Savoy doormen get to park too many Range Rovers like yours, Giles,' said Molly with a smile as they shook hands.

‘Up to the hocks in mud, you mean?' Barbara Closter-Bennet put in cheerfully. ‘Giles did think to unhitch the horse-box before we left.'

‘You both know Rosemary Hackle, of course.' Although there could be little doubt over the point, Molly wasn't clear whether the Closter-Bennets intended to greet the lady: most people seemed not to do so.

‘I'm thinking you'll be pleased about the share price today, Barbara?' said McFee later, still chatting with the Closter-Bennets and Treasure. Molly and the others had drifted away, though Mrs Hackle was hovering indeterminately between groups.

‘A hundred and twenty pence tonight.' It was Giles Closter-Bennet who replied to the question. ‘Not bad, I suppose.'

‘I think a premium of l0p is about right,' said Treasure with more assurance than the last speaker. ‘It was higher during the day. Fell in the afternoon with some predictable profit-taking. But it steadied well before the close.'

‘So Grenwood, Phipps got it right, Mr Chairman?' said McFee with a twinkle. He seemed more relaxed when he wasn't in the company of Dermot Hackle.

‘Looks like it.' Treasure smiled.

‘A bigger premium on the first day would have meant you'd set the offer price too low,' said Mrs Closter-Bennet with authority.

‘Mmm. Last week the
FT
said we'd put it too high.'

‘And it's worse for you bankers to do that,' the lady went on. ‘You guarantee a flotation, so you have to buy in any unsold shares yourselves. As a shareholder I congratulate you on pleasing everybody, yourselves included.'

‘Would you say the small private shareholder take-up was disappointing?' Closter-Bennet questioned, but tentatively. As Finance Director of Closter Drug, he had been closer to the mechanics of the flotation than most of the others.

‘It came right in the end, didn't it?' said Treasure. ‘The shareholder profile is going to be about average for a promising middle-weight public company. The accent's on institutional holdings, naturally. Insurance companies, unit trusts, and— '

‘At least my shares now reflect the worth of the company,' Mrs Closter-Bennet interrupted. ‘Not the shameful price my father was paid when he was made to sell out thirteen years ago.'

Her now dead father, an international horseman, and his playboy brother, had practically run the company into the ground through sheer neglect. They had been lucky to get any price at all for it, though naturally the buyer had not paid more than he'd had to. Treasure was aware of all this, but didn't comment. Barbara Closter-Bennet's pet grumble was well known – as was her conviction that her husband should be occupying an even more important position in the company.

‘Barbara still feels we might have done better to sell out to one of the multi-nationals,' said Closter-Bennet. ‘So do I sometimes.' He looked at his wife as if for support, or possibly commendation.

‘I stayed ambivalent on that one,' McFee observed. ‘That way, if the flotation had been a failure, I could have said I half told you so.' He chuckled. ‘As it is, Giles, I think you and Barbara have to hand it to our Chairman for steering us in the right direction.'

‘Oh, we're far from ungrateful. Or dissatisfied,' the other man replied almost too quickly. ‘It was a democratic decision of shareholders after all.'

‘Aye, but that's the very consideration that never fails to stir doubt and suspicion in my mind. Never fails,' McFee repeated, mischievously raising an eyebrow at Treasure.

Barbara Closter-Bennet frowned. She disliked flippancies on subjects that concerned her deeply – the three most notable being the disposition of her wealth, the well-being of her horses, and the acumen of her husband, in that order.

‘I was just about to say that the multi-nationals aren't out of the picture yet,' said Treasure. ‘On the contrary, you could argue they've just entered it in some force.'

‘How's that?' asked McFee, now on his third very large whisky.

‘National Pharmaceutical Industries have bought four per cent of the shares. Krontag of Zürich a bit over four and a half per cent, and the American ONR Drug Corporation nearly five per cent. All three pharmaceutical giants that may or may not be showing an intention to take a more substantial interest in us later.'

‘Take us over, you mean?' demanded Mrs Closter-Bennet, intrigued but by no means aghast.

‘Much too early to say,' Treasure replied.

‘They'll wait to see what happens with Seromig,' said Closter-Bennet.

‘There are also two quite large holdings registered in the name of Swiss bank nominees …' Treasure paused in mid-sentence, looking over his shoulder with a frown.

It was Hackle's voice that was ringing across the room. ‘That's a lie and you know it, Stuart,' he cried from where he and Bodlin were standing near the door. ‘Why don't you bloody well grow up?'

‘It's not me … not me who needs to … to … to grow up,' Bodlin returned in an uncontrolled, breathy hiss, too easily audible because of the sudden hush. He was stammering, which suggested he had already drunk too much: it was well known that he seldom drank at all. ‘You can deny it as … as much as you like,' he went on. ‘You … you could easily have compromised the company. And all because you were toadying to the Managing Director.'

Both men seemed oblivious to the embarrassment they were creating. Larden was now hurrying towards them.

‘You'll take that back.' Hackle's hand went forward as though he might be about to take hold of Bodlin's lapels.

No one except Bodlin believed that a blow was intended, but the little scientist fell back defensively with a frightened whimper, away from the other's grasp. It was unlucky that he toppled over the chair behind him, and with arms flailing, crashed to the floor, tipping a fresh tray of canapés off the table.

Alison McFee gasped loudest in dismay.

‘So what exactly were they quarrelling over? Before dinner?' asked Molly Treasure. She and her husband were being driven home along the Embankment. Henry Pink, the chauffeur, was at the wheel of the Rolls-Royce.

‘Basically, just each other.'

‘It wasn't to do with the wretched news conference?'

‘Probably that, yes. But Stuart Bodlin loathes Dermot Hackle, and Dermot scarcely ever acknowledges Stuart's existence. I don't know which of them most irritates the other.'

‘But Stuart's so important to the company.'

‘So is Dermot.'

‘Except Stuart discovers all the new products.'

‘None of which has earned a penny yet, while Dermot directs sales. It's thanks to him the company makes such good profits.'

Molly gave a doubting sniff, witness to the endurance of the well-bred Briton's conviction that making things is virtuous whereas selling them is vulgar. ‘Anyway,' she said, ‘it was the most exciting moment of the evening.'

‘Bob Larden stepped in very quickly. He smoothed the troubled waters very effectively, I thought.'

‘Like magic. One almost felt nothing had happened.'

‘Nothing much had. Dermot has a very short fuse and knows it. He was thoroughly ashamed of himself for the outburst, and the bad manners. He was genuinely apologetic to Stuart and to everyone else, the ladies especially.' He paused. ‘Stuart won't have forgiven him, of course. Or himself for drinking too much.'

‘I don't think Stuart was hurt.'

‘Just his pride.'

‘I suppose it did put a damper on the evening for some.'

‘Not really. Things picked up again quite quickly. They're not exactly a bumper fun group, of course. Was it a bore for you, darling?'

‘Not at all. And your after-dinner speech was brilliant.'

‘Not brilliant. Appropriate, perhaps. Not too long?'

‘No, and very witty.' She squeezed his arm. ‘Those two Swiss banks you kept mentioning, the ones who've bought shares for other people— '

‘As nominees, yes?'

‘Can you make them say whom they're acting for?'

‘Officially no. Not unless either or both of them increase their shareholdings to a full five per cent.' Treasure was watching the traffic flow over Westminster Bridge as the car waited at the intersection in the shadow of Big Ben. ‘There's a … a sort of legal stop light that comes on when anyone buys five per cent of the shares in a British public company. At that figure the buyer has to disclose exactly who he is, and if he's mounting a takeover.'

‘But up to five per cent he can stay anonymous?'

‘By having a bank buy for him. Which is fair enough. After all, investing money for customers is a pretty legitimate banking activity,' this banker added with pointed firmness.

‘How d'you know these two banks aren't both buying for the same customer?' Molly persisted. ‘So if each of them has just short of five per cent— '

‘Which they have,' Treasure put in with a nod.

‘So if it's really one buyer, he could now own nearly ten per cent of Closter Drug?'

‘Except we don't know if it's one buyer. And if it were, and he eventually made a takeover bid, he'd already have broken the City Takeover Code by setting up what's called a Concert Party.'

‘A Concert Party?' Molly repeated. ‘Don't tell me. It can't just be something on the end of the pier. I know, it's a group of people acting in concert— '

‘To buy shares on behalf of only one person or company.'

‘And that's illegal?'

‘If between them they have five per cent or more of the shares, and don't declare the fact.'

‘And if they're found out?'

‘They could be made to divest themselves of the shares.'

‘To give them back?'

‘Sell them back.'

‘Well that's all right then.' Molly had tired of high finance. ‘Hughie McFee was a very amusing dinner companion.'

‘He's very pro Bodlin and anti Hackle. You probably noticed?'

‘Yes, I did. Well, very pro Stuart Bodlin at least. Hughie didn't actually say anything against Dermot Hackle. Only that he hoped Stuart wasn't too upset after the row. Why do you ask? Is there a reason Hughie doesn't like Dermot? I felt there might be something.'

‘I was just interested. There is a reason. It's supposed to be forgotten, but you can sense it affects Hughie's thinking whenever he has to make a judgement involving Dermot.'

‘Are they rivals in the company?'

‘No, it's nothing to do with the company. Well not directly. It's about Dermot and the McFees' youngest daughter. The unmarried one. They were … they were close friends for a while. Too close. Hughie strongly disapproved.'

‘I don't suppose Mrs Hackle was wild about the idea either. Is the daughter pretty?'

‘Very. Also very young and wilful. In the circumstances, Dermot was a fool to succumb to that sort of temptation.'

‘You're suggesting it was the girl who did the tempting?' Molly challenged immediately.

‘In this case, I think it could have been. They met at a Burns Night party at the McFees' house two years ago. Alison certainly blamed the girl in part. Hughie wasn't so obliging.'

‘What happened?'

‘Oh, it's all supposed to be over. The daughter's been packed off to an American university. Bob Larden told me the story some time back. I don't know why really.'

‘Dermot's obviously a bit of a liability as well as an asset,' said Molly, wrinkling her brow. ‘Not difficult to understand the reason, of course. He really is very attractive. Mary Ricini's obviously gone on him, and she's certainly not the only one.'

Treasure responded with a non-committal grunt. ‘In Mary's case it could be she just admires the contribution he makes to the company.'