Mightier Than the Sword

Bob turned his attention to a paper that was to be presented by Sebastian, setting out why he felt the company shouldn’t be investing in a new luxury liner at the present time.

*   *   *

“Major Fisher,” intoned the butler before closing the door.

“Alex, it’s good to see you again,” said Virginia as she poured him a double gin and tonic. “I do hope things are going well for you.”

“Up and down like Tower Bridge,” said Alex as she passed him his drink, all too aware that Lady Virginia only ever invited him to visit her when she wanted something. Not that he could complain; he wasn’t exactly flush since he’d lost his place on the board of Barrington’s. Virginia wasted no time coming to the point.

“Do you recall our successful little sortie with Bob Bingham a couple of years ago?”

“Could I ever forget?” said Alex. “Mind you, it’s not something I’d ever want to repeat,” he added quickly.

“No, that wasn’t what I had in mind. But I do need you to do a little digging for me. I’d like to know how much Bingham is worth. His company, his shareholdings, properties, particularly the properties, and any other source of income he may have that he wouldn’t want the taxman to know about. Dig deep and spare no details, however insignificant they might seem.”

“And…”

“You’ll be paid five pounds an hour plus expenses, and a bonus of twenty-five pounds if I’m satisfied with your work.”

Alex smiled. Virginia had never once in the past paid the promised bonus, and her idea of expenses was to travel third class and not stay overnight. But given his present circumstances, he wasn’t able to scoff at five pounds an hour.

“When do you need my report?”

“In ten days’ time, Alex. And then I may well have another job for you, nearer home.”

*   *   *

Virginia had planned Priscilla Bingham’s visit to London with military precision. Nothing was left to chance.

On the Monday, the two of them were driven to Epsom, where they joined Lord Malmsbury in his private box on the finishing line. Priscilla clearly enjoyed having a badge for the royal enclosure, where several men complimented her on her Hartnell outfit and “Jackie Kennedy” pillbox hat. She hadn’t received so much attention in years.

On Tuesday, following a light lunch at Simpson’s, they dropped into a drinks reception at the Banqueting House before going on to a gala dinner at the Savoy in aid of the Red Cross, where Matt Monro serenaded the guests.

On Wednesday, it was the turn of the Queen’s Club, where they watched a polo match between a Windsor team captained by the young Prince Charles, and a visiting Argentinian side, most of whom Priscilla couldn’t take her eyes off. In the evening, they had house seats for Funny Girl, a new musical with its original Broadway star, Barbra Streisand, which had queues for returns that were the envy of every other West End theater.

On Thursday, and heaven knows how Virginia fixed the tickets, they attended a royal garden party at Buckingham Palace, where Priscilla was presented to Princess Alexandra. In the evening, they dined with the Duke of Bridgwater and his eldest son, Bofie, who couldn’t take his eyes off Priscilla. In fact, Virginia had to warn him that despite her encouragement, he just might be overdoing it.

On Friday, Priscilla was so exhausted she spent the morning in bed, and was only just up in time to keep an appointment with her hairdresser, before going on in the evening to Covent Garden to see a production of Giselle.

On Saturday morning, they attended trooping the color, watching the ceremony from the Scottish Office overlooking Horse Guards. In the evening they had a quiet supper à deux at Virginia’s flat. “No one in London would dream of venturing out on a Saturday night,” she explained. “The streets are full of foreigners and visiting football hooligans.” But then Virginia had always intended to use that night to sow the first seeds of doubt in her friend’s mind.

“What a week,” said Priscilla as they sat down for supper. “What fun, and to think that tomorrow I have to go back to Mablethorpe.”

“You don’t have to go back,” said Virginia.

“But Robert is expecting me.”

“Is he? Frankly, would he even notice if you were to spend a few more days in London?”

Priscilla put down her knife and fork, clearly considering the proposition. In truth, Virginia didn’t want her to remain in London a day longer, as she was exhausted and had nothing planned for the following week.

“Have you ever thought about leaving Robert?” asked Virginia as Morton refilled Priscilla’s wine glass.

“Regularly. But how could I possibly survive without him?”

“Rather well, I suspect. After all, you have a lovely home in The Boltons, not to mention—”

“But it’s not mine.”

“It could be,” said Virginia, warming to her task.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you read that article about Robert in the business section of the Telegraph a couple of weeks ago?”

“I never read the business section of any paper.”