“Why?” asked Giles.
“Hakim and Ross Buchanan are both great admirers of yours, and Ross asked me to find out if there was any chance you would consider becoming a director of Farthings.”
“Why would he suggest that, when I know as much about banking as he does about cricket?”
“I don’t think your cricketing prowess is the reason they want you to join the board. But you do have certain skills that could be of benefit to the bank.”
“Like what?” asked Giles, as they turned off Hyde Park Corner and headed up Park Lane.
“You were a senior minister at the Foreign Office in the last government, and you currently sit in the Shadow Cabinet. Just think of the political contacts you’ve made over the years. And if we’re going to join the EEC, imagine the doors you could open that would be closed to our rivals.”
“I’m flattered,” said Giles, “but frankly I’m a politician at heart, and if we win the next election — and I’m convinced we will — I would hope to be appointed a minister again, and would therefore have to give up any directorships.”
“But that might not be for another three or four years,” said Seb, “during which time we could make good use of your knowledge, contacts and expertise to expand our interests in Europe.”
“What would my responsibilities be?”
“You’d have to attend a board meeting every quarter, and be on the end of a phone if Hakim or Ross need to seek your advice. Not too onerous, so I hope you’ll at least give it some thought.”
“A Labour politician on the board of a bank.”
“That might even be an advantage,” said Seb. “Show you don’t all hate business.”
“The first thing I’d need to do is find out how my colleagues in the Shadow Cabinet would react.”
As they drove around Marble Arch, Seb asked, “And how are you enjoying the Lords?”
“It’s not the Commons.”
“What does that mean?”
“The real power will always be in the Lower House. They instigate the bills, while we just revise them, which must be right while we’re an unelected chamber. Frankly I made a mistake not standing in the by-election. But I’m not complaining. It means I get to spend more time with Karin, so in a way I’ve ended up with the best of both worlds. And you, Seb?”
“The worst of both worlds. The woman I love lives on the wrong side of the Atlantic and, as long as her husband’s alive, there’s not a lot I can do about it.”
“Have you told your parents about Jessica?”
“No, not in so many words, but I have a feeling Dad already knows. He came to my office a few weeks ago to take me to lunch and spotted a painting on the wall entitled My Mom, signed ‘Jessica.’”
“And he put two and two together?”
“It wouldn’t have been difficult. My Mom couldn’t be anyone but Samantha.”
“But that’s wonderful on one level.”
“And dreadful on another, because Sam would never consider leaving her husband Michael while he’s lying in a coma in hospital.”
“Perhaps it’s time for you to move on.”
“That’s what Aunt Grace keeps telling me, but it’s not quite that easy.”
“After two failed marriages, I can hardly claim to be a role model,” said Giles. “But I did get lucky the third time, so there must still be some hope for you.”
“And the whole family’s delighted by how it’s worked out. Mum particularly likes Karin.”
“And your father?” asked Giles, as he drove into St. John’s Wood Road.
“He’s cautious by nature, so he may take a little longer. But that’s only because he’s got your best interests at heart.”
“Can’t blame him. After all, he and your mother have been married for over twenty-five years, and they still adore each other.”
“Tell me more about today’s game,” said Seb, clearly wanting to change the subject.
“For the Indians, cricket is not a game, it’s a religion.”
“And we’re guests of the president of the MCC?”
“Yes, Freddie Brown and I both played for the MCC, and he went on to captain England,” Giles said as he parked his car on a yellow line outside the ground. “However, you’re about to find that cricket is a great leveler. There’s sure to be an interesting mix of guests in the president’s box, who only have one thing in common — a passion for the game.”
“Then I’ll be the odd one out,” said Seb.
“The Cabinet Office.”
“It’s Harry Clifton. Could I have a word with the Cabinet Secretary?”
“Hold on please, sir, I’ll find out if he’s free.”
“Mr. Clifton,” said a voice a few moments later. “What a pleasant surprise. I was only asking your brother-in-law the other day if there had been any progress in getting Anatoly Babakov released.”
“Sadly not, Sir Alan, but that wasn’t the reason I was calling. I need to see you fairly urgently, on a private matter. I wouldn’t bother you unless I considered it important.”
“If you say it’s important, Mr. Clifton, I’ll see you whenever it’s convenient, and I don’t always say that, even to cabinet ministers.”
“I’m in London today to visit my publishers, so if by any chance you could fit me in for fifteen minutes this afternoon...”
“Let me check my diary. Ah, I see the prime minister is at Lord’s to watch the test match, where he’ll have an unofficial meeting with Indira Gandhi, so I don’t expect him back at No.10 much before six. Would four fifteen suit you?”
“Good morning, Freddie. It was kind of you to invite us.”
“My pleasure, Giles. Nice to be on the same side for a change.”
Giles laughed. “And this is my nephew, Sebastian Clifton, who works in the City.”
“Good morning, Mr. Brown,” said Sebastian, as he shook hands with the president of the MCC. He looked out onto the magnificent ground, which was quickly filling up in anticipation of the opening salvoes.
“England won the toss and have elected to bat,” said the president.
“Good toss to win,” said Giles.
“And is this your first visit to the home of cricket, Sebastian?”
“No, sir, as a schoolboy I saw my uncle score a century for Oxford on this ground.”
“Not many people have achieved that,” said the president, as two of his other guests entered the box and came across to join them.
Sebastian smiled, although he was no longer looking at the former captain of England.
“And this,” said the president, “is an old friend of mine, Sukhi Ghuman, not a bad spin bowler in his time, and his daughter Priya.”
“Good morning, Mr. Ghuman,” said Giles.
“Do you enjoy cricket, Priya?” Seb asked the young woman, whom he tried not to stare at.
“That’s a rather silly question to ask an Indian woman, Mr. Clifton,” said Priya, “because there wouldn’t be anything to talk to our men about if we didn’t follow cricket. How about you?”
“Uncle Giles played for the MCC, but when bowlers see me, they don’t expect it to be a lasting experience.”
She smiled. “And I heard your uncle say you work in the City.”
“Yes, I’m at Farthings Bank. And you, are you over here on holiday?”
“No,” said Priya. “Like you, I work in the City.”
Sebastian felt embarrassed. “What do you do?” he asked.
“I’m a senior analyst at Hambros.”
Let’s wind back, Seb wanted to say. “How interesting,” he managed, as a bell rang and rescued him.
They both looked out onto the ground to see two men in long white coats striding down the pavilion steps, a signal to the packed crowd that battle was about to commence.