The receptionist, taking no notice of them, said, ‘Have a seat, Mr Brock. Mr Bromley has just stepped out. He’ll be back in a sec’
Brock sat down, mesmerized by the shockingly blatant display on the desk. He wondered if this was some kind of test, if Beamish-Newell might be watching him on a hidden camera, waiting to see if he would break down and hurl himself at the forbidden fruit.
Bromley bustled in after a while, cheerfully shook Brock’s hand and went round to sit in the large, pneumatically operated chair behind the desk. His aftershave was powerful. ‘Sorry about this,’ he said, gesturing towards the pie and beer. ‘I got held up in town, negotiating with the stoats and weasels at the bank. Went on much longer than I’d expected, and I missed my lunch. You’ve had yours, I suppose?’
Brock nodded. ‘Please, go ahead. Don’t let it get cold.’ He tried to drag his eyes away.
‘Well, if you really don’t mind, I might just do that. I’m ravenous, as a matter of fact. Always does that to me, talking about money.’ Bromley grinned and bit a large chunk out of the pie. While he chewed, he carried on talking. ‘Well now, David, mmm, mmm, what can I do for you?’
Brock coughed, clearing the saliva in his throat. ‘Well … it was Dr Beamish-Newell who suggested I might speak to you. About the possibility of investing in the clinic. Then I was speaking to Norman de Loynes, and he suggested the same thing.’
‘Mmm, mmm.’ Bromley nodded vigorously, licked his lips and took another bite of pie. Gravy oozed down his chin. ‘Good idea. Stephen did mention you to me. This is your first visit, I understand.’
‘Yes. I must admit I’m pretty new to all this. I really don’t know a lot about it. I only arrived on Monday.’
‘Mmm. Well, I imagine the Director has been painting the picture, mmm, of the health side of things. Obviously, what Stanhope has to offer in that respect is a very superior product. Maybe unique. What has probably also become apparent to you is that Stanhope is a community of like-minded people. That’s a very important part of the philosophy, mmm; it’s not just some sort of sterile out-patient facility or a commercial fat-farm.’
Bromley nodded at his own words and paused briefly to take a swig from the beer bottle and another bite from the remains of the pie. ‘But the third aspect of Stanhope, mmm, mmm, which may not be so apparent up front, David, is that it is also a very sound business enterprise. I’ll show you figures in a tick. Three things, you see — health, community and enterprise. Together they create a really special investment context.’
He let that sink in while he finished the pie, screwed up the foil tray and tossed it into his waste-paper basket. ‘Smashing,’ he said.
Brock regretfully tore his eyes away from the piece of foil and returned his attention to the man swallowing beer behind the desk. He noticed that Bromley had some kind of skin trouble around his nose and eyebrows, which gave his chubby face a slightly inflamed look. ‘But isn’t the clinic a charity? Can you invest in a charity?’
Bromley wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and gave Brock a cunning smile. ‘Good point, David. Good point. The Stanhope Foundation is a registered charity, yes. The Stanhope Naturopathic Clinic and the Stanhope Trust are not. It’s a matter of allowing people to participate in the affairs of Stanhope in many different tax-effective ways, according to their needs and inclinations — as patient, trustee, donor, shareholder or Friend.’
‘Friend?’
‘I imagine that may be what Stephen and Norman had in mind when they suggested you speak to me, David. We have a limited class of membership of the Stanhope community which we call “Friends of Stanhope”. You might say they are all the other categories rolled into one. They pay an annual fee, which makes them shareholders in the enterprise, and also partly goes to support the charitable work of the Foundation. In return, the Friends have access to the range of Stanhope facilities on a privileged basis. They can come here for short stays, for example, at discount rates, and have access to the therapeutic treatments they require, on a one-off basis or not, as they wish. It’s like a club, David. They can drop in for a weekend, unwind, meet their pals. That might suit you quite well, a single man — a retreat from the stresses and strains of the city? They have their own lounge upstairs,’ he chuckled and winked at Brock. ‘The dumb waiter that serves the dining room from the kitchen downstairs goes on up to the Friends’ lounge, you see. They make their own arrangements with the kitchen.’
‘Ah, yes, I can see the merit in that. Well … as I said, Ben, I’m still finding my feet here at the moment, but it certainly sounds an interesting concept. I think I should find out a bit more.’
Bromley nodded. ‘Health, community and enterprise, David. It combines the three essential ingredients of Stanhope in a unique way.’
‘I would have thought the business enterprise side might have been at odds with the other two aspects, though? I mean, I didn’t get the impression from Dr Beamish-Newell that making money was a priority.’
‘What did you think of him?’ Bromley tilted back in his chair and eyed Brock over the neck of the bottle with a mischievous, and maybe slightly sly, grin.
‘He was very impressive, from the one meeting we had. “Charismatic” is probably the word.’
‘Charismatic’ Bromley nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, you’re right there, David. He’s a brilliant man in his field, a wonderful asset to the clinic. That’s his role. The money side isn’t of great concern to him. That’s left to drones like me. But we’re all part of a team, some of us more visible than others, but all with our roles to play.’
‘Ye-es.’ Brock sounded doubtful. ‘I’m sure you do. But in the end, this place really is Dr Beamish-Newell, isn’t it? I just wondered about that, when the idea of investing came up.’
‘How do you mean, David?’
‘Well, what would happen if something happened to him? I mean, supposing it turned out one day that he’d killed someone, Ben?’
‘Eh?’ Ben froze, and then came upright, as if his chair were ejecting him, but in slow motion. He stared at Brock, and, when Brock didn’t offer anything more, said, ‘What the hell does that mean, David?’
‘Well, that sort of thing can happen to doctors, can’t it? Some unfortunate accident, a patient with a weak heart and aggrieved, litigious relatives. It happens all the time these days, doesn’t it?’
‘Oh … yes, I get your drift. I thought for a moment there you were suggesting …’ He leaned back and his seat sighed under him. i take your point, David. As a potential investor, you would naturally be worried about a one-man organization that could fall apart overnight if that one man got fed up with the whole thing, ran off with the milkman’s wife or, as you say, had some kind of accident. Am I reading your mind?’
He wasn’t, but Brock nodded anyway.
‘That would have been the case until five or six years ago, David. I certainly wouldn’t have been interested in throwing any of my hard-earned cash into this place before that.’ Bromley gave a knowing smile, rotated the beer bottle to make sure it was quite empty, then sent it flying into the basket.
‘Absolutely no financial control,’ he continued. ‘What passed for books were a joke. I’m saying this in a spirit of openness, David, not by way of criticism of Stephen. That just wasn’t his forte. His strengths lay elsewhere, and he had the good fortune to meet up with Sir Peter Maples at just the time when he most needed him. Sir Peter was able to harness his business acumen to the good doctor’s vision and set the clinic up on a sound, long-term footing, one that others can feel comfortable about participating in. Dr Beamish-Newell is part of a team now — an important part, of course, responsible for the health programmes, just as I’m responsible for implementing the business plan and for the ongoing financial management. But not an indispensable part.