As the Crow Flies (82 page)

“Many
years ago when I was a young man,” began Baverstock, “and I sat my pupil’s
exams, I swore to keep a code of confidentiality when dealing with my clients’
private affairs. I think I can safely say that I have honored that undertaking
throughout my professional life. However, one of my clients, as you well know,
was Sir Raymond Hardcastle and he... “ There was a knock on the door and a
young girl entered, with a tray bearing two cups of hot coffee and a sugar
bowl.

“Thank
you, Miss Burrows,” said Baverstock as one of the cups was placed in front of
him. He did not continue with his exposition until the door was closed behind
her. “Where was 1, old fellow?” Baverstock asked, as he dropped a sugar lump
into his cup.

“Your
client, Sir Raymond.”

“Oh,
yes,” said Baverstock. “Now, Sir Raymond left a will of which you may well feel
you are cognizant. What you could not know, however, is that he attached a
letter to that document. It has no legal standing, as it was addressed to me in
a personal capacity.”

Charlie’s
coffee lay untouched as he listened intently to what Baverstock had to say. “It
is because that letter is not a legal document but a private communication
between old friends that I have decided you should be a party to its contents.”

Baverstock
leaned forward and opened the file that lay on the table in front of him. He
removed a single sheet of paper transcribed in a bold, firm hand. “I should
like to point out, Sir Charles, before I read this letter to you that it was
written at a time when Sir Raymond assumed that his estate would be inherited
by Daniel and not by his next of kin.”

Mr.
Baverstock pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose, cleared his throat
and began to read:

Dear
Baverstock, Despite everything I have done to ensure that my final wishes are carried
out to the letter, it may still be possible that... will find some way of
seeing that my great-grandson, Daniel Trumper, does not inherit the residue of
my estate. If such circumstances should come about, please use your common
sense and allow those most affected by the decisions in my will to be privy to
its finer details.

Old
friend, you know exactly to whom and what I am referring.

Yours
as ever Ray.

Baverstock
placed the letter back on the table and said, “I fear he knew my little
weaknesses every bit as much as his daughter’s.” Charlie smiled for he
appreciated the ethical dilemma with which the old lawyer was so obviously
grappling.

“Now,
before I make reference to the will itself I must let you into another confidence.”

Charlie
nodded.

“You
are painfully aware, Sir Charles, that Mr. Nigel Trentham is now the next of
kin. However, it should not pass unobserved that the will is so worded that Sir
Raymond couldn’t even bring himself actually to name him as the recipient. I
suspect that he hoped that Daniel might produce progeny of his own who would
have taken precedence over his grandson.

“The
current position is that Mr. Nigel Trentham will, as Sir Raymond’s closest
living descendant, be entitled to the shares in Trumper’s and the residue of
the Hardcastle estate a considerable fortune, which I can confirm would provide
him with adequate funds to mount a full takeover bid for your company. However,
that was not my purpose in wanting to see you this morning. No, that was
because there is one clause in the will you could not have previously been
aware of. After taking into account Sir Raymond’s letter, I believe it to be
nothing less than my duty to inform you of its import.”

Baverstock
burrowed into his file and retrieved a sheaf of papers, sealed in wax and bound
in pink ribbon.

“The
first eleven clauses of Sir Raymond’s testament took me some considerable time
to compose. However, their substance is not relevant to the issue at hand. They
relate to minor legacies left by my client to nephews, nieces and cousins who
have already received the sums bequeathed.

“Clauses
twelve to twenty-one go on to name charities, clubs and academic institutions
with which Sir Raymond had long been associated, and they too have received the
benefit of his munificence. But it is clause twenty-two that I consider
crucial.” Baverstock cleared his throat once again before looking down at the
will and turning over several pages.

“‘The
residue of my estate shall pass to Mr. Daniel Trumper of Trinity College,
Cambridge, but should he fail to survive my daughter Ethel Trentham then that
sum shall be equally divided between his offspring. Should he have no issue,
then the estate shall pass to my closest living descendant.’ Now to the
relevant paragraph, Sir Charles. ‘If these circumstances arise I instruct my
executors to go to any lengths they feel necessary to find someone entitled to
make a claim on my inheritance. In order that this option might be properly
executed, I also deem that final payment of the residue of the estate shall not
be made until a-further two years after my daughter’s death.’”

Charlie
was about to ask a question when Mr. Baverstock raised his hand.

“It
has become clear to me,” continued Baverstock “that Sir Raymond’s purpose in
including clause twenty-two was simply to give you enough time to marshal your
forces and fight any hostile takeover bid Mr. Nigel Trentham might have in
mind.

“Sir
Raymond also left instructions that, at a suitable time following his daughter’s
death, an advertisement should be placed in The Times, the Telegraph and the
Guardian and any other newspaper I considered appropriate when seeking to
discover if there were any other persons who feel they might have some claim on
the estate. If this should be the case, they can then do so by making direct
contact with this firm. Thirteen such relations have already received the sum
of one thousand pounds each, but it is just possible there could be other
cousins or distant relatives of whom Sir Raymond was unaware who may still be
entitled to make such a claim. This provision simply gave the old man an excuse
for the two-year clause. As I understand it, Sir Raymond was quite happy to
allocate another thousand pounds to some unknown relative if at the same time
it afforded you some breathing space. By the way,” said Baverstock, “I have
decided to add the Yorkshire Post and the Huddersfield Daily Examiner to the
list of newspapers named in the will because of the family connections in that
county.”

“What
a shrewd old buzzard he must have been,” said Charlie. “I only wish I’d known
him.”

“I
think I can say with some confidence, Sir Charles, that you would have liked
him.”

“It
was also extremely kind of you to put me in the picture, old fellow.”

“Not
at all. I feel sure,” said Baverstock, “that had he been placed in my position
it is no more and certainly no less than Sir Raymond would have done himself.”

“If
only I’d told Daniel the truth about his father... “

“If
you save your energies for the quick,” said Baverstock, “it is possible Sir
Raymond’s foresight may still not have been wasted.”

On
7 March 1962, the day on which Mrs. Trentham died, Trumper’s shares stood at
one pound two shillings on the FT Index; only four weeks later they had risen
by a further three shillings.

Tim
Newman’s first piece of advice to Charlie was to cling to every share he still
possessed and under no circumstances during the next couple of years to agree
to any further rights issues. If between them Charlie and Becky were able to
lay their hands on any spare cash, they should purchase shares as and when they
came on the market.

The
problem with following this particular piece of advice was that every time a
substantial block of shares did come on to the market they were immediately
taken up by an unknown broker who so obviously had instructions to purchase
stock whatever the price. Charlie’s stockbroker managed to get his hands on a
few shares but only from those unwilling to trade on the open market. Charlie
was loath to pay over the odds, as he had never forgotten how close he had come
to bankruptcy when he last extended his credit. By the end of the year Trumper’s
shares stood at one pound seventeen shillings. There were even fewer sellers
left in the marketplace after the Financial Times had warned their readers of a
possible takeover battle for the company and gone on to predict it would take
place within the next eighteen months.

“That
damned paper seems to be as well briefed as any member of the board,” Daphne
complained to Charlie at their next meeting, adding that she no longer bothered
with the minutes of the past meeting as she could always read an excellent
summary of what had taken place on the front page of the Financial Times, which
appeared to have been dictated to them verbatim. As she delivered these words
her eyes never left Paul Merrick.

The
paper’s latest story was inaccurate in only one small detail, as the battle for
Trumper’s was no longer taking place in the boardroom. As soon as it became
known that a two-year holding clause existed in Sir Raymond’s will Nigel
Trentham and his nominees had stopped attending the monthly meetings.

Trentham’s
absence particularly annoyed Cathy, as quarter after quarter the new in-house
bank began to show increased profits. She found herself addressing her opinions
to three empty chairs though she too suspected Merrick was reporting back every
detail to Chester Square. As if to compound matters, in 1963 Charlie informed
the shareholders at their AGM that the company would be declaring another
record profit for the year.

“You
may have spent a lifetime building up Trumper’s only to hand it over on a plate
to the Trenthams,” Tim Newman reflected.

“There’s
certainly no need for Mrs. Trentham to be turning in her grave,” admitted
Charlie. “Ironic, after all she managed during her life that it’s only by her
death that she’s been given the chance to deliver the coup de grace”

When,
early in 1964, the shares rose yet again this time to over two pounds Charlie
was informed by Tim Newman that Nigel Trentham was still in the marketplace
with instructions to buy.

“But
where’s he getting hold of all the extra cash that would be needed to bankroll
such an operation when he’s still not yet got his hands on his grandfather’s
money?”

“I
picked up a hint from a former colleague,” replied Tim Newman, “that a leading
merchant bank has granted him a large overdraft facility in anticipation of his
gaining control of the Hardcastle Trust. Only wish you had a grandfather who’d
left you a fortune,” he added.

“I
did,” said Charlie.

Nigel
Trentham chose Charlie’s sixty-fourth birthday to announce to the world that he
would be making a full bid for Trumper’s shares at a price of two pound four
shillings, a mere six weeks before he was enticed to lay claim to his
inheritance. Charlie still felt confident that with the help of friends and
institutions like the Prudential as well as some shareholders who were waiting
for the price to rise even higher he could still lay his hands on almost forty
percent of the stock. Tim Newman estimated that Trentham must now have at least
twenty percent, but once he was able to add the Trust’s seventeen percent he
might then be in possession of as much as forty-two to forty-three. Picking up
the extra eight or nine percent required to gain control should not prove too
hard for him, Newman warned Charlie.

That
night Daphne threw a birthday party in Charlie’s honor at her home in Eaton
Square. No one mentioned the name of “Trentham” until the port had been passed
round for a second time, when a slightly maudlin Charlie recited the relevant
clause in Sir Raymond’s will, which he explained had been put there with the
sole purpose of trying to save him.

“I
give you Sir Raymond Hardcastle,” said Charlie, raising his glass. “A good man
to have on your team.”

“Sir
Raymond,” the guests echoed, all raising their glasses, with the exception of
Daphne.

“What’s
the problem, old gel?” asked Percy. “Port not up to scratch?”

“No,
as usual it’s you lot who aren’t. You’ve all totally failed to work out what
Sir Raymond expected of you.”

“What
are you on about, old gel?”

“I
should have thought it was obvious for anyone to see, especially you, Charlie,”
she said, turning from her husband to the guest of honor.

“I’m
with Percy I haven’t a clue what you’re on about.”

By
now everyone round the table had fallen silent, while they concentrated on what
Daphne had to say.

“It’s
quite simple really,” continued Daphne. “Sir Raymond obviously didn’t consider
it likely that Mrs. Trentham would outlive Daniel.”

“So?”
said Charlie.

“And
I also doubt if he thought for one moment that Daniel would have any children
before she died.”

“Possibly
not,” said Charlie.

“And
we are all painfully aware that Nigel Trentham was a last resort otherwise Sir
Raymond would happily have named him in his will as the next beneficiary and
not have been willing to pass his fortune on to an offspring of Guy Trentham,
whom he had never even met. ‘He also wouldn’t have added the words: should he
have no issue, then the estate shall pass to my closest living descendant.’”