Читать книгу The Duke of York's Steps - Sir Henry Lancelot Aubrey-Fletcher - Страница 3

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“A glass of the Dow for Mr. Hessel, please, Rogers, and I’ll have brown sherry.”

The wine waiter retired to execute the order and Sir Garth Fratten turned to his guest.

“Too much vintage port last night, I’m afraid, Leo. Old Grendonian dinner. ‘Hair of the dog that bit you’ may be all right with champagne, but port—no.”

His companion laughed.

“I should have thought you were too old a Grendonian to fall into that trap,” he said. “Where was it? The Grandleigh? They generally give you pretty good stuff there. I hate those functions myself—not that there are any Old-Boy dinners of the school I went to.”

There was a trace of bitterness in Hessel’s voice, but his companion ignored it.

“I don’t like them myself,” he said. “I haven’t been to one for years, but this was a ter-centenary affair and I rather had to go. The wine was all right—it was the speeches that were the trouble—they kept at it till nearly eleven. I got mine over early—and shortly—but some of them took the opportunity to let off steam. Pretty indifferent steam most of it was, too. One has to drink something—toasts and general boredom. I couldn’t drink the brandy—1812 on the bottle and 1912 inside it—the usual Napoleon ramp. But the Cockburn was genuine stuff—’96. Must have got outside the best part of a bottle—not wise in these soft days. Have some coffee, old man. Shall we have it here? The guests’ smoking-room is sure to be packed now, and it’s after two—we can smoke in here.”

The two men were sitting at a small corner table in the handsome dining-room of the City Constitutional Club, of which the elder, Sir Garth Fratten, was a member. Chairman of the well-known “family” bank which bears his name, Sir Garth occupied an assured position in the esteem, not only of this exclusive club, but of the “City” generally. Still well on the right side of seventy, the banker was commonly regarded as being at the peak of a long and honourable financial career. He had kept his mind abreast of the rapidly changing conditions of post-war finance, and this faculty, coupled with his great practical knowledge and experience, caused his opinion and his approval to be valued very highly, not only by individuals, but even at times by the Treasury. He had been knighted for his services, financial and otherwise, to the country in the Great War and it was thought not unlikely that his specialized knowledge might lead him to a seat in the Upper House.

His companion, Leopold Hessel, was about eight years his junior, though his scanty hair was at least as grey as Fratten’s—probably because his path in life had been less smooth. His skin, however, was clean and, apart from the eyes, unlined, and his figure slim. He had the dark eyes and sensitive hands, but none of the more exaggerated features of his race, and the charm of his appearance was confirmed by the fact of his close friendship with a man of Sir Garth Fratten’s discrimination. This friendship had been of untold value to Hessel in the war, when the position of men of even remote German descent had been extremely difficult. Fratten, however, had insisted upon Hessel retaining his position upon the directorate of the bank and this action by so prominent a citizen, being regarded as a certificate of Hessel’s patriotism, had saved him the worst of the ignominies that were the lot of many less fortunate than himself. None the less, the scar of those harrowing years remained and was probably reflected in the conversation that was now taking place.

“I wish you’d let me put you up for this place, Leo,” Fratten was saying. “I hate having to treat you as a guest—you know what I mean—and take you into that poky little smoking-room on the rare occasions when you consent to lunch with me.”

Hessel smiled rather bitterly and shook his head.

“It’s good of you, Fratten,” he said. “In many ways I’d like to belong here, but ...” he paused, as if seeking how best to express a refusal that might appear ungracious. “Perhaps I haven’t the courage to risk a licking now,” he concluded.

Fratten’s gesture of denial was emphatic.

“You’re not still thinking of that damned war business, are you? That’s all forgotten long ago—not that it ever applied to you. Or is it Wendheim and Lemuels? They weren’t blackballed because they were ... because of their religion. It was simply that this club has always asked for other qualifications besides wealth and business success. That ass Erdlingham didn’t realize it, or they’d got the whip hand of him or something—he’s in all their things—and he put them up and of course they just got pilled—not the sort we want here. You are—you’d get in without the least doubt.”

Hessel’s hand lightly touched his companion’s sleeve. “You are a good friend, Fratten,” he said, “a good deal better than I deserve. Don’t you see that that’s one reason why I won’t risk this—you know what your position would be if it didn’t come off. No, don’t go on. I’m more grateful than I can say, but I shall not change my mind.”

Fratten sighed.

“All right, Leo,” he said. “I’m really sorry, but I respect your attitude. It’s more my loss than yours, anyway. Come on; we must be off. I’ve got a Hospital Board-meeting at three and I must look in at the bank first.”

The two men made their way out into the wide hall, with its handsome double staircase, recovered their overcoats (it was October) and hats from the pegs where they had hung them, and were soon in the street.

As they turned into Cornhill Fratten threw away the cigar that he had been smoking, and cleared his throat.

“I’ve got something in the way of a confession to make to you, Leo,” he said. “I ought to have made it before, but I’m not sure that I’m not rather ashamed of myself. I told you that I’d been to an old Grendonian dinner last night. Well, I met a fellow there who was a great friend of mine at school, though I hadn’t seen him since. He was a soldier, did damn well in the war, commanded a division in France towards the end and a district in India afterwards. I don’t think he’d ever lived in London till he retired a couple of years ago—anyhow we’d never met. When he left the army he didn’t settle down in the country to grow moss and grouse at the Government like most of them do. He ... are you listening, old chap?”

Hessel had been looking straight in front of him with an expression that suggested that his thoughts might be on some other and more important subject, but he emphatically repudiated the implied charge of inattention.

“Yes, yes, of course I am. Go on—interesting career. Who is he? What does he do?”

Sir Garth, as other and lesser men, liked to tell his story in his own way. He paid no attention to the questions.

“As I was saying, he didn’t settle down to a life of promenades and old ladies at Cheltenham; he set up as a bold bad company promoter—and with no mean success.”

“Who is he?—What’s his name?” repeated Hessel.

“Lorne. Major-General Sir Hunter Lorne, K.C.B., K.C. This and K.C. That. He asked me to ...”

But his companion had stopped.

“Look here, Fratten,” he said. “What is this? What is the confession? I can’t hear you in this racket. Come down here.”

He took his companion’s arm and pulled him into an alley-way that led through towards Lombard Street. It was comparatively quiet after the roar of the traffic in Cornhill.

“What on earth is this story?” repeated Hessel, with a note of agitation in his voice.

“I’ll tell you if you’ll give me half a chance. He’s Chairman of a Finance Company—the Victory Finance Company, I think he called it.... He has asked me to join his Board. He thinks my name would be a help—I suppose it would. Apparently they’re thinking of extending their scope; they ...”

“But you didn’t consent?” ejaculated Hessel sharply.

“I warned you it was a confession, Leo. I’d had, as I told you at the club just now, more port than was strictly wise. I wasn’t quite so—so guarded as I usually am—we were very great friends at school. I was a fool, I suppose, but I promised him I’d look into the thing—he’s sending me the details tonight.”

Hessel’s usually calm face was flushed. He was evidently deeply moved by Sir Garth’s information.

“Good Heavens!” he exclaimed. “You can’t do that. Your doctor ... You told us—the Board—only two or three meetings ago that your doctor had absolutely ordered you to do less work! Your heart ... you said your heart was unsound! You’ve gone off the Board of the British Tradings—I thought you were going off your Hospital Board too. Besides, this Victory Trust; what is it? You can’t—with your reputation—you can’t go on to the Board of a tin-pot company like that! It’s probably not sound. It’s ...”

“Ah, that’s another point,” interrupted Fratten. “If it’s not sound, of course I can’t go into it. Apart from my own reputation it wouldn’t be fair to the public; they might take my name—for what it’s worth—as a guarantee. That I shall go into very carefully before I consent. As to health, what you say is quite true. My ‘tragic aneurism’ or whatever it is old Spavage calls it, is rather serious. I don’t deny that I’m worried about it. It isn’t heart really, you know—I only call it that because it sounds prettier. But after all, this Victory Finance Company ought not to mean much work. I gather that it’s my name and perhaps some general advice on the financial side of the business that Lorne wants.”

Hessel had by this time calmed down and he now spoke quietly, though none the less definitely.

“I think you are misleading yourself, Fratten. You tell me that this company contemplates extending its scope. I know you well enough to be certain that if you go on to this Board and it starts developing fresh fields you will throw your whole energy into the work. You may deceive yourself about that but not me. Now, apart from your own point of view, I want to put two others to you—your family’s and the bank’s. If you break down, if you over-strain yourself and collapse—that’s what happens, you know—is that going to be pleasant for Inez and Ryland?”

“It certainly wouldn’t spoil Ryland’s sleep,” answered Fratten bitterly. “I can’t imagine anything suiting him better.”

“Oh, come, Fratten; you’re unjust to the boy. But Inez—you know well enough that she adores you. I should say that you were the centre of her whole universe. Can’t you think of her? Doesn’t she come before this school friend?—a friend who means so much to you that you haven’t seen him, and probably haven’t thought of him, for forty years.”

The banker’s expression had softened at the mention of his daughter but he made no comment. Hessel renewed his attack from a fresh direction.

“And the bank,” he said. “What about that? Thousands of people depend upon the success of Fratten’s Bank. All your shareholders—it’s been your policy—our policy—for generations to distribute the shares widely and in small holdings—mostly to small people. Small tradesmen, single ladies, retired soldiers and sailors, your own employees. Many of them have all their savings in Fratten’s Bank. You know well enough that the position of the private banks is anything but secure in these days—half a slip, and the ‘big five’ swallow them. We’re doing well now, we’re even prosperous—why?—because of you. Your knowledge, your experience, your flair—you are the bank, the rest of us are dummies. I don’t plead for myself, but my own position, my financial and social position are entirely dependent upon Fratten’s.”

Sir Garth shook his head impatiently.

“You exaggerate,” he said. “The Board is perfectly capable of running the bank without me—probably better. You yourself are worth in fact, though possibly not in the eyes of the public, every bit as much to the welfare of the bank as I am. You may have less experience but you have a quicker, a more acute, financial brain than I ever had and I’m past my prime—I’m depreciating in value every day. No, no, Leo; you’ve over-stated your case, and that’s fatal. I’ll take care, of course, but that appeal ad misericordiam—weeping widows and trusting orphans—is all bunkum. Anyway I must get along now—I can’t stand here arguing all day.”

Hessel’s expression was grim.

“You’ve definitely decided?” he asked.

“If it’s sound, yes. I’ve taken a leaf out of your book, Leo, about the club. I’m grateful to you for your consideration, for your advice, much of it very sound, but—I shan’t change my mind.”

He moved off down the alley, and Hessel, after a moment’s hesitation, followed him in silence. They turned into Lombard Street, both evidently wrapped in deep and probably anxious thought—so much so that Sir Garth, omitting for once the fixed habit of years, stepped into the roadway to cross the street without glancing over his shoulder at the traffic. As he did so, a motor-bicycle combination swooped from behind a van straight at him. With a violent start, Fratten awoke to his danger and stepped back on to the pavement, untouched, while the cyclist, with a glance back to see that all was well, sputtered on his way.

But though there had been no collision, all was very far from being well. The banker took two or three shaky steps forward and then tottered to the inner side of the pavement and leant, gasping, against the wall. His face was very pale, and he pressed his hand against his chest.

A crowd had gathered at the first sight of the unusual and now pressed closely round the sick man, adding its heedless quota to his distress. Hessel, who had come quickly to his companion’s side, did his best to drive off the sensation-vultures, but it was not till a majestic City policeman appeared that their victim was given a chance to breathe in comfort. After loosening his collar, the constable and Hessel guided Fratten into the office outside which the mishap had occurred. Quickly recovering himself and declining the manager’s offer to send for some brandy, Sir Garth brushed aside the constable’s desire to trace the motor-cyclist.

“No, no. No need to make a fuss,” he said. “It was as much my fault as his, and anyway you people have got more important work to do than that. I’m quite all right now; it would have been nothing if I hadn’t happened to have a dicky heart. I’d like a taxi though. I shan’t come to the bank now, Leo; it’s getting late. Ask Ruslett to send me round the papers about that Hungarian issue to my house. I shall be there by five.”

“But you’re going straight home, aren’t you?” exclaimed Hessel.

“No, I told you I’d got a Hospital Board this afternoon. It’s nearly three now.”

“But good heavens, man, are you out of your wits today? You’ve had a severe shock. You must get straight to bed and send for your doctor.”

“Rubbish. I’m quite all right now. I must go to this Board-meeting—I’m in the Chair and I’ve got to report on an amalgamation scheme. Besides, if I’m ill, what better place to go to than a hospital? They’ve even got a mortuary I believe, if the worst comes to the worst!”

Fratten laughed at his companion’s harassed expression and took his arm.

“Now then, lead me out to the ambulance, old man,” he said.

Hessel watched his friend drive off in the taxi, and then turned and walked slowly off towards the bank, an anxious and very thoughtful expression on his face.

The police-constable established himself against a convenient wall, took out his note-book and wetted his pencil.

“At 2.45 P. M., I ...”