Labour analysts, has discovered a new way of rescuing the currency when it bumps against the seabed. What does it cost? Just the occasional national monument Harrods and the Dorchester this time, Windsor Castle the next.
As for Tiny Rowland, he continues, as he has done all through the affair, to dispatch bizarre and hectoring circular letters to Members of Parliament and other opinion formers. They are printed on fine paper and sturdily bound like an investment prospectus; inside, they mix ferocious denunciations of the Fayeds with lofty calls to arms. In their obsessiveness they are, in a way, love letters to Harrods. The latest, a sixteen-pager (of March 27), typically entitled “Practise to Deceive,” catalogs the recent high crimes and misdemeanors of the Fayeds—roughly, bleeding Harrods dry and cooking the books—but also comes up with a novel line of attack. Rowland analyzes statements that the brothers made to the DTI inspectors about their periods of residence in Britain (which do make very contradictory reading) and concludes that, whatever they may have claimed officially for tax purposes, they are and have been resident in Britain for many years. This, Rowland points out, makes them taxable in this country. “There is one regulatory body still to act,” he writes, and bursts into capitals with the new threat: “ THE INLAND REVENUE .” TheFayeds, he calculates, have over the years evaded “hundreds of millions” of pounds in income tax. Worse—though much better, of course, for Rowland—if, as they claim, they purchased the House of Fraser with their own money, “then their funds are the taxable funds of United Kingdom residents, bringing the outstanding Tax payable to one billion pounds. That is the position today.” One billion pounds: as precise as that. It seems unlikely, however, that the Revenue will heed this public-spirited tip-off, and Rowland himself clearly doubts it. “All is silent,” he laments on the final page of his letter. “No dogs bark. It is because the Fayed affair was put in motion by the Prime Minister, Mrs. Thatcher.” At which point paranoia begins to fizz and crackle in the air like static. “Is it not laughable,” he inquires of the MPs he is addressing, “that the Prime Minister of Britain should have been so naive as to seek advice from the Indian ‘holy man’ who introduced Fayed to the Sultan of Brunei; should have obeyed his instructions to part her hair, to wear a red dress, and to tie an Indian amulet above her left elbow to assist his supernatural pondering; should spend many hours closeted with him and his mystic tantric little balls of paper—and then tell the House of Commons that the Fayed decisions have nothing to do with her?”
What is the color of money? Amid the empurpled Tory rage, it’s hard to make out whether the Fayeds’ main offense is to have been (a) deceitful, (b) parvenu, or (c) Egyptian. Probably all three. Had the Sultan of Brunei come out and said
he
wanted to buy Harrods, we probably wouldn’t have minded; but then not only did he have top-notch British nannies, but he also went to Sandhurst. (Though behind the snobbery a central point remains: if the money used to buy Harrods was not unequivocally owned by the Fayeds, then debt financing would have to take priority over capital investment, and the stability of the company might be affected.) In general, the Conservative Government has taken a relaxed view of foreign companies buying up parts of Britain. (Stop press: the American food giant CPC International has just bought three staples of the British kiddie’s pig-out—Ambrosia creamed rice; Bovril, an umber spread made from ground-up ox; and Marmite, a vegetarian equivalent of take-no-hostagespungency.) As for the Labour Party, though instinctively protectionist, it, too, knows when to take a practical stance on foreign ownership. For instance, I live in the London Borough of Camden. Like many other Labour councils squeezed
As for Tiny Rowland, he continues, as he has done all through the affair, to dispatch bizarre and hectoring circular letters to Members of Parliament and other opinion formers. They are printed on fine paper and sturdily bound like an investment prospectus; inside, they mix ferocious denunciations of the Fayeds with lofty calls to arms. In their obsessiveness they are, in a way, love letters to Harrods. The latest, a sixteen-pager (of March 27), typically entitled “Practise to Deceive,” catalogs the recent high crimes and misdemeanors of the Fayeds—roughly, bleeding Harrods dry and cooking the books—but also comes up with a novel line of attack. Rowland analyzes statements that the brothers made to the DTI inspectors about their periods of residence in Britain (which do make very contradictory reading) and concludes that, whatever they may have claimed officially for tax purposes, they are and have been resident in Britain for many years. This, Rowland points out, makes them taxable in this country. “There is one regulatory body still to act,” he writes, and bursts into capitals with the new threat: “ THE INLAND REVENUE .” TheFayeds, he calculates, have over the years evaded “hundreds of millions” of pounds in income tax. Worse—though much better, of course, for Rowland—if, as they claim, they purchased the House of Fraser with their own money, “then their funds are the taxable funds of United Kingdom residents, bringing the outstanding Tax payable to one billion pounds. That is the position today.” One billion pounds: as precise as that. It seems unlikely, however, that the Revenue will heed this public-spirited tip-off, and Rowland himself clearly doubts it. “All is silent,” he laments on the final page of his letter. “No dogs bark. It is because the Fayed affair was put in motion by the Prime Minister, Mrs. Thatcher.” At which point paranoia begins to fizz and crackle in the air like static. “Is it not laughable,” he inquires of the MPs he is addressing, “that the Prime Minister of Britain should have been so naive as to seek advice from the Indian ‘holy man’ who introduced Fayed to the Sultan of Brunei; should have obeyed his instructions to part her hair, to wear a red dress, and to tie an Indian amulet above her left elbow to assist his supernatural pondering; should spend many hours closeted with him and his mystic tantric little balls of paper—and then tell the House of Commons that the Fayed decisions have nothing to do with her?”
What is the color of money? Amid the empurpled Tory rage, it’s hard to make out whether the Fayeds’ main offense is to have been (a) deceitful, (b) parvenu, or (c) Egyptian. Probably all three. Had the Sultan of Brunei come out and said
he
wanted to buy Harrods, we probably wouldn’t have minded; but then not only did he have top-notch British nannies, but he also went to Sandhurst. (Though behind the snobbery a central point remains: if the money used to buy Harrods was not unequivocally owned by the Fayeds, then debt financing would have to take priority over capital investment, and the stability of the company might be affected.) In general, the Conservative Government has taken a relaxed view of foreign companies buying up parts of Britain. (Stop press: the American food giant CPC International has just bought three staples of the British kiddie’s pig-out—Ambrosia creamed rice; Bovril, an umber spread made from ground-up ox; and Marmite, a vegetarian equivalent of take-no-hostagespungency.) As for the Labour Party, though instinctively protectionist, it, too, knows when to take a practical stance on foreign ownership. For instance, I live in the London Borough of Camden. Like many other Labour councils squeezed
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