wasn't expecting the chief governor to
meet us.'
'It's the least we could do. I'm happy to see to your
needs.'
Sir Norman gestured and a pair of doormen appeared.
One stood by the carriage, the other opened the heavy,
brass portal of the Bank of Albion.
The main chamber of the bank was vast. Aubrey stood
and gaped at the towering main dome and the three
flanking domes. Marble, brass and dark wood, then
more marble, brass and dark wood and – to top it all off
– some extra marble, brass and dark wood had been used
to emphasise the solidity of the bank. This was a place to
do business, but it had the solemnity of a cathedral.
Pillars marked the entrance to the flanking domes –
chambers for further mysterious banking business,
Aubrey assumed. Loan disbursement. Fiscal calibrating.
Inter-bank credit unfurling.
Under the main dome, long counters kept back a
horde of clerks and tellers. The chamber was filled with
a multitude of murmurs – requests, explanations, agreements
– and they hovered over the hundreds of people
like insubstantial moths.
Sir Norman broke the spell. 'This way, if you please.'
Sir Darius took off his hat and gloves. A uniformed
doorman – of the interior variety, therefore older and
more senior – materialised to take them. Aubrey
hurriedly thrust his hat on him and the doorman disappeared
into one of the shadowed recesses that abounded
in the grand building.
'Mr Rokeby-Taylor?' Sir Darius asked.
'He's in the boardroom. I'll take you to him,' Sir
Norman said. 'The other governors were to use the
boardroom this morning, but they've opted to convene
elsewhere.'
Clive Rokeby-Taylor had totally recovered from his
brush with death. He was dressed in a dark green suit,
with a jaunty sky-blue cravat. 'Darius!' he said, full of
good cheer. 'Aubrey! Come in, come in. Have some tea
– it's first rate!'
Rokeby-Taylor busied himself pouring tea into the
bone-china cups without a trace of self-consciousness,
keeping up a stream of observations about the boardroom,
the tea service and the biscuits.
Eventually, he sat on the opposite side of the long
boardroom table, sipped his tea and studied Sir Darius
over the rim.
'What is it, Clive?' Sir Darius said. 'Why have you
asked me here?'
Rokeby-Taylor glanced at Aubrey. 'Not wanting to be
rude, but I think this is something between the two of us.'
'Private matters?'
'Financial matters.'
'Aubrey can stay. I trust his discretion.'
Rokeby-Taylor shrugged, then grinned. 'If you say so.'
Aubrey tried to appear as trustworthy and discreet as
possible, to live up to his father's confidence. He sat up
straight, laced his fingers and placed his hands on the
table in front of him. As much as possible, he tried to
keep his curiosity from showing on his face. Aubrey's
grasp of high finance was not entirely complete, but he
knew that if he was serious about politics, it was something
he had to remedy.
No time like the present , he thought.
Rokeby-Taylor adjusted his cravat. 'I understand that a
substantial shipbuilding contract is in the offing.'
'A bill is imminent, to be voted on in three weeks
time,' Sir Darius said. 'A special allocation for six new
battleships immediately, with six more to follow. This is
no secret.'
'And the bill is sure to pass the Lower House? And the
Lords?'
'I wouldn't have put it up if I hadn't thought it
would be successful. The opposition is backing the bill.
They see the situation on the Continent. I could say
that there are votes in defence, but that would be
cynical.'
'Quite, quite.' Rokeby-Taylor studied the ceiling for a
moment. 'I don't suppose it's any secret that Rokeby-Taylor Shipbuilding is keen to get this contract.'
'The contract will be awarded by the Navy Board,
after they examine all tenders. I'm sure your firm will be
seriously considered.'
'And I'm sure that the Navy Board would listen to the
Prime Minister.'
Aubrey had come to know his father's silences well.
This was one of those where he was controlling
meet us.'
'It's the least we could do. I'm happy to see to your
needs.'
Sir Norman gestured and a pair of doormen appeared.
One stood by the carriage, the other opened the heavy,
brass portal of the Bank of Albion.
The main chamber of the bank was vast. Aubrey stood
and gaped at the towering main dome and the three
flanking domes. Marble, brass and dark wood, then
more marble, brass and dark wood and – to top it all off
– some extra marble, brass and dark wood had been used
to emphasise the solidity of the bank. This was a place to
do business, but it had the solemnity of a cathedral.
Pillars marked the entrance to the flanking domes –
chambers for further mysterious banking business,
Aubrey assumed. Loan disbursement. Fiscal calibrating.
Inter-bank credit unfurling.
Under the main dome, long counters kept back a
horde of clerks and tellers. The chamber was filled with
a multitude of murmurs – requests, explanations, agreements
– and they hovered over the hundreds of people
like insubstantial moths.
Sir Norman broke the spell. 'This way, if you please.'
Sir Darius took off his hat and gloves. A uniformed
doorman – of the interior variety, therefore older and
more senior – materialised to take them. Aubrey
hurriedly thrust his hat on him and the doorman disappeared
into one of the shadowed recesses that abounded
in the grand building.
'Mr Rokeby-Taylor?' Sir Darius asked.
'He's in the boardroom. I'll take you to him,' Sir
Norman said. 'The other governors were to use the
boardroom this morning, but they've opted to convene
elsewhere.'
Clive Rokeby-Taylor had totally recovered from his
brush with death. He was dressed in a dark green suit,
with a jaunty sky-blue cravat. 'Darius!' he said, full of
good cheer. 'Aubrey! Come in, come in. Have some tea
– it's first rate!'
Rokeby-Taylor busied himself pouring tea into the
bone-china cups without a trace of self-consciousness,
keeping up a stream of observations about the boardroom,
the tea service and the biscuits.
Eventually, he sat on the opposite side of the long
boardroom table, sipped his tea and studied Sir Darius
over the rim.
'What is it, Clive?' Sir Darius said. 'Why have you
asked me here?'
Rokeby-Taylor glanced at Aubrey. 'Not wanting to be
rude, but I think this is something between the two of us.'
'Private matters?'
'Financial matters.'
'Aubrey can stay. I trust his discretion.'
Rokeby-Taylor shrugged, then grinned. 'If you say so.'
Aubrey tried to appear as trustworthy and discreet as
possible, to live up to his father's confidence. He sat up
straight, laced his fingers and placed his hands on the
table in front of him. As much as possible, he tried to
keep his curiosity from showing on his face. Aubrey's
grasp of high finance was not entirely complete, but he
knew that if he was serious about politics, it was something
he had to remedy.
No time like the present , he thought.
Rokeby-Taylor adjusted his cravat. 'I understand that a
substantial shipbuilding contract is in the offing.'
'A bill is imminent, to be voted on in three weeks
time,' Sir Darius said. 'A special allocation for six new
battleships immediately, with six more to follow. This is
no secret.'
'And the bill is sure to pass the Lower House? And the
Lords?'
'I wouldn't have put it up if I hadn't thought it
would be successful. The opposition is backing the bill.
They see the situation on the Continent. I could say
that there are votes in defence, but that would be
cynical.'
'Quite, quite.' Rokeby-Taylor studied the ceiling for a
moment. 'I don't suppose it's any secret that Rokeby-Taylor Shipbuilding is keen to get this contract.'
'The contract will be awarded by the Navy Board,
after they examine all tenders. I'm sure your firm will be
seriously considered.'
'And I'm sure that the Navy Board would listen to the
Prime Minister.'
Aubrey had come to know his father's silences well.
This was one of those where he was controlling