said Cable hesitantly, peering at the figures in front of him.
‘Time? There isn’t any time,’ snorted Oswald. ‘My daughter is talking about expanding into America and I don’t doubt the share valuation will increase if she does. So I have to find the money quickly. How are we going to do it?’
Peter Cable shuffled a pile of papers in front of him uncomfortably, and rested his elbows on the leather-topped desk. He was struggling to find the right words to break the news to his client.
‘I have to advise you, your lordship, that you shouldn’t be raising money to expand your business interests at this particular time. Instead, I would strongly recommend that we shore up the Balcon family accounts and even think of a contingency plan.’
‘What do you mean “contingency plan”?’ scoffed Oswald, leaning back in his chair. ‘The Balcon estate has flourished for the last three hundred years, and I certainly don’t envisage that financial situation changing any time soon.’
Peter Cable, normally an efficient and composed man, had to stop himself exhaling loudly in front of his client. He’d been warned that old Oswald Balcon was the firm’s most difficult client but, even for Davenport Davis, he was prestigious business. It was worth putting up with his mood swings to have a client as connected as Lord Balcon. It was better to keep the man sweet, however bloody-minded he became.
‘Financially, it has been a poor eighteen months,’ said Cable. ‘And I think we need to look at some damage limitation by the end of the financial year. Paying last year’s tax bill, which is due very soon – well, we can probably just manage. But next year’s bill: frankly it could be catastrophic for the whole estate.’
Oswald sighed loudly and deliberately. ‘I pay you a great deal in professional fees to sort out this kind of thing. I assume you are able to do something, or perhaps I should take my business elsewhere?’
‘Lord Balcon, I can only work with what I have,’ said Cable, beginning to get exasperated. He leafed through a sheaf of spreadsheets, raising his eyebrows like a cartoon character.
‘Frankly, every pillar of your potential income is crumbling at the moment. Huntsford is costing a fortune to maintain and the gallery is also suffering. I don’t know a great deal about the art world but, looking at the figures, I really don’t think your investments are bringing you the returns you need there.’
Oswald averted his gaze to prevent Peter Cable seeing the flicker of anxiety there. He was finally beginning to see what his gallery manager, Mark Robertson, had been trying to tell him for months: that Oswald’s decision to invest in eighteenth-century Dutch bronzes had seemed like bad timing. They were beautiful, true. And at the moment, they were very cheap, but only because that market had temporarily fallen away. They had been buying art that nobody wanted.
‘On top of that, the trust fund is low. That’s the culmination of twenty years of business investments that perhaps haven’t been – shall we say? – terribly successful,’ added Peter, trying to be as diplomatic as possible since he could see his client beginning to flush around the cheeks. In an instant, Oswald was reminded of the Daily Telegraph piece months before, where they’d described his business interests as ‘harebrained schemes’ and ‘badly-planned ventures’. How dare they! He thought again now. All he had ever tried to do was speculate to accumulate. He was a good capitalist, and how did they repay him?
‘What bothers me the most,’ said Peter, wondering if the seriousness of the situation was finally beginning to sink in with Oswald, ‘is the loan agreement you signed to raise money for the Huntsford Musical Evening.’ He pulled another stack of papers out of a file. ‘Now, although Davenport Davis didn’t do the accounts for that event, I have been forwarded the financials from it and – well, it is clear it did make a considerable loss.’
‘It was a new business in its first year!’ huffed Oswald, waving a hand in front of his face to dismiss the idea. ‘Any entrepreneur will tell you that you need to take an initial hit if you are to raise the scale and profit the following year. It’s basic business practice.’
‘Oh, so you plan to have another one next year?’ said Peter, genuinely surprised.
Oswald ignored him and continued to gaze around the room like a child whose attention span was waning.
‘Anyway,’ continued Cable delicately, ‘there was a proviso in the loan conditions that your home is at risk should you default on payments.’
‘Huntsford is in trust,’ said Oswald arrogantly, ‘we’re safe.’
‘Not exactly, no,’ said Cable slowly. ‘And I believe you have already defaulted on one payment?’
Oswald sighed loudly. ‘One payment, they’re not exactly going to put the noose around my neck quite yet, are they?’
Peter glanced at his wristwatch. He had been with Oswald for two hours and was keen to keep a lunch appointment with his new girlfriend. He leant forward and steepled his fingers.
‘Quite simply, Oswald, we need to increase the monies coming into the estate – and quickly, otherwise we’re in danger of being forced to reconsider our options.’ He paused. ‘Can you get any additional funds from your daughters? I believe they are quite successful?’
‘I am not taking any charity from anyone, least of all them,’ he replied loftily, clearly angered.
Cable decided to try another tack.
‘What we could do – and let me point out that this is what other estate owners in your position have done when they had debts to pay – is to lease Huntsford for a duration of say, fifty years. There are at least a dozen hotel and leisure companies that would kill to occupy such a magnificent property. They would lease it for commercial use – conferences, for example – and Huntsford would still officially belong to the Balcon estate. You could even live on the grounds in a separate cottage. In fact, only last week, we were approached by a representative of the Sarkis Group, a very large hotel conglomerate, and the figures they mentioned were really quite impressive.’
Oswald had gone quite pink. ‘Sarkis?’ he shouted. ‘Leasing Huntsford? How dare you even suggest these things as viable solutions?’
‘Well, we have to think of something,’ said Peter, flustered by the severity of Oswald’s reaction.
‘Quite right,’ said Oswald, picking up his case and standing. ‘And if you’re not prepared to think creatively, then it’s quite obvious that it’s down to me.’ He stormed out of the room without another word, slamming the door shut behind him.
Cate gazed around the cocktail reception of the British Society of Magazine Awards, held every year at Park Lane’s Grosvenor House Hotel, and couldn’t help but wonder once again how she had managed to be up for a gong. Sand was such a tiny magazine compared to the industry players walking around the room; there were five hundred representatives from right across the spectrum, from Vogue to GQ via Golf World and Country Life. From issue one, sales of Sand had been surprisingly strong. A magazine packed with gorgeous clothes and exotic locations had struck a chord with the general public over a long hot summer, and the high-paying, high-end fashion and cosmetic advertising had just started trickling in. But editing
