“But
how long do you imagine it might be before her memory is fully restored?”
“Anything
from fourteen days to fourteen years, from my experience.”
I
remember returning to Cathy’s room that night, sitting on the end of her bed
and holding her hand. I noticed with pleasure that a little color had returned
to her cheeks. She smiled and asked me for the first time how the “great barrow”
was rumbling along.
“We’ve
declared record profits,” I told her. “But far more important, everyone wants
to see you back at Number 1.”
She
thought about this for some time. Then quite simply she said, “I wish you were
my father.”
In
February 1951 Nigel Trentham joined the board of Trumper’s. He took his place
next to Paul Merrick, to whom he gave a thin smile. I couldn’t bring myself to
look directly at him. He was a few years younger than me but I vainly
considered no one round that table would have thought so.
The
board meanwhile approved the expenditure of a further half a million pounds “to
fill the gap,” as Becky referred to the half-acre that had for ten years lain
empty in the middle of Chelsea Terrace. “So at last Trumper’s can all be housed
under one roof,” I declared. Trentham made no comment. My fellow directors also
agreed to an allocation of one hundred thousand pounds to rebuild the
Whitechapel Boys’ Club, which was to be renamed the “Dan Salmon Center.” I
noticed Trentham whispered something in Merrick’s ear.
In
the event, inflation, strikes and escalating builders’ costs caused the final
bill for Trumper’s to be nearer seven hundred and thirty thousand pounds than
the estimated half million. One outcome of this was to make it necessary for
the company to offer a further rights issue in order to cover the extra
expense. Another was that the building of the boys’ club had to be postponed.
The
rights issue was once again heavily oversubscribed, which was flattering for me
personally, though I feared Mrs. Trentham might be a major buyer of any new
stock: I had no way of proving it. This dilution of my equity meant that I had
to watch my personal holding in the company fall below forty percent for the
first time.
It
was a long summer and as each day passed Cathy became a little stronger and
Becky a little more communicative. Finally the doctor agreed that Cathy could
return to Number 1. She went back to work the following Monday and Becky said
it was almost as if she had never been away except that no one ever mentioned
Daniel’s name in her presence.
One
evening, it must have been about a month later, I returned home from the office
to find Cathy pacing up and down the hall. My immediate thoughts were that she
must be agonizing over the past. I could not have been more wrong.
“You’ve
got your staffing policy all wrong,” she said as I closed the door behind me.
“I
beg your pardon, young lady?” I had not even been given enough time to shed my
topcoat.
“It’s
all wrong,” she repeated. “The Americans are saving thousands of dollars in
their stores with time and motion studies while Trumper’s is behaving as if
they’re still roaming around on the ark.”
“Captive
audience on the ark,” I reminded her.
“Until
it stopped raining,” she replied. “Charlie, you must realize that the company
could be saving at least eighty thousand a year on wages alone. I haven’t been
idle these last few weeks. In fact, I’ve put together a report to prove my
point.” She thrust a cardboard box into my arms and marched out of the room.
For
over an hour after dinner I rummaged into the box and read through Cathy’s
preliminary findings. She had spotted an overmanning situation that we had all
missed and characteristically explained in great detail how the situation could
be dealt with without offending the unions.
Over
breakfast the following morning Cathy continued to explain her findings to me
as if I had never been to bed. “Are you still listening, Chairman?” she
demanded. She always called me Hchairman” when she was wanted to make a point.
A ploy I felt sure she had picked up from Daphne.
“You’re
all talk,” I told her, which caused even Becky to glance over the top of her
paper.
“Do
you want me to prove I’m right?” Cathy asked.
“Be
my guest.”
From
that day on, whenever I carried out my morning rounds, I would invariably come
across Cathy working on a different floor, questioning, watching or simply
taking copious notes, often with a stopwatch in her other hand. I never asked
her what she was up to and if she ever caught my eye all she would say was, “Good
day, Chairman.”
At
weekends I could hear Cathy typing away in her room for hour after hour. Then,
without warning, one morning at breakfast I discovered a thick file waiting for
me in the place where I had hoped to find an egg, two rashers of bacon and The
Sunday Times.
That
afternoon I began reading through what Cathy had prepared for me. By the early
evening I had come to the conclusion that the board must implement most of her
recommendations without further delay.
I
knew exactly what I wanted to do next but felt it needed Dr. Atkins’ blessing.
I phoned Addenbrooke’s that evening and the ward sister kindly entrusted me
with his home number. We spent over an hour on the phone. He had no fears for
Cathy’s future, he assured me, especially since she’d begun to remember little
incidents from her past and was now even willing to talk about Daniel.
When
I came down to breakfast the following morning I found Cathy sitting at the
table waiting for me. She didn’t say a word as I munched through my toast and
marmalade pretending to be engrossed in the Financial Times.
“All
right, I give in,” she said.
“Better
not,” I warned her, without looking up from my paper. “Because you’re item
number seven on the agenda for next month’s board meeting.”
“But
who’s going to present my case?” asked Cathy, sounding anxious.
“Not
me, that’s for sure,” I replied. “And I can’t think of anyone else who’d be
willing to do so.”
For
the next fortnight whenever I retired to bed I became aware when passing Cathy’s
room that the typing had stopped. I was so filled with curiosity that once I
even peered through the half-open bedroom door. Cathy stood facing a mirror, by
her side was a large white board resting on an easel. The board was covered in
a mass of colored pins and dotted arrows.
“Go
away,” she said, without even turning round. I realized there was nothing for
it but to wait until the board was due to meet.
Dr.
Atkins had warned me that the ordeal of having to present her case in public
might turn out to be too much for the girl and I was to get her home if she
began to show any signs of stress. “Be sure you don’t push her too far,” were
his final words.
“I
won’t let that happen,” I promised him.
That
Thursday morning the board members were all seated in their places round the
table by three minutes to ten. The meeting began on a quiet note, with
apologies for absence, followed by the acceptance of the minutes of the last
meeting. We somehow still managed to keep Cathy waiting for over an hour, because
when we came to item number three on the agenda a rubber stamp decision to
renew the company’s insurance policy with the Prudential Nigel Trentham used
the opportunity simply as an excuse to irritate me hoping, I suspected, that I
would eventually lose my temper. I might have done, if he hadn’t so obviously
wanted me to.
“I
think the time has come for a change, Mr. Chairman,” he said. “I suggest we
transfer our business to Legal and General.”
I
stared down the left-hand side of the table to focus on the man whose very
presence always brought back memories of Guy Trentham and what he might have
looked like in late middle age. The younger brother wore a smart well-tailored
double-breasted suit that successfully disguised his weight problem. However, there
was nothing that could disguise the double chin or balding pate.
“I
must point out to the board`” I began, “that Trumper’s has been with the
Prudential for over thirty years. And what is more, they have never let the
company down in the past. Just as important, Legal and General are highly
unlikely to be able to offer more favorable terms.”
“But
they’re in possession of two percent of the company’s stock,” Trentham pointed
out.
“The
Pru still have five percent,” I reminded my fellow directors, aware that once
again Trentham hadn’t done his homework. The argument might have been lobbed
backwards and forwards for hours like a Drobny-Fraser tennis match had Daphne
not intervened and called for a vote.
Although
Trentham lost by seven to three, the altercation served to remind everyone
round that table what his long-term purpose must be. For the past eighteen
months Trentham had, with the help of his mother’s money, been building up his
shareholding in the company to a position I estimated to be around fourteen
percent. This would have been controllable had I not been painfully aware that
the Hardcastle Trust also held a further seventeen percent of our stock stock
which had originally been intended for Daniel but which would on the death of
Mrs. Trentham pass automatically to Sir Raymond’s next of kin. Although Nigel
Trentham lost the vote, he showed no sign of distress as he rearranged his
papers, casting an aside to Paul Merrick who was seated on his left. He
obviously felt confident that time was on his side.
“Item
seven,” I said, and leaning over to Jessica I asked if she would invite Miss
Ross to join us. When Cathy entered the room every man around that table stood.
Even Trentham half rose from his place.
Cathy
placed two boards on the easel that had already been set up for her, one full
of charts, the other covered in statistics. She turned to face us. I greeted
her with a warm smile.
“Good
morning, ladies and gentlemen,” she said. She paused and checked her notes. “I
should like to begin by...”
She
may have started somewhat hesitantly, but she soon got into her stride as she
explained, point by point, why the company’s staffing policy was outdated and
the steps we should take to rectify the situation as quickly as possible. These
included early retirement for men of sixty and women of fifty-five; the leasing
of shelf space, even whole floor sections, to recognized brand names, which
would produce a guaranteed cash flow without financial risk to Trumper’s, as
each lessee would be responsible for supplying its own staff; and a larger
percentage discount on merchandise for any firms who were hoping to place
orders with us for the first time. The presentation took Cathy about forty
minutes, and when she concluded it was several moments before anyone round the
table spoke.
If
her initial presentation was good, her handling of the questions that followed
was even better. She dealt with all the banking problems Tim Newman and Paul
Merrick could throw at her, as well as the trade union anxieties Arthur Selwyn
raised. As for Nigel Trentham, she handled him with a calm efficiency that I
was only too painfully aware I could never equal. When Cathy left the boardroom
an hour later all the men rose again except Trentham, who stared down at the report
in front of him.
As
I walked up the path that evening Cathy was on the doorstep waiting to greet
me.
“Well?”
“Well?!”
“Don’t
tease, Charlie,” she scolded.
“You
were appointed to be our new personnel director,” I told her, grinning. For a
moment even she was speechless.
“Now
you’ve opened this can of worms, young lady,” I added as I walked past her, “the
board rather expects you to sort the problem out.”
Cathy
was so obviously thrilled by my news that I felt for the first time perhaps
Daniel’s tragic death might be behind us. I phoned Dr. Atkins that evening to
tell him not only how Cathy had fared but that, as a result of her
presentation, she had been elected to the board. However, what I didn’t tell
either of them was that I had been forced to agree to another of Trentham’s
nominations to the board in order to ensure that her appointment went through
without a vote being called for.
From
the day Cathy arrived at the boardroom table it was clear for all to see that
she was a serious contender to succeed me as chairman and no longer simply a
bright girl from Becky’s fold. However, I was well aware that Cathy’s
advancement could only be achieved while Trentham remained unable to gain
control of fifty-one percent of Trumper’s shares. I also realized that the only
way he could hope to do that was by making a public bid for the company, which
I accepted could well become possible once he got his hands on the money held
by Hardcastle Trust. For the first time in my life I wanted Mrs. Trentham to
live long enough to allow me to build the company to such a position of
strength that even the Trust money would prove inadequate for Nigel Trentham to
mount a successful takeover bid.
On
2 June 1953 Queen Elizabeth was crowned, four days after two men from different
parts of the Commonwealth conquered Everest. Winston Churchill best summed it
up when he said: “Those who have read the history of the first Elizabethan era
must surely look forward with anticipation to participating in the second.”