Seb flicked open his diary and looked down at what he had planned for the weekend. Victor had invited him to White Hart Lane to see Spurs play Liverpool, and Uncle Giles was holding a drinks party at the Lords. Not a difficult decision. “I’ll fly over on Friday morning. But I don’t want Jessica or her mother to know I’m in town while her husband is still alive.”

There was a long pause before Dr. Wolfe said, “But Mr. Brewer died over a year ago, Mr. Clifton. I’m so sorry, I assumed you knew.”

Sebastian collapsed back into his chair as if he’d been floored by a heavyweight boxer. He tried to catch his breath while he took in her words.

“I apologize, but—”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Dr. Wolfe. But I’d still prefer them not to know I’m coming over.”

“As you wish, Mr. Clifton.”

Sebastian looked up to see his secretary standing in the doorway waving frantically at him.

“I have to leave you, Dr. Wolfe, something’s come up. Thank you for calling, and I look forward to seeing you at the weekend,” he said before putting the phone down. “Rachel, I’m flying to Washington on Friday morning, probably returning Sunday. I’ll need a first-class return, fifteen hundred dollars in cash, and please book me into the Mayflower.” Seb paused. “You have that exasperated look on your face, Rachel.”

“Mr. Hardcastle arrived fifteen minutes ago and they’re all waiting for you in the chairman’s office so the documents can be signed.”

“Of course, the signing ceremony. How could I have forgotten?” Seb ran out of the room and down the corridor. He burst into the chairman’s office to find Hakim Bishara, Victor Kaufman and Arnold Hardcastle poring over the merger documents.

“I apologize, chairman. An unexpected call from the States.”

“No problem, Seb,” said Hakim. “By the way, have you ever been to jail?”

“Is that a trick question?” asked Seb, grinning.

“No, it certainly is not,” said Arnold Hardcastle. “Although it’s only a formality in your case, it’s one of the questions the Bank of England asks whenever an application for a new banking license is submitted.”

“No, I have never been to jail,” said Seb, hoping he sounded suitably chastised.

“Good,” said Arnold. “Now all that’s required is for Mr. Bishara and Mr. Kaufman to sign all three documents, with Mr. Clifton acting as a witness.”

It amused Seb that Arnold Hardcastle would never have considered addressing him by his Christian name while they were in the chairman’s office, although they were old family friends and Arnold had been the firm’s legal advisor for as long as Seb could remember. How like his late father he was, thought Seb, whom he had never once called Cedric.