“My reason for not wanting Mr. Sloane to return as chairman of this bank,” said Goldsmith, “is not just because he’s a shit but, far more important, because the last time he held that position he almost succeeded in bringing Farthings to its knees, and I suspect that is his present purpose.”

“That is a disgraceful slur on my reputation,” said Sloane. “You have left me with no choice but to place the matter in the hands of my solicitors.”

“I can’t wait,” said Goldsmith. “Because when you were chairman of Farthings and Mr. Bishara withdrew his bid for the bank, you stated at a full board meeting, which was minuted, that there was another leading financial institution willing to pay considerably more for Farthings shares than Mr. Bishara was offering. It’s always been a bit of a mystery to me who that leading financial institution was. Perhaps you would care to enlighten us now, Mr. Sloane.”

“I don’t have to take any more insults from the likes of you, Goldsmith.” Sloane rose from his place and, as he knew his words would be recorded in the minutes, added, “You will all have to resign when Bishara is convicted. The next meeting of this board I attend will be as chairman. Good day, gentlemen,” he said, and walked out.

Goldsmith didn’t wait for the door to close before saying, “Never be afraid to attack a bully because they always turn out to be cowards, and the moment they come under any pressure they run away.”

A small round of applause followed. When it had died down, Giles Barrington leaned across the table. “I wonder, Jimmy, if you’d consider joining the Labour Party? There are one or two members of the Shadow Cabinet I’d love to see the back of.”

Ross Buchanan waited for the laughter to subside before he said, “Sloane was right about one thing. If Hakim is convicted, we’ll all have to resign.”

Hakim Bishara: 1975

HAKIM BISHARA

1975

Chapter 33

33

COURT NUMBER FOUR of the Old Bailey was packed long before ten o’clock on Thursday morning. Counsel were in their places, the press benches were heaving and the gallery above resembled the dress circle of a West End theatre on opening night.

Sebastian had attended every day of the trial, even the morning when the jury was being selected. He hated having to witness Hakim coming up from below to take his place in the dock, a policeman standing on either side of him as if he were a common criminal. The American system, where the defendant sits at a table with his legal team, seemed so much more civilized.