“It can’t be too soon,” said Seb, “because you need to be back in London by tomorrow evening at the latest. I want everyone at Bingham’s, from the management to the factory workers, and all of its customers up and down the country, to think the only reason you’re visiting the factory is to say good-bye to the staff and wish them luck under the new management. Just before you leave, Clive will issue the press statement he’s been working on.”

Clive opened his briefcase and took out two sheets of foolscap paper.

“The statement needs to be short, unequivocal, and to the point,” he said, passing a copy to his father and Seb. “I won’t release it until I know Dad’s on his way back to London, when I’ll send a copy to the Grimsby Evening Telegraph. It’s sure to make the front page. After that, I’ll release it to every business correspondent in Fleet Street.”

Bob read through the statement slowly, and was impressed by what his son had come up with. However, he realized that a lot more needed to be done if the public, and not least Lady Virginia, were to believe he meant what he said.

“And once I’m back in London, what do I do then?”

“Fly to Nice, go straight to the house at Cap Ferrat, and stay put,” said Seb.

“And after that?” asked Bob. “I’ve never lasted more than a few days in the South of France before I was bored out of my mind and had to fly home.”

“Well, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that,” said Clive, “if you’re going to convince the world how much you’re enjoying early retirement, and that you have absolutely no interest in returning to Grimsby.”

“Mind you, most people won’t find that too hard to believe,” said Seb.

“Retirement?” said Bob, ignoring Seb’s comment. “I’d die rather than retire. And as for enjoying myself, I wasn’t built for leisure, so perhaps you can tell me, Seb, how I’m supposed to pass the time of day?”

“Perhaps the occasional round of golf, followed by a long lunch at one of the many Michelin-starred restaurants along the Riviera, topped off by a visit to one of Nice’s more exotic nightclubs?”

“And where will I find a pint of Bateman’s, and cod and chips served in newspaper?”

“I don’t think you’ll find too many fish and chip shops at Cap Ferrat,” admitted Seb.

“And there’s not much demand for mushy peas on the Riviera,” added Clive.

The three of them burst out laughing.

“I feel sorry for your mother, Clive,” said Bob. “She’s about to discover just how close a friend Lady Virginia Fenwick really is.”

*   *   *