He already knew a great deal about Robert Bingham and the way he had run the company from the research he’d carried out for Lady Virginia. And on this occasion she hadn’t even tried to bargain with him. She had met all his demands: £20,000 a year plus expenses, including a suite of rooms at the Royal Hotel whenever he had to stay in Grimsby.

Fisher felt there wasn’t a moment to lose and instructed the taxi driver to take him straight to the factory. During the journey he went over the speech he’d prepared, which wouldn’t leave the workers in any doubt who was the boss. It shouldn’t be too difficult to run a fish-paste factory. After all, he’d commanded a company in Tobruk with the Germans snapping at his heels.

The taxi dropped him outside the factory. A scruffy man wearing a peaked cap, open-necked shirt, and greasy overalls peered at the major from the other side of the locked gates.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“I’m Major Fisher, the new chairman of the company, so open up immediately, my good man.”

The man touched the peak of his cap and pulled the gate open.

“Where’s the chairman’s office?” demanded Fisher.

“Bob never had what you’d call an office, but management are at the top of those steps,” the man said, pointing to the other side of the yard.

The major marched across the yard, a little surprised by the lack of activity because he knew the factory employed over two hundred full-time workers, with another hundred part-time. He climbed the iron steps up to the first floor and pushed open the door to be greeted by a large open-plan office with a dozen desks, only two of which were occupied.

A young man leapt to his feet. “You must be Major Fisher,” he said as if he’d been expecting him. “I’m Dave Perry, the assistant manager. I was told to show you around the factory and answer any questions you might have.”

“I was rather hoping to have a meeting with the managing director so I could be brought up to speed as quickly as possible.”

“Ah, you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“Mr. Jopling handed in his notice yesterday. Told me that as he only had a couple of years before he retired, this might be a good time for someone else to fill his boots.”

“And are you that someone else?” asked Fisher.

“Not on your nelly,” said Perry. “I’ve only been here a few months. And in any case, I don’t fancy any more responsibility.”

“Then it will have to be Pollock, the works manager,” said Fisher. “Where’s he?”