“Oh, no!” It was catastrophic news for Hugh, his family and the bank. Nothing could be worse.
“Civil war, in fact,” Mulberry went on. “A rebellion. The Miranda family has attacked the capital city, Palma.”
Hugh’s heart was racing. “Any indication of how strong they are?” If the rebellion could be crushed quickly there was still hope.
“President Garcia has fled.”
“The devil he has.” That meant it was serious. He cursed Micky and Edward bitterly. “Anything else?”
“There’s another cable from our Cordova office, but it’s still being decoded.”
“Telephone to me again as soon as it’s ready.”
“Very good, sir.”
Hugh cranked the machine, got the operator, and gave the name of the stockbroker used by the bank. He waited while the man was called to the telephone. “Danby, this is Hugh Pilaster. What’s happening to Cordovan bonds?”
“We’re offering them at half par and getting no takers.”
Half price, Hugh thought. Pilasters was already bankrupt. Despair filled his heart. “What will they fall to?”
“They’ll go to zero, I should think. No one pays interest on government bonds in the middle of a civil war.”
Zero. Pilasters had just lost two and a half million pounds. There was no hope now of gradually returning the balance sheet to strength. Clutching at straws, Hugh said: “Suppose the rebels are wiped out in the next few hours — what then?”
“I shouldn’t think anyone will buy the bonds even then,” said Danby. “Investors will wait and see. At the very best it will take five or six weeks before confidence begins to return.”
“I see.” Hugh knew Danby was right. The broker was only confirming Hugh’s own instincts.
“I say, Pilaster, your bank will be all right, won’t it?” Danby said worriedly. “You must have quite a lot of these bonds. It was noised about that you hardly sold any of the Santamaria harbor issue.”
Hugh hesitated. He hated to tell lies. But the truth would destroy the bank. “We’ve got more Cordovan bonds than I’d like, Danby. But we’ve got a lot of other assets as well.”
“Good.”
“I must get back to my guests.” Hugh had no intention of going back to his guests, but he wanted to give an impression of calm. “I’m giving lunch to three hundred people — my sister got married this morning.”
“So I heard. Congratulations.”
“Goodbye.”
Before he could ask for another number, Mulberry called again. “Mr. Cunliffe from the Colonial Bank is here, sir,” he said, and Hugh could hear the panic in his voice. “He is asking for repayment of the loan.”
“Damn him,” Hugh said fervently. The Colonial had lent Pilasters a million pounds to tide them over the crisis, but the money was repayable on demand. Cunliffe had heard the news and seen the sudden slump in Cordova bonds, and he knew Pilasters must be in trouble. Naturally he wanted to get his money out before the bank went bust.
And he was only the first. Others would be close behind. Tomorrow morning depositors would be queuing outside the doors, wanting cash. And Hugh would not be able to pay them.
“Have we got a million pounds, Mulberry?”
“No, sir.”
The weight of the world descended on Hugh’s shoulders, and he felt old. This was the end. It was the banker’s nightmare: people came for their money, and the bank did not have it. And it was happening to Hugh.
“Tell Mr. Cunliffe that you have been unable to get authorization to sign the cheque, because all the partners are at the wedding,” he said.
“Very good, Mr. Hugh.”
“And then …”
“Yes, sir?”
Hugh paused. He knew he had no choice, but still he hesitated to say the dreadful words. He shut his eyes. Better get it over with.
“And then, Mulberry, you must close the doors of the bank.”
“Oh, Mr. Hugh.”
“I’m sorry, Mulberry.”
There was an odd noise down the line, and Hugh realized that Mulberry was crying.
He put down the phone., Staring at the bookshelves of his library, he saw instead the grand facade of Pilasters Bank, and imagined the closing of the ornate iron doors. He saw passersby stop and look. Before long a crowd would gather, pointing at the closed doors and chattering excitedly. The word would go around the City faster than a fire in an oil store: Pilasters has crashed.
Pilasters has crashed.
Hugh buried his face in his hands.
“WE ARE ALL absolutely penniless,” said Hugh.
They did not understand, at first. He could tell by their faces.
They gathered in the drawing room of his house. It was a cluttered room, decorated by his wife, Nora, who loved to drape every stick of furniture with flowered fabrics and crowd every surface with ornaments. The guests had gone, at last — Hugh had not told anyone the bad news until the party was over — but the family were still in their wedding finery. Augusta sat with Edward, both of them wearing scornful, disbelieving expressions. Uncle Samuel sat next to Hugh. The other partners, Young William, Major Hartshorn and Sir Harry, stood behind a sofa on which sat their wives Beatrice, Madeleine and Clementine. Nora, flushed from lunch and champagne, sat in her usual chair beside the fire. The bride and groom, Nick and Dotty, held hands, looking frightened.
Hugh felt most sorry for the newlyweds. “Dotty’s dowry is gone, Nick. I’m afraid all our plans have come to nothing.”
Aunt Madeleine said shrilly: “You’re the Senior Partner — it must be your fault!”
She was being stupid and malicious. It was a predictable reaction, yet all the same Hugh was wounded. It was so unfair that she should blame him after he had fought so hard to prevent this.
However, William, her younger brother, corrected her with surprising sharpness. “Don’t talk rot, Madeleine,” he said. “Edward deceived us all and burdened the bank with huge amounts of Cordova bonds which are now worthless.” Hugh was grateful to him for being honest. William went on: “The blame lies with those of us who let him become Senior Partner.” He looked at Augusta.
Nora looked bewildered. “We can’t be penniless,” she said.
“But we are,” Hugh said patiently. “All our money is in the bank and the bank has failed.” There was some excuse for his wife’s not understanding: she had not been born into a banking family.
Augusta stood up and went to the fireplace. Hugh wondered whether she would try to defend her son, but she was not that foolish. “Never mind whose fault it is,” she said. “We must salvage what we can. There must be quite a lot of cash in the bank still, gold and bank notes. We must get it out and hide it somewhere safe before the creditors move in. Then—”