Free Mad About the Boy? by Dolores Gordon-Smith Page B

he’ll drop this now. ‘With all this dreadful unemployment I’d have thought you’d be able to find someone easily enough.’
    Lord Lyvenden might be impervious to hints, but he could be shocked. ‘You can hardly suppose I would select my personal secretary from the ranks of the unemployed, Rivers.’ He dabbed his mouth with a handkerchief. ‘This is excellent coffee, excellent, by the way. All this talk of unemployment is grossly exaggerated. There would be no unemployment if the men concerned were not, in fact, unemployable.’
    Smith-Fennimore stirred, looked daggers, but said nothing.
    â€˜As an employer of labour I am in the position to speak assertively on this topic. The men who badger, absolutely
badger,
both my Birmingham factories and the bank are, without exception, incapable of maintaining any sort of paid position, even at the lowest level. They are, Rivers, not a type of man you have ever encountered.’
    â€˜I’ve encountered a fair variety of types in my time, Lyvenden,’ said Sir Philip. ‘I haven’t lived in the country all my life, you know.’
    Lyvenden smiled dismissively. ‘I hardly think you have had much to do with the sort of men I have in mind. Why, only the other day one had the impudence to actually accost me in the street.’ He glanced at Smith-Fennimore. ‘You remember the incident, Commander? I had to leave you to deal with the fellow. My doctor insists that I avoid any unnecessary stress. I trust you dealt with him effectively.’
    There was a dangerous light in Smith-Fennimore’s eyes. ‘Oh, I dealt with him all right,’ he said softly. ‘I gave the poor devil a job as a messenger.’
    Lord Lyvenden gaped at him. ‘You did
what
?’ Haldean felt like cheering. ‘No good will come of it,’ spluttered Lyvenden. ‘Mark my words, Commander. The engagement of the lower grades of staff should properly be left to the managers of the departments concerned, but if you do feel moved to take such an intimate interest in the minutiae of the bank’s affairs, why not go to one of the properly recognized agencies? Such rash impulsiveness will lead to nothing but trouble. Look at that poor dead boy whose untimely decease has done so much to mar what should have been the happiest of occasions. I took him on, much against my better judgement, as a personal favour to his uncle, Andrew Urqhart, who thought it would steady the lad.’
    And I bet you got something in return, thought Haldean, viciously. Anyone but Lyvenden, seeing the disapproval on the faces round him, would have drawn a halt there, but he rolled on like a juggernaut, crushing the feelings of those in his path.
    â€˜However,’ continued Lyvenden, ‘as in all these cases where the heart rules the head, it turned out to have been an injudicious decision.’ His face lengthened. ‘Although I have no wish to speak ill of the dead, I fear Mr Preston’s heart was not always in his work. I had to upbraid him several times for some very elementary errors and I fear he mistook my attempts at constructive correction for petty fault-finding. Those who knew him best will agree that his end was, I’m afraid, marked by the same characteristics as his life; rash impulsiveness, small thought to the effect of his actions on others and an imprudent disregard for consequences. Is that not so, Commander?’
    Smith-Fennimore drew a deep breath and flexed his jaw.
    Sir Philip, who had been listening to Lord Lyvenden with mounting unease, uncharacteristically rushed into speech, seizing the first topic to hand. ‘Er . . . the weather. Yes, the weather. Nice day, isn’t it? We’re being awfully lucky with the weather, aren’t we?’
    â€˜Absolutely we are, Dad,’ said Isabelle quickly. ‘Don’t you think so, Malcolm?’
    â€˜I think . . .’ began Smith-Fennimore, then stopped. He