'Please call me Cyrus. I've reached that age when I don't want to be reminded by a beautiful young woman just how old I am.'
Grace had been right about one thing, thought Emma, and decided to take advantage of it. She returned his smile before asking, 'What problems do you envisage for the shipbuilding industry during the next decade? Our new chairman, Sir William Travers - '
'First-class man. Cunard were foolish to let such an able fellow go,' interrupted Feldman.
'Sir William is considering whether we should add a new passenger liner to our fleet.'
'Madness!' said Feldman, thumping the seat beside him with a clenched fist, causing a cloud of dust to billow up into the air. Before Emma could ask why, he added, 'Unless you have a surplus of cash that you need to dispose of, or there are tax advantages for the UK shipping industry that no one's told me about.'
'Neither, that I'm aware of,' said Emma.
'Then it's time for you to face the facts. The aeroplane is about to turn passenger ships into floating dinosaurs. Why would any sane person take five days crossing the Atlantic Ocean, when they can do the same journey in eighteen hours by plane?'
'More relaxing? Fear of flying? You'll arrive in better shape?' suggested Emma, recalling Sir William's words at the AGM.
'Out of touch and out of date, young lady,' said Feldman. 'You'll have to come up with something better than that if you're going to convince me. No, the truth is that the modern businessman, and even the more adventurous tourist, wants to cut down on the time it takes to reach their destination, which in a very few years will sink, and I mean sink, the passenger liner business.'
'And in the long term?'
'You haven't got that long.'
'So what do you recommend we do?'
'Invest any spare cash you have in building more cargo vessels. Planes will never be able to carry large or heavy items like motor cars, plant machinery or even food.'
'How do I convince Sir William of that?'
'Make your position clear at the next board meeting,' said Feldman, his fist once again banging on the seat.
'But I'm not on the board.'
'You're not on the board?'
'No, and I can't see Barrington's ever appointing a woman director.'
'They don't have any choice,' said Feldman, his voice rising. 'Your mother owns twenty-two per cent of the company's stock. You can demand a place on the board.'
'But I'm not qualified, and a two-hour train journey to London, even if it is with a Pulitzer Prize-winner, isn't going to solve that problem.'
'Then it's time to get qualified.'
'What do you have in mind?' asked Emma. 'Because there isn't a university in England that I'm aware of that has a business degree on its curriculum.'
'Then you'll have to take three years off and join me at Stanford.'
'I don't think my husband or my young son would think much of that idea,' replied Emma, breaking her cover.
This silenced the professor, and it was some time before he said, 'Can you afford a ten-cent stamp?'
'Yes,' said Emma tentatively, not sure what she was letting herself in for.
'Then I'll be happy to enrol you as an undergraduate at Stanford in the fall.'
'But as I explained - '
'You stated, without reservation, that you could afford a ten-cent stamp.'
Emma nodded.
'Well, Congress has just passed a bill that will allow American military who are serving overseas to sign up for a business degree without actually having to attend classes in person.'
'But I'm not an American, and I'm certainly not serving overseas.'
'True,' said Feldman, 'but hidden in the bill's small print you'll find, under special exemptions, the word "Allies", which I'm pretty sure we can take advantage of. That is, assuming you're serious about the long-term future of your family's company.'
'Yes, I am,' said Emma. 'But what will you expect of me?'
'Once I've registered you as an undergraduate at Stanford, I'll send you a course reading list for your freshman year, along with tape-recordings of every lecture I give. On top of that, I'll set you an essay to write each week, and return it to you once I've marked it. And if you can afford more than ten cents, we could even talk on the phone from time to time.'
'When do I start?'
'This fall, but be warned, there are assessment tests every quarter that decide if you should be allowed to continue on the course,' he was saying as the train pulled into Paddington station. 'If you're not up to it, you'll be dropped.'
'You're willing to do all that because of one meeting with my grandfather?'
'Well, I confess I was rather hoping you might join me for dinner at the Savoy tonight so we can talk about the future of the shipbuilding industry in greater detail.'
'What a nice idea,' said Emma, giving him a kiss on his cheek. 'But I'm afraid I bought a return ticket, and I'll be going home to my husband tonight.'
Even if Harry still couldn't work out how to turn on the radio, at least he'd mastered the hot and cold taps in the shower. Once he was dry, he selected a freshly ironed shirt, a silk tie Emma had given him for his birthday, and a suit his mother would have described as Sunday best. A glance in the mirror, and he had to admit he wouldn't have been considered in vogue on either side of the Atlantic.
Harry stepped out of the Pierre on to 5th Avenue just before eight and began walking towards 64th and Park. It only took him a few minutes before he was standing outside a magnificent brownstone house. He checked his watch, wondering what was fashionably late in New York. He recalled Emma telling him she'd been so nervous at the thought of meeting Great-aunt Phyllis that she'd walked around the block before summoning up enough courage to climb the steps to the front door, and even then she only managed to press the bell marked 'Tradesmen'.
Harry marched up the steps and banged firmly with the heavy brass knocker. As he waited for the door to be answered, he could hear Emma remonstrating with him - Don't mock, child.
The door opened and a butler wearing a tailcoat, who was clearly expecting him, said, 'Good evening, Mr Clifton. Mrs Stuart is waiting for you in the drawing room. Would you care to follow me?'
'Good evening, Parker,' Harry replied, although he'd never seen the man before. Harry thought he detected the flicker of a smile as the butler led him down the corridor to an open lift. Once he'd stepped inside, Parker closed the grille, pressed a button and didn't speak again until they reached the third floor. He pulled open the gate, preceded Harry into the drawing room and announced, 'Mr Harry Clifton, madam.'
A tall, elegantly dressed woman was standing in the middle of the room, chatting to a man Harry assumed must be her son.
Great-aunt Phyllis immediately broke away, walked across to Harry and, without a word, gave him a bear hug that would have impressed an American linebacker. When she finally released him, she introduced her son Alistair, who shook Harry warmly by the hand.
'It's an honour to meet the man who ended Sefton Jelks's career,' said Harry.
Alistair offered a slight bow.