A Dark Kaleidoscope

The Landlord’s Story “Gentlemen, I have here pictorial evidence that, in the wrong hands, could prove detrimental or even fatal to our business.” Sir Phillip Patterson, senior partner of one of Britain’s oldest and most profitable banks, gestured at an envelope in front of him. The five men sitting around the table in a medium-sized, yew-panelled room known as the Sanctuary looked at him expectantly. “Let me tell you how I came about it. Two weeks ago, Sara,” he mentioned his wife’s name, “had dragged me to an exhibition at the Royal Academy. It was, to me at least, the usual incomprehensible stuff – Klee, Picasso, Modigliani, and Dali. One of the smaller rooms held only the works of a local artist, one F M Bennett. I liked his work; he seems to specialise in rural England of the eighteenth century. I was about to leave when one of the paintings, called The Landlord’s Story, gave me cold shivers. I took a photograph and had copies made.” From the envelope he handed each man a glossy four-by-eight-inch black-and-white. Four of the five men simultaneously emitted a collective gasp. “Precisely.” Sir Phillip’s hands were clasped, and his eyes had narrowed. “Even the clothing and colours are identical. We can all well imagine how our competition would react, especially now, after the recent crash in New York – or an investigating muckraker – if even an inkling of the circumstances pertaining to the founding of the bank became public knowledge. We might even be forced by law to give access to the diary and papers.” The man who had shown no emotion looked around, puzzled by the reaction of the older men around the table. Sir Phillip looked at the young man kindly. “Come, let me show you, David.” He then led him into an adjoining room and switched on the light. Five portraits hung on the walls. Sir Phillip’s hand swept around the room. “Our ancestors. No one but a partner has had access to this room for the last century and a half.”