Ironically, just as the great and definitely not good, were gathering in Arries for a gangland, extraordinary general meeting, Vanessa Thyme attended the regular fortnightly Board Meeting of Brockeln Belland. Though not a director, or having any title within the firm, everyone knew it was Vanessa, her mother, and grandmother before her, who ruled as an illusory complaisant dictatorship.
Mark Sohre took up his place at the head of the table, serious, head bowed deferentially. A period of thoughtful reflection before he looked down the lengthy expanse of polished mahogany, past the vacuous faces of toady directors, directors without Porte-folio, and non-executive directors, those there just to put in six hours a month and collect their pay-off, mostly politicians. Eventually his gaze reache
