‘All a waste of time if you ask me,’ said Arun. Friday afternoon by tradition at Bentsen Pryce usually meant a long, leisurely meal at the club followed by a round of golf and possibly a token appearance at the office around closing time. The week’s work was effectively over by Thursday afternoon. But, upon reflection, Arun thought it possible that by asking him to help with a matter of Fire Insurance when his normal duties fell under Marine Insurance, Basil Cox was attempting to groom him for wider responsibilities. In fact, now that he considered it, a number of matters of General Insurance had also been marked out to him lately. All this could only mean that the powers above approved of him and his work.
Cheered by this thought, he knocked at Basil Cox’s door.
‘Come in. Yes, Arun?’ Basil Cox gestured to a chair, and, taking his hand off the mouthpiece of the phone, continued: ‘Well, that’s excellent. Lunch then, and – yes, we’ll both look forward to seeing you ride. Bye.’
He turned to Arun and said: ‘I do apologize, dear boy, for nibbling away at your Friday afternoon. But I wonder if I can make up for it by inviting you and Meenakshi to the races at Tolly tomorrow as our guests.’
‘We’d be delighted,’ said Arun.
‘I was talking to Jock Mackay. It appears he’s riding in one of the races. It might be rather fun to see him. Of course, if the weather keeps up, they’ll be swimming their horses round the track.’
Arun permitted himself a chuckle.
‘I didn’t know he’d be riding tomorrow. Did you?’ said Basil Cox.
‘No, I can’t say I did. But he rides often enough,’ said Arun. He reflected that Varun, the racing fiend, would have known not only that Jock Mackay was riding, but in which race he would be riding, on what horse, with what handicap and at what probable odds. Varun and his Shamshu friends usually bought a provisional or kutcha racing form the moment it appeared on the streets on Wednesday, and from then until Saturday afternoon would think about and discuss little else.
‘And now?’ Basil Cox prompted Arun.
‘It’s about the tariffs for Persian Fine Teas. They want us to insure another shipment.’
‘Yes. I marked that letter out to you. Purely routine, isn’t it?’
‘I’m not so sure.’ Basil Cox stroked his lower lip with his thumb and waited for Arun to go on.
‘I don’t think our claims experience with them is so good,’ said Arun.
‘Well, that’s easily checked.’
‘I’ve already done so.’
‘I see.’
‘Claims are a hundred and fifty-two per cent of premiums if you take the last three years. Not a happy situation.’
‘No, no, indeed,’ said Basil Cox, considering. ‘Not a happy situation. What do they usually claim for? Pilferage, I seem to recall. Or is it rainwater damage? And didn’t they have a claim for taint once? Leather in the same hold as tea or something like that?’
‘Rainwater damage was another company. And taint we disallowed after getting a report from Lloyds, our claims settlement agents on the spot. Their surveyors said that taint was minimal, even though the Persians appear to judge their tea more by fragrance than by flavour. It’s pilferage that has really harmed them. Or, rather, us. Skilful pilferage at the customs warehouse in Khurramshahr. It’s a bad port, and for all we know the customs authorities may be in on it.’
‘Well, what is the premium at present? Five annas?’
‘Yes.’
‘Put it up to eight annas.’
‘I’m not sure that would work,’ said Arun. ‘I could call upon their agent in Calcutta and do that. But I don’t think he’d take kindly to it. He once mentioned that even our five anna rate was barely competitive with what Commercial union was willing to insure them for. We would very likely lose them.’
‘Well, do you have anything else to suggest?’ said Basil Cox with a rather tired smile. From experience he knew that Arun very likely did have something else to suggest.
‘As it happens, I do,’ said Arun.
‘Ah,’ said Basil Cox, pretending surprise.
‘We could write to Lloyds and ask them what steps had been taken to prevent or reduce pilferage from the customs warehouse.’
Basil Cox was rather disappointed but did not say so. ‘I see. Well, thank you, Arun.’
But Arun had not finished. ‘And we could offer to reduce the premium.’
‘Reduce it, did you say?’ Basil Cox raised both eyebrows.
‘Yes. Just remove the Theft, Pilferage and Non-Delivery clause. They can have everything else: the standard policy of fire, storm, leakage, piracy, forced jettison and so on, plus Strike, Riot and Civil Commotion, rainwater damage, even taint, whatever they want. All on very favourable terms. But no TPND. That they can insure with someone else. They obviously have very little incentive to protect their cargo if we fork out their claims every time someone decides to drink their tea for them.’