Foreign correspondent Nicholas Tomalin wrote in 1969 that the only qualities essential for success in journalism were “ratlike cunning, a plausible manner and a little literary ability”. The lower rungs of the business world are often little better. The first two attributes, plus a little commercial nous, are sometimes the only qualities needed for chancers looking to burnish their credentials by befriending politicians.
The scandal over the collapse of supply chain finance firm Greensill Capital, which employed David Cameron as an adviser who turned hapless lobbyist, begs one outstanding question: how did Lex Greensill, its young founder, insinuate himself into the upper echelons of government?
Cameron, 54, displayed consistently poor judgment on a wide range of issues, and may already have been feathering his post-retirement nest. But how did Greensill persuade Sir Jeremy Heywood, supposedly the sharpest civil servant of his generation, to push through his ideas despite resistance from Whitehall?
Greensill, 44, was cunning and fluent in finance. Yet his most potent ingredient was a charming manner that went beyond mere plausibility.
I experienced his ability to beguile only once, in a video call arranged by Cameron’s former PR chief Sir Craig Oliver in December. The Australian explained how he had moved to Cheshire “for love” (his wife comes from the area). He said Greensill was a “fintech” helping real firms in the real economy by speeding up payments. A few weeks earlier, around the time of Halloween, I had noted that concerns over Greensill’s links with steel tycoon Sanjeev Gupta were scaring off would-be auditors. I’d jokingly compared him with Freddy Krueger from A Nightmare on Elm Street. Greensill smiled and said his family had ribbed him about it.
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Boyish and clean-cut, he came across as personable, reasonable and smart. Heywood clearly thought so, too: he berated civil servants for leaving “free money on the table” by not engaging with Greensill’s ideas, got him a desk in the Cabinet Office and a role as crown representative for supply chain finance, helped him land a contract providing working capital to NHS pharmacies and secured him a CBE. Objections from officials, who pointed out that special finance would be unnecessary were the government simply to pay pharmacies on time, were brushed aside.
The NHS contract did not yield huge profits for Greensill but it brought credibility. It must have helped Greensill to seal hundreds of millions of dollars in now-worthless investments from funds SoftBank and General Atlantic. And the association with Cameron, who became an adviser with share options said to have been worth tens of millions, would have paid off handsomely had he been successful in lobbying for access to Covid-19 bailout schemes. Instead, the Greensill saga has become a nightmare on Downing Street for Cameron and chancellor Rishi Sunak, who has had to release text messages suggesting he “pushed” Treasury officials to find a way for Greensill to tap state funds.
Greensill is far from the first business person to ensnare a politician in a net of greed and vanity. The clever ones know how to play on egos and venality. John Poulson, an architect from Yorkshire, made the Tory MP Reginald Maudling chairman of two companies. Among his activities for Poulson, luxury-loving Maudling helped to obtain a building contract for a hospital in Malta. He had to resign as home secretary in 1972 when the police opened an investigation into Poulson, who was later jailed for bribery.
Greensill’s charm carried him far into government. As Cameron has found, the presence of a glamorous and munificent stranger can be intoxicating. But the politician’s hangover tends to last long after the chancer has vanished.
Stanlow may be the next explosion
As if ministers didn’t have enough to worry about with Gupta’s teetering Liberty Steel empire and fears over the future of the Vauxhall plant at Ellesmere Port. Now the nearby Stanlow oil refinery is reported to be on the brink.
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Owned by Essar Oil UK, part of the Ruia family’s Indian conglomerate Essar, it supplies 16 per cent of British road fuel and sends jet fuel to Manchester airport. It employs 900 people directly, with 5,000 in the value chain. Its collapse would have painful implications.
Whitehall officials are said to have meetings lined up this week. As with Liberty Steel, business secretary Kwasi Kwarteng must try to find a private-sector solution. Yet the number of industrial problems exploding on his doorstep, and the pork-barrel political pressures the Tories face in trying to keep Brexit-voting heartlands sweet, put him in a very difficult position. We need a more strategic approach to the possible use of taxpayers’ cash.
Farewell to Fast Track
Almost a quarter of a century ago, Fast Track roared onto the pages of The Sunday Times, ranking Britain’s most promising private companies. Since then, supported by Virgin tycoon Sir Richard Branson, it has published 127 league tables featuring 5,800 firms and hosted more than 500 events. Anyone who has attended will recognise the energetic figure of founder Hamish Stevenson.
Fast Track has picked out many rising stars, from ARM to Brewdog, from Ocado to Revolut. Some 540 alumni with a combined wealth of £340 billion have graced The Sunday Times Rich List.
So it’s with sadness that we wave farewell to Fast Track, which today publishes its final league table, the Profit Track 100. It has fallen victim to the pandemic, which has put the squeeze on sponsors’ budgets. It will host three final events before the end of June.
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Hamish has asked me to thank everyone who has contributed to its success over the past 24 years. On behalf of the paper, I would like to thank him. We hope he won’t be slowing down.
oliver.shah@sunday-times.co.uk
