Mayhew the legend

IT IS A MARK of David Mayhew's status that when he walks into a City dining room, others fall silent, nudge each other and crane their necks to see who is he with. No other figure, apart from the Governor of the Bank of England, commands such respect and awe in the City as Mayhew, the chairman of Cazenove.

US bankers may try their darnedest, new money men may claim their places at the best tables, fund managers can point to billions at their disposal. Mayhew leaves them all for dead.

It's not just that he is the head of the most pukkah firm, the one that gives the impression of wishing the 20th century had never happened, that can count the Queen among a host of private clients who look to it for discretion and impeccable advice (and yes, they include Posh and Becks) and is broker to 43 of the FTSE 100 companies.

It's also something to do with Mayhew. Tall and lean, with a beak of a nose, solid-framed glasses and a head of swept-back hair, and always impeccably dressed, he looks the quintessential upper-class professional. He would always be a senior something: partner in a law firm or accountants, surgeon, soldier.

As it was, having left Eton with four O levels, he trod the well-worn academic duffer's path to the City, where he shone, rising through the ranks at Caz, bringing in mandate after mandate, building the firm into a position of true power.

But it is also a mark of Mayhew's standing that today, coming to the end of a glittering career (with only one, now mostly forgotten, blip along the way), the very thought of him retiring has prompted a crisis. Foreign banks want to buy Cazenove, to access its formidable network, to sell to clients all the other financial products at their disposal. Cazenove would like to stay independent.

It may float on the stock market although it's in no rush to do so (forget the talk of the firm needing the capital - if it needed the money so badly, it would float. No, the main purpose behind the share sale is to reward and to retain staff) and one consequence of going public could also be a later takeover.

Thoughts about the future have brought another matter into sharp relief. It's all very well looking ahead, arguing that now may be the time for Cazenove to join the rest of the age-old names that sold out long ago, or at the very least to become more modern and transparent by listing its shares, but it's impossible to contemplate life without Mayhew.

When corporate clients ask for Cazenove, they mean Mayhew. The firm may employ 1,000 people from its new, anonymous building in Moorgate but there is only one that really counts. Such is the regard in which Mayhew is held, one can't imagine a foreign bank being prepared to pay top dollar unless he was tied in.

But he turned 64 last week, and the idea of Mayhew - who built his whole career on remaining quiet, in the shadows - being able to work with US bankers, say, and even having to take orders from them doesn't pass muster.

What a bigshot American would make of Cazenove with its UK-centric client list and its eccentricities is anyone's guess. The uniformed butlers and terrific biscuits with tea are one thing; some of the other traditions, even if they are disappearing, are quite another.

After all, this is a firm, that even in the mid-1980s, when equality at work was well-advanced elsewhere, asked a woman candidate two questions: 'Where did she go to school and what did her father do?' When she replied Cheltenham Ladies College and the director of a large Plc, she got the job.

Then there's the matter of making money. Cazenove is profitable (profits plunged two years ago to £14m but they are expected to have climbed back to more than £80m last year) although not in the same league as the US investment banks and minus the same attitude.

One former Cazenove executive recalls how he was working on a deal that would net £2.5m in fees. Mayhew suggested doing it another way, but for a lot less, £200,000. They did it for £200,000.

'It never entered our minds not to do the best thing for the client,' says the former Cazenove staffer. It must be doubtful that a US bank would have done the same.

Remuneration is another issue. Cazenove is a collegiate place, and earnings are pooled. It doesn't matter if the equities side is having a better year than bonds - everyone shares the same pot. Other houses are more divisive, giving the highest bonuses to those who bring in most business.

Unwittingly, Mayhew has created a dilemma - not a terrible one, given that Cazenove has made a fortune down the years on his success, but a dilemma nonetheless. There is no obvious successor. David Verey, hired from Lazards in 2002, was seen as a possible replacement but lasted just eight months. It is thought he could bring little extra to the table in the way of client relationships. He could help manage the organisation but that was being done by John Paynter and Bob Pickering, so there was no role for him.

It would be simpler if Mayhew came out and told the City his intentions. There's no chance of that, not yet. One colleague says he doubts Mayhew, a workaholic, has any plan to retire, not at 65 anyway.

If he did say what he was thinking, that would be breaking the habit of a lifetime. He doesn't give interviews - not ones that say anything of much note anyway. When he does, he does not talk about himself but about the firm. And he never discusses his clients.

'He's a fervent advocate of the firm's and of the client's interests coming first. He's always stuck behind his client, and never been tempted to ride in transit with them,' says a former Cazenove insider.

Married to Ginny, a former model (they have three children), he lives in a gorgeous converted mill in Hampshire, rides out with the Hampshire Hunt, shoots, fishes in the salmon rivers of Scotland, breeds South Devon cattle, collects art and plays golf at the Swinley Forest and New Zealand clubs. In London, he is a member of Boodle's and the City of London club. On Sundays, he attends the village church.

So what's he like, this pillar of the Establishment, this ultimate key man? 'He's the archetypal broker,' says someone who has worked closely with him at Cazenove. 'Always uppermost in David's mind is what is in the best interests of the client. His manner is like that of a leading QC. He reads the situation quickly before bringing his skills and experience to bear.'

Technical wizardry and spreadsheets aren't his thing. 'Yes, he can do a spreadsheet but at the end of the day he knows that what matters is sentiment - is the City behind the client or not?' says an ex-colleague. Mayhew is just as likely to leave the room to make a private check call as to pore over figures and charts.

Has the ex-colleague ever seen Mayhew lose his temper? 'Never.' Not even during the Guinness affair, apparently, when Mayhew was charged with aiding and abetting Guinness in giving financial inducements for the purchase of its shares. Certainly Mayhew and Cazenove never wavered. He continued to work as though nothing was happening. As for his employer, says the ex-staffer: 'There was absolutely 100% support for David throughout.'

In some respects, the Guinness experience enhanced Mayhew's reputation. Some enjoyed seeing him and Cazenove squirm and, when the charges against him were dropped in 1992, assumed the City had looked after its own. Others, full of sympathy for him, secretly crossed themselves and said 'there but for the grace of God...'

They were dark days for the City. In essence, what was in the dock in Guinness was not just a group of rogue individuals but a way of approaching and conducting business. It came on the back of a naked, aggressive, greedy culture. For some, Mayhew, with his sharp features and haughty bearing, seemed to symbolise the time. But he emerged stronger than before, welcomed in many boardrooms as a hero rather than a villain.

When Mayhew retires, an era will pass. What shape his firm takes after he is gone remains to be seen.