As if by Magic (14 page)

‘What on earth did Nigel say?' asked Jack, curiously.

George snorted in disapproval. ‘It was about a girl, of all the cheap shots to take. Poor old Walsh obviously isn't in any sort of condition to go running round after girls, but he's got a real thing about Nigel's clerk. From what I can make out, he worships her from afar, which is all he's really capable of. He's dippy about her, apparently, poor beggar. Anyway, Nigel caught Walsh on the raw, saying it was pathetic to see him follow her about endlessly, looking sorry for himself, and no girl would ever look twice at a washed-up crock like him.'

Jack frowned in distaste. ‘That's a bit off. What on earth did your grandfather say? Surely he didn't let Nigel get away with that sort of remark?'

‘Maguire and I were the only others in the room. Nigel chose his time very carefully. Maguire didn't like it and told Nigel to pipe down but he was spoiling for a fight. When David came in, Nigel started another row with him. You probably gathered there's not much love lost between David and Nigel but there's more to it than you realize.' His mouth became a thin line. ‘David holds Nigel responsible for Thomas's death.'

Jack drew back. ‘Thomas? His son, you mean? Why?'

‘His son and Anne's husband,' said George grimly. He was silent for a few moments. ‘Thomas crashed in one of Nigel's planes,' he said eventually. ‘It went up in a fireball.'

Jack looked at him sharply. ‘The poor devil,' he said softly. ‘Was it really Nigel's fault?'

George nodded. ‘To be honest, it sounds like it. Thomas was the test pilot for the company. He sounded like a terrific bloke. I really wish I'd known him. Anne thought the world of him. Anyway, the plane was a fighter and Nigel had built in instability. Now, I know you need that in a fighter, but David thought it was dangerously unstable. Nigel agreed to amend the specifications before Thomas took her up but he didn't. He was convinced his design would work.'

Jack looked at his friend in shocked silence. He understood now the reason for that sudden, murderous gleam in David Lassiter's eyes during the argument before lunch. ‘That's appalling,' he said at last.

‘Isn't it though?' agreed George. ‘Apparently David had to be dragged off Nigel when he found out the truth. He very nearly killed him.'

Jack gave a soundless whistle. No wonder Anne Lassiter had used the word ‘awkward' to describe Thomas's death. Downright impossible would be another way of putting it. ‘How on earth can they live in the same house?'

George shrugged. ‘Stubbornness. Nigel's never lived anywhere else and he certainly wasn't going to shift when David moved back in.' He smiled faintly. ‘My father was a stubborn beggar. It seems to be a Lassiter characteristic.' He would have said more but a ring sounded at the door.

Jack glanced up, surprised. ‘I wasn't expecting anyone. Were you?' George shook his head and Jack went to answer it.

David Lassiter was outside. His rather weary face lit up in a smile as Jack opened the door. ‘You'll excuse me calling unannounced,' he said, taking off his hat and stepping into the hall. ‘I was hoping to have a word with George.' He hesitated, looking at Jack's clothes. ‘Were you going out? I don't want to hold you up.'

‘There's no rush,' said Jack, leading the way into his rooms. ‘I hadn't any definite plans. George, you've got a visitor,' he called. ‘Come in and sit down, Mr Lassiter. Can I offer you a drink?'

‘Whisky, if you've got it,' said David. ‘Thanks.' He looked at his nephew thoughtfully. ‘It's about this idea of the guv'nor's that you join the firm as my secretary. I wanted to talk to you.' He gave a wry smile. ‘Today should have been ideal but it was difficult, wasn't it? I had the impression you found it heavy going.'

‘I've just been saying as much to Jack,' admitted George.

David nodded. ‘I thought so.' He sipped his whisky. ‘I'm glad to say it's not always like that. Nigel's a bit hard to take at the moment but, to be fair to him, he's worried sick. Culverton's death really has put the cat amongst the pigeons. Anyway, I thought I'd call in and see you here, where we could have some peace and quiet. Have you ever done any secretarial work before?'

‘No,' said George. He spoke quickly. ‘Look, Uncle David, I feel as if I've been wished on you and that's not what I want at all. If you're not happy, say so.'

David held up his hand. ‘Easy does it. Believe me, George, if you can't do the job, I'll tell you. But . . .' He hesitated and smiled. ‘I thought the world of my brother, you know, and you remind me of him no end. Silly beggar,' he added wistfully. ‘Burying himself in South Africa. I used to think of going to see him, but I got involved with the firm and then there was my family to think of.' He bit his lip. ‘It's too late now. I should have made the effort.'

‘Did any of the family ever get out there?' asked Jack.

David shook his head. ‘No, never. The guv'nor's too old and it's not the sort of thing that would occur to Nigel. He was a lot younger than Charles and they didn't really know one another. Dad was too upset to talk about it much, so I'm afraid it all just got forgotten, more or less. I doubt Nigel really remembered he had another brother until you showed up, George. I should have tried, though.'

‘It was my father's decision,' said George awkwardly.

‘He was a stubborn devil,' said David affectionately. ‘It's a family failing. And he'd been hurt, you know. I'm not surprised he thought it was up to us to make the first move. Anyway, George, you'll want to know what sort of thing I expect you to do. The first thing is to get acquainted with how the firm works . . .'

George and David went into details while Jack, legs stretched out in front of him, lit a cigarette. If none of the Lassiters had been to South Africa that surely ruled out the possibility of any of them claiming the legacy – and yet who else could know there was a legacy to claim? The solicitors were the obvious answer. He'd just have to wait and see what Bill could dig out of them on Monday.

George, he was pleased to see, seemed to be getting on well with his uncle. That should cheer him up after his uncomfortable afternoon. David Lassiter, he thought, was a very likeable man. He was clearly in reality, if not in name, the head of the firm and Jack admired the tact he showed in dealing with his father who was so reluctant to let go of the reins. In fact, what with old Mr Lassiter on the one hand and Nigel on the other, diplomacy seemed to be the virtue David chiefly required.

The telephone jangled in the hall and, a few minutes later, he heard Mrs Pettycure's tread up the stairs. He opened the door and looked over the banister.

‘Is it for me, Mrs Pettycure?' he called.

‘No, Major. It's a lady. She wants to know if a Mr David Lassiter is here,' she said.

‘David Lassiter? Yes, he's here.'

David, with a puzzled frown, went down to the hall.

He returned a few minutes later, looking grim. ‘That was Anne,' he said without preamble. ‘Thank goodness I mentioned I was calling here. Something's happened at the factory. Michael Walsh has been found dead.'

George started to his feet. ‘Dead?'

‘Yes, poor devil.' David Lassiter's face was grave. ‘It sounds as if his heart's packed in. It was always on the cards but . . .' He broke off. ‘I'll have to leave. Fielding, the nightwatchman, found him and rang Eden Street. I've told Anne to get the doctor immediately and ask him to meet me at the factory. I'll go down there as soon as I can.' His brow furrowed. ‘I'd better get a cab. It'll take far too long to fetch my car. I just hope I can find a taxi driver willing to make the trip.'

‘I'll drive,' offered Jack. ‘My car's garaged in Wilson Street mews. It's only round the corner. It'll be much quicker than trying to find a cab.'

David looked at him in relief. ‘Thanks. That solves one problem at least.'

It was about twenty-six miles to Tilbury. That would, Jack thought as he drove out of the mews, take forty minutes or so at this time of night. David sat beside George in the back of the car.

‘I really appreciate this, Haldean,' said David, leaning forward.

‘What on earth was Walsh doing at the factory?' called back Jack over the noise of the engine.

‘I suppose I'll have to say he was catching up on some work,' said David wearily.

‘Wasn't he?' asked George.

David didn't answer for a few moments. Then he gave a heavy sigh. ‘Look, George, you might as well know what was behind it. You're going to be working for us and you're part of the family, after all.' He leaned forward once more. ‘Can I ask you to keep it under your hat, though, Haldean? You've been so decent to George I feel I can trust you, but if Nigel found out what the real reason was, then the fat would be in the fire and no mistake.' He shifted in his seat in irritation. ‘It's so damn stupid. The worst of it is, it's my fault, in a way. It all comes back to Culverton.'

‘Culverton?' repeated Jack.

‘That's right.' David Lassiter's voice was thin with frustration. ‘I was dead against the idea of the Pegasus. I thought it was ridiculously ambitious, far too big a task for us to undertake. Nigel argued that we had to produce a plane that was radically different and my father agreed. Now, Nigel's got real creative talent and he's a first-rate engineer but he hasn't a clue about business. If only the firm was organized properly, then we wouldn't have half the problems we do, but the guv'nor simply won't let go. He thinks we can muddle along as we did years ago. Anyway, I said that if Nigel could arrange the funding, we'd match it. I thought that would scotch the idea, but it didn't. Nigel teamed up with Culverton. There's a couple of others, such as Ridgeway and Maguire, but what made the Pegasus possible was Nigel's agreement with Culverton.' He paused. ‘I don't know how much you know about Culverton.'

‘Not much,' said Jack cautiously, unwilling to betray too much knowledge.

‘He was a hard man. A very tough customer indeed. To be honest, I couldn't stick him at any price but I'll say this, he was a perfect investor. Too perfect, I thought. I couldn't work it out. There didn't seem to be any limit to what he would do and he became more generous as time went on. I didn't like it. I discussed it with my father and we called Nigel in and asked him outright. The key to it all was the India route. Culverton was desperate to have that route established before this government-assisted airline comes into being next year. If Culverton could get on the board, he'd be in clover. This is where I blame myself.'

Jack heard the bitterness in his voice. ‘Why?'

‘It had been a very heated discussion, as I'm sure you can imagine. When Nigel left, I remarked to my father that the India route was all very well, I just hoped there wasn't more to it, something that would blow up and land us all in the cart.'

‘What sort of thing?' asked George, puzzled.

‘Oh, damned if I know. Some secret agreement, some deal Nigel had worked out. It was the sort of comment Nigel invites, you know? You've got to dig information out of him. He acts as if he's got something up his sleeve and there's nothing to it, apart from the fact that he can't be bothered explaining himself properly. Anyway, Walsh was in on the meeting, sitting there with his ears flapping. Walsh can't stand Nigel and vice versa. Mind you, although Nigel could be absolutely foul to Walsh, I can see why Walsh annoyed him. He was a real old woman in some ways. He was clever enough and if it wasn't for his wretched health he could have amounted to something, but as it was, he had far too much spare time. He always wanted to know what went on behind the scenes and this idea about Nigel got to him. No matter how much I said I hadn't really meant it, Walsh was convinced I was on to something and managed to persuade my father that there was more to Culverton's support than met the eye. Anyway, to cut a long story short, Walsh searched Nigel's office.'

‘What?' said George incredulously. ‘He can't do that.'

‘He shouldn't have done,' agreed David. ‘That was a few weeks ago. The first I knew of it was Nigel sounding off about Walsh snooping round his office. He caught him in the act. It's virtually impossible to find a time when you can guarantee Nigel won't be there. Even if he leaves, he's liable to come back. He even sleeps there, sometimes. Walsh made some excuse but Nigel was furious. So was I. I knew exactly what Walsh was up to and had a fair old row with him and my father as a consequence. Apart from the ethics of the thing, it was crazy. If Nigel had a secret contract, he'd have it locked away in a safe somewhere, not lying around in an office drawer. The trouble is, once my father had the idea in his head, he was certain it was right and Walsh conspiring away like Machiavelli made it worse. I thought Walsh might try again, despite all I'd said. If Nigel guesses what Walsh was doing, there'll be hell to pay. He was in my father's room, but that's next door to Nigel's.'

‘Are you sure Walsh was intending to search your brother's office?' asked Jack.

‘Absolutely I am,' agreed David. ‘There simply isn't any other reason why he should be there at this time on a Saturday night. The stupid thing is, it's completely unnecessary. I don't believe there is a deal and, if there is, Peggy Culverton will let us know.'

‘I suppose your father could have wanted to know before she did,' said Jack thoughtfully. ‘It'd make life very awkward for your brother if he was caught out in something secretive. It'd be better if you all knew about it.'

‘Not as awkward as it'll be if Nigel guesses what Walsh was up to,' said David grimly. ‘I can do without all this cloak-and-dagger stuff. Oh, damn Walsh! As I say, he was a clever man. Too clever to waste his time on the bits and pieces my father could find for him. He needed something to occupy his mind. I'm sorry he's dead. I really am sorry, but he was living on borrowed time, you know. He caught a packet in the war and it's nearly done for him a few times. Poor beggar,' he added, more to himself than to George or Jack. ‘He had a pretty thin time of it. Anyway, that's what's behind it. Anne knows as much as I do, but I'd appreciate you keeping it quiet. The doctor's meeting us there. It's Moorhouse, who sees to any problems at the works. He's a good man. He's attended Walsh before now. It's just as well, I suppose, that Walsh was one of his patients. It'll probably make things easier and, just at the moment, I can do with all the help I can get.'