Kingdom of Shadows (21 page)

She shrugged. ‘He’ll be here in a minute.’ She was staring into the flames.

Sir David walked across to the silver tray on the grand piano. ‘Can I pour you some coffee? It’s still hot.’ He smiled at her. ‘The excellent Mrs Collins brought enough cups. She was expecting you.’ He handed her one, and stood looking down at her. ‘We were sorry not to see you at the party on Saturday.’ He paused. ‘I hope you’re feeling better. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in a chair, my dear?’

Clare hunched closer to the fire, holding the porcelain cup and saucer against her chest. ‘I’m fine, thank you. For God’s sake, sit down, David. Don’t hover! You’ve come to see Paul, I suppose?’ She looked up at him suddenly.

‘I did, as a matter of fact.’ He studied her face, noticing the signs of strain, and he frowned.

Clare always made him feel uneasy. He found her extremely attractive, he had to admit, and yet she irritated him and put him on the defensive, mocking him and all he stood for from behind those innocent grey eyes. He knew she found him pompous and she teased him openly, especially about his recent knighthood, and he wished he could dismiss her as a silly young woman of whom he could take no notice. But he couldn’t. Whenever she was in the room with him he found himself drawn towards her. Also he respected her brain – something his own wife appeared to be able to do without – and he found himself wondering, often, how she and Paul conducted their sex life. He had frequently suspected his brother of being totally uninterested in sex. For this vivacious, beautiful woman to see anything in Paul at all was a conundrum upon which he pondered with a frequency for which he despised himself.

He sat down on a chair near her and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his chin cupped in his hands. Whatever he felt about Clare he had never before found himself feeling sorry for her, but now suddenly there was a wistfulness in her face which made him feel strangely protective.

‘Paul has asked me whether I would be prepared to break the children’s trust fund.’ He looked thoughtfully into the fire. ‘I take it that that was your idea?’

‘My idea?’ Clare sat back on her heels and looked up at him. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Don’t you?’ He looked pained. ‘Paul feels that Father’s will, because it was so heavily weighted towards his grandchildren, actual and potential, is grossly unfair. My children, and Geoffrey’s and Em’s, will inherit the bulk of Father’s estate when they grow up.’ He glanced at her. ‘Paul feels we should split up the money so that he can take a quarter.’

Clare put her cup and saucer down on the hearth and climbed to her feet. ‘And you think that is my idea?’

David hesitated, scrutinising her face, then he shrugged.

‘I thought it might be. It seems strange that Paul should suddenly want the money.’

‘And you thought it must be the grasping wife?’ Clare bent to pick up a log from the basket and threw it into the fire, watching the flames lick round it. She swung round. ‘Well, it wasn’t, but I can guess why he’s done it.’ She was suddenly on the defensive. ‘He wants it because he knows he will never have any children to inherit anything, at least not as long as he’s married to me.’ She clenched her fists. ‘But no doubt he told you that. Perhaps he feels this is just compensation for having a barren wife. It is his share of the inheritance, I suppose, so why shouldn’t he have it?’

‘Exactly.’ Behind them Paul had appeared in the doorway. ‘So, is that why you’ve come, David? To give me your decision?’

He strode into the room and leaned against the oak chest near the door, his folded arms concealing his agitation. ‘Have you and Geoff talked it over?’ His voice was heavy.

‘Geoffrey is away at some conference.’ David adopted a soothing tone which managed to sound patronising. ‘But I’m sure we’ll be able to agree about this when he gets back.’

His tone visibly irritated his brother.

‘And how much do you suppose you will be able to spare me after your deliberations?’

‘That is rather up to the four of us, as trustees, and to the accountants, don’t you think?’ David said dryly. ‘If you feel you are entitled to a particular percentage, you’d better say so. The money you’re talking about is at the moment to be divided equally between the children as they reach the age of eighteen with a capital sum remaining to give each of them a small income and to cover any late arrivals.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘We four are supposed to have had our share when Father died, remember?’

‘Of course I remember.’ Paul turned away sharply. He went across to the window and stared out at the mist. The chestnut trees were dripping dankly on the lawn, their golden leaves mud-coloured without the sun.

His brother was watching him closely through narrowed eyes. ‘Well, if you still want to go ahead with this, I suggest we call a meeting of the trustees to discuss it.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll ring Geoff tonight and see if he’s back. I think I should tell you, Paul, that Gillian and I are not very happy about this.’

‘I’m sure you’re not!’ Paul didn’t look round. ‘Your bloody kids get the lion’s share.’

‘They will get an equal amount each.’ David was tight-lipped as he strode towards the door. ‘I’m sorry Paul is putting you through all this, Clare –’ as he opened it he glanced back at her. She was still standing by the fire, her face set. ‘You deserve better, my dear.’

Clare watched until her brother-in-law’s old Bentley had disappeared up the drive, then she turned towards Paul.

‘Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to break the trust?’

He left the window and threw himself down with a sigh into the chair his brother had just vacated. ‘There is nothing to tell as yet. But Geoffrey will agree with me because it’s the Christian thing to do and Em will agree because it’s fair.’ He gave a grim smile.

Clare bit her lip, trying to fight down the guilt and unhappiness which were threatening to swamp her. She was watching him closely, and she realised suddenly through her misery that the strained transparency of the skin around his eyes and the loss of weight in his usually solid face had not just happened in the last few days. His concern about money, and his bad temper, had been going on now for months; since the end of June when they had learned that she would not inherit any money from Margaret Gordon’s will. Yet Paul was a rich man – both from his father’s money which, as David had pointed out, had been considerable, and through his investments. She frowned. ‘Are you worried about money for some reason, Paul?’ she asked wearily. ‘Nothing has gone wrong in the City has it?’

‘Gone wrong?’ He stared into the fire. ‘Of course not. Did it look as if anything were wrong last night?’

‘No.’

‘Well then.’ He flung himself back in the chair and closed his eyes. ‘There is nothing to worry about, is there?’

The helicopter hovered for several minutes over the field, then it circled the castle, the huge rotor blades fanning the branches of the rowan and birch, parting the grasses until they bent and streamed like water. On the cliffs the birds flew up in clouds, screaming, their cries drowned by the roar of the engine.

Rex Cummin leaned forward, staring down, his eyes fixed on the pile of grey stone which had been the tower of Duncairn. He had a note pad on his knee and there was a pen in his hand, but he made no attempt to write. Out at sea the fog banks were a pearly white, obliterating the horizon, but inland the ground was bathed in sunshine. His eyes gleamed. Far below the sleeping rock, below the matted bracken and heather and dry grass there was oil. He knew it in his bones.

In the hotel Jack Grant stood at the office window watching as the helicopter circled. He frowned, noting the logo painted on its side, then he reached for the phone and dialled the number Neil had given him.

He consulted his notes. ‘Does the Greek letter Sigma mean anything to you?’ he asked as the line connected.

In Edinburgh Neil cursed.

8

The offices of Sigma Exploration were on the third and fourth floors of a glass-fronted block overlooking the Thames at Westminster. Sitting at his desk in the deeply carpeted, luxurious executive suite, Rex Cummin could look across the river towards the Houses of Parliament and it still gave him something of a thrill, after three years, to see the silhouette of the Victoria Tower and Big Ben against the clear duck-egg glow of the early morning London sky.

He was sitting at his desk now, and in front of him on the blotter was a closely typed report. He picked it up and read it again slowly. He was smiling

… Beattie Cameron Westlake Pierce … rumours about under-capitalisation … insider dealing … possible investigation by the Stock Exchange Council … Paul Royland’s name mentioned in the press, on each occasion unfavourably … directors in internal squabble over funding … Sir Duncan Beattie defends Royland to colleagues over Beattie Committee controversy … MP’s brother suspected over collusion in funding scandal …

Rex’s face creased into a contented smile. He picked up the phone.

‘Leonie, honey, would you fix up a lunch with Diane Warboys for me? It must be before Friday. You’ll find her number in the file under BCWP in Coleman Street. Oh, and honey, would you send some flowers to Mrs Clare Royland? I have her address here, and I’ll give you a note to go with them.’ He chuckled as he put down the receiver.

He lay back in his chair and, tapping his teeth with his pencil, he picked up the report again. At last things were beginning to go his way.

* * *

Emma was meeting Diane Warboys that lunchtime at El Vino’s in Martin Lane. She glanced at her watch and then looked around her again at the other diners, drumming her fingernails on the menu which lay beside her on the checked cloth. Sally would only cover at the gallery for another couple of hours. It wouldn’t give them much time.

They had drifted into meeting about once every two or three months after they first met more than a year ago at a party James had given for some of his friends and colleagues at his flat in the Barbican, and Emma found herself frequently asking herself why she and Diane should get on so well together. They were so different in every way. Diane, American, brittle, ambitious, smart as a fashion plate, efficient, very bright and dedicated to her career; herself, not exactly dowdy – more comfortable, bright, yes, efficient, no – She smiled to herself. A career woman too, now, or trying to be, with the gallery on Kew Green nearly six months old. For a while Emma had wondered if what she and Diane had in common was her husband, Peter, but on the whole she thought not. Surely, Diane wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye if that were so.

‘Hello. I’m sorry I’m late.’ Diane descended into the chair opposite Emma and propped an attaché case against the table leg. ‘We were dreadfully busy in the office this morning; and I’m afraid I’ll have to be fairly brief. The boys are covering for me, but I never like to let them think they can manage without me for too long.’ She smiled. ‘What are we drinking?’

‘In my case white wine.’ Emma indicated her glass.

‘I’ll have the same. So, how are you? Are you coming to Singapore with Pete?’

Emma could feel herself stiffening. ‘Was I invited?’

Diane looked at her steadily. ‘I don’t know. Were you?’ She paused for a moment, searching Emma’s face. ‘Pete and I have never had an affair, you know. There is nothing like that between us.’ She smiled at the waitress who had brought her glass.

Emma looked down at the table. ‘I never thought there was,’ she said quickly. Too quickly. Had her thoughts been that easy to read?

Diane reached over and picked up the menu. ‘There is no time for that kind of relationship in the office, Emma. You should know that. Incestuous though the City is with everyone knowing everyone, it just wouldn’t work. Not for long. With your husband and your brother working there you should know that.’ There was a moment’s silence as she studied the menu, then she looked up. ‘Paul is a workaholic like Peter, I suspect, isn’t he?’ The question was very casual.

Emma laughed. ‘I suppose he is; I try and avoid my brother where possible. We don’t get on.’

Diane played with the stem of her glass. ‘I had dinner with Paul and Clare on Saturday.’ She smiled reminiscently. ‘It was marvellous. Clare went into some sort of trance in the kitchen, or that is what Henry thinks – anyway she disappeared for a long, long time, and dinner was an hour late. Paul nearly had a fit because the Beatties were there, and Clare was unrepentant and told Lady Beattie she was someone of no importance.’ She chuckled again at the memory as she sipped her wine. ‘Paul and Clare don’t get on, do they?’

Emma frowned. ‘I think they’re going through a rough patch,’ she said cautiously. She glanced at Diane. During the week the latter wore no make-up at the office – her face was ostentatiously naked, the lashes thin and fair, almost invisible. It made her look very young and naive. Emma wasn’t fooled. ‘I doubt if Paul would ever have an affair,’ she said gently. ‘He really isn’t keen on women at all.’

‘But he’s not queer?’

‘Of course he’s not queer. But he is single-minded; and cold. I was never actually sure why he married Clare.’

‘For her money?’ Diane raised an eyebrow.

‘Perhaps.’ Emma shrugged. ‘Not that she has as much as all that; not as much as people think. Just her lands in Scotland which I suppose might be worth a fortune. I don’t know. I do know Paul was furious when she didn’t inherit any money as such.’ She paused, frowning suddenly. Had he just married Clare for her money? Was that the reason Clare was so unhappy now? ‘Clare is a very attractive woman,’ she went on, half thoughtfully. ‘I don’t see any reason why he couldn’t just have fallen in love with her. She was all right, was she, after her’ – she hesitated – ‘her trance?’

‘Right as rain. In fact she was more animated than I’ve ever seen her. She and Paul –’ Diane paused, choosing her words with care. ‘Do you think their marriage is over?’

‘No.’ Emma was suddenly resentful of the questions. ‘No, I’m sure it isn’t. They’ll be fine. All they need is a bit of time to get over their disappointment about not being able to have children.’