Next of Kin (19 page)

She turned the corner on to Cork Street and recognized the figure of Jason Parsons, her cousin's assistant, leaving the gallery halfway down the street on his way to lunch and was pleased to see him go. She had timed her visit so that he wouldn't be there. She wanted to speak to Cousin Owen alone.

4

THE LETTER ARRIVED WHILE
Roderick and Jane Bentley were sitting down to brunch. Roderick had been presiding over a long but rather tedious trial which was entering its third week when one of the chief witnesses for the prosecution had been taken ill. He had granted an adjournment of two days and was enjoying the fact that he would get to spend a couple of days at home although, as he would have happily pointed out to his dormant son, he was not going to waste them lying around in bed. He had some reading to catch up on and planned to take the dogs for a long walk later in the day.

‘I spoke to Gareth this morning,' said Jane, a little nervous at bringing up the topic but hoping that a pre-emptive strike might prevent her husband from going after the boy himself. ‘He's agreed that he needs to start taking things a little more seriously.'

‘A lot more seriously,' corrected Roderick.

‘Yes, a lot more seriously,' said Jane. ‘Well he's agreed to it anyway. He's accepted the fact that he's a young man now, not a boy—'

‘My dear,' said Roderick in frustration. ‘He's been a young man for three or four years. It's a little disconcerting that he's only picking up on the fact now.'

‘Roderick, don't argue, please,' she said. ‘You don't have to worry about him any more is what I'm saying.'

Roderick nodded and buttered another slice of toast, laying a thin layer of marmalade across the top. ‘You made the appointment then?' he asked after a moment.

‘The appointment?'

‘At Ede and Ravenscroft.'

‘Oh yes,' said Jane. ‘Yes I did. He's perfectly well aware that he's expected for a fitting.'

Roderick laid down his knife and peered across the table at his wife, who smiled back at him nervously. After all these years together he knew immediately when she wasn't being completely honest with him; it was in her careful syntax, in the way she inclined her head a little to the left, deliberately not catching his eye.

‘There's something you're not telling me,' he said.

‘What's that?' she asked innocently.

‘I said there's something you're not telling me,' he repeated. ‘So why don't you just spit it out. He is going to the fitting, isn't he?'

Jane sighed and for a brief moment wished her son had more determination about his future—like Damien Tandy, who even had the decency to give his mother a wedding to prepare for—and wouldn't keep putting her in uncomfortable situations like this. ‘Now, Roderick,' she began. ‘You're not to get angry—'

‘Oh bloody hell!' said Roderick, who rarely swore. ‘What's the boy done now?'

‘Nothing, he hasn't done anything at all,' said Jane, looking around nervously. ‘And keep your voice down please. The servants will hear you.'

‘I don't care who hears me. You told him that he was coming to chambers with me from Monday?'

‘Yes.'

‘And that he was to be a pupil for Quentin Lawrence?'

‘I told him that, yes.'

‘And that he was to attend Ede and Ravenscroft to get his wig and gown?'

‘Roderick, I told him all of that,' insisted Jane. ‘I told him everything you told me to tell him and a lot more besides. And he's perfectly happy to do all of that if his other plans don't work out. He's excited at the prospect of being a barrister … some day.'

Roderick narrowed his eyes. ‘Some day,' he repeated.

‘Yes.'

‘But not next Monday?'

‘I don't think so.'

‘Well what are these other plans then?' he asked suspiciously. ‘What's he got in mind?'

‘Well,' said Jane, leaning forwards as if this was the most exciting news in the world and something of which they should both be extremely proud. ‘He may have found himself a different position.'

‘Where?' asked Roderick, who knew his son well enough to take pronouncements like this with a pinch of salt.

‘Well I'm not exactly sure what the job is, and nor is he right now, but his potential employer—'

‘Where?' insisted Roderick.

Jane sighed. She couldn't put it off any longer. ‘It seems that Owen Montignac has offered him a job.'

‘Owen Montignac?' he asked, unable to conceal his surprise. ‘Peter Montignac's boy?'

‘His nephew, yes. Not his son.'

‘No, you're wrong there,' said Roderick, shaking his head. ‘I used to know Peter many years ago. He did have a son.'

‘Yes, but he was killed in some sort of accident, I think. Owen is his brother's boy. I read about it in the death notice last month.'

‘Well what of it?' asked Roderick, who didn't much like to be corrected, neither by defence counsel, prosecution barristers nor his wife. ‘And what does this Montignac fellow do anyway?'

‘I don't know,' said Jane.

‘You don't know?'

‘Well not exactly anyway. I imagine it's something to do with all the land he owns. He has properties all over London, you know. He's extremely wealthy.'

Roderick scowled. He felt unsure what his attitude to this new piece of intelligence should be. On the one hand he didn't much care for his son turning down the opportunity to come into chambers when there were more qualified men than him crying out for the spare desk, not to mention the pupillage of such an eminent man as Sir Quentin Lawrence. He himself had always loved the law and thrived in his career; he couldn't understand why a son of his would not feel the same way. And he was wasting so much time! By the time he was twenty-four, Roderick had already established quite a name for himself as an advocate. On the other hand, however, there was no doubting Owen Montignac's status in the world. If he was prepared to offer Gareth a position, then maybe it would be for the best. At least if he made a mess of it it wouldn't reflect on Roderick in the way it would in chambers. He grunted, dissatisfied but accepting, and returned to his breakfast silently.

‘I didn't even know that he was friends with Montignac,' he said after a long pause during which Jane had begun to relax a little, thinking that he would allow this turn of events to continue unhindered for the time being.

‘Oh yes,' she lied. ‘They've known each other for ages. They're about the same age, of course. They probably run in the same set.'

‘Well you know what I think of them.'

‘I do, yes,' said Jane patiently. ‘You've told me many times.'

‘It's only because I worry about him,' he said defensively. ‘Gareth is the sort who lands himself in trouble and then relies on me to get him out of it. You know that.'

‘But he's not going to get in any trouble,' she said, defending her son as always. ‘It'll be a perfectly respectable job and—'

‘He was bloody lucky not to get sent down from Harrow, you remember. If I hadn't—'

‘Oh, Roderick, that was eight years ago,' protested Jane, who didn't like to think about that awful incident and wished that everyone would just forget about it. ‘You can't hold it against him for the rest of his life.'

He frowned. He had a lot more to say on the subject but at that moment Sophie, their family maid, entered the room with a small silver tray which held a letter. He looked at it in surprise for the morning post had already been and gone.

‘Another letter?' he said, picking it up and noting the formal calligraphy of the address.

‘Just arrived, sir,' said Sophie. ‘Hand delivered.'

‘Thank you,' he replied, dismissing her and staring at the envelope for a moment. As a rule he didn't like unexpected correspondence like this; it tended to bring bad news.

‘What is it?' asked Jane as he took a clean knife from the table and slit the top of the envelope open. He extracted a piece of vellum paper with very neat type on it and let out a sigh of frustration as he finished reading the contents. ‘What is it, Roderick?' she repeated, hating to be left in the dark.

‘It's from the Lord Chancellor's office,' he explained. ‘He's invited three KCs to meet with him next week to discuss a most important matter.'

Jane had to stop herself from laughing at the pomposity of it and Roderick stared across at her.

‘That's what it says here,' he said innocently. ‘
A most important matter
.'

‘How extraordinary,' said Jane. ‘Whatever can it be?'

‘I have a pretty good idea,' said Roderick, placing the letter back inside the envelope.

‘You do? What is it then?'

‘It doesn't matter,' he said dismissively. ‘I could be wrong.'

‘Roderick, tell me for heaven's sake,' said Jane, who couldn't stand to be left out of anything, especially something as unusual as this. The last time her husband had been called to the Lord Chancellor's office it was to inform him that he was to be knighted. What further honour could he have earned since then? ‘We don't have any secrets, do we?'

He shrugged, wondering whether the amount of secrets she probably kept from him were enough that a herd of stampeding buffalo couldn't knock them over.

‘Well I've sort of been expecting it,' said Roderick quietly, looking around to make sure that Sophie or Nell hadn't slipped unnoticed into the room. ‘Or dreading it, rather.'

‘Dreading what?'

‘I suspect the prime minister has asked the Lord Chancellor to take some initial soundings from senior judges.'

Jane frowned, trying to decipher what her husband might be talking about. A sudden idea came into her mind and she inclined her head, unsure whether this would be too ridiculous an idea to even suggest.

‘It's not about…' she began, unsure whether even to say it in case he laughed at her. ‘It's not about the king, is it?' she asked.

Roderick gave the faintest of nods. ‘I believe it could be,' he said.

‘The king and this woman? This American woman?'

Roderick nodded again.

‘Well that's ridiculous,' said Jane, laughing it off. ‘Nothing's ever going to come of that. It's just a piece of London gossip, that's all.'

‘Perhaps,' said Roderick. ‘But oftentimes, gossip has a way of becoming fact.'

‘Oh I can't believe it,' said Jane. ‘The man's not that stupid. And the prime minister wants to find out what you would all think about it?'

‘I imagine so. Constitutional implications and so on.'

Jane shook her head as if the entire thing was utterly absurd. ‘Well that seems an enormous waste of time,' she said. ‘Four senior members of the judiciary talking about something that's never going to come to pass in a million years! Sooner or later a suitable wife will be found for him and there'll be no more talk of this woman, this Mrs Simpson or whatever her name is. Or she'll get bored and return to her husband.'

‘I believe she's planning a divorce, my dear,' said Roderick.

‘Well she'll return to America then. She's no better than she ought to be anyway,' she added with a sniff, standing up from the table and laying her napkin down and displaying the kind of resentment reserved for those intending to marry above their station from those who already had. ‘Anyway I don't have time for this foolishness. I have to rush off,' she said. ‘I have some shopping to do in town and then, for my sins, I'm meeting Eleanor Tandy who will no doubt spend the entire afternoon telling me what a wonderful son she has and what a charming daughter-in-law she's about to welcome into the fold.'

She came over and kissed Roderick on the cheek and he put an arm around her waist, grateful for any and all kindnesses she offered him.

‘And don't worry about Gareth,' she said. ‘He'll meet with Mr Montignac and all will be well.'

‘I hope so,' he replied as she kissed him again and left the room.

He sat there silently for a few more minutes, considering the matter, and read the letter he had received once more, praying that on this occasion his wife would be correct and the whole thing would come to nothing. The last thing he wanted was any further publicity, or more newspapermen camped out on the doorstep. The neighbours would lose their reason entirely.

5

HE COULD SENSE HER
presence in the gallery before either laying eyes on her or hearing her voice; it was a skill he had developed over the previous two decades, a talent he wished he could shrug off.

There were only two or three other people browsing downstairs, each one cooing over some inane canvas as they made reckless attempts at deciphering it. At most times during their opening hours both he and Jason Parsons were present on the gallery floor but there was rarely any need for both of them. Security wasn't an issue as the canvases were tightly secured to the walls and most of the sculptures were too heavy to remove without being observed so he felt perfectly comfortable spending time on the upper floor without having to monitor what was taking place downstairs.

Montignac was standing on the mezzanine floor of the Threadbare, examining a light fitting that kept flickering on and off over an abstract painting when she stepped through the doors and looked around to locate her cousin; instinctively he moved back to a position from where he knew he would be invisible to anyone on the ground. He watched as she drifted around the front of the space, taking in some of the newer pieces on display, and walked towards the desk where he could usually be found at this time, checking through some catalogues or finishing off
The Times
crossword while his assistant took care of more trivial matters such as assisting the customers or attending to matters of fixture upkeep like he was currently engaged in.