‘Could you take me somewhere to eat? I won’t get to fly out until tomorrow at this stage, I suppose,’ he said with what sounded like regret. ‘Thankfully, we don’t have to wait for a jury to deliberate.’
‘How would it have gone if they’d had to decide, do you think?’ Hugo asked.
‘They would have been nine to three in favour of acquittal, initially, it would have taken one full day to convince juror number five, and the other two, seven and eleven, would go together so once eleven cracked seven would go, too.’ There was no speculation in his voice, he was definite.
‘How can you be so sure?’
D’Alton smiled at Hugo’s scepticism and explained, ‘When I was closing, and indeed, throughout the case, I was having some investigations done. It will be in my bill. Juror number five was married to an American, who was murdered on their honeymoon nine years ago, the killer was never found so he might want revenge on any murderer he comes across. Either way, he’s not rational on the subject. Number eleven is a former brother from an order of enclosed monks in England, came home three years ago, but is fervently religious. The brothers were not fanatical enough it seems, that’s why he left, to follow his own, even more exacting form of Christianity. The other man, number seven, is a homosexual who is attracted to number eleven though that is a total waste of time, but will vote with him to impress him. The nine who will vote for acquittal are from Cork city and suburbs and see Patrick as one of their own, seven of the nine are involved in a hurling club.’
Hugo was flabbergasted. D’Alton had never mentioned any such investigations going on.
‘So everything you said, all the stuff about the Bible and Father Aquinas following God’s law and the hurling, it was all aimed at specific people on the jury.’
‘Yep.’ Hugo noticed that he looked exhausted and seemed reluctant to speak. Hugo suddenly had an idea.
‘Well, I can take you to Greyrock if you want some dinner and a comfortable night’s sleep. Nobody will look for you there. The press know you’re staying in a hotel in the city so they’ll track you down if you go back there. ’
‘Fine. Thank you.’ And with that, Geoffrey d’Alton leaned his head back and despite the speed of Hugo’s driving and his deliberate manoeuvring around corners, he fell fast asleep.
Hugo didn’t know why but he felt relieved that d’Alton agreed. He wanted to discuss the case with him, not just because of Patrick but because of the psychology of the whole thing. The way he played that jury today was nothing short of miraculous. He had them in the palm of his hand and yet there was something so enigmatic about him. He found himself wondering as they drove along, who was the real Geoffrey d’Alton.
They pulled up at Greyrock, and Patterson emerged onto the gravel. He tried to conceal his disdain at the light blue sports car but failed as usual.
‘Welcome home, Master Hugo,’ he said.
D’Alton woke as the car door was opened.
‘Patterson, Mr d’Alton doesn’t have a valet or any luggage so if you could show him to the Coral Suite and arrange for him to have everything he needs. And tell the cook that we’ll eat in an hour.’ Turning to d’Alton he said, ‘I’ll freshen up as well, and I’ll see you in the drawing room for an aperitif as soon as you’re ready. Patterson will direct you.’
It felt good to be home again. During the weeks leading up to the trial, he’d been commuting every few days between Greyrock and Cork, meeting the legal team, helping out Mrs Tobin with the girls, and keeping Liam informed.
Hugo washed and dressed for dinner. He wondered if he should go formal. Geoffrey d’Alton might like that sort of thing; it would appeal to his snobbish side. The funny thing about him was, though, that Hugo was starting to suspect that it was all an act. D’Alton wasn’t what he seemed and his chameleon-like changes were intriguing. He considered black tie for a moment and instantly dismissed it. He changed into jeans and a light blue shirt and combed back his now wet, blond hair. Patrick and Liam always teased him about his hair, calling him goldilocks but Hugo didn’t care. His hair was short now, even more than it had been allowed to be in school, and still as curly as it was when he was a boy if it was allowed to grow. He had bulked up from all the physical work he enjoyed on the estate. He liked to be exhausted going to bed, it stopped his mind dwelling on other things. Grinning at the mirror, he thought he looked okay.
The whiskey decanter glittered in the glow of the soft lighting and a fire crackled merrily in the grate of the drawing room. The heavy damask curtains were pulled, and Hugo settled himself beside the fire with a drink, the ticking of the grandfather clock the only other sound. He wondered how the evening was going to go, would the conversation be awkward, or would d’Alton be impressed with Greyrock. Hugo was proud of his home, not in a pretentious way he hoped, but it was part of who he was. It was however only a part of it, and if all went well with Patrick and he got a light sentence and life went back to some version of normal, maybe he would look up his uncle as Liam suggested. Since the night Patrick turned up telling him what he’d done, life had gone in a kind of blur. Incredible to think almost a full year had passed. He was so busy and preoccupied, but at least, it took his mind off the fact that he wasn’t normal.
His eyes fell on the portrait of his mother and smiled. He missed her bubbly presence around the house. At least she had finally stopped telling of some wonderful girl that he should meet if only he would ever visit her in London. She had been dogged in her determination to get d’Alton, for which Hugo was now eternally grateful. His mother, while adoring on one level, was very tied up with her own life. She was relieved to relinquish the responsibility of the estate and was happy that Hugo seemed to fit the role of Lord of the Manor so well. He wondered once again if she had any inkling as to his real nature. It was hard to know. Now that this nightmare was drawing to a close, he could focus once more on his own life. Looking around Greyrock, the pain of never producing an heir to take it over was as sharp as ever. Of all the crosses he had to bear, that was undoubtedly the worst. He felt such a failure.
He wondered once again about Martha and prayed she was all right. He had heard nothing from her in over a year and while Tom said once or twice that she’d written to him, he gave no indication that he wanted to discuss it with Hugo. He was only her previous employer; he had no right to know anything. His cheeks burned with shame when he thought about their last encounter. How she thought she could fix him. Poor Martha, she couldn’t understand, nobody could. Who could blame her?
In his more optimistic moments, he thought perhaps it was possible to live a little of the life he wanted to, somewhere like Paris, for a few days a couple of times a year. Or maybe it was a ridiculous and dangerous notion. The idea of ever having a relationship, or even an encounter with a man filled him with such a myriad of emotions that he couldn’t even determine which took precedence, excitement certainly, terror, and if he were honest, shame. As he sat there in the peace and quiet, he remembered all the nights he cried, prayed to God, begging him to take this away. As a child even, he knew he was not as a boy should be. Those nights in school with Xavier prowling, the terror, the pain, the fear, he forced them to the back of his mind.
All around the walls of the drawing room were hunting trophies and watercolours of sporting events. He hated shooting and had no interest in cricket or rugby. He was so grateful for the father he had, who never forced these things on him, or who didn’t send him off to board at school when he was five or six as so many others from their class did. He knew that Hugo was happy playing around Greyrock with Martha and the animals and that such an environment as a public school in England would have been torture. Hugo felt once again the sharp pang of loneliness for his father. He wished more than anything that he was there, that he could talk to him. He would understand, he knew he would. The best decision his parents ever made for him was sending him to St Bart’s, though it must have been a worry, and surely caused a few raised eyebrows with fri
ends. But without Liam and Patrick, life would be unbearable. He was lonely, his nature made him so, as trusting people was impossible, but to know that they both knew what he was and accepted him as such meant the world. He knew they made an unlikely bunch, him, the Lynches and the Tobins, but he had so much more in common with them than he did with any of his so-called peers.
His reverie was interrupted by the door opening. D’Alton entered wearing jeans and a white shirt that Hugo recognised as Patrick’s. He must have left them here on one of his earlier visits, and d’Alton and he were similar in size. Hugo smiled his gratitude at Patterson as he backed out of the room. D’Alton’s hair was wet from the shower, and he smelled of a musky scent. Hugo felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach, so intense it almost left him breathless. The piercing blue of the older man’s eyes shone in his face and a smile played around his lips.
‘Well, what a house, you must love it.’ D’Alton’s voice was different again. Familiar almost, with a hint of an accent Hugo had never heard him use before.
‘Yes, yes I do,’ he said, trying to recover. ‘Can I get you a drink, Mr d’Alton?’ He hoped his voice sounded normal.
‘Just d’Alton, I just use my surname, I never liked Geoffrey. Stay where you are, I’ll help myself.’ D’Alton walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a whiskey and added a cube of ice from the bucket. He sat opposite Hugo on the other side of the fire.
‘Cheers,’ he said, raising his glass. ‘And thanks for the hospitality, I’ve often passed here and wondered what it was like.’
‘Really?’ Hugo got the impression that he seldom left Dublin on the rare occasions he came back to Ireland.
‘Yeah, I’m actually from Cork, so…’ d’Alton grinned, enjoying the effect of this revelation on Hugo.
‘Cork? I thought you were English or maybe an Anglo-Irish family in Dublin—that was perhaps how you knew my mother. And you live in France, don’t you?’ That was the accent. He knew he’d heard a trace of the sing-song.
D’Alton threw back his head and laughed. Hugo thought it was the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard. That lurch in his stomach again, what was happening? Sitting in the Queen Anne wingback chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand, Hugo realised that Geoffrey d’Alton was the most attractive man he’d ever seen. He was confused, he thought this man was a pompous snob with all his affectations and his rudeness, but then the way he was in the court, the way he was with Patrick, it was all so confusing and unsettling.
‘No, I’m not from aristocratic pile, I’m afraid. I met your mother on a few occasions over the years. We have one or two mutual friends. She’s a charming lady,’ he said with a hint of a grin that suggested she was a handful. Hugo knew he was right as well, once Lily FitzHenry made her mind up, there was very little that could withstand her will.
‘So I’ve met her a few times in London and once or twice in France, of course. At things in Antibes, as well, she knows a lot of people your mother. I live there most of the year, just come back for cases, here, or in London really, occasionally in the United States. It’s nice there...sunny.’ The understatement made him grin.
‘But you’re from Cork?’ Hugo was fascinated by him.
‘Midleton, well, outside Midleton. I grew up on a small farm, tiny by comparison to this place. I loved it, there was a lake on the farm, only a little one, and I used to go down there, and really, it was the most magical place. You can’t get at it by car, only on foot, and when I needed to escape, I would sit on the lake shore, fish, swim if it was warm enough. But I knew that no matter how much I loved it and my parents—they were lovely people—I couldn’t stay. So, I managed to get a scholarship to a school in Dublin, worked hard, went to university, did my bar exams, devilled, and worked in London as a junior counsel, then senior counsel, before taking silk, becoming a QC,’ he added by way of explanation. ‘I was lucky to get recognition on some high-profile cases, and then I was in demand. So I can more or less pick and choose what cases I want now.’
Before Hugo had time to ask another question, dinner was announced.
They walked down the stairs to one of the small dining rooms, d’Alton stopping frequently to admire artwork or to ask about portraits. He seemed fascinated by Hugo’s lineage and watched him intently as he spoke about his various ancestors. The fire was lit in the green dining room, the one the FitzHenrys used to use for small dinner parties when his father was alive. It could seat eight and was cosy and intimate. Candles burned on the sideboard, and the room felt like a cocoon. A lovely painting of his parents on their wedding day hung over the fireplace, and Hugo remembered just sitting on the rug in the weeks after his father’s death gazing at it. As they sat down, he told d’Alton about it.
The meal was delicious and consisted mostly of produce of the estate. D’Alton ate with enthusiasm. The conversation flowed easily, and Hugo realised that this man sitting opposite him was the real d’Alton.
‘You seem very different than the way you come across initially,’ Hugo said, emboldened by the fine claret Patterson had dug out for the occasion.
Again the hearty laugh.
‘Acting. That’s the trick to success in my game. If they knew, the opposition, the press, whoever, if they had any idea how ordinary I really am, I wouldn’t hold the mythological status I do, and I’d lose more cases. So, I have some personas I adopt, mostly the stuck-up barrister, who looks down his nose. While it irritates people, it also intimidates them, in the early stages anyway, and that gives me advantage. It’s all an act.’ D’Alton smiled as if it were the most logical thing in the world to present yourself as totally different people.
‘Right, when Patrick said you were nice and approachable and all that, Liam and I were amazed. We thought you were a bit of a snob, to be honest,’ Hugo admitted.
‘A bit! I’m an insufferable snob, looking down my nose at everyone, but it works. Your friend Patrick is a good lad and his father was a bastard by all accounts, so the world is much better off without vermin like that. I just hope the judge sees it that way when he’s handing down the sentence. He will have to serve some time either way, but I’m hopeful he’ll suspend a lot of it and even what he does serve can be reduced by good behaviour. Anyway, no point in speculating, those old judges are a law unto themselves, literally, so they are unpredictable to say the least. If it is excessively harsh though, we’ll appeal, anyhow.’ He shrugged and rapidly changed the subject. ‘You three and the old priest seem like an unlikely bunch of pals if you don’t mind me saying so.’
Hugo found himself explaining about St Bart’s and the friendship he had with Liam and Patrick and their families and why they meant so much to him.
‘Thank you for taking the case, I know it’s not your usual thing…’ Hugo began.
‘Well, I’ll be honest, it was the fact that the client was the Earl of Drummond that drew me in, along with persuasion from your dear mama, but every so often a case comes along that I really want to win, not for me, though that’s always nice, but because it’s the right thing to happen. Patrick Lynch should not spend his life in jail for this, he did kill his father, but sometimes, that’s forgivable.’ He chuckled.
‘Well, whatever your motivation, we only have a chance because of you. The way you analysed the jury, broke it down and spoke to each one of them, the way you made them feel like you were someone they could meet down in the pub…well, it was mesmerising.’ Hugo felt instantly foolish for being so gushing and reddened in embarrassment. Pull yourself together, he berated himself, you’re like a schoolgirl with a crush.
D’Alton sat back in the chair and gazed at Hugo saying nothing. Hugo wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. What if d’Alton suspected, he was so astute, so well able to read people it was entirely possible. Hugo’s mind went into a spin, what would he say, how would he withstand cross-examination.
‘I lied,’ d’Alton said quietly.
‘About what?’ Hugo managed to croak.
‘I lied when I said the reason I took the case was because you were the Earl of Drummond. I couldn’t care less about that. I’m from a very ordinary background and I just happen to be good at the law, but money, social status, doesn’t impress me, really. I have a lot of money, far more than I need.’
Hugo knew the conversation had taken on a whole new tone and wondered where it was going.
‘How old are you, Hugo?’ he asked.
‘Twenty, I’ll be twenty-one next month.’
D’Alton sighed deeply and ran his hand through his hair as if he was weighing something up in his mind. Putting his hands together on the table, he exhaled.
‘I know I must come across as awful, Hugo, and I’m sorry if your friends think I’m rude, I will apologise to them as soon as all this is over, but as I said, it’s part of the game. It’s how it all works. I don’t want you to think that’s who I really am, though. When I said I lied, I meant your title wasn’t the reason I took on the case…you were.’
Suddenly, d’Alton didn’t seem as self-assured as he always came across.
‘Me?’ Hugo was confused.
‘Yes. That day you rang O’Kelly and he told you that you’d need a miracle or me, he explained to you that I probably wouldn’t take the case, didn’t he?’
Hugo nodded, remembering the despair he felt.
‘Yes, and my mother contacted me a few days later and said you would. I didn’t care why you were on the team. I was just relieved that you said yes.’
Jean Grainger Box Set: So Much Owed, Shadow of a Century, Under Heaven's Shining Stars Page 103
