‘We’ve got one advantage; we know that he was really a Brit called Miller. If he survived I’d bet that he swapped being a German for being British, joining the winning side so to speak.’
We found a café in which to have a late lunch and we spent the afternoon typing up our discoveries on Lisa’s laptop. The following day saw an uneventful return flight to Luton and a rather more stressful drive through the rush hour traffic to Hackney. We both felt that we had now reached a cul de sac. If Miller had disappeared so successfully in 1945, it was unlikely that we would find any trace of him now.
Chapter 17
Once back in London, both Lisa and I felt rather flat. It was clear that we had reached the end of the line and our time together was coming to an end. Switching on the television to see that Sinclair and the BNRA had increase their standing in the polls in our absence due to the rioting in Bradford, Southall and Leicester, only served to increase our feeling of gloom. Lisa got up to switch off the television, to see Sinclair’s smug yet earnest face disappear before we were subjected to yet another of his diatribes at least gave us some satisfaction. Lisa picked up the solicitors letter from the table where I had left it three days earlier.
‘What are you going to do about this Ian?’ She asked. ‘You can’t go on ignoring it indefinitely. Didn’t you always tell me that problems had to be face up to not run away from?’
‘That applied to adolescent girls, not self deluding middle aged men.’
‘Come on Ian, you’ve got to deal with it sooner or later. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’
‘Where did you get that? A motto in a Christmas cracker or a fortune cookie?’
She laughed and tossed the letter over to me. I took a deep breath and with my hands shaking tore it open, I dreaded what I was about to read, the legal jargon that would end thirty years of marriage and change my life forever. I extracted an expensive sheet of paper. The letter was from Ainsworth and Cummings, solicitors of Leadenhall Street in the City. It simply read:
Dear Mr West,
I would be grateful if you would contact me at the above address, where you may hear something to your advantage.
It was signed with a flourish by David L. Cummings, Managing Partner.
I was shocked; this was not at all what I had expected. I offered Jane a silent apology for my earlier assumptions. I frowned in disbelief, this was the type of letter one might receive when one was about to receive an unexpected inheritance, but I knew for a fact that I had no relatives, or even acquaintances, who could use such a firm of solicitors.
‘Well, is it bad?’ Lisa asked.
I refolded the letter and slid across the table to her. She read it and smiled at me.
‘Looks like your luck is changing. Maybe Bill Gates has decided to leave all his money to you.’
‘Funny. They must have the wrong Ian West. I don’t move in the circles that use expensive solicitors like that. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me earlier that Jane would not use an upmarket outfit like that. I’m not thinking clearly when it comes to my impending divorce.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’ll give Ainsworth and Cummings a ring tomorrow and find out what this is all about. It’ll come to nothing though.’
She frowned. ‘There’s still something about that name, Ainsworth and Cummings, but I just can’t remember what it is. It’s really pissing me off.’
‘Stop thinking about it and it’ll come back to you. It always works for me.’
We watched some mindless television and retired to our separate rooms for the night. Whilst I was curious what Ainsworth and Cummings might want, I was more concerned that my time with Lisa was coming to an end and I would no longer be able to avoid the problems that waited me at home. I was not sure I was ready to face them yet. Could I cope, or would I go back to being the neurotic wreck that had been rescued by Lisa and the mystery of William Howard Miller?
I slept badly, my dread of facing the future, or lack thereof, invading my dreams and making me wake in a cold sweat. I lay awake for hours, my mind going round in circles. I seemed to have just fallen asleep when Lisa knocked on the door and entered with a cup of tea.
‘Come on lazybones, it’s 9.30.’ She looked at me more closely. ‘Are you alright? You look a bit rough. If I didn’t know better, I would think you were hammered last night and had a hangover.’
‘Bad night. I spent the night fretting about the future. Since I’ve been with you I’ve been able to put it out of my mind, but occasionally things catch up with me. It’s not easy when you have nothing to live for, I’ve lost everything, there’s nothing left to lose.’
‘Stop that Ian; you’re feeling sorry for yourself again. You haven’t lost everything, you’ve still got a lot to live for, Lucy and Rob for a start and…’
‘And what?’
‘Me, you’ve come to mean a lot to me over the past couple of weeks. You are a good friend and I wouldn’t want to see anything happen to you. I’d do anything I can to help you and get you through this.’
My eyes misted over with tears. ‘Thanks, I’ve become very fond of you too and I’ve really appreciated the help and support you’ve given me.’
‘Our adventure’s not over yet, we might still get something useful from Matt and you never know, maybe Ainsworth and Cummings are going to tell you that you’ve inherited a fortune from a distant relative.’
‘Yeah, I’ll marry a thirty year old slim blonde, just to piss off Jane.’
Lisa laughed. ‘Go for it! That’s more like the old you, what was it you told me during one of my rucks with Lee, don’t get upset, get even!’
‘Okay, you’re right, I’ll stop feeling so sorry for myself and phone Mr Cummings and see what he wants.’
As it turned out, it was not that easy. I could not get beyond Cummings’ secretary, who could squeeze me in for an appointment at 4.45 that afternoon. I would have to wait until then.
At 4.30 I found myself walking down Leadenhall Street, partly annoyed by the delay and equally curious about what Cummings wanted with me. Ainsworth and Cummings occupied a Georgian style building with arched windows and doorway. I walked up the steps through a dark oak panelled door into the air-conditioned luxury within. The receptionist was seated behind a stylish yet functional desk and ushered me down a thickly carpeted corridor to another impressive room. There Mr Cumming’s briskly efficient and attractive PA spoke into the telephone then offered me a comfortable leather padded seat until he was ready for me. She offered me tea, but I declined. Hopefully, I was not to be kept waiting long. A few minutes later, the impressive double doors opened and a balding middle aged man with a round fleshy face and horn-rimmed glasses came into the waiting room. He was taller than me, but stooped, so that he didn’t appear to be. He was wearing a very expensive suit and a club tie. He offered me his hand.
‘Mr West, I’m David Cummings, it’s good of you to come here. Please come in.’
The handshake was firm but clammy. He stepped back and waved me into his office. I stepped in to a different world. Cummings walked behind an antique desk the size of a swimming pool. The room was tastefully decorated in pastel shades, with impressionist paintings, that I assumed to be originals, decorating the walls. The pile on the carpet was so deep that you could have lost a small child in it. He beckoned me to sit in another leather padded armchair.
‘Right, let us come to the point shall we, time is money, particularly in this business.’
‘Yes,’ I thought ‘about £250 an hour.’
‘I understand that you have been undertaking some historical research.’
‘Yes.’ I answered warily.
‘Your recent work with Miss Mann has come to the notice of my client, who has been impressed with your tenacity and skill. He wishes to offer you a commission. There is a delicate historical matter that he wishes you to clarify. It would certainly involve foreign travel, I presume you have a passport?’
; I nodded.
‘Good. My client estimates it should take you five or six weeks to fulfil his commission, for which he is prepared to pay you a fee of £10,000 plus expenses.’ My eyes widened with surprise. ‘Of course, my client would expect to have your exclusive services, I’m afraid to would have to cease your current research.’
‘And you client is…?’
‘I’m afraid that must remain confidential, all matters pertaining to research must be dealt with through me.’
‘Okay. Can you tell me what the research is about?’
‘I do not wish to be difficult, but that too must remain confidential until we have your agreement to undertake this commission. All I can tell you is that it is relevant to your area of expertise.’
‘So, you want me to undertake an unknown assignment for an anonymous person, for which you will pay me £10,000. If it was not for your surroundings Mr Cummings, I’d suspect you were having a joke.’
‘I do not joke Mr West. My client is very keen for you to undertake this commission and I have been authorised to make an offer of £20,000 if necessary.’
Twenty grand for five weeks work! That was almost footballer’s wages. Opportunities like this do not fall into your lap every day, at least not into my lap, but I could not help feeling there was a hidden catch. If I accepted, it would mean letting Lisa down, but we had already reached the end of our trail and I was sure she would understand.
‘You’ve certainly piqued my curiosity Mr Cummings, but I’m not comfortable with all the mystery. It’s also a fact that you could get a far better qualified historian than me for the sum you are paying.’
‘That is very modest of you Mr West, but my client is adamant that he wants you. He has been very impressed with what he has heard about you. He is quite happy for you to employ Miss Mann as your assistant, if that is what you wish, but she would also have to sign a confidentiality agreement.’
‘How has your client heard of our research?’
‘I am sorry Mr West, I am afraid that I simply do not know. All I can tell you is my client is a man who is very well connected and well informed about such matters.’
‘As I said Mr Cummings, this is all very mysterious and unexpected. If you don’t mind, I would like a day or two to mull over your proposal.’
‘That would be no problem, Mr West, but my client is very anxious that you begin work as soon as possible, as you have a limited amount of time to complete your assignment. He would have to have an answer by the day after tomorrow.’
‘That’s fine; I’ll consider your proposal and give you my answer within 48 hours.’
‘That is marvellous. I look forward to hearing from you. Thank you for coming, Louise, my assistant, will show you out.’
He stood up and offered me the clammy handshake once more. The efficient PA was waiting for me at the office door and led me to reception area, once again thanking me for coming. I stepped outside with my mind in a whirl. Twenty grand; that was half a year’s wages! All for five weeks work. How had the mysterious client found out about our research into Miller? That was the big question, along with who was he and what did he want me to do? I was still thinking things through when I opened the door to Lisa’s flat.
‘Well? What did he want? Have you inherited a fortune?’
‘No, I’ve been offered £20,000 to undertake some undisclosed historical research for an anonymous man. I can even employ you as my assistant. It would mean that we’d have to give up the Miller thing though.’
‘Don’t you think this smells a bit fishy Ian? Why should you be offered such a job? I don’t want to appear rude, but there are far better qualified professional historians out there.’
‘That’s what I told Cummings, but apparently our mysterious benefactor knows of our Miller research and is impressed.’
‘How could anyone know about what we’ve been doing, except for my bosses, who are aware of some of it at least…. But Gerald Aylmer knew, he killed the programme. Hang on, Hannah mentioned a solicitor with Aylmer...’
‘Come on how many solicitors do you think there are in London?’
She ignored me and pulled her mobile phone out of her handbag and scrolled through her contacts.
‘Hi Hannah, just a question, when I phoned the other day, you mentioned that Sir Gerald Aylmer had a solicitor with him when he called the other weekend. Do you know who it was?....No? Can you describe him?....Yes, thanks….No I’ll tell you all about it when I’m back in the office. Byeee.’
She turned to me with a triumphant smile.
‘How did you describe Cummings?’
‘Tall, stooped, balding…’
‘With a round chubby face and horned-rimmed glasses. Bingo, we have a winner. Aylmer’s solicitor is Cummings!’
‘A coincidence, I’m sure that a company like A & C have a plethora of big clients.’
‘Coincidence, huh! Coincidence is the word we use when we cannot see the levers and pulleys - Emma Bull…. I always loved Bone Dance.’
‘I didn’t see you as a sci-fi reader.’
‘I have layers, that’s my mystery. Don’t change the subject; it’s too much of a coincidence.’ She opened her laptop. ‘Ainsworth & Cummings….’ She muttered as she typed, followed by a lengthy pause.
‘Yesss!’ She punched the air. ‘I’m good! Look.’
She turned the computer round so I could see the screen. It was an article from the Evening Standard dated a year ago. I scanned the article; then I saw what she had already seen. “At the Tower Point planning appeal today, Mr David Cummings of Ainsworth and Cummings representing Aylmer Enterprises introduced a petition signed by 2000 local residents in support of the project…”
‘So if it is Aylmer, he killed off my story off and now he’s trying to buy you off. Pay you a huge amount to divert you away from the Miller story. The question is why?’
‘I think you’re right. Aylmer knew about the Miller story and stopped it. Now this, you must be right. Why else would someone offer such an obscene amount of money for a mysterious non-project.’
‘So what you going to do? Take the money and run? I wouldn’t blame you.’
‘No way! I’m not Aylmer’s stooge, I don’t like being manipulated.’
‘So what next then? We’ve hit a brick wall with Miller.’
‘I’m not sure, maybe we should find out a bit more about the opposition. I know a few basics about Aylmer, but it’s time we found out more about him, if he’s behind all of this, then the more we know the better.’
Chapter 18
It was too late to engage in much research other than the internet. An internet search found a potted biography for Sir Gerald Aylmer
Gerald Aylmer had been born in Cookham, Berkshire on 3rd August 1953, the son of Dr James and Lillian (nee Stevens) Aylmer. He had been educated at Charterhouse and Keeble College Oxford, where he graduated with a degree in engineering. He started a masters there, but his father died before he completed it and he dropped out. He began work for Phillips, who employed him until 1976, when he branched out to form his own company Aylmer Enterprises. Raising finance from friends, he got in early on the computer boom, Aylmer made a fortune before diversifying into property development, the media and financial services in the 1980s. But in 1981 he took a year out to complete his masters at Brasenose College Oxford. He married Emily Baston in 1977, having three children, sons Joseph and Charles, born 1979 and 1982 and a daughter Emily, born 1984. He was knighted for services to industry in 1993. A generous backer of the Conservative party, he became disillusioned after the fall of Margaret Thatcher. In the years that followed he spoke out for anti-immigration and anti-European policies, supporting a number of ultra conservative minority parties in the 1990s. Renowned for his business acumen, Aylmer also had a reputation for ruthlessness and getting his own way. Some of the less reliable websites, who traded in conspiracy theories linked Aylmer to the finance of both the BNRA and Storm45, unfortunately they also linked him to the dea
th of Princess Diana and the murder of Alexander Litvinenko, as he was allegedly linked to both the masons and Russian Mafia. There were as many rumours about Aylmer as he had pounds in the bank.
Having got as far as we could that night, we gave up for the evening, intent on delving into the history of Aylmer in greater depth the following day.
The next morning I was awoken by the rain beating on the window in blustery gusts. I rolled out of bed and pulled back the curtains. It was of those grim days of an English summer, grey, wet and windy.
‘Bloody marvellous!’ I declared. ‘Too wet to be without a coat, and too windy for an umbrella.’
A head popped round the door.
‘Talking to yourself? You cracking up on me again?’
Lisa smiled at me to take the sting out of her words.
‘Just moaning about the weather. I omitted to bring a coat, I mistakenly believed it was summer…shit I must be getting old, I’m starting to talk about the weather’.
Lisa’s laugh echoed round the room.
‘I told you before Ian, you’re not old. Just back-dated!’ She added playfully.
‘Thanks a bundle.’ I grumped. ‘You’re in a good mood today.’
‘Yes, James phoned me late last night, he’s coming home next week. It’ll be really cool to see him again; I’ve missed him so much.’ My face fell. ‘Oh, sorry Ian, I don’t mean that I haven’t enjoyed our time together, I told you, you have come to mean a lot to me. It’s just that James is….’
‘Special?’
‘Yes, I hate it when we’re apart.’
‘I used to feel like that with Jane, I never felt quite complete until she was home again.’
The thought that Jane and I would never be together again suddenly overwhelmed me as again the threat of an empty future loomed before me. She had crossed the line going off with her new man, I knew that there was no going back, I would never be able to forgive her, but I missed her. For more than thirty years, ever since University, there had never been another woman in my life, now there was a void in my life where she used to be. I was deluding myself, if I thought this young, beautiful woman could fill that void. She had a life and hopes of her own, which did not include me as a major protagonist. Lisa looked at me with sympathy in her eyes.
Nothing left to lose Page 13
